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[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Collab Words 23 fic: "Freed to Love"

This event was such a fun idea, and the three of us - @statustemporary @jrob64 and @snowbellewells - had a lot of fun working together and seeing our initial idea come to life. We decided we really wanted some whump and hurt/comfort taking place, and eventually we settled on a Revolutionary War time period AU for our setting. We also used a suggested quote about the persistence of hope, and the idea of being touch starved, both of which played into our idea well.

Thanks so much to the @CSCW23 @Captain Swan Collab Words 23 for the idea to create a story as a group. It really was a new and exciting challenge that made for a new CS adventure.

And a very special thanks to @hookedmom for all the time and care she took as our beta reader for this fic!!

Summary: Though the colonists' fight for freedom from the British brought Killian Jones and Emma Swan together, the dangers of war have also pulled them apart. Can Emma find her beloved spy again, or will she be too late? What other trials and hurdles will they have to cross before they are finally free to live and love as they have dreamed?

Reposting with additional edits and correct AO3 and ff.net links.

Can be read HERE on AO3 or HERE on ff.net, if that is your preference.

"Freed to Love"

by: @statustemporary @jrob64 & @snowbellewells

Early morning dew soaks through Emma’s boots to her stockings. The wetness chafes at the skin of her feet and she holds back a wince with every step she takes. Her eyes remain downcast in the role of a perfectly submissive British nurse ready to abide by the orders of officers and soldiers alike. Her horse arrived late yesterday afternoon to the stern face of Colonel Sitwell, a high-ranking officer of the British military who is well aware that escorting a new nurse to camp is far below his station.

Last night’s rain is making the trip uphill more strenuous than anticipated. Sitwell’s boots kick mud back at her, staining the bottom of her gown, and a part of her wonders if he does it purposely.

Philadelphia.

She started in Fort Ticonderoga in late July, aiding the troops who overtook the abandoned rebel colonists’ camp. The end of August found her in Bennington, caring for the few wounded left behind after their defeat at Rebel hands. September brought her to Brandywine Creek, before her new orders informed her to follow the river to Philadelphia.

She has traveled so far just to end a few days up the river from David and Mary Margaret.

Emma’s heart pounds as they encroach on the troops standing guard outside the British camp. How many more can she bear to approach before she’s unable to handle the heartache?

All of them , she thinks immediately. She’d travel up and down the colonies if she has to, until she finds him. Her hands would service each wound on every British soldier if it brought him back to her. She’d swallow back the bile while they brag about killing her friends, she’d clench her fists as they discussed future strategies while on their sick beds.

She is trained for this. Mary Margaret showed her how to survive, while David taught her how to blend in. And Killian…

Her heart lurches when the familiar accents of British soldiers reach her ears. Emma barely pays any mind to what they’re saying. Instead, she embraces the only reminder she has of Killian, of the way he spent hours teaching her his accent to help her prepare for her role.

Despite the harsh, uncaring intonation, the familiar words that swirl in the air around her easily send Emma’s mind back to a happier early morning, months ago now, but emblazoned on her memory with the warmth and clarity of something from mere moments ago.  

Killian had come to the house to report his findings from a recent scouting mission, and when he finished, she had pulled him into the kitchen to speak privately, blushing hotly as she did so, the heat from the pot-bellied stove keeping the room toasty, though breakfast preparations were over.

Up to that point, they had spoken a few times, and Killian had also been friendly, polite, even playfully attentive with her, but Emma had not gotten the occasion to speak with him as much as she would have wished. Mary Margaret had encouraged her, with her ever-present optimism and her hope to see Emma as happily in love as she was herself; to take this very genuine opportunity to seek him out at once and gain the knowledge she sought.

Seated facing her on the rough hewn wooden bench at the Nolan’s kitchen table, Killian had grinned impishly as she settled beside him and arranged her skirts, clearly knowing what she was about, even though the tops of his ears were a heated pink to match her blushing cheeks. When she dared to look up and make full, uninterrupted eye contact with him, Emma had nearly toppled off her seat onto the floor at the electric impact of his gaze connecting with hers.

She was only saved from making a fool of herself prattling away nervously by Killian speaking. The gently cultured cadence of his words reminded her of her purpose, as he dipped his chin to look up at her rakishly through his dark lashes. 

And so it had begun between them that simply. She asked Killian for instruction in British pronunciation, accent, phrases, anything which might help her to better blend in and avoid detection as a patriot spy amongst the Redcoats. Granted, few paid much heed to what the nurses - or women in general - had to say; for once, her femininity was an advantage in the quest for near-invisibility. Still, she wanted to be ready. If the need to speak arose while she was posted in some hospital or camp, Emma was determined to sound as English as any fine lady in London.

Not only was it all too easy to pull up the hazy-warm and peach-sunrise-gilded memories and lose herself within their comfort, but as time and distance stretched between them and Emma searched fruitlessly once they learned of Killian’s capture, it had been one of the rare bits of joy left her for a momentary escape. She could envision his face so clearly within an instant of closing her eyes. The curious tilt of his head as he waited for her to speak whatever term he had just taught her. The way the tip of his tongue poked tantalizingly from between his parted lips to tease her mind addled with flustered desire. The way his lips moved deliberately, patiently, repeating whatever sound or inflection she attempted to imitate, until they were both satisfied with her repetition - usually left Emma nearly in his thrall before they were finished.

One particular morning as the seconds stretched and melted together between them like butter and honey slathered on a hot, homemade biscuit, making her want to soak up every delicious second she could, she paused hesitantly before bravely clutching his hand in shaking fingers, “And what would you say…”  she asked, clinging as tightly as possible to him while they both were still together and safe. “What would you say,” she tried again after swallowing hard and gathering her courage, “if you were captured and threatened with death?”

Emma had held her breath, waiting anxiously for his response, all the while knowing it would not be one to put her at ease, nor had she truly asked for the sake of gaining some stoic, proper British response for her own use. She knew Killian would never yield to questioning or torture, would not plead for his life or make any sort of fearful compromise, much as she might wish him to, if it meant his life. Emma wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear, but somehow she needed his answer all the same.

“I’d tell them they might bloody well try to end me,” he had replied stoutly, the blue of his fathomless eyes almost drowning her as he held her gaze determinedly. “But I’m a survivor, Lass, and I will find a way to return to you. You need never doubt that.”

His words had left her breathless then, and now Emma forced herself to release the breath she held in her aching chest as she remembered that promise.

Opening her eyes again brings her back into the muddy, chaotic, and haphazardly organized camp around her, which seems all the more removed from the haven she had recreated in her mind’s eye, because of the loneliness that immediately accosts her and the complete absence of Kilian. Though the speech around her had brought those better days to mind at first hearing, now they seem to highlight just how alone she is, since none of the accented voices belong to him… 

“Miss Swan,” Sitwell growls. Emma shoots her gaze up to meet his and she purposely widens her eyes to bear the image of apologetic innocence. The move infuriates the officer further. His white hair is slicked back with sweat across his broad forehead, the wrinkles there crumpling together as he glares down at her. The lines around his mouth become more pronounced as his face fashions into a sneer and he juts his large nose up at her. “Has cannon fire damaged your hearing or are you fit to perform your duties to the Crown and His soldiers?”

“My apologies, Colonel Sitwell,” Emma says, effortlessly picking up the accent Killian worked so hard to teach her. “It won’t happen again, Sir.” She bows her head to him and clasps her hands together in front of her. Her small bag bounces against her hip and she thinks not of the weapons that have been stored there for months, swaddled between clothes and hidden in pockets.

Sitwell scoffs and strides into camp with the silent expectation that she is to follow. Hurrying behind him, she catalogs all possible routes of escape and makes a note to pay attention to guard rotation over the next couple of days.

The European theater of war plays out drastically different than it does in the colonies, or so David has said. Rules of engagement in Europe allow a modicum of respect for the treatment of prisoners of war, varying with rank. To escape while a prisoner is considered desertion and dishonorable. Except, they’re not in Europe, and British troops refuse to recognize Colonists as an independent entity, tossing all procedure out the window.

Will Scarlett’s return just a week after Killian was taken occupies the free moments in her mind. 

Malnourished, with a number of infected wounds and diseases bringing him knocking on death’s door, Will, a fellow rebel from their town, explained to the women that the British didn’t have the care or the resources to deal with their large numbers of prisoners. He’d been kept in a warehouse packed together with other prisoners, like a school of fish with vermin nibbling at their toes. Feces became their pillows and the dead bodies of their comrades their blankets.

Her friend’s words work as nightmare fuel when she lays her head down to sleep. Visions dance behind her closed lids of the worst possible scenarios.

Will was just an everyday soldier, but Killian – he’d barely been a man when he followed his brother into the Royal Navy at the end of the Seven Years War in the colonies. After his brother’s death due to their King’s nefarious orders, he swore off his homeland and pledged his allegiance to the colonies. She watched as he moved up in rank and provided crucial details and secrets of the British.

If what Will saw is what the British did with a regular soldier, what would they do with a traitor of great importance?

Emma's hope for the future outcome of their struggle against the British and for Killian's safe return to her had flickered like a candle struggling in the wind at the picture Will painted. For several frightening moments when he first told them of his experience, she had feared it extinguishing altogether. Her ability to believe had already been fragile; the odds were against them, after all. But as she cleaned and bandaged her friend's wounds, and allowed him to clutch her trembling hand in his, his bloodied knuckles made the bile rise in her throat once more at the idea that Killian could be bleeding out somewhere and she would never know. She had held on just as tightly, trying to impart to him what she needed for herself. She simply couldn't give up. Killian was a survivor; he would never stop fighting, and neither would she.

Emma attempts to swallow around the lump in her throat as she surveys the camp. The area’s fortification means a quick escape is too risky and more planning will be needed if Killian is here.

If he’s still alive , a dark corner of her mind taunts.

At the start of her search for him, Emma would have fought back tears. The topic proved too sensitive to truly dive into, and she felt the walls Killian worked hard to break down shoot right back up. Now she bats the whispers away without thought.

He is alive. She just knows. And she will find him.

Sitwell brings their brief and stilted tour to an end outside of the hospital tent. He pauses and debates with himself before eying her up and down. With a sigh, he turns away from the hospital tent and points to the other side of camp where a small tent is pitched. The material of it is weathered, with mismatched linens patched over holes. The tent sags and barely looks able to stand up, let alone handle the weight of the cloth.

“Understand this, Miss Swan,” he starts, eyes darting between her and the tent. “No matter what you hear – crying, groaning, screaming – whatever you hear, do not enter that tent. Is that understood?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion and her heart skips a beat. In all of her stays at different British camps, she’s never received such an instruction.

Could it…

She briefly forgets the persona she’s created of Nurse Anna Swan and lets Emma Nolan take over for a moment. “What’s – ”

Sitwell doesn’t let her say anything more.

“Do not enter that tent,” he snarls. “Refrain from disobeying my orders, Miss Swan. Otherwise you may join the traitor on the execution block tomorrow.”

The officer spins on his heel and strides away, agitation dripping from him with every stomp of his boot. Yet she pays him no mind as she gazes at the collapsing tent across the way.

Traitor , her mind replays.

Killian , her heart hopes.

Gulping down a large breath, Emma eyes the soldiers of the camp for a moment to ensure no one caught her stare, before she dashes into the surgical tent. Her mind races and her fingers are sloppy, fumbling one too many bandages.

She found him.

*********

Emma is busy all day nursing the sick and wounded, but keeps an ear out for any mention of the traitor being held for execution. She’s torn between praying it isn’t and hoping it truly is Killian. 

As the sun sets and the day transitions into early evening, she becomes more on edge, anxious to see inside the prisoner’s tent. When she is finally finished for the day, she collapses onto a wooden bench outside the hospital tent. 

One of her fellow nurses - Belle, if Emma’s memory serves her correctly - pauses in front of her, gesturing toward a small building nearby. “They’ve a meal prepared for us inside, Anna,” she says. 

Emma hesitates. Should she take the time to eat when Killian could be in that wretched tent, tied up and living out his final hours? Grudgingly, she knows she has to keep up her strength in order to help her beloved escape. 

Rising from the bench and forcing a smile onto her face, she thanks Belle and falls into step with her. They enter the rustic building and find seats at a large, wooden table, where bowls of thin vegetable stew, a few strips of salted meat, and chunks of dark bread are set in front of them. The food’s aroma reminds Emma’s stomach that it hasn’t been filled since breakfast that morning, right after she entered the camp and signed on as a nurse. 

Knowing they will need food for the journey back home, she surreptitiously slips the jerky and half of the bread into the secret deep pockets of her skirt, cleverly designed by Mary Margaret, where they join the boiled eggs she saved from breakfast.

She is just dipping her last bit of bread into the broth at the bottom of her bowl, when the gruff voice coming from a junior officer makes her ears perk up. 

“Well, someone has to take him his tray, and it shan’t be me. I can barely tolerate the thought of a traitor in our midst, let alone feed the bastard!” 

Hurriedly stuffing the bite of bread into her mouth, Emma rises from her seat and approaches the man, her brain scrambling to formulate what to say. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, stepping into the man’s line of sight. “Is there someone who needs tending?”

The officer turns to her, appraising her with his eyes. “Who are you?” he snaps. 

“Anna Swan, sir. I’ve been working as a nurse.” She doesn’t add that she’s been there for less than a day. 

“Are you finished with your work for the day, Miss Swan?” 

“Yes, sir. I was just having my evening meal when I happened to overhear you say that someone needed a tray of food delivered to him.” She hopes he won’t detect the nervous quaver in her voice. “I would be willing to do that, sir.” 

“The man of whom I was speaking is a prisoner - a traitor and a threat to our beloved king and country,” he spits. “Why would you want to aid someone of such ill repute? Someone who is scheduled to be executed on the ‘morrow, I might add, as soon as our commanding officer arrives.”

Emma chooses her words carefully. “I am a nurse, sir, and as such, I have sworn to give aid to anyone in need, regardless of their allegiance.”

Time seems to pass at a snail’s pace as he considers her offer. She knows she is probably out of line for offering and could be facing punishment herself, but she simply cannot forgo the possibility of seeing Killian.

At last the soldier snaps his fingers and shouts over his shoulder, “Bring the food for the prisoner!” 

Emma prays her trembling legs continue to hold her upright. Once the tray, containing nothing but a small piece of bread, cup of watery broth, and a strip of jerky, is placed in her hands, the junior officer escorts her out the door. They trudge through the camp without speaking, until they come within sight of the ragged tent, guarded by two soldiers. 

“The prisoner is in there. Tell the guards Sergeant Gold gave you permission to enter the tent. The traitor is restrained and will pose no physical threat to you.” 

“Excuse me, sir, but if he is tied down, how is he able to feed himself?” 

“I was only instructed to supply him with food. Whether or not he is able to eat it is none of my concern.” After barking out those words, the officer turns on his heel and stomps away. 

Emma squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, before trekking across the clearing to the tent. The guards drop the butts of their sidearms to the ground, crossing them in front of the opening to the tent as they shout in unison, “Halt!” 

“S-Sergeant Gold sent me to d-deliver this food to the prisoner,” Emma stutters. 

The two men eye each other, then one gives a slight nod and they return their muskets to their shoulders. “You may enter,” she is told. 

Emma ducks her head and pushes through the canvas opening. Once inside, she drops to her knees, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark interior. When they do, she wishes they hadn’t, because what she sees turns her stomach and breaks her heart. 

The man is sitting on the ground against the support pole in the middle of the tent, his legs extended in front of him with thick rope knotted around his bare ankles. His arms are behind him, and she assumes they are tied as well. He is stripped except for his tattered breeches and she can see bloody stripes across his emaciated body. His head hangs down, dark, matted hair obscuring his face, but Emma knows this man is her beloved Killian. 

Quickly, she sets the tray of food off to the side and crawls to kneel beside him. She notices crusts of bread littering the circumference around him and rage burns through her as she realizes that, even though food has been delivered to him, he has been unable to eat much, if any, of it. 

She nearly gags as the stench coming from his unwashed body fills her nostrils. Apparently, he hasn’t been taken outside to relieve himself and reeks of the smell of urine. “Oh, Killian!” she gasps. “What have they done to you?” 

His head jerks up. “Emma?” he croaks weakly. “Is…is that you, Love?” 

Her fingers brush his hair away from his face, a sob catching in her throat. His left eye is swollen completely shut, his lip is split open, and dried blood obscures most of his handsome face. 

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” she whispers. “I’ve come to get you out of here.” 

“You…shouldn’t…be here. I…I told you…not to come after me.” 

“I never listen,” she tries to joke. 

“You’re…impossible,” he sighs. 

“And you love me for it.” 

A hint of a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “Aye, that I do.” 

“How long has it been since you have eaten?” she asks, turning to slide the tray containing the paltry meal closer. 

He grimaces. “I…I don’t know.” 

Emma holds the cup of broth to his cracked lips, tipping it until it dribbles into his mouth. His eyes close as he swallows, a moan escaping him as if he was enjoying a fine steak dinner. She pulls the cup away when half of the liquid is gone, tears pooling in her eyes as she watches him chase after it. 

Setting it aside, she picks up the chunk of bread and tears off a small piece. As she feeds it to him, she whispers, “We have to figure out how to get you out of here.” 

He finishes chewing and swallows. “Don’t risk your life for me, Love.” 

“Without you, I don’t have a life, Killian.” 

She offers him another bit of bread, but he shakes his head. “I wish…I could hold you right now.” 

Moving carefully so she won’t cause him any more unnecessary pain, she wraps her arms around his neck, scratching her fingers through his long, unkempt hair. His body shakes with a sob. “I…I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms, Emma. I have been starved for your touch.”  

She is loath to release him, just as desperate to feel his body against hers, so she murmurs into his ear, “I feared you were dead, and am relieved I have found you, but I heard them say that they…they plan to e-execute you tomorrow.” 

“Aye, so I have been told,” he confirms with a sigh. “I am surprised they have not done it already.” 

“They are waiting for the commanding officer to arrive so he can give the order. I am hoping the rain last night will delay him, but we cannot count on that. We have to get you out tonight.” 

Her heart aches as he lays his head on her shoulder, mumbling, “I do not think there is any hope of that happening, Love.” 

“If Mary Margaret has taught me anything, it is that there is always hope,” she says firmly. 

They are both startled and jerk apart when one of the guards shouts, “How long does it take to deliver a tray of food, Miss?” 

“I have to go,” Emma whispers, reluctantly pulling away from Killian, “but I will be back. Do not doubt that. I love you, Killian.” 

“I love you, too, Emma. Please be careful.” 

She nods absently while her eyes sweep around the perimeter of the tent, cataloging  weaknesses in the canvas. Before leaving, she feeds him the rest of the bread and broth, pockets the jerky, then kisses him tenderly, careful of his split lip. 

Just before exiting through the flap, she turns and gives him what she intends to be a hopeful smile. She is encouraged when he attempts to return it.  

The brisk night air of the impending autumn season greets Emma as she exits the tent. Bumps rise on her skin and a shudder runs down her spine during her short walk to the nurses’ tent. Lifting the flap, she finds their sleeping quarters still empty, Belle’s voice wafting through the air from the direction of the campfire. She’s only met the other nurses at their camp in passing at the change of their shifts, but worry creeps up her spine that one of them might walk in.

Her small bag sits on the ground at the foot of her bed, the gray and brown staining a far cry from its original white. A quiet thump fills the tent when she tosses it onto her bed linens, a soft clanging heard just a moment later.

If Killian was with her, he’d chide her for the careless way she shoves her hands between her clothes and blindly feels for her few weapons. There are three knives haphazardly sandwiched between layers of skirts, but pulling them only dampens her spirits. Her fingers grip their leather bound handles and her arm saws furiously at her blanket to no avail. If the blades can’t even rip the thin linen, they’ll be useless for Killian’s ropes.

Her heart starts racing as she fights to keep panic from clawing at her.

Emma paces the short length of the tent, hands on her hips as her mind offers solutions.

The knots are too tight and complicated for her to unravel, and Killian is in no shape to walk her through it. Which brings her back to cutting him free. The thought of stealing something from one of the many British soldiers around camp crosses her mind. She could sneak into one of their tents once they’ve fallen asleep, but she runs the risk of discovery. There’s no helping Killian if she’s delivered the same fate as him.

Belle’s laughter rings loudly in the slowly quieting camp, and Emma’s eyes widen in realization.

Her steps across the camp are soft and she keeps to the shadows of firelight. She moves slowly, eyes constantly roaming the area, her guard on high alert. The lanterns burn low in the tent where she spent most of the day, creating a glowing beacon on the edge of camp. The tent flaps gently move in the breeze, and Emma hears the voices of Zelena and Fiona, as they gather bandages to wash at the basin near the campfire.

The chill of the night starts to prickle at her skin, and her breath becomes visible in small wisps of white clouds before her eyes. She waits, shivering, for their footsteps to move away before she enters the back of the tent.

John Darling, a soldier not yet twenty, groans quietly six cots away from where she ducks in. His eyes remain closed as he calls for someone who is not there, and his blood is visible through the mountain of bandages she applied before the end of her shift. Her heart lurches as he continues to call for people she’s never met and with whom she doubts he’ll be reunited.

Emma swallows back the image that comes to mind of Killian sitting alone in his tent doing the exact same, as he receives food scraps he can’t eat and unable to move to relieve himself. Instead, she tiptoes over to the table that holds the equipment they’ve been using throughout the day. The amputation saw sits on the edge, blood staining the blade. She used one once, back in August after the British faced intense losses. The man said his name was Arthur; he had dark hair and blue eyes that made her heart yearn for Killian. She refused to look at him as she amputated his mangled left hand, but that didn’t stop the nightmares from replacing his face with Killian’s.

Her fingers move deftly past that to the scalpel. Blood stains that blade as well, but it is smaller and more easily concealed. It’ll be sharp enough to cut the ropes and easy to maneuver around his wrists without risk of injury.

Zelena and Fiona’s voices drift into the tent, and Emma glances up in alarm. In a quick move, she snatches the scalpel and rushes out before she can be detected.

Once outside the tent, a thought strikes her, and she seeks out the area where she knows discarded clothing of the deceased have been tossed. There are several jackets and shirts, but breeches are more difficult to come by. She digs through the putrid pile until she is lucky enough to procure two pair, bloodied and full of holes, but still usable. She tugs one pair on under her skirt, then stuffs the other pair, along with two shirts, into her blouse, and buttons it back up. Knowing they may face raw weather, she also picks out two uniform coats, rolling them up and clutching them tightly to her chest.

Moving as stealthily as she can with the extra bulk, she begins picking her way across the camp. Frustration sits heavy in her belly because she wants to hurry straight to where her love is suffering, but she can’t take the risk of being caught. 

Along the way, she catches snippets of soldiers’ conversations and can’t help comparing them to those of the soldiers in the camps of her fellow countrymen. They may be on opposite sides of this conflict, but the same topics occupy their minds - deep longing for their families, hot, home cooked meals and their homes. They’re not very different, after all; yet, they’re killing each other by the hundreds, in battle after battle. 

At last, she comes within sight of the shabby tent, still being guarded by two soldiers. Quickly stepping behind a large tree, she surveys the immediate area and decides on a route which appears to be safe. 

She is just about to step out when she hears a shout coming from behind her. 

“Halt! Thief!” 

Her blood freezes in her veins as her breath stutters in her lungs. Cautiously turning her head, she sees Colonel Sitwell striding across the clearing, approaching a young soldier who looks to be no older than a teenager. He is cowering in front of the officer, his hands clasped behind his back, holding what appears to be a loaf of bread. 

As Sitwell begins questioning the boy about where he is going and what he is doing, Emma turns her eyes to the guards in front of the tent and realizes their attention is drawn to the confrontation, giving her a golden opportunity. 

Crouching down to make herself as small as possible, she scurries to the back of the tent. A thin sliver of moonlight is all that illuminates the heavy canvas and she gives herself a few precious seconds to allow her eyes to adjust. Once she is able to make out a seam, she pulls out the scalpel and, starting a foot above the ground, slices through the thick threads. 

As soon as the seam separates, she drops to the ground, removes the pilfered clothes and pushes them through the opening, then she shimmies herself through. She gets up to her hands and knees, her eyes immediately trained upon the man still sitting in the same position in which she left him.

The dew has already settled on the grass in the darkening night, and Emma shivers as she stands just inside the tent - the leather boots she’s worn all this time are thin enough with gaps in the soles that some of the moisture has soaked through - making her teeth chatter along with the trembles of fear. The heat of the day has long since fled, and Emma feels the clammy chill down to her bones - aching for nothing so much as someplace safe and warm for herself and Killian. That desire drives her forward, despite the uncertainty that plagues her and the fear that she will fail him. She has to grit her teeth at the sight of Killian just feet from her, in a shelter full of rips and holes allowing wind and rain to blow right through, while his clothes are torn and threadbare - not even dry. They have barely deigned to feed him, and so of course he has not been granted any sort of blanket for the cold, autumn nights. She feels as though she is freezing; she cannot fathom the torment he has been going through. It’s a wonder he has not already succumbed to the elements and his countrymen’s gross mistreatment. She means to be certain he does not suffer even more with torture at their cruel hands.

She hates each hesitation as she sneaks across the dirt and grass at her feet; anxious to bolt and flee the danger like a startled rabbit. It is only Killian, so close again at last, who manages to stay her and keep her tiptoeing forward, making sure the way remains clear. All must still be distracted by Sitwell’s angry interrogation and the hapless young soldier he had accosted, to be checking in on their weak and battered prisoner, for she hears no further calls of alarm, no pounding feet bearing down, and she breathes out in relief.

Her eyes begin to water almost immediately - the stench unbearable in such close quarters - and her emotions nearly overcome her at Killian’s being forced to remain in his own filth; a man proud and fastidious of his manner and appearance, determined to present himself in his best light whenever possible. The wounds she had seen on him previously must be festering and growing infected. She cringes against the pain and shame she knows he must feel, in spite of it being no fault of his own.

Finally at his side, Emma drops to her knees and reaches out to clutch his shoulder, shaking gently and hissing urgent whispers of his name.  When he fails to respond immediately, it strikes her all over again just how serious his condition is, and she wastes not another second before beginning to saw at his bonds with her stolen blade. To her dismay, Killian’s dark head lolls lifelessly, chin against his chest, until in her haste, she accidentally nicks the tender skin at his wrist.

With a startled grunt, he jerks an inch or so away weakly, and finally turns to face her, his unswollen eye fluttering uncertainly before managing to focus blearily and murmuring “Emma?” in question, as if he does not quite trust his own vision. “Why are you back here, Lass? If they catch you…” he sucks in a quick breath, whether from the effort it takes him to speak, or from jarring some injury she cannot see, Emma’s isn’t sure, but she aches for him all the same. He struggles on breathlessly, “You have to leave me here and get out. I am not worth – ”

“Hush!” she scolds sharply, giving the single word as much volume and strength as she dares. Her eyes spear his, staring him down with a look that allows no argument. She has managed to break through the ropes holding his arms behind him and around the central tentpost, and Killian nearly slumps over on his side at the sudden release of tension, but she steadies him, then cups his scruffy, nearly-bearded chin in her hand, willing him to accept her words as fact. “You are worth it. I won’t hear another word,” she whispers.

For a moment, unbidden and breaking across his face like the sun from behind the clouds of a storm, a smile upturns his cracked lips, and he chuckles just barely in spite of his condition, then merely sighs, acquiescing to her words largely out of sheer fatigue, but indeed loving her for them.

Releasing his chin, Emma gives a curt little bob of her head and reaches to the pile of shabby, but at least dry, clothing she had managed to scavenge. She had dropped it hastily to the side in her hurry to reach him and make sure he was still alive. Holding out a shirt, she gives Killian a hopeful look, tremulous smile aiming to inject inspiration into both of them for this perilous escape they are about to attempt.

She watches him try to work the feeling back into his hands and arms after their being bound behind him for so long. His limbs move awkwardly, even as he reaches forward to take the shirt she offers.

Killian’s eyes roam her face with entirely too much awe for her comfort, drinking her in hungrily and as though she has done something noteworthy rather than merely rooting through a pile of discarded uniforms and cutting through tent canvas to crawl back to his side. He simply nods to her in agreement.

His silence unnerves Emma; she is used to a lilting flow of eloquent words from Killian - so much so that she has often wondered if he talks for his own entertainment as much as he does to charm her. Whatever the case, his gently cultured, warm, and soothing voice had been one of the things she missed most desperately about him while they were parted, and she cannot help but worry now, as the quiet persists, just how little strength her beloved has left.

When he fumbles to get his hands into the sleeves, a strangled sound and arrested movement at his effort to raise his arms and slip the shirt on over his head attests to just how much pain he is in. Emma soothes him regretfully, reaching out to ease his arms down to his sides and guide his limbs gingerly into the garment, swiftly securing the fastenings as well.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispers, hating that it had taken so long to find him, that he had ever been hurt at all, and that she has to press him now when he cannot move without causing further anguish. But he is already shaking his head at her, forgiving what she cannot help without a moment’s hesitation. 

He is panting once he finally gets the shirt on, and the sheen of sweat glistening on his face concerns Emma more than she wants to admit. How is he ever going to flee as quickly as they need to, over rough terrain, if just this has taxed him so badly? And, even if they get away, how how sick is he and how badly is he hurt? Will they be able to help him recover? 

Emma bites her lip against another swell of emotion at just how large the shirt appears on Killian’s emaciated frame. His collarbone protrudes sharply where the neck of the shirt hangs low, to a degree that Emma knows it would not have done when last she saw him.

Hesitantly she tries to help him stand, not wanting to insult or demean him - a man of lesser strength might not have clung to life as long as he has - but she genuinely fears he may not be able to support his own weight, and she isn’t sure what she will do otherwise.

Killian grunts, clenching his teeth and lurching forward to plant his hands on the hard-packed dirt and push himself upwards, then leaning against the tent post, he does indeed manage to leverage himself to his own two feet. It isn’t without obvious discomfort and struggle, and he lists worryingly to one side, though Emma isn’t certain if he is favoring broken ribs or trying to appease the stretching of the whip weals on his back.

She has already seen more of his body bared to her eyes than ever before - more than is entirely proper. It is far from the interlude she would never admit to having envisioned when they would finally explore each other’s bodies one day. All the same, she will not let that keep her from any small modicum of comfort she can offer him, not after all he has already withstood. Blushing hotly, but ready to press on, Emma is about to hold out the stolen pants in offering, when with a low moan, Killian crumples back to his knees weakly, barely catching himself by leaning once more against the post which had held him captive.

Heedlessly, Emma tosses the breeches away in alarm. They will have to worry about comfort and his taking further chill later. He cannot stand much more of this, and she has to get him out. His eyes rise to hers looking so pained and ashamed that Emma wants nothing more than to wrap his trembling frame in her arms, hold him close to her, and comfort and soothe him until he is well again. That he would feel embarrassment in front of her for something he cannot help, weakness forced on him through malnourishment and abuse, breaks her heart anew. She can hardly stand to push him further, but there is nothing for it.

She only shakes her head when he attempts to speak. “We’ll manage,” she asserts with a false bravado. There is no other option. She won’t even allow herself to consider it.

He nods again, some of the resolute steel she knows and loves at last returning to his gaze. She places her hands under his arms, and with them both heaving and straining, Killian gains his feet once more. This time Emma doesn’t let go, keeping one arm around his waist as he uses her as a crutch, sliding her shoulder under his arm so he can brace against her. 

Quickly grabbing the pack she has carried with her from camp to camp, she leads forward, and together they take the first few shuffling steps toward the hole she has made in the back of the tent. She can tell he is lightheaded, hurting, struggling even to breathe properly, but now that Killian is up, his survival instinct - or at least his concern for her survival - has him painstakingly putting one foot in front of the other.

It is only as they near her makeshift exit that Emma realizes in horror that the distracting commotion which had been going on outside has calmed, and that she is still dressed exactly as anyone else in the camp would have seen her earlier. Quickly she cautions Killian just to lean against her for a moment, seeing his discarded tricorn hat in the corner of the tent, she grabs it, stuffs her brightly identifying hair up under it, then unbuttons the waist of her skirt and flings the long, heavy material away. It is far from a brilliant disguise, but that would only cover her absence for so long, anyway. Once Killian’s escape is discovered, the new nurse who had asked to bring food to him, then disappeared the same day she arrived, is going to be the most likely suspect. Her shaking hands quickly transfer the food she managed to grab from her skirt pockets to her stolen breeches, and she stands to let Killian lean on her again. She doesn’t have time to worry over any other items left behind at the moment; they just need to make haste as soon as possible.

As she adjusts her grip on Killian, Emma realizes once more just how poorly he must feel. Unlike his usual self, he has not a playful comment or even a salacious wink for her, despite the fact that she has seen him shirtless, helped him dress, and shed her skirts in front of him. She sends up a silent prayer that they can make it to the surrounding woods before they are discovered. She knows he cannot run full tilt - he can barely stand - so they must manage some sort of a head start. 

Dipping her head to peer just barely through the roughly torn flap of tent in which she created an exit, Emma sees that although things have grown much calmer since she snuck in - Sitwell must have carted off the poor younger soldier he caught stealing - the other staring eyes throughout the camp have returned to their previous concerns and conversations. Though it still feels much too risky, far too exposed, the time will not get any better for them to escape.

As a last minute thought, Emma changes her mind, throws on one of the jackets, grabs the breeches she’d tossed aside, realizing she’ll eventually have to get Killian into enough clothing that he doesn’t freeze. Then, half-supporting and half-tugging him, Emma ducks her head to slip out of the prisoner’s tent through the hole she made, making sure Killian follows without stumbling or getting caught on the ragged edge.

Killian bites his lip against the agony that each step and merely standing upright clearly causes him in an effort to ease her nerves and steel himself for flight. He nods, visibly marshaling every last bit of strength he possesses to push forward as they step onto the dew-wet grass. Holding her gaze for one brief, but weighted moment, he then bows his head to watch each wobbly step he struggles to take. Gritting his teeth, the wounds that burn and pull each time his feet strike the ground try to steal his breath, but he forces himself to move on, matching Emma pace for pace.

She doesn’t dare speak, but she urges him along in her head, silently cheering with each foot they progress across the trampled field and closer to the treeline, nearer to the relative cover and safety of the woods nearby. Heart pounding in her ears, frantic and alert for the first sign they have been found out, Emma forces herself to lead without looking back, to focus on the shadows and brush of the forest as they draw blessedly nearer. Twenty-five feet…fifteen feet…ten…just a few more feet…

They have only just gained the edge of the woods when a shout of alarm goes up. Bellows of “The prisoner has escaped!” and “Search the area!” ring out, along with the sound of feet pounding and general mayhem as the camp mobilizes from the drowsy comradery of evening by the fire to the dogged pursuit of a fugitive. Emma’s breath catches in her chest with fear, and she risks one frantic look thrown over her shoulder as they dodge beneath low-hanging branches and plunge into the darker foliage that surrounds them just in time. 

She sees torches - far too many to evade it seems, as panic momentarily takes hold - fanning out from the camp in all directions; some moving closer to them than she can bear already.

This time it is Killian who brings her back to the present, to the immediate steps before them. “You can do this, Emma. Bloody brilliant you are,” he pants. “Lead on, we’ve almost made it.”

Grateful for his steadying belief, though she knows he is half-delirious with pain and fever and is no more certain of their escape than she is, it is the jolt Emma needs to shake her panic and bring her back to her task. Turning once more, she steps forward again, only to snag her foot on an uprooted twig, making her stumble forward off-balance, bringing Killian with her.

The ground seemingly dissolves beneath their feet, falling away to nothingness and sending them plunging downward into the dark. It happens so suddenly that Emma has rolled and pitched against the hard, sloped ground several times before she can cry out, thankfully. A wounded grunt is all she hears from Killian before hitting the bottom of an incline hard enough to knock the air from both of their lungs as she lands on top of him with a sickening thud. 

Scrambling off of his body, Emma tries to squint in the dark to find his face in front of her, stomach turning at the thought of having hurt him further. “Killian?” she whispers, not daring to speak any louder. He doesn’t respond, but before she can try anything else, she hears yelling and footsteps drawing nearer, crunching through twigs and fallen leaves. Wrestling a dirt-stained, ragged gray blanket from the pack that is miraculously still on her shoulder, Emma flings it desperately over them both, hoping it will blend into the night and the overgrown vegetation at the bottom of this steep dropoff. There is nothing else to do, with their enemies nearly atop them. She holds herself motionless, her hand over Killian’s chest, feeling for the barest rise and fall, praying the Redcoats will pass by and fail to see them.

Each agonizing second seems to stretch on for an hour as she waits, but slowly, painstakingly, the tramp of threatening forces move on, circle back, and judging by the calls she overhears, return to the main camp to regroup. They will be back on her and Killian’s trail by first light, but it is a miraculous reprieve in that moment, and she lurches upright to see if he has regained awareness to carry on.

“Killian?” she pleads once more, clutching at his shirt and gently trying to shake him awake. “Killian, please! You have to answer me!”

At last his eyes flutter open, though focus in them is far from clear. “Emma…?” he mumbles blearily, the words hazy in a loose-lipped mush. “What happened?”

“I tripped on a root of some sort, and we tumbled down a ravine. I- I’m sorry, I didn't see it until it was too late.”

He reaches out unsteadily and cups her cheek as if to brush her apology and fear away, despite the ever-weakening tremble of his limbs.

She presses on doggedly. “The blanket has hidden us from your jailers for the moment,” she adds, “but we better get as far as we can before daybreak. They will be after us again, no doubt.”

Doubt and an embarrassed uncertainty flicker in Killian’s eyes, but he does not speak, only pushes himself into a sitting position through sheer force of will. “You may have to help me up,” he finally relents, no longer meeting her eyes, but Emma is so relieved and glad that he is awake and willing to try, that she somehow musters the strength and adrenaline to help him lever himself back to his feet.

Rather than attempting to scale the hill they had tumbled down, they follow a small trickle of water running along at their feet, which becomes a stream after a mile or so. Pausing briefly to see that Killian gets a drink and has a crust of bread she stuffed into her pocket, Emma wrestles the ruined pants Killian wore off his legs, hurrying to dip a less dirty part of them into the stream and wash his skin the best she can, knowing that despite the cold, it must be done since he’d been forced to wear them so long. She doesn’t dare look him in the face as her fingers skim his bare skin, and she still looks off to the side determinedly as she helps him wrestle the change of breeches she had stolen over his jutting hipbones, urges him back to his feet and fastens the breeches securely. She shoves the other pair in her bag for the moment, to avoid leaving evidence behind. They just need to focus on getting out of here. Anything else they could work through, once they were safe.

By the time the first pale rays of sunrise start to color the sky, Emma hopes they have covered enough distance to avoid detection. They are heading for David and Mary Margaret’s quiet, out-of-the-way farm, but they will not make it today, not before Brits catch up to them.

Luckily they find a small cave, and Emma presses them as far into the dank, winding depth of it as they can possibly get. Sitting at last, she urges Killian to rest, his head in her lap, her hands smoothing through his matted, sweat-soaked hair. Watching over him, fretful and sleepless, she tries to gauge how long it has been and listens for any sign of discovery. When she finally sneaks out, she discovers they have made it until dark again and they can press on. 

She counts each ragged breath that rattles through Killian’s shockingly light frame, and thanks the Lord above he hasn’t been taken from her yet. They are still together, and will fight on.

*****

They have been traveling for two days when Emma again hears the low babbling of a brook. Killian struggles during their journey, relying heavily on her to help him move. His weakened state only worsens with the small amount of food she can scavenge and no canteen to provide him hydration. Blood seeps through his pilfered clothes to stain her own when she supports his weight on their walk. She thanks the heavens he’s only awake during the night hours so he doesn’t see it, all the while cursing herself for not being able to do more for him.

But the sound of fresh water is enough to give her a sprinkling of hope.

Emma practically drags Killian in the direction of the noise, eyes frantically scanning the tree line for an enemy to surprise them. If worse came to worst, she’d drop Killian to the ground and batten her defenses, grabbing the blunt blade from her boot. She’d fight the entire British army if she had to, just to help him.

Thankfully the only other inhabitants of the woods are the animals that scurry across their feet.

Killian’s eyes blink rapidly as he fights to stay awake. She knows that they’ll have to stop for a full night tomorrow or the next day. He needs to regain his strength, and, aside from a few hours rest the night before, Emma hasn’t slept a full night since before arriving at camp. Adrenaline has kept her going thus far, but even she knows it’s not sustainable.

“We’re almost there,” she whispers to him, Killian’s head lolling against hers as he grunts a reply.

Twigs scratch at their ankles, and the cool night air wraps around their shoulders in a deep embrace. Moonlight offers their only source of light, and Emma desperately clings to the moon beams that shine down between the treetops.

Relief floods her body as they break through a particularly profuse thicket and the creek flows just a few paces from their spot. Rocks litter either side of the stream, one large enough to lean Killian against. She drops to her knees once he is situated. Dew seeps into her clothes, a wet patch gathering quickly where she kneels. The cool sensation is nothing compared to the water.

Emma dunks her hands into the water in a quick fashion, hissing when the brisk liquid stings her fingers. She quickly pulls her hands back and looks to Killian. “You need to drink,” she murmurs, not expecting an answer that he has no strength to give. Taking a deep breath, she sinks her hands into the water, up to her wrists and cups them together, gathering water that she hastily carries over to him, tipping her hands onto his lips. Water slips between her fingers as she tries to give him some, droplets slide down the sides of his face. He gasps as he gulps down the meager offering.

She repeats the process until she suspects his stomach is getting upset. Her fingers tear the hem of her borrowed clothes and rip a few bands of cloth. The moon highlights the blood cresting on his skin from the open wounds along his body, the dirt collecting on his person.

“I need to clean you,” she whispers as her hand cradles his cheek. Killian opens his eyes to meet hers, and she sees the corner of his mouth lifting under his unruly facial hair.

“You’ve done enough, love,” he says just as quietly. “Give me a moment and I can wash myself.”

“The water’s cold,” she argues.

“Suppose I’ll need a distraction then.”

Hydrated and more awake than he’d been when they arrived at the creek, Emma helps Killian shed his shirt and aids him in kneeling at the creek’s waterbed.

Killian stares at the water, and Emma notices a faraway look taking over his face. The look is one she’s become familiar with working on other soldiers. Memories – nightmares really – that haunt even their waking hours. Her hand reaches over to cover his shaking fist crushing a band of cloth. She swallows as he suddenly swivels his head to her, blinking a few times before he offers her a wobbly smile.

“Do you remember when you caught fish?” she asks. Her tone is light and her smile is encouraging. The undercurrent of teasing that usually accompanies the story is barely tangible.

Killian breathes out a small laugh. “You would never let me forget.”

A nod is shared between them and her voice offers a distraction as he dips the cloth, hissing as it touches his raw skin.

The sun was barely rising over the horizon, when a specialized knock echoed throughout the quiet Nolan house. David and Mary Margaret were undoubtedly already awake with the livestock kept on the property, but Emma had hoped for a few more hours of rest. Her feet ached and her fingers felt numb, her first week spent treating wounded Colonists draining every ounce of her energy. She won’t be shipped out to a British camp for another few months; her secret coding needed to be finely tuned and her stitchwork would give her away as an inadequate nurse.

She winced as her fingers worked to knot the belt of her robe. Sleep still scratched at the edges of her consciousness, but her racing heart beat it back vigorously.

Emma opened the door in a rush, breath caught in her throat from anticipation. She sighed heartily when she realized it was merely Killian standing on the porch. A woven basket hung off of one arm, and he clutched a bouquet of wildflowers in the opposite hand.

“Morning, lass,” he greeted with a wide grin.

She squinted as the early sun rays overwhelmed her sight. “To what do I owe this honor?” The door squeaked momentarily as she leaned against it, her heart racing for an entirely new reason. A smile threatened to emerge as she struggled to keep a disinterested face in the presence of such a magnificent man.

The sun shone on him like he was a gift from above, just for her. Golden rays of light gleamed on his dark hair to create a halo and his grin was certified to make any lady swoon. His eyes crinkled in delight as he gazed down at her, and she swallowed hard as she awaited his answer.

“I remember you mentioning over the summer how much you missed cod,” he said as he maneuvered his way inside the house. The basket is placed gently on the kitchen table while the flowers remain in his tight grasp.

“I don’t think that’s enough of a remarkable statement to explain your appearance this morning. Nearly everyone in town misses the cod.”

Killian grinned, something quick and hidden as he ducked his head out of her sight. Her statement was true, no matter the humor he found in it. The increasing warships offshore had chased the fish further out into the ocean. The wider landscape made it difficult to catch a quantifiable amount of cod to justify the trip, not counting the dangers that came with being in the same waters as opposing military forces.

“Well,” he started, “it does offer an explanation for my appearance.”

“Oh?”

Wildflowers were suddenly thrust in her direction, and she blinked for a few moments before it finally registered. Killian’s arm was extended to her and nerves crept up his tense shoulders. “Firstly, these are for you.” His tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, her attention dramatically pulled from the flowers by the movement. The sight was always a distraction when they practiced her accent, but now it felt like it had intent. An intent to tease her, to bring her to a different focus.

Belatedly, she took the bouquet from Killian. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking a moment to smell the flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers before. Most girls she grew up with were married off with children of their own by now, but she found herself too different from them to warrant the attention of a gentleman in town. Until Killian.

“And this is for you as well.” Killian proudly walked over to the basket and pulled back the linen covering its contents. “Freshly caught cod.”

Emma stepped closer and peered into the basket. A gasp left her mouth before she covered it to prevent her laughter from becoming noticeable.

“What?” he asked.

“You have never been fishing here before, have you?”

“No… Why?”

She failed to keep the laughter from her voice as she spoke. “These fish aren’t cod.”

A slew of expletives was voiced under his breath as he moved to her side. His hand reached for the basket to examine the fish closer. “Are you positive?”

She huffed. “I may not be a fisherman, but I do know my food.” Her eyes examined the fish, wrapped and salted to preserve it for the days long trip back, as a smile threatened to appear on her lips. “These are summer flounder, which are still edible and mild tasting. I appreciate your efforts.”

The amusement left her body as she watched Killian’s face fall and his demeanor depress. His hand toyed with the edge of the basket as his jaw ticked from how tightly he clenched it. She called his name only to receive a shake of his head in return. He dropped his weight onto one of the kitchen chairs and sagged into the seat.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured to himself. Emma followed his lead and sat beside him. The urge to reach out and grab his hand between her own brewed deep in her stomach.

“Wanted what?”

“Apologies, love,” Killian said. He offered his best self-deprecating smile for a brief second before he returned his stare to the table. “I had hoped to present this as my official request to court you, but alas, I’ve made a fool of myself, instead.”

Her throat dried at his words and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He wanted to court her? The mere thought left her practically speechless. Killian had wanted to present her with her favorite meal – cod – and picked flowers for her by himself.  He traveled in dangerous waters just to impress her.

She hummed, bringing the flowers to her nose. The fresh aroma made her head spin in the most delightful way, and she sent Killian a shy smile. “It seems to me like you’ve been doing a splendid job, so far.” He grinned back at her for a moment before it fell at the sight of the summer flounder. “You really went out to sea to catch these fish? For me?”

There was no teasing inflection to her words, a heavy weight instead accompanied them. Their eyes met over the table, and she watched Killian’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. He matched her seriousness and kept their eyes connected; his single word answer said a million things to her.

“Aye.”

Emma placed the bouquet gently on the table between them and refused to let her eyes trail away from his. She leaned forward as he watched in anticipation, breath hitched in his throat.

Their lips met, and Emma finally tasted freedom.

*********

“Just…a little further…Killian,” Emma gasps, her arm tightening around his waist. Her eyes are trained on the small house shining in the moonlight in front of them, but they also continue to dart around for any sign of being followed.They’ve been careful to travel only at night, seeking out dense woods where they could hide and rest during the daylight hours. 

It’s taken them nearly a week to reach Mary Margaret and David’s farm, their progress hampered by the constant surveillance of their surroundings for fear of being captured, and by Killian’s injuries. Emma has tried to treat his wounds along the way, cursing herself for not grabbing any medical supplies when she pilfered the scalpel and clothing. He was also weak from lack of food, since the small amount of food she smuggled and berries she was able to find were not doing much to build his strength. 

But now, the end of their arduous journey is finally within sight. Emma tries to quicken their pace, but Killian’s groan of pain reminds her that he’s already going as fast as he can. He hasn’t once complained, but she knows every step has been agony for him. 

“I’m sorry, Killian. Please forgive me for my impatience.” 

“You…you’ve been anything…but impatient, Love,” he rasps. “I should be…apologizing for…causing you all this trouble.” 

“Hush, now,” she admonishes. “You are worth everything to me. I would go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you home.” 

“It almost feels like…that’s how far we’ve come,” he says with a dry chuckle. 

She laughs in response, her heart lifting a little over his attempt at humor. They continue their laborious trek over the uneven ground until finally, they are standing on the small wooden stoop at the back of the house. 

“I hope someone is awake,” Emma whispers. Raising her hand, she raps on the door three times, pauses a few seconds, knocks twice, then twice more in rapid succession. 

The wait seems interminable until they hear a familiar voice saying, “Identify yourself.” 

Emma almost cries at the sound of her brother’s voice. “Em-” Her voice is suddenly not working, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Emma Nolan.” 

There’s a pause. “What happened when I was twelve that you always thought was your fault?” 

Without hesitation, she replies, “You fell out of a tree and broke your left arm trying to rescue my kitten, Patches.” 

She smiles at Killian as they hear the sound of a key turning. Before she can react any further, the door swings open and she’s pulled into a crushing hug. 

“Where have you been?” David’s voice rumbles under her cheek where it’s pressed against his chest. 

“Let us in and I’ll tell you.” 

“Us?” he questions, pulling away to look behind her. 

“I found him,” she says simply, reaching to take Killian’s hand. Even in the dim light coming from the fireplace in the kitchen, she can see David’s eyes brighten. He steps out of the way so the two travelers can enter. 

After closing the door behind them, he turns around and the happiness in his eyes instantly turns to dismay when he takes in the condition of the other man. Before he can say anything, Mary Margaret’s voice can be heard from their bedroom doorway, asking, “Who was it, David?” 

“See for yourself,” he answers, grabbing a match to light a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. 

She emerges, tying the belt of a thin, cotton robe. “Emma! We’ve been…” Her eyes move to the figure leaning on her sister-in-law. “Oh, Killian! Look at you!” Pulling out a chair, she helps Emma gingerly lower the injured man into it. 

“I’m alright,” he says, but can’t stop the groan from escaping his lips when he’s fully seated. 

Mary Margaret immediately begins assessing the injuries to his face. “David, please bring the basket of supplies. Emma, get a wash basin of water and a cloth.” 

They both scurry to do as told, coming back to find Mary Margaret has already started working on the shirt fasteners. “Have the two of you had anything to eat?” she asks.

“Just whatever we could scavenge from the woods,” Emma answers, placing the basin on the table and tossing the cloth into the cool water. “I ran out of the food I was able to steal from camp.” 

Mary Margaret finishes with the fastenings and pushes the shirt aside, gasping when she sees how much weight Killian has lost. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you clean him up while I heat some chicken stew.” Emma can see tears shining in her eyes when she turns away. 

After setting the medical supplies on the table, David moves to the fireplace to remove the kettle. He pours some hot water into the basin, replaces the kettle, and returns to help Emma peel the shirt off of Killian. When he sees the wounds from a whip across his back and chest, his mouth tightens into a straight line, his eyes hardening with anger. 

Emma speaks as she squeezes out the cloth and begins tenderly wiping her beloved’s face. “When I found him, they were holding him prisoner, planning to execute him the next day, as soon as their commanding officer arrived.”

She continues relating the conditions in which he was held, as she moves on to begin sponging his neck and chest. Mary Margaret and David share grim looks as they listen, appalled at the way their friend was treated. 

“He was actually much worse than this, but we came across a clear creek and he was able to wash himself off a bit, even though the water was pretty chilly,” Emma says. 

“David,” Mary Margaret says, turning quickly to her husband. “Can you please begin filling the tub with water? I’m sure soaking in a hot bath would feel good, wouldn’t it, Killian?” 

The man looks up at her with bleary eyes. “Aye, it would.” 

“Take the tub into our bedroom, David. We can move into one of the rooms upstairs and Killian can have our room so he won’t have to climb the stairs.”

David sets to work getting the metal tub moved and filled with water, while Mary Margaret dishes up bowls of reheated stew for Emma and Killian. His hands are shaking as he spoons the food into his mouth, slopping some into his unkempt beard. “Sorry,” he apologizes. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mary Margaret says, as Emma dabs the spill away with the cloth. “Just don’t eat too fast. Your stomach is going to have to get used to having adequate food in it again.” He nods in understanding, giving her another look of gratitude when she sets a plate containing several slices of bread between him and Emma. 

They’re just finishing their meal when David rejoins them in the kitchen, announcing that the bath is ready. He offers to help the other man bathe, and it’s a testament to how weary and weak Killian is that he accepts. 

Once the men leave the room, the women have a whispered conversation. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll find him here?” asks Mary Margaret. 

“I really don’t think so. We were very careful and diligent about not leaving any evidence behind. You and David taught us well.” 

“How did you find him?”

“I kept moving from camp to camp, working as a nurse. If I didn’t find him in one place, I would move on.”

“You were very fortunate to find him when you did. If you arrived even one day later…” 

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Emma shudders. “I came so close to losing him.”

Mary Margaret reaches over and pats her hand. “But you did not. That is the important thing.” 

“Now we need to help him recover, and I fear it is going to take a long time. He is very weak. There were times when I was afraid he would not have enough strength to make it here.” 

“I suppose you will not want to be far from him tonight,” Mary Margaret observed. At Emma’s confirmation, she added, “We can set up a cot for you just outside the bedroom so you will be able to hear him, should he need you.”

By the time the two of them retrieve the cot from the attic and take it downstairs, David is exiting the bedroom with a concerned look on his face. “A couple of his wounds appear to be infected, but I can’t be sure until we see them in the daylight. I cleaned them the best I could and bandaged them. I know you wanted to tend to him tonight, but he is utterly exhausted, so I already helped him to bed.” 

“That is probably for the best,” Mary Margaret says. “I think we all need to get some sleep. Emma is going to sleep on the cot so she can be there for him if he needs her.” 

“Do you want me to fill the tub with clean water so you can take a bath, too?” David asks Emma. 

“No, I will just take a sponge bath using the water in the basin. I’m so tired, I would probably fall asleep in the tub.” 

Husband and wife empty the water from the tub and carry it out, then set up the cot in the kitchen and cover it with bed linens, while Emma washes up and changes out of the filthy, stolen set of clothes into a soft, flannel nightgown. Releasing her hair from the tight bun, she brushes the snarls and tangles out of her long blonde tresses, then, after bidding her brother and sister-in-law goodnight, goes into the bedroom. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she observes her love by the dim light of the kerosene lamp on the nightstand. His face is relaxed in sleep, but she can still see the cuts and bruises marring it. Tenderly, she reaches over and brushes some strands of still damp hair away from his brow. Leaning down, she brushes kisses to his cheeks and lips. “You are safe now, my love,” she whispers. “No one is ever going to take you from me again.” 

After watching him sleep for a few more minutes, she moves out to the cot, climbs between the soft, clean sheets, and falls into the first deep sleep she’s had since she said goodbye to Killian months ago. 

*********

Emma is awakened in the middle of the night when Killian begins groaning loudly and thrashing around in the bed. She throws back the blanket and rushes into the bedroom, distressed when her hand touches his forehead and feels the heat radiating from it. 

Quickly, she goes back into the kitchen and pumps more water into the basin, adding a couple of washcloths to it before carrying it into the bedroom. Nudging the extinguished lantern aside, she makes room for the basin on the nightstand. 

She wrings out the first cloth, folds it, and lays it across Killian’s forehead, then repeats the process to lay one on his chest. He begins mumbling, but she doesn’t think he’s quite awake. Leaning down, she speaks into his ear, “What do you need, my love?” 

He runs his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, murmuring, “Thirsty.” 

Returning to the kitchen, she fills a glass with water and brings it back. She slides her arm behind his back to help raise him up, tears coming to her eyes once again when she feels the sharpness of his shoulder blades through his nightshirt. 

He gulps the water thirstily and thanks her, before she lowers him back to the mattress and kisses his feverish brow. After returning the glass to the kitchen, she refreshes the washcloths with cool water, then sits down on the wooden chair beside the bed, turning to face him. She sleeps fitfully the rest of the night, reapplying the cloths and checking his temperature a few more times.

Once the morning light begins filtering in through the thin curtains, Emma dresses hurriedly and goes into the kitchen to find Mary Margaret already preparing dough to make bread. She looks up at Emma with a smile that fades when she sees the worried look on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Mary Margaret asks, pulling her hands out of the dough and wiping them on a towel. 

“Killian has had a fever all night. I’m afraid he does have an infection.” 

“Is he awake?” 

“Not yet. I know we need to examine him more thoroughly, but he needs his rest, too. Do you think I should wake him?” 

Mary Margaret ponders for a moment. “Let him sleep a while longer. David has gone out to ride the perimeter of the property. When he gets back, we will find out what he thinks we should do.” 

Emma pinches off a small piece of dough and pops it into her mouth. “Is he making sure we weren’t followed?” 

“He knows you were careful, he just doesn’t want to take any chances,” Mary Margaret explains, beginning to shape the dough into small loaves. 

Upon hearing a sound from the bedroom, Emma turns and hurries in there. She finds Killian sitting on the side of the bed with his feet on the floor, his head hanging down and his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. 

She steps in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and gently lifting it. “Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?” 

He manages a weak smile. “Much better, being here with you, Love,” he says, his voice rough with sleep and fever.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Do you want some breakfast?” 

“Aye, that sounds good.” 

Emma discreetly runs the back of her hand over his forehead, troubled to still find it overly warm. “Do you need help getting dressed?” 

“Trying to peek at me naked, are you?” he jokes weakly. 

Despite her concern, she still blushes and can’t help but smile. He has always had a knack for making her laugh, and she’s pleased to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m just trying to be helpful.” 

He turns his face to press a kiss into her palm. “You are helpful, and also very beautiful. My beautiful saviour.” 

Her heart swells at his words and all she can think to say is, “I love you.” 

“And I, you.” 

She dips her head and brushes a kiss to his cheek. Leaning her forehead against his, she sighs. “I cannot believe I actually found you and we made it back home. There were times when I thought I…” The emotion makes her breath catch in her throat. “...I would never see you again.” 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Emma. You should know by now that I’m a survivor.” 

“The order of execution did give me pause.” 

“Point taken.” 

She soaks in a little more time of being able to touch him, before declaring, “I’ll go upstairs and get some clothes for you.”

“Thank you, Love.” 

Giving him one more kiss, she exits the room. David is stomping his feet off on the mat inside the kitchen door. “Is everything secure?” she asks. 

“As far as I can tell,” he answers. “How is Killian this morning?” 

“He is carrying a fever, but it does not seem to be as bad as it was in the middle of the night. I’m going to get clothes for him. Could you please go in and check on him?” 

“Of course,” David agrees, already heading toward the bedroom. 

Emma goes to the cedar chest, where Mary Margaret keeps extra clothes for anyone in their spy network who is in need of them. Kneeling down before the chest, she takes the opportunity to send up a prayer of gratitude and also a plea for healing. Killian may be putting on a brave front, but she knows him. He’s weak and in pain; far from the strong, robust man he was months ago, before he went undercover behind enemy lines. 

Gathering the shirt and knickers into her arms, she descends the creaking stairs, finding Mary Margaret removing the bread from the oven. “Is David still in with Killian?” Emma asks. 

“Yes. He came out to get some clean water, whiskey and towels. He said Killian has wounds showing signs of infection and he has heard that pouring alcohol on them helps.” 

Emma grimaces. “That sounds like it would be painful.” 

“Not as painful as amputation, should the infection get worse,” Mary Margaret notes quietly. 

Emma’s face pales as she thinks about the possibility. The wound around his left wrist, caused by the ropes with which he was tied, is especially concerning; the flesh around it red and angry, while the wound itself appears to be festering. 

“David said Killian is relaying information to him about the enemy’s position and strategies. Even being held for execution, he was gathering vital information. That man of yours is a model of bravery, Emma.” 

Now her chest swells with pride, but the moment is interrupted by a hoarse curse coming from the bedroom. “Bloody hell, David! That bloody hurts!” 

The two women share a concerned, and slightly amused, look. “At least he has a little fire in his voice,” Emma comments. 

Her sister-in-law nods in agreement before asking, “Should I prepare a tray of food for him?” 

“I’m sure Killian will insist on joining us out here. He won’t want you making a fuss over him.” 

“He deserves to be fussed over, after all he’s gone through.” 

“I agree, but you know he won’t see it that way.” 

Emma approaches the bedroom door and taps on it lightly. At David’s permission to enter, she pushes it open and peeks in. “I have some clean clothes.”

“Bring them in, I just finished treating his wounds,” David says, tying off a bandage around Killian’s wrist. 

Emma’s eyes scan over her love’s form as he sits slumped on the side of the bed. He looks up and manages to give her a small smile. “Thank you, Love.” 

She deposits the clothes on the bed beside him and catches David’s eye, communicating silently with him to ask about Killian’s condition. The grim set of his mouth and slight shoulder shrug tells her he shares her concern about the other man. 

Emma picks up the shirt, unfolds it, and carefully pulls it over Killian’s head. David helps guide his arms into the sleeves, Emma ties it, and a lump forms in her throat when she sees how loosely it hangs on him. Mere months ago, he would have easily filled it out with his muscular physique. The stolen shirt was also baggy on him, but she tried to reason that the man to whom it belonged must have been much bigger than Killian. Now, there’s no denying that he has indeed lost a substantial amount of weight during his captivity, and her hatred toward the soldiers of his former homeland intensifies. 

She holds out the remaining clothes to David. “Please help him put these on while I go help Mary Margaret get breakfast on the table,” she says, knowing her voice sounds gruff from the raw emotion she’s feeling. 

Turning on her heel, she exits the room. 

*********

The next two days for Killian are a series of ups and downs. He continues to run a fever, sometimes mumbling deliriously because of it. His stomach repels the food he eats ravenously, the vomiting causing his already dangerously weak body to weaken even further. Heedless of the custom dictating unmarried couples not sleep together in the same room, they move the cot into the bedroom so Emma can get to Killian more quickly when he needs her aid. 

There are far too many moments when she wonders if they escaped and made the dangerous trek back home, only for him to die anyway. 

Yet, in the mornings, after a good night’s rest, he’s fairly alert and his endearing personality comes shining through. They’re relieved to see his wounds responding to their careful treatment, the fiery looking skin around them returning to normal as the infection ebbs away. 

On the third morning after their return, Emma is awakened by Mary Margaret rushing into the bedroom, shaking Emma’s shoulder as she whispers urgently, “Get up! David just found signs of someone being on the property, and we need to get the two of you down to the root cellar!” 

“Enemy soldiers?” Emma asks, throwing off the covers, her heart in her throat. 

“He does not know, but he also does not want to take any chances. He and Leroy have gone out again to see if they can find anything else, and he wants me to get the two of you into the cellar.”

Emma pulls her robe on and ties the belt, then slides her stocking feet into her shoes. Mary Margaret is trying to rouse Killian, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. “Gather as many quilts and blankets as you can and go down to the cellar to try to make up a bed for him on the floor,” she instructs Emma, her voice still a whisper but full of tense anxiety.

Emma hurries to do as she’s told, emptying the linen closet under the stairs. It takes two trips down the steep, rickety steps to get everything to the dank root cellar. The pungent smell of earth and unwashed vegetables fills her nose as she tosses the thick quilts on the ground in the corner under the stairs, quickly straightening them the best she can and dragging sacks of grain over to use as pillows, before dashing back upstairs. 

Mary Margaret has managed to get Killian standing and into a pair of breeches. She’s just tugging a heavy, knitted sweater over his head, his arms sliding sluggishly into the sleeves, when Emma re-enters the room. She grabs his boots from under the bed and works to get them on his feet. 

When he’s dressed, the two women half drag him to the opening in the kitchen floor between the fireplace and the stairway, which leads to the cellar. Emma moves down the steps backwards so she can help guide Killian with her hands on his hips, while Mary Margaret is behind him, supporting him under his arms. As they struggle to keep him moving, they both give him quiet encouragement, praying they can get him out of sight in time. 

It seems to take an eternity until he finally sets foot on the packed dirt floor. As they maneuver him behind the stairs and lower him to the pile of quilts, Mary Margaret whispers, “There is a lantern and matches on the shelf, but only light it if absolutely necessary because it might show between the floorboards. As soon as I get back upstairs, I will get a basket of food together and bring it down to you. Oh, and there’s a chamber pot under the table.”

“How long do you think we will have to stay down here?” Emma questions. 

“I do not know, but it’s better to be prepared in case it ends up being a while. Please remember to stay as quiet as possible,” she reminds them needlessly. After squeezing Emma’s hand, she turns and bustles up the stairs, dropping the door down behind her. 

Emma and Killian are left in complete darkness, and she fights to tamp down the panic tightening her chest. Her eyes work to adjust, beginning to make out the shapes of objects around her with help from the tiny slivers of light sneaking through the floorboards overhead.

She turns her attention to the man lying on the pile of quilts, head resting against a burlap bag of grain. He’s still feverish, and she fears the dampness of the cellar is going to exacerbate his condition. Her hands grope for the pile of blankets she had dropped carelessly to the floor. 

As she unfolds one blanket after another and lays them over him, she listens for any sounds coming from above. Everything is muted, but all she can hear are shuffling footsteps she’s sure are Mary Margaret’s. 

Soon, the room is flooded with light again when the trap door is lifted. Emma rises and hurries to the bottom of the steps to take the basket of food and pitcher of water from her sister-in-law’s hands.

“I think I heard David and Leroy’s horses returning to the barn,” Mary Margaret tells her. “Hopefully they have some good news and you will not have to stay down here very long.” 

Before Emma can answer, Mary Margaret returns to the kitchen, leaving them in darkness once again. Emma cautiously picks her way back across the floor, setting the food and water down when she senses she’s back at Killian’s side, then sits down herself. 

“Killian,” she whispers into his ear, “you need to drink some water. Can you sit up?” 

He pushes himself up, groaning with the effort. Since she doesn’t have a cup to pour the water into, she holds the rim of the pitcher to his lips, slowly tipping it up until he’s swallowing the liquid. She gives him several sips before he pulls back and taps her arm to signify he’s had enough. 

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, but he’s already dropped back down to the makeshift bed. 

“Not…right…now,” he forces out through chattering teeth.  

“Are you cold?” 

“A…bit.” 

She already used all of the blankets to cover him, so she does the only thing left she can think to do to help him get warm. Peeling back the blankets, she stretches her body out alongside his and pulls the covers up over both of them, then wraps her arms around his thin frame and buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathing warmth against his skin. 

Soon she can tell he has fallen asleep, but she remains awake and alert. All is quiet upstairs, but just as she’s dozing off, she hears muffled pounding on the back door. Her eyes pop open and her breath catches in her throat. 

Murmuring voices reach her ears and she strains to listen, but can’t make out anything that’s being said. Heavy boots thud across the floor, and Emma holds her breath, praying whoever is up there doesn’t discover the trap door beneath the innocuous-looking braided rug. 

The voices increase in volume and she can catch a word here and there. “...nobody…sister…left yesterday…” she hears David saying. 

Another deep voice, obviously a man’s, responds, “...proof…evidence…escaped…” And then the word that makes her heart stop “...traitor.” 

She hears doors slamming and wonders if Mary Margaret had time to hide the cot before their unwanted visitors arrived. She has to believe she did, since her sister-in-law has plenty of experience with hiding evidence. Their spy ring has been active since the beginning of the rebellion, and they’ve had a few close calls, but they haven’t lost anyone yet. 

Killian shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft moan, and Emma swiftly covers his mouth with her hand. Chances of anyone upstairs hearing him are almost nil, but she doesn’t want to tempt fate. 

Disconcerting noises continue for what seems like an indeterminable amount of time, until at last, the door slams and silence settles again. Emma strains to hear anything, but there is absolutely no sound at all. She should feel relieved, but she’s worried for her brother and his wife. What if they’ve been taken by the soldiers? If they have, will they become prisoners of the British army? Unbidden tears fill her eyes at the thought, and she forces herself not to think along those lines.

It is several minutes before she realizes she still has her hand over Killian’s mouth. She removes it and strokes his cheek, allowing herself to enjoy the prickling of his beard against her palm. 

She has no idea how much time passes until she hears the sounds of someone entering the house and her entire body tenses. If the soldiers have come back to search again and find the hidden cellar door, she and Killian are helpless and will without a doubt be captured…or killed. 

Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s afraid she’ll give them away, when she hears light tapping on the floor above them. Three knocks, followed by two and then two more in quick succession. She wants to hope, but what if it’s a trick? 

Then she hears Mary Margaret’s voice through the floorboards. “It’s me, Emma. They’re still on the property, so stay put.” 

They stay hidden in the cellar the rest of that day. Emma is eventually able to get Killian to eat and walk in small circles around the crates of vegetables, but most of their time is spent lying on the nest of quilts. In between fitful spurts of sleep, they have whispered conversations and cuddle together. Emma understands the danger they’re in, but she has to admit she doesn’t mind the time spent in Killian’s arms. 

Later in the evening, Mary Margaret brings down more food and water and tells them that David is pretty sure the soldiers are long gone, but as a precaution, recommends they stay in the cellar overnight since they could be waiting to see if there’s any movement from the house after dark. After her sister-in-law goes back upstairs, Emma lets tears of exhaustion and relief pour down her face as she buries it in Killian’s chest. 

*********

David and Leroy thoroughly inspect the property early the next morning to ensure the soldiers have moved on. Once they return to the house and give the all clear, the two men help Killian back up the steps. While Mary Margaret and Emma collect the blankets and begin making breakfast, David fills the metal bathtub and assists Killian into it. Being in the cellar all that time is surely detrimental to his recovery, and they want to drive the chill and dampness from his body with a long soak in hot water. 

Mary Margaret fills Emma in on the men who searched the house and barn as they fry eggs and slices of ham. “It seems they sent men more interested in finding something of value to steal, rather than finding the two of you, because they were looking in places where it would be impossible to hide - inside cupboards, behind the stove, in dresser drawers. If the situation hadn’t been so nerve wracking, I would have laughed at their blatant disregard for their mission.”

Emma manages a small smile, knowing if the British would have sent doggedly determined men like Colonel Sitwell and Sergeant Gold, she and Killian would surely have been discovered.

“It was our good fortune that they were more preoccupied with burglary, though,” Mary Margaret continues. “I do not think they realized that a house can have a cellar beneath it. As many times as they tramped across the kitchen floor, they did not notice the hollow sound of it.” 

“The search seemed to take an eternity and I do not think I breathed the entire time,” Emma states. 

“I was holding my breath, too. That is the closest call we have ever had.”

They are plating the food when David comes out of the bedroom, carrying a bucket of the bathwater. “Killian wants to join us in the kitchen for breakfast,” he informs them, before emptying the bucket outside. 

“He is feeling up to it?” Emma asks, a hint of worry in her voice. 

“He says he’s tired of being a bother to everyone. And yes,” he adds quickly when he sees Emma getting ready to object, “I assured him that is not true, but you know he is stubborn.” 

“Yes,” Emma agrees, “but his stubbornness is what kept him alive.” 

David nods with a grin and disappears into the bedroom again. Emma and Mary Margaret share a smile and finish putting the food on the table, eager for the four of them to be eating together again, just as they had so many other times.

On the eve before Killian left to infiltrate enemy lines, he shared a hearty meal with Mary Margaret, David and Emma. 

“We double checked the route Killian will take to try to find the British encampment,” David said between bites of his hash. “He should be able to follow the river almost the entire way.” 

Emma blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She had seen many spies off on missions, and had been sent herself, but this time was different. This time, it was the man she loved who was putting himself in danger. 

She felt his knee bump against hers under the table and knew he was well aware of her thoughts. He always seemed to be able to read her like an open book. Swallowing hard, she turned to look at him, valiantly forcing a smile onto her face. He returned it with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his beautiful, blue eyes. 

They finished their dinner, speaking of mundane topics to skirt around the issue that was weighing heavy on all of their minds. Afterwards, Mary Margaret waved away Emma’s offer to help clean the kitchen, and Emma knew it was because her sister-in-law understood her desire to have some time alone with Killian. 

The two of them walked outside, enjoying the evening’s cool respite after the heat of the mid-June day. 

“You plan to leave at daybreak?” Emma questioned, already knowing the answer. 

“Aye. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be able to come back to you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.” 

“Good,” she replied with a slight smile. 

They continued walking until they were on the back side of the barn, out of sight of the house. Killian turned and took both of Emma’s hands. “I will miss you, Love.” 

“Promise me you will be careful and will come back to me.” 

“I will try my best, but you know as well as I that what we do is dangerous. Extremely important, but dangerous.”

She nodded solemnly, casting her eyes down to the ground. After several moments, she looked back up at him. “If we do not receive any communication from you for more than a month, I will come looking for you.” 

“Emma…” 

“You know you would do the same for me,” she interrupted, before he could object.

“Of course I would, but we do not know exactly where I will be.” 

“It does not matter. Wherever it is, I will find you.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her cheek, damp with tears, to his chest. “I will always find you.” 

Returning her embrace, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Emma.” 

“I love you, too.” Turning her face up to his, she added, “We probably will not have any time to ourselves tomorrow morning, so I want to give you something now.” 

His brows rose in question. “What is it, Love?” 

“This,” she said, then pushed up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It was a tenderly sweet kiss, expressing all the love, fear and longing they shared, and neither wanted it to end. When it finally did, she pulled him close again. “Take that with you to remember that I am here, waiting for you.” 

The next morning after a quick breakfast, Killian mounted his horse, pressed his fingers to his lips and waved goodbye to her. She wouldn’t see him again for more than three long, agonizing months.

*********

Two mornings later, Emma opens her eyes and immediately rolls over to face Killian. His eyes are also open, and she can see that they appear clear, bright, rested and fever-free. 

She wastes no time throwing back the covers and getting off of the cot to go to his bedside. “Good morning, my love. You look like you feel better.” 

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he gives her a lopsided grin. “I do feel like I have re-entered the land of the living.” 

Emma sits on the side of the bed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes while releasing a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to wonder when you would decide to stop making us coddle you,” she teases, her heart lighter than it has been for as long as she can remember.

“Do you mean to tell me that by recovering, I will be giving up my chance to be coddled?” he asks, flopping back down onto his pillow. “Perhaps I haven’t thoroughly thought this through.” 

She leans over and boldly presses a kiss to his lips. “I believe there are better ways for me to pay attention to you, than by nursing you back to health,” she says, only pulling away far enough to look into his beloved cerulean eyes. 

“Do tell,” he grins, reaching up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger. 

A knock on the door interrupts their private moment, and Emma sighs for an entirely different reason. Killian finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “Best answer that, Love.” 

She nods in resignation, rising from his bed and grabbing her robe from the nail beside the door. Once she has cinched the belt around herself, she opens the door to find Mary Margaret on the other side. 

“How is the patient this morning?” 

“Much improved,” Killian answers for himself. 

Mary Margaret steps into the room to see for herself. “Oh Killian, you do look better!” 

“Back to my devilishly handsome self?” he cheeks. “After all, the bloody Brits pretty much knocked the handsome out of me.” 

“No army is that powerful,” Emma assures him, earning her a warm, loving smile. 

She knows he still has a long recovery ahead, but it relieves her to see that he finally appears to have turned the corner. 

*********

It takes several months for Killian to completely regain his strength and health. He stays with David and Mary Margaret during his recovery, so he and Emma are able to spend every day together while their relationship continues to deepen and flourish. 

One day, when Killian is almost fully recovered, he asks Emma to take a walk with him after the evening meal. She can tell that something is on his mind, and when she questions him about it, he turns to face her, gently clasping both of her hands. Then he slowly lowers himself to one knee and Emma gasps, realizing what he intends to do. 

Looking up into her beautiful face, he says, “Emma, I know that we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of - that I always, always want to be by your side. So…Emma Nolan, will you marry me?” 

“Oh, Killian,” she begins, tears already escaping her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, “you know how much I love you, but are you sure this is the right time? We still do not know when or how this conflict is going to end.”

“That is exactly why I think we should get married. I do not want to waste any of the time I could have as your husband, because we have no guarantee how many years we may have together. I love you, Emma, and I don’t want to wait any longer to marry you, but if you do not want…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupts firmly. “I am not saying I do not want to marry you, because I do, with every fiber of my being. I just do not know if we should take the time to plan a wedding, when there is still so much work to do for the cause.” 

“I understand how important our work is, but you are more important to me.”

Emma sinks to her knees and frames his face with her hands, scratching her nails lovingly through his beard. “And you to me, my love. You are right - we should not let what is happening around us dictate our lives. So yes, Killian, I will marry you and be the proudest and happiest woman alive.”

Killian huffs out a relieved breath and flashes her a dimpled grin, before dipping his head to claim her lips in a celebratory kiss. No one knew what the future held, but the newly engaged couple was sure that whatever it was, they would face it together. 

*********

The conflict, which becomes known as the Revolutionary War, will drag on for another six years. The spy ring organized and aided by David and Mary Margaret will operate until the end, providing important intel to the Continental army. After their close call, Emma and Killian won’t risk going behind enemy lines again, but continue to work tirelessly for the cause nonetheless. 

One evening, nearly a year after Killian’s capture, their daring escape, and his lengthy recuperation, he and Emma sit on the rickety wooden steps leading up to the back entry to David and Mary Margaret’s home. They watch the sun set with golden spangled light on the field and trees of this land for which they are fighting, and for which he nearly died, fingers twined together and Emma’s head lying on Killian’s shoulder. They are in the process of working with David to save the money to purchase a few acres next to he and Mary Margaret’s property, where they will build a home of their own, when the fighting is over, and hopefully the colonies are left to self-govern.

Emma sighs, in as near a state of perfect contentment as she can remember feeling in some time. There were many dark moments in the last months, and even years, and she knows better than to think the future will be perfect or easy. But the hope that feeds her, bolstered by the strength of their love, is a source of joy that she trusts will endure through any challenge. She might once have thought hope and true love fanciful notions from fairy tales rather than the stuff of real life. 

It’s true that people often speak of hope as if it’s this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whisper and spider’s web. She knows better though, after what they have been through. Hope is not fragile or fleeting. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go. But that’s the beauty of it; hope will always get up and start again.

Killian’s arm around her lends the warmth of any blanket as he draws her closer to his side, murmuring his love for her into the skin at her temple before placing a chaste kiss there as well. The fight may not yet be over, but that time will come. They will see the battle through and celebrate that day - a happy beginning - together.

*********

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[kyeomkuppie]

Damn it!

Pairing: Seungcheol x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, a little angsty

Synopsis: In which he cried in front of you for the first time.

"Cheol?"

Your boyfriend always yelled out "I'm home!" Whenever he was back from work, but today you just heard the sound of the door being slammed shut.

You go outside of your shared bedroom to check on him, only to find him sitting alone in the corner of the living room, crouched down and knees to his chest. His head rested on both of his knees and he didn't make a single sound which automatically sent a signal to your brain. Something is wrong.

"Cheol? Why are you there love?" He raised his head at the sound of your voice. You rushed to him and crouched down to meet his eye level.

He shook his head and exhaled sharply "jus' feeling under the weather." he murmured.

Now this was strange, no matter how upset he was he always came to you for cuddles and kisses to sooth his worries, but now he was all alone in a corner.

"What happened baby?" You carress his hair gently waiting for an answer.

"I had an argument with the members and I..." He sighed "Things got too heated and I said things I didn't mean." You could see the pain all over his face. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were poutier and strangely enough, his eyes were glossy.

"I screwed up and I-"

"I won't allow you to finish that sentence. Yes, you may have made a mistake, everyone makes them," you grabbed his face with both of your hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes "But even if you've made a thousand, I'm sure they'd know you didn't mean it, okay?"

His eyes kept getting glossier and his vision was becoming more unclear. "You're not only a great leader Cheollie, you're a great friend and I'm sure they know that and— I know you're stressed and everything is too much at the moment but I'm here for you. Always."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer to your chest. It was hard, really hard to try to hold it in especially when you warmly embraced him at a time he thought he was all alone.

"Don't you ever think of carrying your burdens alone again, hm?" Your eyes widenened as you felt hot tears staining your shirt.

It was the first time he has ever cried in front of you. Silence engulfed the room as you patted his back.

"Damn it!"

Hm? You didn't know why he was suddenly frustrated but all you wanted was to provide him the comfort you felt when you were with him every single moment.

"God this is so embarrassing." He sniffled "I didn't want to cry, especially in front of you."

"Let it all out love, it's never embarrassing to cry, hm?"

"God I love you too damn much." He hugged you even tighter, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[bvtbxtch]

Angry Heart | Eddie Munson x fem!reader (Prologue)

Summary: Your best friend Chrissy Cunningham always got everything she ever wanted, even you new friend and crush Eddie Munson. When Chrissy does the unthinkable, Eddie is left to pick up the pieces alone... or is he?

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson x Reader (eventually), reader and Chrissy are friends but have a fallout. Minimal usage of Y/N

Series warnings: MDNI 18 +, Smut, fluff and angst (everything all rolled into one beautiful shit show), mentions of drugs and alcohol being consumed, overall adult language and theme. By clicking the read more, you agree that you are over 18! Ageless and minor blogs who interact will be blocked.

Word count: ~4.7k

A/N: this story is the weird brainchild of me getting a little inebriated and remembering how my divorced parents met and I was inspired. This is my first fic ever and I know it is NOT GOOD, but feedback is always appreciated. This is just the prologue to set up some context for our characters. I have a rough plan as to where this story is going to go but I am so open to suggestions!! Thanks for reading y'all.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

September 1985

Chrissy Cunningham was always perfect. And it was even more annoying because she was pretty, popular and nice to everyone she made eye contact with. That is also why you had been best friends since junior high when you both joined the dance team. When high school hit, she projected herself into the popular group by revolving your high school experience around cheerleading and the popular girls, where you happily sacrificed some of your valuable reputation to pursue both cheer and drama club. Chrissy was always there even though you were seen as less desirable as the other girls on the team. Even if she was in the back row, she would always be at your productions and would happily cheer you on. 

Although she was your best friend, she scared you a lot. She was on the path to a scholarship to her dream school, to getting scooped up by some picture perfect person and getting married and having her dream job. She would stay hot and pretty and perfect forever and as you were approaching graduation, you often worried about what was next for you - terrified of peaking in high school and amounting to nothing. Worried about not finding your own group of people, your own scholarship, and your own path laid out neatly like Chrissy’s was.

Eddie Munson, however,  was the opposite of perfect. If Chrissy was a sparkling smooth personality, Eddie was a jagged edge that very few people appreciated. He was a repeat senior who dealt drugs to all of Hawkins’ youth and  was unapologetically apathetic to the restraints that were supposedly placed on the senior class of ‘86. So when he happily worked sound for the drama club in exchange for free rentals for his DND club, many drama kids turned their noses up at him; except for you. You happily sat next to him at your first drama club meeting. There was something magnetic about him. From that first time you met him, you were determined to get to know him better. Your intuitions told you that he was going to be more than a background character in your own story. 

Two friends from opposite circles, opposite ends of the spectrum. As you and Chrissy left the gym fussing over new uniforms and team drama, Eddie was on the other side of the school picking his lunch kit out of the garbage, nursing a new black eye; and a freshman on his left pacing a rut into the hallway.

“Last time I stick up for you, Henderson. I swear to god…you’re lucky I have extra shirts in the drama storage.” The metalhead mumbled. His dark curls pulled back into a low bun as he dug further into the garbage can. 

“How was I supposed to know that it was Jason behind me? I didn’t mean to fall into him!” Dustin pouted. Eddie had picked him off the floor after Jason Carver had poured his gatorade down his Hellfire shirt. Eddie would never admit it, but as much as he loved his precious club, he cared for his freshmen recruits more. Jason, being the captain of the basketball team, and therefore the resident asshole, gave Eddie the shiner for his troubles, and threw his stuff in the garbage as an extra favor. You rounded the corner with Chrissy as you saw the two boys, both looking worse for wear. 

“Hey Ed - Oh my god your face!” You gasped as he turned around after finally fishing his lunch kit out of the trash.

“You should see the other guy” Eddie chuckled, and winced

“What other guy?” When he does not respond to your question you turn to the freshman who looks like he has seen a ghost. 

“J-Jason Carver. Eddie was just trying to save my ass.” Dustin squeaked, his eyes glued to his sneakers.

“Come with me”. You grab his hand and lead him to the girls locker room. Chrissy hot on your trails. 

After investigating to ensure no one else was in the changeroom, you lock the door and sit Eddie down on a bench while you enter the small infirmary to retrieve the first aid kit. Chrissy keeps her distance, but sits down beside him and flashes him a polite smile. Eddie feels a pang in his heart as he feels his cheeks start to burn red. Chrissy lets out a small giggle.

“That’s really brave what you did for that kid” Chrissy praised. 

“Ahh, there is no way Henderson would be able to take on that meathead. I gotta take care of my minions.” 

Chrissy laughs again, almost too loud. As you pace back to the two of them, you feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and both of them look away, blushing furiously. You take a long sigh as you open the first aid kit to find the ice pack and a bandaid for the small cut that has formed on Eddie’s cheekbone. He winces while you stick the bandaid on and you gently place the ice pack over his eye. His brown eyes glued to Chrissy’s as you tended to him. Once you finished, you cleaned up and the three of you returned to the bustling hallways of Hawkins High.

“Thanks for the help sweetheart. I just wish this was a spiderman bandage or something.” Sweetheart.

“Don’t sweat it Eddie. I’ll see you in rehearsal later” you smiled. Chrissy eyed Eddie up and down as you said your goodbyes and Eddie turned around to go to his next class. 

“I never realized how much of a charmer Eddie Munson is,” Chrissy pondered. You felt a pit in your stomach. As much as you loved Chrissy, Eddie was your friend first. So many of your teammates had put Chrissy as a priority over you, and you always felt like a drifter between drama and cheer - seeing as you felt you didn’t totally feel like you belonged in either.. Eddie was finally a person that you thought was yours, something that Chrissy couldn’t influence, someone that finally didn’t care about your background or where you fit on the food chain. But, lo and behold, it seems that everyone falls under the high school spell and everything always seems to be too good to be true for you.

“Yeah, he’s a cool guy I guess. He does the sound for the drama club apparently he’s got a knack for music. Walked into him playing some Black Sabbath on the guitar in the drama room.” You tried to retort calmly, but your hands were trembling. 

“Black Sabb -?Hmph. I think that is going to give me yet another reason to go to the drama room… Since he seems to be good with his hands” Chrissy giggled and intertwined her arm with yours, leading you to your shared math class. 

“Chris, please don’t just play with this one, I do really like him. I think he could be a really good friend.” Friend.

“That’s totally fine! Nothing’s gonna happen. I guess I just realized how cute he was…Maybe I should ask him to come watch us at the next game, or hang out…afterwards” Chrissy winks at you

“You’d be better off setting up a deal with him” you poke. She giggles as you both take your seats. 

You could barely focus in math, mind racing about how much Chrissy and Eddie bothered you. Was it really just the idea of him and Chrissy being better friends than you? Or were you jealous? That’s ridiculous because you liked Eddie as a friend. Just a friend. Chrissy could go out with Eddie all she wants. You aren’t the boss of her - or him for that matter. Then why are you stuck on the way your heart fluttered when he called you sweetheart? Why were you constantly seeking him out in the hallways?

No. It can’t be. You’re just friends. 

October 1985

Your body was radiating with anxiety during afternoon rehearsals.The pit in your stomach had grown to a full ache in your chest whenever you heard Chrissy talk about Eddie. The more you taked with him, the more you wanted to reach out and touch him, to hug him and tell him that he was the greatest, most interesting person you had ever met. But again, everything seems way too good to be true because every time you hung out with Eddie, Chrissy seemed to make her way into conversation.

 Eddie was teaching a freshman how to use the new sound board and you could barely get out your lines. All you could think about is Eddie and Chrissy in the locker room. Your performances were so uninspired that Mr. Taylor ended your scene rehearsals early. Your scene partner Eric gave you an apologetic pat as you both reunited with the rest of the drama club. Eddie sauntered up behind you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. 

“How’s it going superstar?” He leaned his chin on the top of your head.

“Hey Eddie. I’m okay, trouble focusing today. I’m totally flubbing today.”

“Hey, so I had a question for you… about Chrissy”. You tensed up and broke away from him. You turned to face him but could not look him in the eyes.

“Umm, yeah what’s up?” There comes that ache you knew all too well. You could see it happening now, him finally choosing her over you. 

“Is she single? What’s the deal? Is she dating any basket boys I should be worried about?” He poked at you nervously. You tried to let a laugh escape to ease the tension but all that came out was an exasperated wince. 

“No, she’s single.. Do what you want Ed.” you mumbled. You could feel the tears threatening to well up. You brush past him and pick up your bag to head to the gym. Eddie’s eyes follow you out, but he couldn’t bring himself to go after you. What was your deal?

You trudged off the field after an exasperating practice after an exhausting rehearsal. You were so excited to leave this day in the past, grab some junk from the supermarket with Chrissy and hunker in for an evening of studying. In the locker room, Sarah and Tiffany giggle and look at you and Chrissy. 

“Hey Chris, we were wondering if you wanted to come to the mall with us right now. We were going to pick up some outfits for Halloween!” Tiffany briefly meets your gaze and looks back to Chrissy. 

“Yeah sure!” the blonde chirped “We would love to! Y/N and I were just going to-”

“Oh, well we only have room for one..” Sarah sneered. Chrissy looks at you with her beautiful brows furrowed into a perfect pout. You knew she wanted to go with them. You felt bad for making Chrissy sacrifice her social standing to hang out with you. You knew she wanted to go, but would never tell you. You decided to take the fall for her… the undesired yet again.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I got lots of homework to do anyways” you brushed off. “I’ll call you later Chris.”

“I’ll come over after!” Chrissy lazily offered as you packed your bag up and left the locker room.

You left with holes in your heart. All you wanted was your people to stay yours. You didn’t understand why that was so difficult.

The shrill ring of your landline woke you from your desk - having fallen asleep while finishing homework. You flopped onto your bed and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” You yawned.

“Babe, I have to tell you about my evening!!” Chrissy squealed, she barely let you greet her.

“Oh, you mean the evening you were supposed to spend with me studying?” you jabbed. You felt bad for taking your insecurities out on Chrissy, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Oh come on now. This will make up for it.”

“Alright get on with it then.” You rolled your eyes and rolled on to your back.

“So you will never believe who me, Tiffany and Sarah ran into at the mall!”

“Ummm… John Cusak” You joked dryly. 

“No you silly! Eddie!” Chrissy yelped. “And do I have news for you!!”

You jolted up and immediately gave the call your full attention. This could not end well - either for Eddie or you.

“Sarah and Tiffany let you talk to Eddie in public?” you snorted. The insecurity seeping through the receiver.

“Well, kind of. We joked that the party next week would be best with something other than just the alcohol if you know what I mean” you could practically hear Chrissy’s eyebrows wagging. “So they dared me to go set up a deal with him… and I could see him practically drooling over me! I think he might like me, babe. And I think that I really like the fact that he does” she giggles maliciously. Attention. As kind and beautiful as Chrissy was, she was used to the attention, she thrived off of it. It worried you, the fact that there were hordes of guys that had been left in her wake so she could have an ego boost or something to do on a Friday night. 

“Chris, are you sure that’s, like, a good idea? What if you really hurt him?”

“Oh come on, Y/N, its just a bit of fun. Nothing serious! So anyways, I went over to his trailer about an hour ago and he asked for my number! Ugh!” Your excitement wasn’t reciprocated like Chrissy had hoped. Her squeals being the only ones that echoed between the two of you.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you excited?” Chrissy questioned. 

“I just - you’re both my friends, I just don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Ugh you worry way too much. It’s just some harmless fun! Loosen up, maybe then you could get some dates yourself!” she chided. You knew she was joking but it was the last blow to your breaking heart “ Anyways, I gotta get off the line just in case he tries to call! Love you!” with that you hear a click and the dead line. You sigh as you put your phone back on the receiver and flop back down onto your pillows.

You always hated halloween. It was an excuse for anyone your age to dress up in some sort of sexy reiteration of some sort of animal or cartoon character and to get sloppy drunk in someone’s trashed house, unbeknownst to their absent parents. That is exactly where you found yourself; Chrissy on one side of the couch, Tiffany on the other, you smooshed in the middle (as per Chrissy’s request)  and half of the basketball and cheer team sat in a messy circle on the floor. How you got yourself roped into spin the bottle, you would never know, but your makeshift devil horns were giving you a headache and as much as you loathed blacking out in random people’s houses, you were nursing your fourth drink of the night (and were definitely feeling the buzz). Between the noise of people talking over each other, the blaring music, and Chrissy constantly blabbing about how much time she and Eddie have been spending together, you felt like your brain was going to explode. The only option that you really saw for the evening was to forget all about it like half of the Hawkins High population at the party. 

Jason grabbed the empty bottle in the middle of the circle and spun it with vigor. Everyone waited in anticipation to see who would be the lucky girl to get to kiss the king of Hawkins high. The room fell hushed as you looked at the bottle, which was pointing directly at you. You immediately felt like you were going to throw up. Since that day in the hallway with Eddie, you always held some animosity for Jason. The last thing you wanted to do was kiss the guy who went after one of your other best friends. Jason chuckled and elbowed his minions on either side of him, all of them snickering deviously. He stood from his spot and stalked across the circle towards you. You chuckled nervously and went to get out of your spot on the couch. 

“Hah, don’t mean to kill the vibe, but suddenly I don’t really feel like playing anymore.” You push yourself off the couch and go to step over some people sitting on the floor but Jason grabbed your wrist. Hard. You felt the world spinning around you, unsure if it was your sudden anxiety, or the alcohol. You could hear the faint whispers of Chrissy and Tiffany behind you, and you were suddenly aware of the 20 pairs of eyes locked on you. You tried to pull away from him with no avail.

“Come on, don’t be a prude. Let me give you the best kiss of your life, seeing as the only person you’ve boned is the freak” He pulled you into his chest and held your face in his hands. He pressed his mouth to yours, trying to weasel his tongue inside your pressed lips. You finally got the strength to push him away with a cry in disgust. You wanted to slap him but your bones now felt like jello and your feet cemented to the floor.

“She hasn’t boned the freak! She hasn’t boned anyone!” Chrissy laughed, not realizing that her retort did more harm than good. You wished the ground would swallow you whole. Finally, you muster your strength to move. You didn’t want any of these assholes to see you cry, to give them the satisfaction.

“Thanks, Chris” you whisper before running out of the room and up the stairs to the crowded living room. You were desperate for some air. Everything around you felt like it was constricting you, choking you. All you could hear was laughter and your vision felt like it was pinholing. You slide out of the front door to sit on the steps. You breathe deeply, looking around to make sure that there was no one around before you let your tears fall.

Chrissy made an attempt to go after you. After rolling her eyes and giving Tiffany a tight smile, she lifter herself off of the couch and pranced up the stairs to the rest of the party. She looked around the scatterings of people, but didn’t see you. She slid her way through the hallway into the kitchen, where her eyes found someone else she had been casually looking for all evening. She stumbled towards a mop of chocolate curls and wrapped her arms around him, hands covering his eyes.

“Guess who?” she slurred. 

“Hey pretty girl.” Eddie turned to her to give her a proper embrace but quickly took a step back. “Don’t know if you want to be seen doing that to me right now” he chuckled nervously. Eddie understood what being seen with him meant and as little as he cared for his own reputation, he cared greatly for hers

. Chrissy looked him up and down and fully realized the metal head’s beauty. Pale skin kissed with dark ink, beautiful brown eyes that shone - especially when he talked to her, lean figure and crooked smile. She felt like her brain was going to short circuit.

“You’re right” Chrissy cooed. “Maybe we should go somewhere a little more private so we could talk” She took his hand and led him up the stairs to a quiet hallway full of closed doors. They rounded a corner and they sank down the wall to sit on the floor, Chrissy totally forgetting about her mission to find you and Eddie being blissfully ignorant to your conundrum.

You had collected yourself and knew there was no way you could stay at the party. As much as you loathed going back into the chaos and as angry as you were at Chrissy, you couldn’t allow yourself without letting her know that you were leaving and how angry you were. When reentered the house, the first faces you were met with were Jason and his posse of meatheads. You averted your gaze but heard their snickers anyway. You refused to give him the satisfaction or the tears, so you kept moving, keeping your eyes glued to the linoleum. The tightness of your chest multiplied with the number of rooms you checked where you did not see a perky blonde ponytail. You needed to find Chrissy; you needed to give her a piece of your mind; you needed to leave. But everything was deafening. Things were getting fuzzy.  Determined to get a grip and find your friend, you trot up to the top floor of the house, in search of a quiet place to collect yourself. You were met with a long hallway full of closed doors. You continue down the hallway, checking doors to see if you could find a bathroom. When you round the corner of the dim upstairs, your breath gets caught in your throat.  You see Eddie sitting on the floor, Chrissy in his lap, their mouths messily mashed together. Everything came tumbling down. The combination of alcohol and shock makes you wrack out a gasp of air. Both Eddie and Chrissy looked up but with very different expressions. Chrissy looked almost proud of her conquest, ignorant to the hurt you were already feeling towards her. Eddie, on the other hand, looked mortified - turning a bright red. The look of betrayal was clear across your own face as tears threatened to fall again. 

“Im - I’m going to go.” you don’t wait for either of them to get up. Eddie pushes Chrissy to her feet and gets up to go after you. Chrissy grabs his arm

“Eddie, wait!”

“Chrissy, I am so incredibly sorry, but I need to go make sure she’s okay” He goes to move away from her but she stops him again and pulls him in for a chaste kiss.

“Please don’t let this be the last time we do this” she whispers into his ear and drops his hand. Eddie turns a bright pink and leaves her with a smile.

You trudge through the house, tunnel vision honing in on the front door. The urge to vomit increased tenfold. Eddie catches up to you. You hear him calling out for you but you can’t turn back. Too embarrassed and heart broken (and drunk) to be able to handle what you saw in an unfamiliar place, in front of strangers nonetheless. You swung open the front door and ran down the front steps. Eddie trudges after you, clearly upset about what you had seen. There was no way he was going to let this get between the two of you. 

“Y/N Wait” He sounds desperate. You turn to him and roll your eyes. 

“What? Is it not what it looks like?” you laugh dryly. “You don’t need to explain anything to me, I’m going home.” You turn to leave. You couldn’t take another person pitying you. You understood where you were on the food chain. Yet another person to think of you as second best to Chrissy.

“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t walk by yourself this late at night.” Eddie chides. The alcohol had finally given you the bravery you had been needing for the past hour. 

“Don’t do that. Don’t sweetheart me when you are literally going to go back inside and suck face with my best friend. Just - go. Enjoy the rest of your night Eddie. I’ll be just fine.” The tears freely falling down your cheeks didn’t convince him. He takes a step towards you but you turn to walk away,

“Why are you so angry with me about Chrissy? I thought I didn’t need to explain anything to you, but you seem really fucking mad at me”. Eddie’s words stop you dead in your tracks. He’s angry? With you? Instead of actual vomit, the words that come out of your mouth leave uncontrollably.

“She doesn’t like you Eddie. She likes the attention. She doesn’t like you like I do. She doesn’t care about you like you deserve to be cared about. And she likes the fact that I care about you way too much. Chrissy has to have everything. I can’t have anything to myself, but yet again no one gives a shit about me, about how I feel. How much I care because as long as Chrissy is there, she will always be number one. You are just  another conquest for her and ,and she is just using you” You stand your ground, chest heaving. There is a sense of relief that you stood your ground but you immediately knew you said to much.

“E-Eddie, wair-”

“You think that I don’t know that she’s using me?”

“What?”

“Look, Y/N I am really really sorry that you care about me and I am really sorry that you feel that way about Chrissy. But I really like her. So I’m cool if she thinks that she wants to have some fun for now. I’ll let her as long as she’ll have me. Just -  please stop caring about me, sweetheart. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I want to be your friend but, fuck -I might be in love with Chrissy. I think I have been for a long time, but just finally let myself feel it..”

You stood in shock. Your heart shattered to a million pieces. Eddie’s did too. He loved having you as a friend and he loved having you in his life, but he couldn’t imagine kissing you like he did Chrissy, taking you on dates like he wanted to with Chrissy, going to prom like he wished he would with Chrissy. Not you. 

“Forget we ever had this conversation”. You turned on your heels and walked away. Hoping that Eddie would stop you and tell you that this was all a joke, that you were worth it, that you were his favorite and that he felt the same way about you. And even though being Chrissy’s friend was draining a lot of the time, you did  always have her. But everything changed in one night. This is the first night that you have ever felt completely  alone. You crossed your arms over your torso and started your walk home.

The next days and weeks went on as normal. Eddie seemingly didn’t tell Chrissy about your conversation because the phone calls never ceased. She still met you by your locker and she still intertwined her arm with yours when you walked. Eddie's gaze was aimed more at Chrissy and nights where you and Eddie normally hung out were now filled with secret rendezvous with the blonde. Although he still acted like your old Eddie, you felt a coldness from him. His smile never seemed genuinely happy and his eyes stopped glowing when he saw you. You kept quiet in efforts not to lose your only true friends at the school, but your shattered heart was refractured after every phone call you got from Chrissy, every detail you heard about their meetups or how soft his hands were or how great his kisses were.. You felt like you were crashing and burning but you kept up your facade to ensure you could salvage your fractured friendship, and every time you hung up your phone, you curled into your pillow and cried because although things were seemingly as they were supposed to be, you had never felt so out of place and isolated in your life.

You were waiting for Chrissy to come over, books sprawled across your kitchen table in anticipation for your study session for your semester finals. She was over an hour late.You sighed as you pulled out your flashcards and started to review in an attempt to salvage the time you had already wasted. You were interrupted by your phone ringing. 

“Hello?”

“Babe oh my god I am so sorry I am running behind but you are never going to guess what happened!!” 

“What’s that Chris?”

“Eddie Asked me to be his girlfriend!!”

Part 1 when?

[valka-arialitan]

Here's that, as a kind reminder for people to BE GENTLE TO KAIDAN.

I saw the ''Wolverine or Kaidan ; who's the best canadian'' poll on tumblr, and had the SHITTIEST idea to go trough the reblogs tags and HOLY SHIT PEOPLE NEED TO FUCKING CHILL ???

Like basically, people voting for Kaidan were like ''sorry Logan, but Kaidan is my sweet baby boy </3'' while people voting for Wolverine were literally shitting on Kaidan and his fans and MAN ?? I DID NOT LIKE SEEING THAT.

-------------------------------------

And in the middle of drawing this I thought that I absolutely had to make that second part.

Shepard is in his ''emotional battery'' recharge phase.

[yaniiiiism]

hold my hand. -k.sm 💌

❀┆pairing : kim seungmin x fem!reader ͏ ❀┆ info : oneshot / twoshot ?? , a lot of fluff , and a lot of 'apparent' unrequited love (im sorry) , happy ending , cutesy , uni love , feelings and angst , short ! ❀┆ personas + bg : uni students ; dormmates w benefits ❀┆ word count : ❀┆warnings : cute and dread but dw happy ending yall notes at the end !!

✿　　　　( ˶ᵔ ᵔ) ♡　　　　˚　　　　☒

happy seungmo day !

♥︎ ! now, we share the same dream called, 'us'.

The night was thick with the kind of silence that made every little sound feel magnified. The rustling of her sheets, the faint crack of his breathing, even the soft creaks of the bed beneath her felt louder than the thoughts swirling around in her restless head.

She turned over again for what felt like the hundredth time, face buried in her pillow as she tried to will herself to fall asleep. 

But her mind was wide awake, racing in that frustrating way it did sometimes, hopping from one thought to the next with no intention of slowing down. The warmth from the body beside her, instead of comforting you into rest, only added to your awareness. 

He lay still, his back rising and falling gently in rhythm. His arm, usually flung over her waist, had fallen away sometime in the night, giving her space, but her squirming was testing the limits of even his patience.

A loud sigh slipped out, unintentional but filled with the kind of frustration she only felt when she’s tired, and can't do anything about it.

She felt movement before she heard him, the mattress dipping slightly as he shifted beside her. “Y/n,” he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, dripping with sleep. "What are you doing?"

Startled, she froze. She hadn't meant to wake him. 

He really didn’t wake easily, so the fact that he was up meant she’d been tossing and turning for a while.

"Sorry," she muttered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over her as she turned on her side to face him. The dim light filtering through the window barely illuminated his face, but she could make out the mess of his hair and the way his eyes, barely open, squinted in her direction.

"Seriously," he continued, rubbing his hand over his face before letting it drop lazily on his bare chest, his voice thick with sleep. "Why are you moving so much?"

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, biting her lip. "I can't sleep," she admitted quietly. 

It was a stupid response, one that obviously didn’t explain why she was writhing like a fish out of water, but it was the truth. She just couldn’t sleep.

He blinked at her, clearly processing her words through his sleepy haze. 

Then, to her surprise, he shifted closer to her. His arm reached out, wrapping lazily around her waist, over the thin, black camisole she wore, as he tugged her towards him, pulling her into the familiar space against his chest.

"Then just stop moving," he murmured, his voice muffled by her hair as his lips brushed against the top of her head. 

He wasn’t fully awake, that was clear. 

This was Seungmin in his most unfiltered state, without the usual layers of sarcasm or that teasing grin he wore during the day. 

This was him in a space where he let her in more than either of them were willing to admit out loud.

His body was warm, radiating heat in a way that made her immediately feel guilty for disturbing him. His fingers, though a little clumsy with sleep, rubbed slow, lazy circles against her back.

The motion was surprisingly soothing. She let out a long breath, slowly sinking into him as her muscles began to relax.

"You’re restless," He murmured after a few seconds, his hand still moving against her back in that gentle way, keeping her anchored against him. His lips brushed the top of her head again, a ghost of a kiss that she wasn’t sure he even knew he gave. 

"Always overthinking."

She felt her chest tighten at his words. He knew her too well. And maybe that was why it was so terrifying—the way he could see through her, even in his half-asleep state. 

But at the same time, it was why she kept coming back, why she never left his bed after nights like these. He knew her, and despite that, he stayed.

"I’m not overthinking," She mumbled, but the words lacked conviction. He let out a small scoff that vibrated against her forehead, assuring her that he was definitely conscious yet sleepy. Cute. 

"Sure," he muttered, but his tone was softer now, less teasing, more understanding. His hand slid from her back to beneath her the fabric that hugged her waist, fingers tracing mindless patterns across her skin.

"Just... try to sleep."

"That’s exactly what i’ve been doing for the past—"

"Shush."

At his lazy voice and his hand slowly prompting her figure, she nestled deeper into him, her body naturally curling against his, her cheek resting against his collarbone. 

He smelled like the faint traces of his vanilla scented cologne mixed with warmth—Seungmin’s warmth, something uniquely his that made her eyelids feel heavier.

"Close your eyes, and don’t focus on anything other than sleeping."

"I’ll sleep if you stop talking,"

He let out a quiet, annoyed breath, his grip on her waist tightening just a fraction, pulling her closer to him. 

"You’ll sleep," he replied simply, his voice now barely above a whisper.

His body was comfortable, solid against hers, and his steady breathing began to lull her in ways her own mind couldn’t. 

The itch to move, to toss and turn, slowly began to fade as his fingers danced across her clothed waist, occasionally slipping under the hem of the same camisole once again to skim her skin.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, caught in a limbo between wakefulness and sleep, with his heartbeat beneath her ear acting as her lullaby. 

But eventually, the weight of the day began to catch up with her.

Just as she was on the cusp of sleep, she felt his lips brush against her forehead, barely there, like a secret.

"Sleep well," he whispered, so soft that she almost missed it.

"Night, Seung.." She whispered back, letting herself finally fall into sleep, comforted by the fact that, for now, things were exactly how they were supposed to be.

No nonchalance. No heavy talks.

Just the quiet, unspoken connection that somehow made it all make sense.

— next morning. 

The first thing she noticed was the cold.

It wasn’t the kind of cold that came from a draughty window or a forgotten blanket. 

Not really. 

No, this was the absence of warmth—the absence of him. 

Her body, once cocooned in his embrace, now lay exposed to the chill of the early morning air. 

She blinked her eyes open slowly, the sunlight beginning to creep through the half open curtains, painting the room in soft shades of orange and gold.

But his warmth? Gone. Just like always.

With a heavy sigh, she turned her head toward the empty space beside her, the sheets already cooling where his body had been only a few hours before. 

The faintest outline of his presence was still visible—a wrinkle in the bedding, the faintest impression of his form in the pillow. 

But Seungmin? He was long gone.

It had become a routine by now, one she was all too familiar with. No matter how late the night before — no matter how close their bodies were tangled up in each other, or how intimate the way he held her — he always left before she woke. 

Sometimes, she’d wake in the middle of the night, find him still there, his arms snug around her waist, his breath soft against her hair. But by morning? Always gone.

She stretched out a hand, her fingers brushing against the cold pillow where his head had been, and a familiar pang of emptiness settled in her chest. 

It wasn’t like she expected anything different. This was their agreement, after all — being friends with benefits, emphasis on the “friends” part. 

No strings attached. No feelings to complicate things.

Just two music majors, as close as dorm-mates, fulfilling their hollow desires. 

Or at least, that’s what they kept telling themselves.

With a groan, the girl pulled herself up into a sitting position, running a hand through her messy hair as she stared at the empty side of the bed for a moment longer. 

The apartment was quiet, the early morning stillness only punctuated by the faint sound of birds chirping outside the window. If she strained her ears, she could probably hear him in the kitchen, going about his morning routine like nothing had happened. 

Like they hadn’t spent half the night wrapped up in each other’s arms, skin pressed to skin, whispered breaths filling the silence between them.

Pushing the thought aside, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, the cool floor beneath her feet sending a brief shiver up her spine. 

She grabbed her robe from the back of the door and wrapped it around herself, over her camisole, tying the belt with a quick knot before stepping out of her bedroom.

As expected, he was already in the kitchen.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the small apartment, mingling with the sound of soft clinking dishes. He stood at the stove, back turned to her as he focused on whatever breakfast he was making. 

His hair was still slightly tousled, sticking up in a few places from sleep, but otherwise, he looked like his usual self — calm, collected, completely unfazed by the night before.

Yet, adorable. Enough for her to fold over. 

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, his usual morning attire, and he moved around the kitchen with an easy grace, like he belonged there. 

Like this was just another normal day.

Because to him, it was.

Or, at least that’s what she assumed. 

She sighed, pushing the door of his room open a little wider as she stepped out of it, walking to the kitchen. 

"Morning," she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

Seungmin glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable as always, yet he gave her a tiny smile, which she knew was genuine. 

"Morning, insomniac." he replied, as if he hadn’t left the bed they shared, just an hour ago.

She made her way to the counter, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee from the pot he had brewed, a small smile tugging her lips at his reply. 

She leaned against the kitchen counter, her fingers wrapped around the warm mug of coffee. She took a small sip, letting the heat spread through her as she watched the guy move around the kitchen with his usual quiet efficiency. 

But as she took another sip of her coffee, she couldn’t help but feel the growing weight of those unspoken feelings, the ones that clung to her chest like a secret she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She glanced at him again, the way his hair was still a little messy, the way he absentmindedly hummed under his breath as he cooked. Her chest fluttered, just a bit, at the sight.

“Slept well, did you?” 

His voice broke through her thoughts, casual as ever, but there was a softness to it – obviously since he already knew the answer, a smirk tugging the corner of his lips.

She shrugged, setting her mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “Surprisingly,”

He didn’t respond right away. He flipped the eggs with practised ease before turning off the stove, and when he turned around to face her, there was something unreadable in his eyes. His usual teasing smirk was absent, replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful.

She was sitting on the chair, fingers idly tracing the hem of the mug, gaze right on it but mind elsewhere.

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them heavy with all the things they never said. 

The guy’s heart did that stupid thing again where it skipped a beat whenever she seemed like that – he could see straight through her.

Her baby hair framing her face, the sunlight bouncing off of the curves of her head. Pretty, black, eyes concentrated on the green mug, carrying the same depth they always did, and he would oh so fondly dive into them.

“Coffee too strong?” he asked, breaking the silence as he moved to pour himself a cup.

She let out a small breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “It’s fine, just kinda tired,” she chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling suddenly exposed under his gaze. 

“How.. about you? Sleep well?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “Slept fine until someone decided to practise gymnastics at 3 am.”

His words were teasing, but his voice was gentle, and for some reason, that made her heart skip a beat again. 

She awkwardly smiled, scratching her arm, a habit she grew familiar with, and he knew it quite well.

“I’m sorry, I was– warm, okay?”

He chuckled, “Warm, and sleep-deprived but lost in thought? Yeah, I know,” he replied softly, his eyes lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary before he looked away, focusing on his coffee instead.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He always knew. Even when she didn’t say anything, even when she tried to brush it off, he always knew.

She hated that about him. And she loved it too.

“Thanks.” She suddenly murmured, “I mean, for uh, h-helping me sleep. Last night.”

He smiled, this time, softer than ever. “It’s nothing. At least you had a good sleep after.. I don't know, weeks?” 

“It wasn’t that long!”

He shot her a look that she knew too well.

“Okay maybe it was. But that doesn’t matter for now,”

The corners of his lips curled up at her indignant reply, but he didn’t press further, simply shaking his head as he took another sip of his coffee. 

His eyes flicked back to her, soft and observing, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in the simplicity of the scene – the quiet morning, the soft golden light filtering through the windows, and her, sitting at the counter, her sleepy, tousled appearance making her look unfairly adorable.

For a while, they just stayed like that, bantering and sipping their coffee, the easy silence between them filling the room. 

It wasn’t awkward. It was never awkward with him. 

That was part of the reason she kept coming back to this – whatever this was. It was easy. Comfortable. 

But lately, that comfort had started to come with a twist – a knot of feelings tangled somewhere deep in her chest that she wasn’t quite sure what to do with.

His eyes were still on her, his teasing grin fading into something more thoughtful as the quiet stretched between them.

“You’re doing that.. thing again,” he said suddenly, voice low.

She blinked, tilting her head. “What thing?”

“The thinking thing. The kind that keeps you up all night.”

She felt her cheeks flush slightly and quickly looked away, pretending to focus on her coffee instead. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in, his voice soft but firm. He set his mug down on the counter and took a few steps closer, stopping just a foot away from her. 

“You get this look when you’re overthinking. Your eyebrows scrunch up, and you kind of space out, like you’re solving the world’s most complicated puzzle.”

Her lips parted slightly, caught off guard by how easily he read her. “So you stare, hm?” She grinned, trying to lift away the tension.

She didn’t know what to say, so she just stared down at her coffee, feeling a little too exposed under his knowing gaze.

“It’s kinda hard not to.” He replied a minute later, the same expression on his face.

“Well, I’m not always thinking about something.. deep.” she mumbled, but the protest was weak, and she knew it. “It’s just about uni, and other stuff, nothing to worry about.” She shrugged.

Seungmin just chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that made her chest flutter. “Sure,” he teased lightly, but then his voice softened. “Look, if something’s bothering you—”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” she interrupted quickly, her gaze flicking back to him, trying to muster a convincing smile. “I’m fine.”

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You know, for someone who’s known me this long, you’re terrible at lying.”

She let out an exaggerated groan, sinking further into her chair as she covered her face with her hands. “You’re so annoying,” she muttered, but there was no real heat behind her words.

“I try my best,” he quipped, the smirk back in full force. But then his expression softened again, and after a beat, he reached out, his hand ruffling her hair gently. “But seriously, Y/n. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

She peeked out from between her fingers, surprised by the sudden contact. His hand was warm, his touch soft and uncharacteristically gentle. She wasn’t used to this side of him—the one that was careful with her, the one that wasn’t constantly teasing or sarcastic. It made her chest tighten in a way that was both terrifying and comforting.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice small.

He gave a small nod and pulled his hand back, leaning against the counter again like nothing had happened. “Good.”

The room felt warmer now, despite the cool morning air seeping through the windows. Her heart was beating a little faster, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of his touch or the way his gaze lingered on her for just a second too long.

She cleared her throat, desperate to break the tension that was creeping in. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual. “What’s for breakfast?”

– almost 5 minutes later.

“You know,” she spoke, her voice casual now. “You’re really good at this.” She took a bite of the toasted bread, looking at him.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, flipping the last omelette, eyebrow raised. “Good at what? Making breakfast?”

“What? No,” she said, shaking her head with her eyes judging him. “Why do you think I don’t let you make lunch or dinner? I don’t want to be fined because someone blew up the oven.”

“Hey, I'm not that bad,” He glanced her way, defending himself. “I’m literally making breakfast right now.”

“You’ve cooked the same eggs or burnt pancakes for breakfast for almost 4 weeks in a row, Seungmin.” She rolled her eyes, speaking again. “But, what I meant was.. you’re good at comforting me.”

For a second, the air between them shifted, the teasing banter falling away as her words hung in the space between them. He turned fully to face her now, his expression softening as he met her gaze.

“Well,” he said slowly, his voice soft, “you make it pretty easy.”

Her heart did that stupid fluttering thing again, and she quickly averted her gaze, suddenly feeling shy under his intense stare. “You’re such a sap,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the usual bite.

He chuckled, his smile reaching his eyes as he turned back to the food, finishing plating the eggs and toast for himself. “Maybe,” he admitted, sliding on the chair beside her. “But only for you.”

She blinked, silently, as her heart skipped a beat at his words. She stared at him, but he didn’t seem fazed by what he’d just said, casually sitting down across from her and taking a bite of his toast like he hadn’t just made her entire world tilt on its axis.

Oh, but little did she know, he was as surprised as her at those words leaving his mouth. The fluttering feeling inside his heart, the way she was looking at him, when he tried so hard to act nonchalant.

She picked up her fork, her hands suddenly feeling clumsy as she poked at her food.

⠀⠀𓄳 ֹ ͏   ⊹   𓎆⠀.   𓂅  ֹ ͏⠀◯

a/n ♡︎

OMGGGG happy birthday to the love of my life my baby seungminieneeiensiseesn I STILL HAVENT COMPLETED LIX FIC. I AM SO SORRY YALL ILL POST WHEN I CAN 😞😞😞😞 exams start tmr kms this is a twoshot btw. so wait patiently for the final part tysmmm <3 plz reblog/comment/like if u like my fics <33 made another spam acc for skz @loveforseung ALSO I HAVE AO3 !! user's same as @loveforseung go follow !! making a masterlist for all of my posts, plz lmk if u wanna be a part of it ! <3 have a good day ~ – love, yani ♥︎

[alxtiny]

Ad Astra per Aspera

Episode 3

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: food, self deprecating thoughts

Notes: sort of filler chapter i guess? Character profiles are updated a lil btw :D

Playlist : SOS by Kang Daniel | Pirates by Xdinary Heroes | Animal Farm by BIBI

Series Masterlist | Episode 4 | Episode 2 | Bonus!

Of course, peace was never an option.

You were rudely jolted awake by the sound of a door slamming—again. Your body jerked so violently that you nearly fell off your bed, barely catching yourself on the edge. The thumping in your chest was a mix of lingering exhaustion and sheer irritation. You had almost landed yourself a third visit to the doctor, which was something you wished to avoid after what happened the before.

“What the hell do you want?" you snarled, sitting up with a scowl, blinking against the dim light of the room.

Leaning casually in the doorway was the same infuriating man from earlier. He wore his usual cocky smirk, the kind that made you want to throw something sharp or heavy at him. “Several things, sweetheart, but I’m afraid you won’t like some of the answers," he drawled, his eyes looking you up and down with amusement.

You threw him a scandalised look, crossing your arms over your chest. "Don’t call me that," you snapped, glaring daggers at him. Your attitude only seemed to amuse him more as he chuckled.

“Alright, alright," he raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning like a stupid cat. "I’ll tell you the real reason I’m here. The captain needs you again—something about getting us out of here. He said we’re through the darkest parts of the cave, and the light’s slowly coming back.”

You groggily glanced at your wristwatch, confirming that about two hours had passed since you’d last checked. If the captain was right, you were nearly through the treacherous part of the cave and would soon be back in open waters. The thought gave you just the slightest bit of relief.

“Take me to him. We have much to discuss,” you said, standing up and brushing the sleep from your eyes.

“Mmm, much to discuss, huh?” he teased, a sly look on his face.

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “It’s navigation stuff, don’t make it sound like that! And who even are you to question it? Don’t you have a job to do?”

A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Ah, of course. You don’t know me yet.” He straightened up dramatically, as if preparing for an introduction on stage. “Jung Wooyoung, lookout extraordinaire and your new favourite person. Pleased to meet you." He extended a hand to you.

You scoffed, swatting his hand away. "Favorite? In your dreams, Wooyoung."

Unfazed, he continued, “Also, I do have a job, but right now there’s absolutely nothing to look out for in this cave, so I decided to come here and annoy you.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes yet again as he grinned wider. "Great," you muttered sarcastically, already regretting your decision to ask him anything. Now that you knew his name, though, you were definitely adding him to your nightly list of people to curse.

As you both walked toward the main deck, you noticed something off about Wooyoung. In the dim, flickering light of the corridor, his presence seemed… shadowy, almost as if he wasn’t fully there. You kept glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, but it was hard to tell if it was just the darkness playing tricks on you.

He stayed silent for once, which was even more disturbing than his usual cheeky remarks. Occasionally, he whistled quietly under his breath, but the quiet of the cave made the sound echo strangely around you.

Finally, you reached the deck, and there was Captain Hongjoong—still wearing his damn sunglasses even though darkness enveloped the entire cave. He stood completely still, even with the rocking of the ship, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out toward the dimly glowing exit of the cave.

You stepped up beside him, unsure whether to interrupt his thoughts. “Captain,” you finally mumbled.

He turned slightly, just enough to glance at you from behind his sunglasses. “You’ve rested,” he stated more than asked.

“Not really,” you replied, loosening up a little, “but I hear we’re almost through. I’ve come to discuss our next course of action.”

“Good,” Hongjoong replied, nodding. “We’re almost at the exit, and I want you to confirm our path as soon as we’re out of the cave. I’ll not have any more surprises. Not today.”

You glanced back at the looming cave walls, the jagged rocks jutting out as the ship slowly stirred forward. If you had estimated correctly, you’d make it through soon—hopefully without the ship scraping against the sharp edges.

“Once we’re in open waters again, we’ll head for the eastern port towns. But after we dock, there’s another matter I need you to assist with, something a little different than what your job entails” Hongjoong said plainly.

“What matter?” you asked warily.

He waved you off, “All in good time, navigator. For now, let’s focus on getting through.”

Before you could question him further, he turned away, dismissing you. Typical. The man was near impossible to read, always playing out his cards carefully.

With a sigh, you nodded and made your way toward the main deck, tired of all the cryptic talk. Beside you, Wooyoung offered a lazy grin, his earlier silence breaking. You had almost forgotten he was there, almost. "So, what do you think? Captain’s got another fun surprise lined up for us?"

"Probably something that might get us killed or worse," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Wouldn’t be a normal day without it," he chuckled.

You stared at him in shock. "Wait, what? This kind of stuff happens every day!?"

He tipped his head back. "Every. Single. Day. You’ve not seen the worst of it yet" he said, cackling as he sauntered away, leaving you standing there, mouth agape.

Before you could even process what he'd said, a gentle but rough hand came out of nowhere and closed your mouth for you. Startled, you whipped around, hair flying out and smacking the person behind you, who groaned in response.

"Ow, that hurt," the deep voice groaned. It was that tall beefy man with the baby face, the one with the figet dagger. You hadn’t really seen him in a while, and now, here he was, standing right behind you.

"Why are you here?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.

"Captain sent me to train you," he said matter-of-factly.

Your brow furrowed. "Train me for what?"

He just smirked and without another word, grabbed your hand and began dragging you toward the lower deck. You stumbled along behind him, still lethargic and bewildered. Light had just started filtering in as the ship neared the end of the cave, casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards.

When you finally came to a stop near one of the secluded corners of the main deck, it was in front of a large, leather-bound case, big enough to hold a person. You eyed it dubiously. "Are you trying to lock me up or something?"

He just gave you a big smile, showing off his teeth, offering no answer as he bent down and popped open the case. The lid creaked loudly, revealing an array of weapons—swords, daggers, even a few guns.

Your stomach dropped. "Wait—are you going to kill me? Captain Hongjoong said I was useful!" you shrieked, taking a step back.

The man laughed, his deep voice rumbling through the air. "Relax. I'm just teaching you some basic combat skills so you can defend yourself when we dock."

You blinked, incredulous. "What do you mean 'defend myself'? How dangerous can the people there be?"

He straightened up, closing the case for now, and turned to you with an amused smile. "Well, they’re not that dangerous, but captain's orders are captain's orders. Gotta do what I gotta do."

You groaned, realizing there was no way you were getting out of this. Maybe you should fake sickness. “And you’re the one teaching me? My head hasn’t even healed completely yet!” you argued, pouting angrily.

The man chuckled. He sure found this all amusing, “You’re safe for now, relax. My name is Mingi, by the way”

You rolled your eyes. “Alright, Mingi. Let’s get this over with.”

He clapped his hands together, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. "That’s the spirit! Now, let’s start with something easy."

He pulled out a lightweight dagger and handed it to you, guiding your hand to grip it properly. As he began explaining how to hold and wield the weapon, you could feel the absolute absurdity of your situation. Just a day ago, you were quietly navigating maps and casually dodging storm flashes, and now you had to learn how to stab people—for your own protection, apparently.

Mingi’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. "Focus, or you might hurt yourself, before someone else can even try to" he said, his tone reprimanding but gentle. You nodded, trying to focus on his instructions.

As he moved behind you, adjusting your stance and positioning your hands, you realised that despite his intimidating size, Mingi wasn’t nearly as unnerving as you first thought. He was patient, explaining everything in detail and offering tips as you clumsily practised a few basic moves.

“Not bad,” Mingi said after a while, stepping back to observe your progress. “For a beginner, you’ve got decent instincts.”

Your ego swelled ever so slightly, at his words, though you were far from being a pro. “Thanks, I guess,” you said, slightly out of breath.

“Alright then, we’ll wrap it up for now. Captain doesn’t need you killing anyone yet,” he said with a wink, sheathing his own blade with ease.

You handed the dagger back to him, relieved to be done. “Well, that was… fun?”

Mingi just laughed again, leading you back toward the centre of the main deck. “You’ll thank me later. Trust me.”

The open sea was finally visible ahead, you had just passed the exit. Hongjoong still stood at the helm, a satisfied smile on his face, happy to be out of the claustrophobic cave.

You glanced at Mingi, who gave you a nod before heading off to god knows where. You took a deep breath, feeling both exhausted and relieved.

As you made your way back towards Captain Hongjoong, you spotted Seonghwa standing beside him, still as a statue. His sharp, delicate features made him look almost princely, if it weren’t for his hollowed cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if they fed him enough—or, for that matter, if anyone on this ship had eaten at all. With everything that had happened, food had completely slipped your mind.

Reaching Hongjoong, you tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned to face you, his body language telling you he’s exhausted despite him trying not to show it al all.

“Hey, since we’re past the cave’s exit,” you said, quickly moving to the more important matters. “From here, we need to travel westward for about three hours, then head north once we pass the last island on the peninsula. It’ll take us approximately another day to reach the eastern ports.”

He nodded, looking less burdened as you spoke. “I see. Good work,” he said, pausing for a second efore continuing, “We need to discuss your role when we dock. We’re not exactly welcome there, if you catch my drift.” His lips managed to curl into a small smirk. “But there’s a man who’s willing to host us while we take care of some… business.”

“Is that the man you mentioned earlier?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“No, it’s my—"

Before he could finish his sentence, your stomach growled loudly, cutting him off. Your eyes widened in mortification as you slapped a hand over your mouth, cheeks burning red with embarrassment. You hadn’t realized how hungry you actually were until this moment.

Hongjoong stared at you for a beat, and then, to your surprise, he burst into laughter. “You haven’t eaten in a while, have you?” he asked between breaths, his usual stoicism gone.

You shook your head, mumbling a quick “no” as you tried to disappear into the floor from sheer embarrassment.

“That’s okay,” he said, still chuckling. “You should head to the kitchens. We’ll discuss the plan when everyone’s together.” He turned to Seonghwa, who remained as still and composed as ever. “Seonghwa, show her the way. Make sure she doesn’t get lost—and for God’s sake, make sure you eat something, too.”

Seonghwa nodded, the corners of his lips twitching. He caught your gaze, and with a subtle gesture, indicated that you should follow him. Your face still burning, you gave Hongjoong a quick, flustered nod. “Thank you, Captain. Sorry ‘bout that,” you muttered before quickly following after Seonghwa.

Hongjoong waved you off, still chuckling. “Don’t worry about it. Get some food.”

As you walked through the dimly lit corridors with Seonghwa, the ship gently swayed in time with the waves, and you could still feel your cheeks burning from embarrassment. Seonghwa, of course, said nothing, his footsteps light and quiet as he led the way.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, you mustered up enough courage to speak. “So… do you actually eat?” you asked, chuckling awkwardly.

Seonghwa glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression impassive. “On occasion,” he replied dryly.

You snorted, relieved that he had a sense of humor, however subtle. “Well, it didn’t seem like it. You look like you haven’t slept or eaten in days.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply, leading you down another set of stairs toward what appeared to be the ship’s galley. “There you go,” Seonghwa said, gesturing toward the entryway of the kitchen and dining hall. “Wooyoung should be around here somewhere. He usually handles the meals.”

Your eyes widened at the mention of Wooyoung. “Oh, interesting. Thanks, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa gave a short nod. “I’ll make sure to eat something too, later” he added, a hint of teasing in his tone before turning to leave.

“Wait—where are you going?” you asked, feeling a bit more comfortable around him now.

“To report back to the captain,” he replied, “and to rest. Unlike you, I haven’t gotten a break yet.”

You felt a bit guilty for holding him up, but you smiled weakly at his dry sense of humor anyway. “Alright, see you later.”

With that, Seonghwa disappeared into the shadows once again, leaving you to explore the galley in search of Wooyoung—and most importantly, food. You wandered further down the corridor, and soon, the delicious scent of something cooking hit your nose sharply. You nearly started drooling right there and then. The aroma was rich and savoury, with the perfect combination of spices, and it drew you in like a moth to a flame.

You groaned at the prospect of a filling meal. You followed the scent with your nose up in the air, your feet moving almost on autopilot as the hunger gnawed at your stomach. Soon enough, you found yourself standing in the large kitchen and dining area, which made sense considering there were about thirty crewmen aboard—not including the eight others. The kitchen was bustling, but what really caught your attention was Wooyoung, standing at the stove, cooking himself.

You weren’t entirely sure of what you had expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. When Seonghwa said Wooyoung handled the meals, you thought he meant something more along the lines of rationing supplies or managing food storage. Seeing him actually cooking made you slightly sceptical. The mischievous pirate who had spent most of his time getting under your skin was now handling sharp knives and hot pans—what could possibly go wrong?

Curiosity piqued, you walked closer, hovering around him until he noticed you, peeking over his shoulder as he tossed some spicy fried rice in a pan. Beside him, a separate dish sat covered on another stove, its contents a mystery for now. A few other crew members were busying themselves farther away, likely preparing more food for the rest of the ship.

“What are you doing?” Wooyoung asked, his focus still on the rice as he expertly tossed it in the pan.

“Oh, nothing… nothing,” you lied, stepping closer. “Just, you know, looking.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “I didn’t know you could cook,” you said, surprised. “You don’t seem the type.”

“Is it really that surprising?” he whispered, turning his head slightly to catch your gaze. Amusement danced in his eyes as he added, “It makes me more attractive, don’t you think?” He shot you a quick wink.

A fiery blush rose to your cheeks at his words, your heart doing flips. Now that he mentioned it, you had to admit—Wooyoung did look rather appealing when he wasn’t actively trying to irritate you. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the veins in his forearms, and the deft, precise way he handled the pan showcased a kind of skill that was hard not to admire.

“Shut up,” you muttered, your embarrassment growing. “How is that even relevant?”

Wooyoung’s laughter filled the kitchen, sounding more like a monkey than human. You scowled at him, crossing your arms in defiance.

“Besides,” you added offhandedly, trying to regain some composure, “how do I even know if it’s any good? I haven’t even tried any yet. You don’t have to be so overconfident.”

At that, Wooyoung’s playful expression fell away, replaced by a dead-serious look. His pride, especially when it came to his cooking, was not something to be trifled with.

“Sit,” he ordered, pointing toward a nearby table. “I’ll bring you some, and then you can give me your fair judgement.”

Sensing the sudden shift in his mood, you quickly obliged, taking a seat at the table. Maybe doubting Wooyoung’s culinary skills wasn’t the best idea. He disappeared briefly, then returned with two plates piled high with food. The steam rising from the dishes carried the tantalising aroma of spices and roasted meat, and your stomach grumbled in anticipation.

Wooyoung placed the plate in front of you, along with a set of cutlery, and stood back with his arms crossed, watching you intently. The spread before you was impressive: spicy fried rice, seasoned roasted potatoes, and fried chicken coated in a vibrant red sauce. Everything looked perfectly cooked, and the rich, savoury aroma made you feel heaven.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Wooyoung’s expectant gaze. Then, slowly, you picked up your fork and took a bite of the rice and chicken. The moment the flavours hit your tongue, your eyes widened in disbelief. It wasn’t just good—it was abso-fucking-lutely divine. The heat from the spices was perfectly balanced with the richness of the sauce, and the fried rice had a satisfying crunch to it that elevated the entire dish.

You closed your eyes, savouring the taste as a pleased sigh escaped your lips. When you opened them again, Wooyoung was staring at you with a smug grin on his face.

“Well?” he asked, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.

You couldn’t deny it. “This is amazing,” you admitted, shaking your head in disbelief. “I didn’t think anyone could cook this well on a ship.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “I told you I’m good, didn’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the smile that tugged at your lips. “Fine, you win this one. But don’t let it get to your head.”

He gave you a mock bow, clearly enjoying his little victory. “Too late.”

As you continued to eat, Wooyoung sat down across from you, digging into his own plate with the same enthusiasm. For a few moments, there was a comfortable silence as you both focused on the meal.

"So," he said after a while, "what do you think? Does it make me more attractive?"

You nearly choked on your rice, glaring at him as you swallowed. "You just had to ruin the moment, didn't you?"

His laugh once again filled your ears. How annoying you thought, smiling to yourself.

As you finished eating, more crewmen began to file into the dining hall, grabbing their own plates and piling on food. The atmosphere grew more lively, but you were already feeling sleepy, especially after the amazing food. After all, it had been a long couple of days.

You picked up your plate and made your way to the sink, leaving the dish with the growing pile of dirty ones. You felt a smidge of guilt for whoever had to wash them all, it wouldn’t be an easy task. As you turned to head back, you spotted Wooyoung also cleaning up his area, still looking refreshed and energetic despite the long day.

"Has the captain told you anything about what we're supposed to do when we dock?" you asked him, maybe he would have some answers.

Wooyoung shrugged, drying his hands on a towel. "He just said we’re meeting in the map room tonight. Only us, the others, and him. We’re not supposed to talk about it until the rest of the crew's out of earshot."

You raised an eyebrow. "Why all the secrecy? They're part of the crew, too."

A sly smile curled on his lips. “You’ve been with us for a few days now, but you’ll learn soon enough—not all crewmen can be trusted. There are always ears where you least expect them.” He winked before turning back to supervise the kitchen.

With a slight nod, you said your goodbyes to Wooyoung and left the kitchen, heading back to your room. His words stuck with you, though. What were they so cautious about? And why the distrust among their own crew? It felt odd, and your instincts kept raising red flags at whatever it was they had planned to do.

Once in your room, you shut the door and sat at the small desk by the window. It was the first quiet moment you’d had to yourself in days, and your mind began to churn with thoughts and questions. You reached for the loose paper you had been given, scribbling down whatever came to mind.

The first thing you had considered, when you’d first been taken aboard, was the idea of escaping, you had thought of nothing else. But now, after spending time with the crew, especially Hongjoong and the others, you knew better. These pirates weren’t ordinary men—they were highly skilled in what they did, and escaping was definitely out the window. You sighed, accepting that, for now, it was better to stay put and go along with whatever they asked of you than to waste energy on an escape plan that had no chance of success.

The second thing that nagged at you was their reputation. You had heard rumours about this crew before—they were renowned for doing certain unspeakable things, but so far, you hadn’t witnessed anything that aligned with those stories. In fact, they had been surprisingly kind to you, even if some of them, like Wooyoung, enjoyed teasing you, constantly. Despite all that, doubt lingered in the back of your mind. You had only been with them for three days, and for all you knew, they were just waiting for the right moment to take off their masks. You couldn’t shake the feeling that your usefulness to them had a limit—and when that limit was reached, what would they do with you?

Third, and perhaps most pressing, was the matter of what they intended to do when they docked. You didn’t know much, but from what Hongjoong had said, it was clear they weren’t exactly welcome in the town. What had they done to be so unwelcome? And what was the nature of the business they had to take care of? You couldn’t help but wonder if it involved something illegal—something you could easily get caught up in, and potentially ruin all progress you had made in life.

As you stared at the half-finished notes on the paper, and one random flower drawing, your thoughts spiralled further. There was a lot you didn’t know, and the more you learned about these pirates, the more questions seemed to pile up.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice how much time had passed. The sun had again been replaced by the moon high in the sky, its glow filtering through the small window of your cabin. Outside, the ship bustled with activity as the crew prepared to speed up the pace and retire for the night, now that they were out of the more precarious part of the waters.

You zoned out, meanwhile a cat had wandered into your room through the open door, its sleek body hopping onto your bed and making itself comfortable. It stretched out lazily, giving you a sideways glance before deciding it wasn't getting enough attention. With a graceful leap, it hopped up onto your desk, startling you out of your daydream. You blinked at the feline, and it blinked back at you, then let out a loud, insistent meow, demanding your attention.

Your hand slipped from where you had been propping up your head, and you stared at the cat in mild surprise. It was a beautiful Siamese with big, curious eyes that studied you closely before padding closer. It hopped down onto your lap, rubbing itself against you and purring softly. You couldn't help but laugh, the restlessness that had been building in your chest easing as you patted the cat’s soft fur.

"Where did you come from?" you murmured, scratching behind its ears as it leaned into your touch.

A few minutes later, a voice called out from the doorway. "There you are!"

You looked up to see a man standing there, his broad figure filling the doorway. He let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the cat, his expression softening as he stepped into the room. "I was looking everywhere for you. You can't just run off like that, you know?"

The cat, hearing its owner, perked up immediately and jumped out of your lap, sauntering back over to him. He scooped her up in his arms, and she looked impossibly tiny against his large frame. He nuzzled her affectionately before looking up at you with a smile that deepened the dimples in his cheeks.

"She doesn’t usually go up to strangers this easily," he said, clearly amused. "I think she likes you."

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. "Well, I like her too. She’s adorable."

You stood up and walked over to him, reaching out to stroke the cat’s fur again as she wiggled happily in his arms. "What’s her name?"

"This little one? Her name’s Byeol," he replied, his voice filled with affection as he looked down at her. "She’s my little star."

"That’s a perfect name for her," you mused, still petting Byeol. "But what about you? What’s your name? I asked you yesterday too, but you never answered."

The man’s smile grew wider, his dimples drawing you attention even more as his eyes turned into little crescents. "I’m Choi San!" he said with enthusiasm, his voice carrying a warmth that made you smile in return.

"Nice to finally make your acquaintance, Choi San," you said, watching him closely. It was hard to reconcile the image in front of you—this man with his soft smile, cradling a tiny cat—with all the tall tales you had heard about the pirates. He seemed so gentle, so full of joy. You couldn't help but wonder how someone like him could be a man who allegedly killed without remorse.

San noticed your thoughtful expression and tilted his head slightly, his smile never wavering. "What’s on your mind?" he asked.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to phrase your thoughts. "I guess... I just didn’t expect someone like you to be, well... a cat dad," you admitted, hoping your words didn’t come off as offensive.

San chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Things aren't always what they seem, right?"

You nodded slowly, feeling a strange sense of calm in his presence. "Yeah, I guess not."

"Oh, by the way," San added with a playful grin, "the captain told me to come look for you. Said we have things to discuss."

"Ugh, finally," you groaned. "The fact that he dragged this out for so long has been eating away at my soul."

San laughed, the sound warm and so different from Wooyoung’s. Wait a minute why were you suddenly thinking of him, you were taken aback at your brain playing tricks like this. San beckoned you to follow him, and with Byeol nestled comfortably in his arms, you both made your way to the map room. The corridors of the ship were quieter now, the hustle of earlier fading as the rest of the crew settled into their rooms.

As you entered the map room, most of the others had already gathered. There was one unfamiliar face in the group, a man you hadn't seen since your first encounter with the crew. He sat in a corner, arms crossed and eyes distant, clearly uninterested in anything or anyone in the room. You wondered briefly who he was but decided not to question it.

You pulled up a chair and sat down, glancing at San, who was still holding Byeol. He gently released the cat from his arms, letting her roam freely around the room. Byeol wasted no time in greeting the others, nuzzling up to each of them, her little purrs filling the room.

From across the table, your eyes met Yeosang’s. He gave you a small wave, his smile as sweet and boyish as ever. You felt your cheeks flush with heat, and you waved back shyly. He chuckled softly at your reaction, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to Mingi beside him and continuing their conversation.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Captain Hongjoong strode in, his sheer presence silencing the room. As always, Seonghwa trailed close behind him, quietly locking the door after them.

"Alright," Hongjoong began, taking his place at the head of the table, his sunglasses perched on top of his head, stormy eyes looking at each face intensely. We’ve got a lot to cover, and not much time to do it."

You leaned forward slightly, eager to know what this urgent meeting was for. You still didn’t fully understand the task at hand, but the way Hongjoong and the others talked about it, it must be something very important.

"As I’m sure most of you are aware," Hongjoong continued, glancing around the room, "we’re heading into hostile territory. The port we’re docking at isn’t exactly a friendly place for us, or any pirate for that matter, but we have a contact there who’s willing to help us— you’ve all met him before, although our brand new navigator might come off as a surprise for him,”

He paused, letting his words settle over the room before continuing. “This heist might be our most important one yet, and we absolutely cannot afford any mistakes.”

His gaze shifted toward you, locking eyes in a way that made you want to run away. You felt a wave of anxiety wash over you—you were inexperienced, a liability among a group of seasoned pirates who had honed their skills over years of dangerous work. Sure, you could navigate and read maps, but when came the questions of combat and risky missions? You were out of your depth.

For a brief moment, you started spiraling into self-doubt, your mind racing with questions about your usefulness. What if you messed up? What if you put everyone in danger?

But Hongjoong’s voice broke through your anxious thoughts. “But this time,” he said, eyes gleaming with a spark of a plan, “we have someone who’d be great for going undercover. Our faces are already known, but I doubt anyone has seen our navigator before.” His words were pointed but not unkind. “Even if they have, they probably wouldn’t remember.”

Well, ouch, you thought to yourself, feeling a bit slighted by the implication. But before you could dwell on it, Hongjoong pressed on.

“Our target runs a popular saloon and inn uptown, which, of course, is funded by his illegal auction houses operating behind the government's back. Now I wouldn’t have cared about a lousy businessman like him at all but unfortunately, his activities have started to affect our business as well,” he said, his tone turning sharp. You didn’t even want to know what he meant by their business. “His lawyer is who we need. He holds all the evidence we require to shut that fat pig down once and for all.”

The room was silent, as if each of the men were absorbing what Hongjoong was saying. You could see the intensity in their faces as they nodded in understanding.

“We’ll reach the port by noon tomorrow, and our work begins immediately. We shall leave the town as soon as we’ve completed the mission,” Hongjoong continued. “Pack light and only the essentials. The ship will be docked elsewhere to avoid drawing attention to our presence. Questions?”

You hesitated for a moment, then raised your hand timidly. “Umm… what exactly do I have to do?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered back to you, his expression softening slightly. “I’m getting to that,” he replied. “Once we’ve reached our accommodation, the first to depart will be our navigator…”

He trailed off, his face going blank for a moment as if he’d just remembered something important. “Wait… I never asked for your name.

The room fell into an awkward silence as Hongjoong’s flustered expression mirrored the confusion in the room. You blinked in surprise. Hongjoong had just come to the realisation that after nearly four days of you being on this ship, none of them had ever confirmed who you were. What if they’d picked up the wrong person?

“Oh… right,” you stammered, feeling your face heat up. “My name’s Aurora.”

Hongjoong nodded, casting a quick glance toward Seonghwa, who hadn’t shown a single flicker of emotion since the meeting began. It was like they were communicating with their eyes.

“Whoa, I can’t believe we forgot that!” Wooyoung exclaimed, slapping his hand to his forehead in disbelief, earning a few deflated murmurs in agreement from the others. Even San was shaking his head, feeling a little disappointed that they had missed such an important detail.

Hongjoong shook his head, visibly trying to shake off his little glitch before returning to business. “Anyway, Aurora will be the first to move,” he explained, focusing back on the task. “Your job is simple: go up to the saloon building and introduce yourself as a collector of rare navigation instruments. I assume that won’t be too hard for you?”

You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the nerves building in your stomach. “I can do it,” you said, your voice louder than you expected.

Hongjoong gave you a curt nod, his eyes briefly meeting yours as if searching for a hint of doubt. He shifted slightly, and pursed his lips in thought. "You’ll reserve a room for two," he continued, "and during your conversations, ask the host for places where you can buy such instruments. Make it clear you’re looking for something underground since a collector like yourself would prefer to avoid the rare items acquisition tax. Slip him a few bills, and he’ll be more than happy to point you towards the auction house."

You took note of his instructions, feeling a little excited at the thought of going undercover. It was the first time you had done something like this, maybe it won’t be as life threatening as it sounded.

Hongjoong took a deep breath before continuing. "San will accompany you," he said, glancing toward the man, "since he’s the only other face that people around here don’t know much of."

You looked at San, who met your gaze and gave you a playful wink. His presence, there with you, was a little reassuring, in a way—having someone you were comfortable with might help ease the tension.

"After you’ve found out the location of the auction house," Hongjoong said, his tone darkening, "this is where the difficult part begins. From what my sources tell me, the lawyer lives in a permanently reserved room in the saloon building. He operates from there, running the auction house's legal affairs. As night falls, you two will need to find him and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere—quietly." His eyes shifted between you and San.

You swallowed nervously. "What happens once we have him?" you asked, your voice an unintended whisper.

"Once we have him with no alarms raised, the job becomes a little easier," Hongjoong replied. His eyes glinted, a smirk playing on his lips. "He has a liability we can exploit, something that’ll make our interrogation a lot smoother. We’ll use it to extract what we need."

You nodded, though there was something dark in his words. This lawyer wasn’t exactly innocent, you knew that, but you couldn’t help feeling some pity for him. Whatever Hongjoong had planned, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

"As for the others," Hongjoong continued, turning to the rest of the crew, "Wooyoung and Yeosang will tail the man during the day. Keep track of his movements and note where he goes. Jongho, take Yunho and Mingi to restock the ship’s supplies while you’re in port."

The crew nodded in understanding, their expressions set in determination. Hongjoong’s grin widened, clearly pleased with how things were falling into place.

"We’ll reconvene at night to move the lawyer from the inn to our accommodation. I’ll have a room ready for him." He held a cheshire grin on his face, and you shuddered at the thought of what might await the poor man.

“Once we have the evidence, we can anonymously turn it over to the authorities and get what we need in return. All clear?"

A chorus of "Yes, Captain" and "Aye, Captain" echoed in the room, the crew eager to carry out their roles.

"Good," Hongjoong said, satisfied. "You’re all dismissed until we dock." He paused, glancing in your direction. "Mingi, I need you to continue training Aurora in defense. San, you’ll be teaching her hand-to-hand combat as well."

"Sure, Captain," Mingi replied, turning to you with a friendly smile. "Take good rest, Ms. Navigator. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

You returned his smile, feeling a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. As everyone dispersed, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of what was to come—the danger, the deception, and the responsibility that had unexpectedly fallen onto your shoulders.

San caught your eye one last time, giving you a nod as if to say, You’ve got this.

And even though you weren’t entirely sure if you have it, you nodded back, determined to see it through.

However, as you left the meeting and wandered back toward your room, exhaustion hit you like a wave. You were so ready to sleep again—you had barely gotten any proper rest, this job was much more demanding and taxing than the usual small ones you took up on for merchants.

You missed your parents. A pang of longing shot through you as you thought about them, wondering when, or if, you’d ever see them again. It had been years since they were sent on their own assignment, and there had been no word from them since. You missed being a whole family—you missed bickering with your younger brother, it must be around the time for his final examinations. You hoped he was doing well with his and not causing the school trouble as he often did.

As you wandered back to your room you let yourself be consumed by the overwhelming thoughts, all the deep emotions you had put away, tears fell from your eyes, marking dark spots on your shirt and leaving your vision blurry. You held on the handle of the door of your room, grip tightening as you found it difficult to open it and face loneliness again.

However terrible these pirates were, they lived life as it was intended and they were so carefree while you were just existing for now. The splotches on your shirt grew, you let out a bitter laugh wondering why your mood shifted so suddenly. Little whimpers and sobs escape your lips, then you felt warmth after the coldness of the tears.

Just as your grip on the door handle tightened, a pair of warm, calloused hands cupped your face, gently swiping away the tears. Startled, you blinked up through your blurry vision and found yourself face to face with a concerned Yunho. His gaze held a desperation to comfort you, something that felt of place on a supposedly ruthless pirate.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

Snapping out of it, you pulled your face away, taking your hand off the door handle, wiping at your eyes, rubbing them red. Yunho moved his hands trying to get yours away from your face before you could hurt yourself. You sniffled trying to calm yourself and put on a weak smile, “It’s nothing, just feeling a little overwhelmed…. that’s all,” your words did not convince Yunho.

He wasn’t good with people, you couldn’t pick them apart like machine to understand how they worked. You had to be careful and sensitive. Yunho didn’t like the way your face showed nothing but pain. He signed not knowing how to reply, “Can i show you a place, i think you’ll like it right now,” he looked at his feet, his hands fiddling with the edge of his shirt, “going there helps me too,”

You hesitated, the idea of being this vulnerable in front of a pirate didn’t please you, but you agreed nonetheless, "Okay," you whispered. "I trust you."

Yunho lightened up a little at your words, and he gently took your hand, leading you up toward the poop deck. You followed him around the mizzen mast until he stopped in front of a trapdoor. Without saying much, Yunho unlatched the trapdoor, you don’t know how, since it had seemed to be sealed shut with metal but you didn’t think much of it. He jumped down first, holding out his arms to help you down.

The passage was narrow and dimly lit, with small fixtures glowing faintly. Yunho’s head nearly touched the low ceiling, and the space felt tight. He closed the trapdoor behind you with a small whizz, and you continued down the corridor until he stopped in front of an unseemly wooden door.

"I’ve only shown this to the other guys," Yunho explained quietly. "But now, you too. No one else knows about this. It’s special to me." He glanced at you before continuing, "We’re right under your room and the captain’s. No one can hear me down here, but I can hear everything."

He opened the door, and the creak echoed through the small space. You hesitated for a second before stepping inside. At first, it was pitch black. You could hear soft clicks and whirrs, and then, all of a sudden, there was a sliver of moonlight creeping in from above. The light grew, revealing an open room, one wall slowly rising to reveal the vast, open sea.

The stars sparkled over the water, the moon casting a glow across the room. The sounds stopped, you felt yunho walk around the room, and all of a sudden there was a burst of light in the room, much more intense than the moonlight, you looked around there were no torches no fixtures just an open room with one wall lined with shelves upon shelves of books, a mattress big enough to fit ten people, folded up towards the other wall and then of course the newly revealed balcony.

"How is it?" Yunho asked softly, his eyes watching your reaction.

"It’s so... wow," you breathed, your earlier worries momentarily forgotten. "This is amazing."

Yunho chuckled softly, walking toward the folded mattress and sitting down, patting the space next to him. "I designed this all by myself. It was my first real project when I got a hold over my abilities," he said, pride lacing his voice.

You smiled and walked over to join him. Sitting down on the mattress, you let the calming sounds of the ocean fill the silence. For the first time in days, you felt a sense of peace. Although that was not all, Yunho seemed to have one more surprise in store for you. He stood up and walked over to the bookshelf, flicking a switch you hadn’t noticed before.

Suddenly, the ground beneath you began to shift. The balcony extended outward, nearly doubling the space of the room. You gasped in awe as the floor moved, the motion smooth but stopping with a gentle jolt. The room now opened even further toward the endless ocean, giving you an unobstructed view of the night sky, its stars shimmering more vividly than ever.

Yunho returned, settling down beside you on the large mattress again. “Lie down,” he said softly, putting his arms behind his head as a makeshift pillow.

You hesitated for a second before lying back and copying him, your gaze immediately drawn to the open sky. The stars twinkled like diamonds scattered across the dark canvas, the crescent moon glowing softly in the distance. You took a deep breath, feeling the cool night breeze brush against your skin, carrying with it the smell of the sea.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes catching Yunho’s. His eyes twinkled like the stars too, he had a contented smile on his face, you smiled too and turned back enjoying the calm. Time felt like it had stopped.

The sound of the waves gently lapping against the ship, the light breeze, and the soft hum of the world around you, gave you suck comfort. You didn’t know when it happened, but eventually, you drifted off to dreamless sleep, the stars overhead keeping you company.

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

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[frickingnerd]

no more tears to cry

pairing: zack fair x gn!reader

summary: when zack learns you've been locked inside hojo's lab, he takes it upon himself to safe you!

tags: established relationship, angst to wholesome fluff, hurt/comfort, zack acting strong for you, mentions of cloud, brief mentions of reader being experimented on/tortured/medicated

“…are you in here? can you hear me?”

from the distance, you could hear the sound of doors opening and being slammed shut moments later. zack's voice echoed through hojo's lab, as he desperately searched for you.

after zack awoke in the lab, alongside cloud, he had escaped as soon as he could, unaware that you too had been locked away and experimented on within the lab. he was already on the run with cloud, when he found out, from the turks, that you were still within the lab. so zack returned, determined to rescue you as well!

“what are you–” you heard another voice in the distance, followed by gunshots and swords clashing against one another. then, a scream and things went back to before; doors opening and slamming shut.

“z-za…ck…” you whispered, having trouble raising your voice and getting the words out of your mouth. you were slowly regaining consciousness, still overwhelmed by the medication pumped into you by hojo. even when you tried to move, it was all slow and painful.

luckily, you didn't need to wait much longer for zack.

“i found you…!” as the door opened, zack crumbled at the sight of you. your big and strong boyfriend hurried over to you, only to drop onto his knees next to you, his arms wrapping tightly around your body.

for a moment, he simply held you and you could've sworn you've heard him sniffle quietly, trying to hide tears from you. but when he pulled away from you again and faced you, zack had a bright smile on his lips. as if nothing had ever been able to shake him.

“i've got you. there's nothing you need to fear anymore, alright?” he assured you, gently caressing your cheek. “i'm right here now. you're safe with me. as long as you're with me, they'll never lay another finger on you.”

when you broke out into tears, so relieved that those times of fear and pain were finally over, zack gently scooped you up in his arms and held you right there. his hands gently played with your hair and he pressed soft kisses onto your forehead.

“once we're out of here, you'll never have another reason to cry again. i'll make sure that from now on, every moment of your life will be a happy one…” zack whispered.

and he meant what he said. you've had to suffer for long enough. he'd make sure that for the rest of your life, he'd be there to protect that beautiful smile of yours and make sure nobody ever takes it away from you ever again.

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Twelve

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes. 

A/N: sorry this took so long. but it's here now. HAPPY CHRISTMAS BITCHES!

Word Count: 10k+

Chapter Twelve:

“Darling!” Rebecca called as you and Roy approached the restaurant. She stood outside next to a shorter man (obviously), who could only be John Wingsnight. 

Roy stayed back as you sped forward, stretching out your arms for an embrace until you and Rebecca finally met in the middle. “Why does Roy look more pissed off than usual?” Rebecca whispered in your ear quickly, as the men shook hands beside you awkwardly. 

“Don’t ask,” you whispered back, but she only squeezed you harder in response. “I’ll tell you later,” you added painfully. 

“Fine,” she muttered quickly, before the two of you finally parted. She put on a stellar smile. “Shall we head inside?” You nodded, and the four of you entered the restaurant together. 

John reached the table first, and slid a chair out for Rebecca. She took it graciously, before he turned to look at you. “It’s so nice to finally meet some of Rebecca’s good friends,” he said. He sounded posh– Richmond posh. You smiled as nicely as you could, but Roy’s presence close behind you was practically burning a hole through your skin. 

You went to grab a seat opposite Rebecca, but was abruptly cut off by Roy. He reached out his arm and slid out the chair before you could. You hit his eye as he waited for you to sit down, and when you did, you felt so overexposed that you could hardly stand it. 

“Thank you,” you said quietly, as Roy tucked you in safely. He growled gently in response, and the four of you settled in for a long fucking night. 

As soon as you could, drinks were ordered in excess. Small talk ensued, but it was made up mostly of Rebecca whittling on about your past placement at the club, and all of the drama that happened during your year there. Next to you, Roy stayed silent unless spoken to. It was clear he wasn’t thrilled about this, but even more so after the ordeal on the drive over. 

Truth be told, as much as you’d been looking forward to this evening, you wanted nothing more than to pack it in and be alone with Roy. You needed to address so much, and talk honestly for once in your fucking lives. That was only made more difficult when John piped in with new questions. As soon as she could, Rebecca brought up your article from the Independent. 

“Oh, fantastic!” John exclaimed in response. “I read that article, by the way– the one about you, Roy.” Roy tried and failed to look enthusiastic, as John turned to you. “Brilliantly written, you absolutely deserved to win.”

You smiled. “Thank you, that’s kind of you to say.”

“So, is that how this happened?” John asked, pointing at you and Roy playfully. 

You and Roy turned to each other at the same time. Both of you looked like deers in headlights, as the entire point of your double-date lie was finally put to the test. 

“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes, exactly.” Stupidly, idiotically, you’d never fucking thought about what story you’d have to explain; the story of how you started dating. Roy looked too relaxed for your liking, so you decided to involve him. “Isn’t that right, Roy?”

Roy shot daggers at you immediately, but they were only perceived by you. He recomposed himself as he turned to Rebecca and John, but before a single word left his mouth, his hand found yours upon the table top. You inhaled deeply as his fingers wrapped around your own. 

“She bugged me so much about the fucking article that it was inevitable,” he said lowly. “Isn’t that right, babe?”

John laughed heartily, raising his glass at Roy happily. Rebecca choked on her starter. You’d momentarily stopped thinking as soon as Roy’s hand had touched yours, and had now gone temporarily blind from him calling you babe. 

Roy squeezed your hand gently, and your senses refreshed like lightning. “Y-yes,” you stuttered quickly. “Totally inevitable.”

“Well, how delightful,” John said sweetly, before he turned towards Rebecca. “Rebecca speaks very highly of you, I’ve found.”

“I’d bloody hope so,” you let out, getting rid of some of your pent up anxiety. Rebecca laughed, fully recovered from her choking fit. Roy’s fingers were still latched over yours, and you found yourself not hating it after the initial shock. 

“And you, Roy!” John continued. “Congrats on the pundit gig, by the way.”

“John is a big football fan,” Rebecca said, and John nodded enthusiastically. 

“Here we fucking go,” Roy growled under his breath. You rearranged your fingers quickly, so that you could squeeze his hand reassuringly. He turned to you gently, flicking his eyes over your encouraging face. 

You knew this entire night was out of his comfort zone, including the whole fake dating ordeal on top. Getting Roy out to dinner like this was hard enough as it was, but adding this play-pretend must have had him reeling. It was tough for you, as well, especially after your almost confession in the car beforehand. All the two of you had to do was hold on for dear life for another few hours, and then it’d be over. 

“It was a massive coincidence, actually,” you piped up suddenly, turning back to John and Rebecca. “I’d had this small nagging voice in my head that kept saying how good a pundit Roy could be, enough for me to annoy him over text, even. Then, a few weeks later, he was on the telly! It was weird, honestly.”

“That wasn’t a fucking coincidence,” Roy said sternly. “I’d had those Sky producers down my throat for a month, but only bothered to reply after you mentioned what a good idea it was.”

You squinted at him, shocked. “What?”

“I became a pundit because of you.” 

Rebecca’s mouth upturned into a sly smile. John caught her eye in confusion, but still looked happy to simply be there– probably because he was in Roy’s presence. You struggled to find the right words to say, as your mind catapulted all your thoughts to ricochet off your skull. 

The only word you could physically get out was “Oh.” Your wide eyed stare stayed on Roy for a few seconds more, until you quickly looked at the table, trying to compute what you’d just been told. “Right.” You added. 

“You were right, too,” Rebecca said gently, and you caught her eye. “Roy does make a rather entertaining pundit.”

“And that’s an understatement,” John added, cheesing from ear to ear. 

“Yes, he does,” you said, agreeing with Rebecca, but still hesitating over your muddled thoughts. “Will you excuse me for a moment? That wine has gone to my head,” you let out, alongside a breathy laugh to break the tension. 

Roy fingers separated from yours, and as you walked to the bathroom, you felt utterly alone. Maybe it was the lack of his touch, just in those initial seconds after having it. Maybe it was the realisation that once again he’d done something that you’d suggested, just for you. There was no reason for you to get mad about it. Being a pundit was more than the article; it was more public, more personal, more professional. He wouldn’t have done it all unless he’d accepted it himself, and that was the truth of it. 

Still, hearing that you’d been his reason for going ahead with the gig was warming. As you looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your eyes were glassy. Your cheeks felt hot, and it wasn’t just from the wine. Your fingers were clammy, not only from your nerves, but from having someone hold them so tightly for the last ten minutes– all of these factors added up to be caused by one man only; Roy fucking Kent. 

He was so different to you. So stubborn, so grumpy, so unapproachable, yet it had been so easy for you to cut through his layer of steel and get to the other side of his personality. Gentle, caring, and so unapologetically honest that you could hardly believe it. From the way Keeley and Rebecca– even the fucking football team, too– had reacted when Roy had steadily started opening up to you, you knew this wasn’t an ordinary occurrance. They knew him from a day to day perspective, whereas your knowing had transcended the walls of the Dogtrack after only a few months around each other. 

Innately, a switch flicked on in your brain. It’d been over a year of this dynamic. Even including those three months of silence, you’d still thought of each other on a daily basis. Something had to give, and that something was you. This was your opportunity to make yourself abundantly clear– this stupid, idiotic fake dating situation. This was the trial shift, and you just had to show up. 

You washed your hands quickly, and as you did it cemented this shift within you. As you opened the door to the bathroom and emerged back into the restaurant, you held your head high. You walked in your heels like you’d been walking in them your entire life, and when you saw the back of Roy’s head, your heart swelled. 

As sat back down at the table, and impulsively leaned into Roy. He sensed you, and changed his posture to accommodate your own. “Sorry about that,” you said, laughing at yourself slightly. “It’s not often that I drink wine anymore.”

“Get a different drink if you want, darling,” Rebecca said. 

“I think I will,” you agreed, before you took the plunge. Gently, you leaned into Roy, clinging onto his bicep softly. “When the waitress comes around again can you grab her for me, please?” you asked.

Roy tensed slightly beneath your touch, but you could feel him relax as he peered into your eyes. “Alright,” he said lowly. “Beer?” he asked. 

You nodded with a smile. It was sweet that he knew exactly what you wanted. 

Your main courses were uneventful, but tense. You ate in happy splendour, chatting about whatever— you wouldn’t be able to recount the conversation in any state, purely because you were hyper aware of Roy next to you the entire time. Rebecca’s side-eye stares tickled your bare skin. John’s obliviousness kept you grounded. 

It was funny, wasn’t it? The moment that you and Roy had permission to fully jump, to indulge, you found yourselves in a situation where touching the other felt incredibly odd. As much as this entire situation was exciting for both of you, you found yourself focusing on the fact this was all fake– the relationship, the meal, and… the first time you allowed yourself to feel. 

Every hand touch and shoulder bump was being watched clearly. Was it all real if this double date was a lie? Was it all real even if you and Roy weren’t actually together? 

“Darling,” Rebecca said softly, and you almost jumped out of your skin when you came back to reality. You’d utterly zoned out to the point where you hadn’t even noticed your dessert was already in front of you. “Are you alright?” she whispered across the table. 

You swallowed uncomfortably. “Yes,” you said quickly, before picking up your fork. “Sorry.”

“So,” John started, chewing on a mouthful of praline. “Pluto Press, right?” 

Your eyes widened, your heart plummeted into your stomach. You’d been avoiding talking about your job with anyone for the past few months. You swallowed, and put on a smile in panic. “That’s the one,” you said, but the awkwardness practically seeped out of you. 

“What’s it like in publishing? I’ve always been curious,” John asked, leaning in slightly, so that you couldn’t fucking escape. 

“It’s… well, it’s…” You were hyper aware of Rebecca sitting opposite you, and Roy sat to your left. You felt the ex-football Captain stiffen next to you. Concern pooled between you, and he shifted himself to face you more so, curiosity prevalent on his brow. 

You looked up at him, lost for words. Innately, you let yourself crumble. Perhaps it was time to tell them that you had your reservations about work. You sucked in a breath. “At first, it was a dream,” you said, turning to John with a faint smile. “I suppose it always is when it comes to the job you’ve wanted since you were a kid.” You turned to Roy again, meeting his eye. “Right?” you whispered. 

Roy nodded gently before you. He had football on his mind, no doubt. You could see it in his gaze, you could sense him envisioning the green of the Dogtrack. 

“A few months down the line, though…” you started, and gently turned to Rebecca. She was looking at you with a signature arched eyebrow, waiting for you to spill your guts. “It’s been… different, I suppose.”

“Different?” Rebecca questioned. 

Roy twisted towards you even more. “Different how?” 

Different, as in, I fucking hate it. That’s what you wanted to say, but saying that to the two people who gave you the opportunity to have the position? Hell fucking no. 

You opened your mouth, trying to decide upon what words to use, but you never got the chance to say them. A woman sidled up to Roy and threw you all from your conversation. Rebecca’s stare snapped upon her like a lethal panther. Roy perked a brow up at her, a subtly seething look on his face. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, and her Chelsea or Kensington accent was the first thing you noticed. “I just had to come over or I’d hate myself for it. You’re Roy Kent, aren’t you?” She was beautiful in a way that reminded you of the girls who used to bully you in school– in your mind, this was exactly what some of them would have grown up to look like. Blonde, big-boobed, high-fashioned, rich. 

Your face dropped immediately, overcome by a feeling you’d never actually experienced before. Your chest felt tight, your fists balled in your lap, your shoulders squared off defensively. You turned to Rebecca, and the frown on her face only added to the grim feeling you held inside. 

Roy growled at the woman in response, not just as confirmation, but definitely from annoyance. Who the hell interrupted someone during dinner? At a fucking restaurant? 

She ignored his hostility, instead opting to jump up and down abruptly. “Oh! I knew it. My father and brother love you, especially from your Chelsea days. Can I…” she said. As she did, she leant in even closer, bridging the gap between her and Roy, until he was forced to look up at an almost ninety degree angle. “Can I get a photo?” 

Your stomach dropped at the shift in her tone of voice. She was flirting. Suddenly, the feeling inside you made perfect fucking sense–

Jealousy. You were jealous. 

Rebecca went to protest first, but you beat her to it. You leaned forward, and wrapped your fingers around Roy’s bicep defensively. “Excuse me,” you said strongly. “We’re in the middle of a meal, and you’re very much interrupting us.” 

Roy’s muscles relaxed beneath your grip, and you only took that as a sign to hold your ground. The woman before you was taken aback, obviously not used to mere commoners having a pop at her about her wrong behaviour. She let out a nervous laugh, tilting back slightly as she peered down at you from above. Instinctively, you caught her eye and glared– glared for your damn life. 

“Uh.” The noise burst from her lips like a breath she hadn’t meant to exhale. Like a crack in her exterior. “I’m sorry– what are you supposed to be?” 

You saw red, and stood impulsively. You’d never wanted to throw a punch more in your life, nor had you ever had the desire to do so in front of a restaurant full of people, but something entirely new had come over you– and Roy was at the centre of it.

You pointed at her as soon as you were at her eye level, leaning over Roy beneath you. “Listen here, you little–”

“Alright!” Roy burst from beneath you, putting himself between you and the blonde. His arm twisted behind him and found your waist easily. He pulled you into his back, erecting himself as a literal human shield, in every sense. “That’s fucking enough of that,” he muttered, looking the blonde in the eyes. 

Suddenly, she switched back to something more honeyed. She puffed her chest out, showing off her cleavage even more so, and batted her mink eyelashes at Roy above her. He bought none of it, of course. It was Roy, and he could always see the bad in people. Mostly, it was a hindrance, but sometimes… It worked. 

“I’ll give you a photo to fuck off,” he said candidly. 

You scowled behind Roy, trying to adjust yourself to the point where you weren’t utterly flush against the wool of his jumper. The blonde made a guttural noise of offence, however, which definitely pleased you somewhere deep inside. 

“God, don’t fucking bother then,” she squeaked at Roy. You thought that was the end of it, until more drivel fell from her lips. “You need to keep your dog on a leash.”

You froze, but not from what she’d just said. You froze, because Roy’s blood immediately turned to ice. You felt the muscles in his back contracting, trying and failing to shut down his inevitable jump to anger. You could imagine the robotic expression on his face, the sharpness of his jaw, the straightness of his eyebrows. 

This was Roy Kent when he was too angry to function. This was Roy Kent from the fucking football pitch.

Your gut lurched when his grip on your waist loosened, and you knew you had to intervene. Quickly, you slipped beneath Roy’s arm and shoved yourself between him and the blonde. You leaned back against Roy’s chest forcefully, and to no surprise he’d planted himself to the ground like a fucking tree. The blonde crossed her arms, shooting you with a shitty looking smirk that was supposed to make you feel hard done by, but you actually didn’t care. 

You just wanted her to leave Roy alone.

“I think it’s time for you to leave now,” you said calmly. “Before you embarrass yourself even more.” You softened your expression, but not by much. The blonde faltered subtly, dropping her arms to her sides as she became self-conscious of how many stares in her direction littered the restaurant. 

“I was going already,” she said, flustered, but not before she caught Roy’s eye again. “You footballers are always too fucking complicated.”

You and Roy watched her clip away in her heels, muttering to herself the entire way back to her table. A tense silence filtered across the restaurant, until all of a sudden, the hubbub came back. People went back to their meals, your heart settled in your chest, and Roy– his hand found yours instantly. You turned back to the table, shivering with every swipe he gave your knuckles, and caught Rebecca’s eye. 

You’d almost forgot her and John were still fucking here. 

Rebecca cleared her throat. “Shall we get the bill?”

John kissed Rebecca goodbye, but not after shaking Roy’s hand and holding onto his wrist for just a moment too long. You let out a pent up breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, as your party of four decreased to three. Rebecca turned back to you and Roy with an expectant face.

“So?” she said, eyes gleaming.

You hunched your shoulders up to your ears and smiled awkwardly. “He’s… nice!” you said, and for once you couldn’t find any other word to describe someone, but you tried your best. “He’s personable, and financially stable…” you trailed off.

“But?” Rebecca asked, sensing some trepidation. 

“Well,” you started, turning to Roy for back-up. 

He let out a sigh, growling subtly. “He’s fine!” he exclaimed. “And fine is good, fine is safe, but I guess it all comes down to why the fuck someone like that deserves you.” He said strongly. “You deserve someone who makes you feel like you’ve been been struck by fucking lightning.” 

Rebecca and your speechlessness was apparent, as the two of you glued your eyes onto Roy. You could feel him buzzing next to you, and heat radiated off him in waves.

“Don’t you dare settle for fine, just because it’s easy.” Roy scrunched his face passionately, before clocking eyes with you next to him. His face softened, and his expression resorted back to something more unbothered. “Or do,” he backtracked. “Do whatever you want.”

He shrugged, and you scoffed abruptly, bringing a hand to your mouth to stop yourself from chuckling more. Rebecca was taken aback. She had this golden look on her face that you could relate to heavily. You’d had that look a thousand times before, when Roy had done something to completely subvert your expectations. He was right, though, as much as Rebecca probably wanted to object. He was right, and you were glad that he’d said it the way it should be.

The sound of Rebecca’s heels disappeared into the distance, as you and Roy walked back along the river. It was cold. The temperature had dropped profusely as November set in, and you could see your breath every time you managed to exhale. That was just it– breathing around Roy tonight had become some sort of manual chore, alongside every other normal function that you could usually do in a heartbeat. 

Unsaid words flickered between the two of you as you continued strolling; past Roy’s Jeep, further down river, until you reached the small side streets around Richmond Green. It was a comfortable silence, but far from a calm one. You and Roy had thoughts so loud that it was a miracle you couldn’t decipher the chatter in each other’s brains. 

Thinking back to the car ride, the stares, the feeling in your gut, all of it– you knew something had to be said. But, you simply didn’t know how to put it all into words. Perhaps Roy was suffering the same, as his mouth stayed glued shut. 

Approaching the other side of the green, your eyes settled on the Crown and Anchor. Ted and Beard’s stomping ground was lively, and you slowed down to peer through the windows. Twinkling lights rounded each frame, shining onto the people inside. Beers were half drunk, locals chattered and chortled, and Mae stood in her rightful place behind the bar. 

You smiled. “I wonder if Ted and Beard are in.” Your heart felt warm. 

“Ted lives just up there,” Roy said, pointing to a side street beyond the pub. “He made me tea, at the end of last season.”

“Hm,” you said. “That was before the last game, wasn’t it?” 

Roy nodded next to you slowly. “Stopped the twat from getting hit by a cab. He’d had one too many pints.”

You let out a gentle breath, smiling as you pictured the scene. Neither of you made an attempt to walk inside, or further down the road. You simply stayed glued to your spots, and you thought you knew why. This was nice. Stood beside one another, recovering from that tension you’d both had at the restaurant. But– this was safe. You were both avoiding addressing what you truly wanted to; 

What would come of this?

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling that you had to pull off the bandaid. “Listen…” You turned to face him. “Roy–”

“Don’t,” he said quickly, lowly. “I know what you’re gonna say.”

You swallowed away your words. “Okay.”

Roy’s chest expanded as he sucked in as much air as he possibly could, and let it all out of his nose. He smiled. “I like this,” he croaked. “I like things the way they are.” Your heart sunk ever so slightly, but you were thankful he wasn’t yet finished, so you didn’t have to speak. “I like you and me hanging out, and talking football, and just– I don’t fucking know– this.” 

You didn’t understand him fully, and you had a feeling that Roy didn’t understand himself either. Neither of you knew what you wanted precisely, and that was easy to see. 

Panic set in on Roy’s face. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just– I just fucking–” You stopped him by placing a gentle hand on his chest. 

You attempted to rationalise what he was saying. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe keeping things like this, platonic, friendly, whatever the fuck word you could use, was for the best. It was just like that blonde girl back at the restaurant had said; footballers were complicated, and you didn’t like complicated, even if it was with Roy.

“I do, too,” you said, reassuring him. “Like this, I mean. I like this, too.” You smiled, but it felt sad. 

Roy exhaled softly, finally landing on words you could both understand. “I fuck things up, sometimes,” he said lowly. “I don’t want to fuck up things with you.”

An abundance of thoughts trickled from the deep crevices of your brain. Ones that wanted to yell at Roy to let himself be happy, to let himself do things that he wanted, to not hold himself back. The look on his face showed you just how hard he’d thought about it all. It was the same look that had graced his face for most of the meal– he’d been thinking about this conversation all night. 

You had, too. You’d adopted the psyche of someone who knew that she wanted this. Him. And you’d thought that Roy had wanted the same thing, too, considering the immense build up you’d both experienced. You were certain you hadn’t imagined it, certain that he was ready to give in alongside you, but evidently…

You’d been wrong.

And being wrong was okay, especially when your relationship with Roy was on the line. 

You shrugged away the question in your brain of how a fake date, that lasted less than three hours, had utterly changed his mind after months. You bit away the urge to ask him why. Roy’s thoughts weren’t yours to divulge; they were his, and he’d made up his mind. That was something you had to take with grace. 

“Okay,” you whispered. It hurt to say, it hurt to accept, but you weren’t about to become someone that got angry when someone you liked denied you. You took a small step back, and smiled in an attempt to hide how gutted you felt. “Okay, Roy,” you said, stronger this time. It cemented it all.

It was done, and you had to be okay with it, or risk losing him altogether. 

As the end of November hit, Roy became used to his routine. He’d film Soccer Saturday four days a week live, and one day a week for pre recorded segments that were played during highlights. He got up at seven in the morning, sharp, sometimes going for a run when it wasn’t too blisteringly cold, but those mornings had been few and far between as temperatures hit zero. Winter hadn’t yet arrived, but it bloody felt like it.

He’d have a coffee, and don his suit, before jumping his Jeep to the studio. On the way, a mere two minutes into his drive, he’d pass your flat. It was customary for him to glance to the left as he passed, always, but the thoughts that hit him alongside were something he wished would stop. 

That look on your face, the one from that night– it haunted him. You haunted him. 

Through every fault of his own, he was grief stricken. If you’d asked Roy a few weeks before the meal if he was ready for this, for you, for what could be, he wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. But that night, everything had shifted for him. 

The way Rebecca had glanced between you and him made his gut coil, and he knew it was bloody obvious that you both had shared affections. The feeling that you both harboured could’ve been seen from fucking space, he’d bet. But, then it all went downhill. That blonde girl, the one with the giant rack, and even bigger nose to butt in your evening together, had stumped him. 

Up until that moment, Roy was accustomed to knowing when his anger would jump out. He could feel it coming on, sense it raging within him, but when she’d talked down to the likes of you– it had felt uncontrollable. Roy was a violent man; he was no stranger to throwing a punch to someone who deserved it, and he was content living that way. Just not around you. He didn’t like that side of him when you were near. He didn’t want to fight or kick or punch his way out of an uncomfortable situation when you were next to him. 

That, and Roy had felt the unmistakable struggle of something else for practically half his life. It was nagging, and made his chest hurt. Those thoughts of self-loathing, of exposure, of isolation, were something so ingrained that he’d never thought they would be a problem when it came to actually being happy. But, they were. They really fucking were. 

The truth was, Roy Kent didn’t want to drag you– marvellous, intelligent, too-good-for-him you– into his nightmare of a life. Full of uncertainty, or unfulfilled self-worth, of all of it. 

So, that was that. 

You continued working, but reluctantly. Thoughts of Roy pelted your mind, utterly impossible to ignore. You didn’t have time to ponder the possibility of leaving Pluto Press, or doing something different, not when your workload was stacked high. The beginning of December brought buzz about Christmas, but you hardly felt festive. Roy was working hard over at Sky, as were the boys at Richmond. You still kept up with them all, and getting updates from Sam was practically routine now. 

As you jumped off the tube at Richmond after a busy week, your phone buzzed to reveal another text from Sam, but what he’d written made you stop in your tracks. 

Forgot to tell you. Jamie Tartt is back. He started training again today. 

You flashed back to the ordeal from a few months prior, when Sam had stormed off the pitch after seeing Ted at the pub with the ex-Man City superstar. You knew that Ted would have made it clear about bringing Tartt back to the guys, but that didn’t stop you from feeling uncertain. You wanted to think that Jamie had turned a new leaf, but your gut still coiled at the thought of him back at the club. 

Perhaps you were insane, or over-tired, or still reeling after your fake date, but you changed your course home and headed for the Dogtrack without hesitation. Tartt needed to know what was what, and you didn’t care being the person to do that. You imagined it would be harder for Ted to do so, or the guys themselves after all that he’d done last season.

You stormed through the doors off the car park, navigating the corridors down to the lower level, until you stomped your way through the tunnel to the pitch. You launched the door open quickly, not stopping to wave off the confused stares from Ted, Beard and Nate at the edge of the pitch. The guys ran around on the grass, finishing up their final game of their practice. You cut it all short as you propelled your way onto the cold, damp ground. Isaac was the first to stop and stare, whacking Colin on his back to make him aware of your presence too. The trickle of twenty pairs of eyes headed your way immediately, as you cut across Dani and Bumbercatch without a word, headed for one player in particular: number nine, Jamie fucking Tartt.

“Hey!” you exclaimed to him, and a handful of players flinched. 

Jamie whipped his stare away from the ball at his feet, and slowed to a confused stop as you approached him.  “Hey…” he said smally, utterly boggled at your presence. You stopped in front of him, brows furrowed sternly, as you tried to adopt Roy’s resting bitch face. “What’re you–?”

You cut him off by jabbing your pointer finger into his chest. He stepped back once, and rubbed the spot you’d hit him in. “You,” you said strongly.

Jamie’s face warped into concern. “Me?” he said, and his Mancunian accent hit your ears for the first time in several months. You prepared yourself, and even further blocked out the questioning looks that littered the pitch. 

“See this team?” You gestured to the guys quickly. “They’ve worked really fucking hard this season, after the relegation.”

“Okay?” Jamie squeaked out. 

“I’m not questioning Ted’s decision to bring you back,” you continued, holding your ground. “But, know this, Tartt.” You said his name like Roy would, with subtle disdain, with a strength behind it that communicated you were serious. “Being back here is a privilege, not a right, and you need to know that.”

Jamie’s confusion disappeared instantly. His face softened, and was replaced with something resembling guilt. It was a look you’d never seen him wear before, but one that you welcomed in that moment. He needed to know that things wouldn’t be like last time. He needed to know that people like you gave a shit. 

Jamie placed his hands on his hips, and nodded at the ground. “Okay,” he said lowly, before meeting your eye. You raised your brows at him, perhaps in warning. He breathed out quickly. “This is a privilege, not a right,” he repeated to you. 

“Good.” You nodded, and smiled just a little. “Welcome back.” 

Tartt nodded at you in acknowledgement, and you stepped back to show you were done. The guys shuffled behind you, muttering to themselves as you swivelled on your heels and headed back the way you came. When you looked at the various faces around you, Sam was the only one who was properly smiling. He knew you’d done it for him, for all of them. 

Beard hit Ted’s shoulder quickly, and the Texan jumped forward abruptly, until he walked beside you. “All okay, Writer?” he asked, and you smiled wider.

“Sorry for the interruption.”

“Oh, no bother,” Ted said. “Though, perhaps a heads up would have been appreciated.”

You laughed gently. “Noted. Won’t happen again, Coach, I promise.”

Ted laid his hand on your shoulder, and his confused expression turned to gold. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” you said softly. 

“Got any holiday plans?” Ted asked, as the two of you reached the edge of the pitch. You turned back to the guys and practice resumed. 

You shook your head. “Not really. With how busy the office is around Christmas, there’s no point in me going home for it. I’ll probably have to work between Christmas and the New Year.”

Ted hummed in understanding. “Same as us, for sure. We’ve got a match on Boxing Day.”

You hummed in response, as yourself and Ted looked slightly sunken after your small catch up. You’d always spent Christmas with your family, so it would be odd not doing so this year. You tried to think of the perks, though– a pub roast on the day, a drink with Mae at the bar, and an early night before the match and your inevitable workload afterwards. 

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. At least, that’s what you were telling to yourself. 

“Hey!” Sam called from the pitch, jogging over to you and Ted cheerily. “If you have no plans for Christmas day, Mr Higgins is hosting all of Richmond's overseas players. I know that a good few of us are going this year.” Sam smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Do you reckon it would be okay for me to join?” you asked. 

Sam shrugged. “You are a part of Richmond, and you are away from your home. I do not see why not.”

“Very good point well made, Sam,” Ted said softly. Your heart swelled in your chest.

“Okay.” You nodded. “I’ll come.” 

Sam leaned forward and gently grabbed your forearm, squeezing slightly as his fingers coiled around you. He got in close to you. “Thank you,” he whispered, then pulled back and sent you a knowing look. “You are too good to us.” You scoffed to yourself, just from a lack of how to react. 

As Sam jumped back and headed towards the team, he sent you one final glowing review from home: “We all miss you around here!” he exclaimed, before fully rejoining the guys. 

You gulped back your feelings, the hurt, the want, all of it. If you’d allowed yourself to speak back, all your walls would have crumbled instantly. You would have found yourself immediately saying Please let me come back.

Please, let me come home. 

On Saturday afternoon, your phone was ringing off the hook. Not that you could do anything about it, as you found yourself in an altercation with the newly moved-in upstairs neighbour. For days on end, all you’d heard was stomp stomp stomp from above. It was so frequent and so loud that you’d been rudely awoken in the early hours of the morning on multiple occasions.

You were trying this thing where you were being stronger. You were trying this thing where you wouldn’t let people give you shit that you didn’t ask for, nor deserve. When you thought about it in depth, you were actually just trying to be more like Roy. 

As you slammed your front door shut, you sighed deeply. The footsteps from upstairs had gone uncharacteristically quiet, so perhaps you’d actually got through to them. In the kitchen, your phone continued to buzz incessantly. You bound over and were met with something that should have instilled the fear of God into your bones: over ten missed calls, and multiple texts from yours truly, Roy fucking Kent. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered to yourself, as you scrolled through the messages. 

OI!

Pick up the fucking phone.

You’re not gonna believe this shit. 

I’m going on the air in two minutes, hurry the fuck up. 

Guess you’ll just have to watch my mug talk about it on TV.

All messages were sent in a five minute period, not two minutes before. His last call had been one you’d missed by a mere minute. He’d be on Soccer Saturday by now, so you’d just have to see what the fuck was up as it aired. 

When the first advert break hit, you were smiling from smugness. Not that there was any competition between you and Roy when it came to football– he would obviously win– but this time around you felt superior. 

It was about Jamie’s return to Richmond. All that Roy had been calling and messaging you about was Ted bringing the superstar back to the team, and guess what? You’d fucking found out before him. 

During the break, your phone inevitably rang again. You picked it up swiftly, and didn’t even bother talking. Roy growled on the other end. “Did you fucking watch it?” he asked. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed in response, still smiling to yourself. 

Roy went silent for just a second too long, and you could hear the cogs whirring in his head. “You already fucking knew, didn’t you?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed again, fully smiling now. 

“For fucks sake!” he exclaimed. “I should have known your fucking fanbase would have spilled.”

“Sam told me yesterday,” you said. “I actually– well, I went to the Dogtrack after he told me.”

“Oh?” Roy questioned. 

“I may have let my emotions get the better of me.”

“Did you give that little twat what for?”

You squished the features on your face together, thinking back to your abrupt arrival and yelling match on the pitch. “Yes…” 

Roy paused, and your heart stalled. “Good girl,” he said. 

You swallowed away the visceral reaction that reverberated through your chest, but still let out a small choking sound. You played it off as a cough, before you quickly changed the subject. “So, are you doing anything for Christmas?”

“I’ve got Phoebe. We’re gonna attempt to watch all the Harry Potter films in one day. It might get fucking ugly.” Roy paused again, and you had this horrible feeling he was about to– “Want to join us?” 

You clamped your eyes shut. Your heart plummeted into your gut. If he’d asked you this a few weeks back, before the conversation, before the date, before all of it, you wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. Now, even if you’d wanted to go, you wouldn’t be able to after agreeing to join the guys at the Higgins household. But that was just it– after facing the music, and realising that Roy didn’t want anything more, you knew it would be easier for your heart if you stayed away from moments like that.

Moments where it was you and him, him and you. 

“Oh, Roy,” you let out. “That sounds fantastic, really, but I’ve already got plans with the team. I’m sorry.”

Roy knew it was a long shot. He knew you could’ve been going home to see family, but knowing that you were actually staying in Richmond was even more of a blow. You’d be mere miles away with the team, close enough to fucking be around if he tried. Deep down, though, he knew that wasn’t wise. 

It was him that stopped all this in the first place– it should be him to uphold the friendship and not blur the lines. It wouldn’t be fair to you otherwise. 

“No problem,” Roy said through gritted teeth, trying to sound fine. “Really, it’s fine. You’ve been missing Richmond again, haven’t you?” 

You scoffed gently. “You could fucking say that again.” You wanted to ask him the same, as you harboured a feeling that he missed the team just as much as you did, but you didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

Roy copied you, letting out a huff of air softly. “Enjoy yourself. You deserve it.” Over the line, the shrill sound of a bell rang and a tannoy yelled Back on air in one minute! 

You frowned slightly. “Is that your cue?”

“Yeah, it is,” Roy said lowly. 

“You better get back to it.”

“Hm,” Roy growled. Neither one of you wanted to hang up, though. It was plain to fucking see. “I’ll, uh, see you in the new year then.”

“Have a good Christmas, Roy,” you said, almost painfully. 

“You too.” Then, he was gone. 

Waking up alone on Christmas morning was a new feeling. Your apartment was empty, besides yourself and your haphazard decorations, strewn up quickly in the small amount of time you had at home over the weeks leading up to the big day. It was oddly comforting, though, as you operated to your own schedule and weren’t met with the immediate task of dealing with family for a week straight. 

Your phone was full of Christmas messages. Ones from Keeley and Rebecca, from Ted and Beard. One from Nate made you smile, alongside various well-wishes from the local Richmond guys who wouldn’t be in attendance at Higgins’s. 

You drank your coffee happily, and got yourself ready without any time pressures. Walking over to the Higgins’ household was refreshing, as snow graced the ground in all its splendour. Richmond around Christmas time was truly magical, and it made you feel equally as reflective about your time in this part of London. A year and a half had gone so quickly. 

You passed the Crown and Anchor, and smiled at the buskers singing outside. Last Christmas drifted through the air rightfully, and you shrugged your shoulders up to your ears warmly and watched for a minute. 

Down the small side street by the pub, the unmistakable silhouettes of one Ted Lasso and one Rebecca Welton strolled alongside one another. You turned to face them, and could hardly believe your luck. Rebecca’s face lit up as soon as she saw you, and her long arms spread wide to encase you in a hug. 

“Merry Christmas, darling!” she exclaimed warmly, equally happy about bumping into you. 

When you pulled away, she was very quickly replaced by Ted. He wrapped his arms around you instantly. “What a small world, huh!” 

“Small indeed,” you chuckled.

Ted parted from you, and your cheeks already hurt from smiling as you looked at them both before you. “Where are you two off to? Ted, I thought you were having Facetime Christmas with Michelle and Henry?”

Ted frowned ever so slightly. “Well, some things in this life are impossible to control, and I think seven year old boys definitely fit in that category.” You smiled at him in understanding. “Lucky for me, though, the Boss was right there when I needed her.”

“We’re off to play Santa,” Rebecca chimed in. “Definitely beats what I did last year. That was right after Rupert… well. You know.” She smiled subtly. 

“Are you off to the Higgins’s already?” Ted asked. 

You nodded. “I wanted to get there a little early and help Julie if she needed it. Having a house full of footballers doesn’t strike me as something easy.”

“You can sure say that again,” Ted let out. Rebecca chuckled in agreement. 

“What about Roy, what’s he up to?” Rebecca asked. You inhaled a sharp breath, but smiled all the same. You ignored the stabbing pain in your chest, and the hoard of butterflies that ravaged through your stomach. 

You shrugged. “Don’t know.” It was a lie, but you couldn’t be fucked to explain it all. The invitation, the conversation. You hadn’t told her, nor Keeley, about what had happened after the double date. You didn’t want to. 

Ted’s face softened. “Well, we’ll leave you to it, Writer. Have a good one. You deserve it.”

Rebecca encased you in another hug. “You really do,” she whispered. You knew what it meant. 

Roy looked at his phone grumpily. Not that looking at his phone un-grumpily was something he did often, but he was extra grumpy as he traversed his Christmas messages that morning. There was nothing from you, no small text, no Facebook post, no message sent by carrier-fucking-pigeon. 

“Uncle Roy!” Phoebe called, as the pitter patter of her bare feet erupted down the stairs and straight towards him. She crashed into him as he sat at the dining table, and latched herself onto him. “Can we do presents now?”

Roy took one last glance at his phone, before he dropped it on the table. He turned back to his niece, taking in her puppy-dog eyes and features that looked just like his sister. “Fuck yeah,” he said. 

Phoebe squealed at the top of her lungs, before swivelling on her tiny toes and sprinting towards the tree in the living room. Roy watched her go, smiling to himself as she dropped to the floor and started rifling through the wrapped gifts. 

It was true that he wished you were here. You’d probably have arrived right about now, wearing something cosy like a lumper jumper, and holding a bottle of prosecco for later. You’d have brought gifts, no doubt. Some Barbie situation for Phoebe, or another thing suited for a seven year old girl. Phoebe would have loved it.

You would have brought something for him, too. Something that you might have been worrying about for a few weeks, concerned that he wouldn’t like it when, in fact, you could have got him a bag of literal dog shit and he would have still said thank you. 

Roy swallowed away the images that his head made up. He did it often now, thought of what could have been, what might have been his future, if he wasn’t such a fucking git– or, if you weren’t so fucking perfect that it scared him half to death. 

“Julie! I’ve washed the sprouts!” you yelled from the Higgins’ family kitchen. It was a quaint house, and you wondered how the fuck they fit four boys and two grown adults so easily inside.  

“Fabulous.” Julie rounded the corner from the living room, holding two empty plates that only held crumbs. “Another plate of mince pies is all gone. I don’t know where those boys put it all!”

The doorbell rang like clockwork, and with every ring brought another team member, or two, or four. You hugged everyone as they filed into the kitchen, dropping coats and bags and another plate of food until every counter and surface was covered in another cultural dish. It was fantastic, and you found yourself feeling more part of a family than you ever had at Christmasses in the past. There was no drama, no political debates, and no screaming matches with your mother. It was blissful. 

When Dani arrived, the room erupted in greeting. He approached Julie first and offered her his dish. “Mrs Higgins, I bring you my mother’s punch, and some Mezcal on the side, as she says I am already cheeky enough.” 

Julie chuckled. “Oh, thank you, Dani.” She took the punchbowl from him, and lifted the foil. Immediately, the room was met with the metallic scent of alcohol. Tequila was very much already present in this punch. “God– it seems like you’ve already added some to this.”

Dani grinned. “Yes, I may have cheekified this one for you already.”

You chopped carrots a few metres away from them, but turned to Dani with your knife raised. “Someone get me a fucking glass of that.” Sam obliged as you continued chopping, and the group of the guys got themselves a drink too. The festivities were well underway. 

“Here you are,” Sam said, placing a glass of punch beside you. 

“Thank you, Sam.” You wiped your hands and stopped cooking for just a moment, as he raised his own glass in waiting. You smiled and hovered yours next to his, feeling infinitely warm already. “What are we toasting to?” you asked. 

“To you,” he said gently. “Just because you deserve it.”

You chuckled, embarrassed. “Everyone’s been saying that lately,” you said quietly. “I’m not sure why.”

“Because it is our job to remind you of it, especially when you cannot see it yourself.” Sam looked at you softly, and you knew he was being genuine. You clinked glasses, as your eyes welled ever so slightly. It was moments like these that made you feel known, really really known, but also desperately sad. 

Why weren’t you with them every fucking day of the week?

Leslie let in another three of the guys, and as they clambered inside a problem arose. “You’ve become quite popular, Leslie!” Julie exclaimed happily. 

“Yes, it seems so,” Higgins said. “That’s the problem though, isn’t it. Where are we all going to sit?”

You took the roast potatoes out of the oven and dropped them on the kitchen island. “I think I have an idea to fix that,” you said. 

You tucked in your chair last, and looked around the room. A table as long as a train carriage graced the Higgins household, made from the likes of a surfboard and a pool table, amongst other things. Sam sat opposite you, casting you with a golden glow whenever he so much as smiled. 

At the end of the table, Higgins stood up. Every pair of eyes in the house shot his way, and he raised his glass to the sky. “Here’s to another successful Christmas in Richmond!”

Sam raised his glass higher than all else. “And here’s to the family Higgins!”

As darkness set in outside, you all ate and were merry in each other’s presence. Spending time with the team was always special to you, but this moment stood out above all the rest. It marked the start of another year in Richmond, and just over six months at Pluto Press. It marked a year and a half of an unlikely friendship between yourself and Roy, and all the rest.

You ate more than your own bodyweight, but to your utter surprise, at the end of the meal your head was spinning. You took a sip of your drink, and stopped to stare at the contents of your glass. It was full to the brim, but had been almost empty just a moment before. Had that been happening all evening?

You glanced at Sam, but the punchbowl was nowhere near him. When you glanced to your left, however– “I think this punch needs just a bit more cheekiness!” Dani exclaimed, as he poured in another few shots of tequila to the mix. 

You grabbed his bicep gently. “Dani, have you been filling up my glass all night?” you asked. 

Dani nodded happily. “Sí, mi amigo. My mother never believed in empty glasses. A glass cannot be half empty, or half full, it always has to be full full!” he exclaimed. The boys around him cheered and raised their very full glasses. 

“Well.” You scoffed abruptly to yourself. “Shit,” you said. 

Dani turned back to you, eyes gleaming. “Oh my goodness, are you–?” He mimed tipping back a full glass, and you laughed so loudly that the entire table was alerted to you. Dani grabbed your shoulder fondly. “My friends, it seems our Writer has been– how do you say it in English?”

Bumbercatch leant forward, smiling wildly. “Trollied, bevved, battered–”

Dani stood up abruptly. “She has been trollied, bevved and battered!” He raised his glass high, and clinked it with the guys down his end of the table. 

Meanwhile, you were just calming down from an uncontrollable laughing fit. You glanced at your very full glass, and a small part of your brain told you not to drink it. You’d already had far too much, and you knew what you got like when tequila was in your system. On the other hand, you thought of Roy. 

And he would have told you to buck the fuck up and drink the whole fucking thing. 

You raised your glass to the sky. “To Richmond!” 

The guys followed suit, almost knocking over the surfboard table. “To Richmond!” 

As you stumbled through town, after declining multiple attempts from the guys to drive you home or get you an Uber, you found yourself heading elsewhere. Not home, to the comfort of your bed and a full loaf of bread for you to soak up all of Dani’s Mezcal. Instead, your legs were taking you the familiar route to Roy’s house. You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it wasn’t too late for him to be asleep. You were proved right, as you rounded the corner to his drive and saw the living room lights still on, no matter how dimly lit he liked them to be. 

As you approached his front door, the small bit of your logical brain that you had left was screaming at you to fuck off and turn around. This was silly, you knew, but you couldn’t fathom going home just yet. Innately, you landed upon yelling surprise! or starting to sing carols in Roy’s face as soon as he opened his door. Somehow, those ideas seemed like the perfect idea, and not at all fucking stupid.

You knocked on the solid oak door strongly, ready to surprise the hell out of him, but when he opened the door and peered down at you– all your words failed. 

Roy wore the remnants of a suit, and a fancy one at that. His tie was loose around his neck, and his shirt was slightly untucked at the bottom, but not enough to not notice the belt that sat snug around his waist. You scanned him up and down quickly– or as quickly as you could in this fucking state. To Roy, your checking him out took a solid ten seconds, or longer. 

When you met his eyes again, he couldn’t hide the amused smile on his face any longer. “Can I help you?” he asked. 

“I may have had a bit to drink,” you said, and as hard as you tried you couldn’t stop your words from slurring. “Dani made punch.”

“Did that punch happen to punch you in the fucking face?” Roy huffed.

You nodded. “Juuust a little bit,” you let out. 

Roy moved to the side. “Fucking get in here,” he said warmly.

You struggled to take off your boots, as Roy grabbed a few drinks from the kitchen. He oversaw you in his entryway, shrugging off your coat clumsily. When you stepped onto his floor in your socks, you skidded and let out a squeak. 

Roy looked away quickly, trying to harden his expression. Watching you inebriated and without inhibitions was enough to make his gut coil. You stumbled to the kitchen, and leaned against the kitchen island just to keep yourself up-right. 

He slid you a beer, which you took without question. “I really don’t need this, do I?” you said, looking to Roy for approval. 

“Fuck no,” he said. “But, it’s Christmas.” 

“Right you are,” you said. The two of you clinked your bottles together, and you swigged back your beer as if it were water. Roy chuckled so hard that beer frothed out of his mouth. 

“Fucking hell, come on.” He grabbed your bicep gently, and led you to the living room. 

You practically jumped onto the sofa, and got yourself comfortable immediately. “I love Christmas,” you whittled on. Roy sat on the other side of you, and took a swig of his own beer. “All the lights, and the snow, and everyone together. I just love it.”

“I take it that spending the day with the team was nice?”

“Just the best!” you exclaimed, raising your arms to the sky and almost dropping beer onto Roy’s plush carpet. He took another amused swig, just to distract himself. “How was your day with Phoebe?”

“We got to Order of the Phoenix before she fucking fell asleep,” he said. “She gave it a good shot.” 

In the corner of his eye, Roy spotted the last present beneath his tree, and remembered who it was for. As you busied yourself by pulling off the sticker from your bottle, Roy got up swiftly and headed to pick it up. He placed his beer down as he grabbed it, and opened the card on the top. 

Just another thing to remind you of home. Roy. 

His handwriting was shit, and he knew it, but he thought that now was as good a time as any to give it to you. It was Christmas after all. 

“Hey, so. I don’t know what’s got me being such a pussy this year, but I got you something,” he said, keeping his back turned to you. “You don’t have to open it now, just thought it would be nice.” He turned back to you, expecting you to be looking at him with those large, glassy eyes that he’d looked into a thousand fucking times.

Roy relaxed when he saw you, and a bubbly laugh ejected itself from his mouth. You were fast asleep on his sofa, beer balanced precariously on your chest as you breathed rhythmically. Your expression was soft, and your mouth was open, ready to emit some serious snoring. Roy strolled back to you slowly, placing your present on the coffee table. He grabbed the beer from your chest and replaced it by pulling a blanket over you warmly. You didn’t stir, utterly unconscious from such a fun packed day. 

He’d never seen you like this– with your guard completely down. He felt privileged to know you felt comfortable enough to feel so at home like this. In his house, completely pissed, next to him. 

Something new came over Roy as he made sure you were comfortable, and before he could stop himself, he leant down and placed a kiss on your forehead. Just a peck, and so fast and soft as not to wake you up. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. 

Roy left you on his sofa, at peace, and turned off the lights as he headed for bed himself. On the way up, he thought about the last year and a half of having you in his life. All the ups and the downs, all the confusion and the clarity– and what a time it had fucking been. 

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[nr1chaedickrider]

When you're tossing, when you turn in your sleep - It's because I'm ghosting your dreams.

"stop haunting me"- you yell at tzuyu

the first time chou tzuyu visited you was long ago, around 3 to 4 months if you needed to guess.

it was a cold winter night, you were sitting at your desk, listening to music.

the atmosphere in the room completly changed as she entered, wearing a white dress.

you clearly remember how you stared at her, in confusion.

obviously in confusion, who wouldn't be when seeing a ghost in their room?

you rubbed your eyes with your hands, shutting them tightly, then, staring at her again.

she was real.

"who-.. what are you?" you asked her.

she replied to you with a soft whisper, oddly comforting, like you heard it somewhere before.

"i'm a ghost"

she was completly calm, moving elegantly and sitting down on your messy bed.

you paused your music and took off your headphones.

"why are you here?" you asked her.

"there is no special reason to why i am here, i didn't decide that" she said in a calm voice.

"then who did?" you say - no reply, just her shaking her head a little.

you were confused, but just thought that asking more about it would make her mad.

"can i know your name?" you ask instead.

"tzuyu. chou tzuyu." she replied.

"i'm y/n" a little smile on tzuyu's face, as she had never encountered such a meeting.

you sat down next to her, leaving enough space between you two so she doesn't feel offended in any way (it definetly wasn't your plan to piss off a ghost).

-

tzuyu visited you every night since that day.

she would show up at the same time every night, scaring you mostly, but on some days you expected her.

you waited for a ghost, sounds ridicilous, doesn't it?

you never were able to describe the relationship you both had.

you were surprised when she allowed you to touch her, it came out of nowhere.

it also came out of nowhere when you touched her in ways no other ever did.

you whispered sweet words in her ear as she came all over your hand.

you clearly remember that night (even though you would describe yourself as quite forgetful).

you also clearly remember how she whispered "i love you" in the depth of the night.

oh how you loved her.

in love with a ghost, sounds like something that's made up.

if only it laster forever.

tzuyu's visits became more irregular, she wouldn't visit you for multiple days, even up to multiple weeks, with no explanation.

but when she would come, she would shower you with love - and it's like you forgot what things she did (or rather, didn't do).

her visits also turned into her haunting you in your dreams.

sleepless nights everytime she wouldn't visit.

sleepless nights everytime she would visit.

there was no difference, you felt like something was stopping you from sleeping everytime she entered your thoughts.

"stop haunting me tzuyu" you screamed at her.

she stared at you, then nodded.

you weren't even able to confront her in any way.

she just left you alone.

all alone, with your thoughts.

your heart aches everytime you tell this story to someone.

and your nights are still filled with thoughts of her.

she still haunts you - just the thing that she isn't with you anymore.

[shownusgfayoooo]

A Potions Mishap

Pairing: Seonghwa x f!Y/N

Tropes: Hogwarts au, Slytherin!Hwa, Ravenclaw!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining

T/W: injury with a knife, feeling dizzy/sick, f word

Words: ~4k

my masterlist

You normally enjoy Potions class, you really do. But, today, the thought of spending the whole afternoon in the dungeons was filling you with a sense of tediousness and dread. Not only was it a perfect summer day- one that you couldn’t even enjoy because of double potions, but it was also exam season- so, even if you hadn’t had class blocking up the whole day, then studying for your N.E.W.T.’s was enough to ruin anyone’s mood. Add a granola bar for every meal for the past two weeks and barely four hours of sleep from the night before, and the equation spelled a truly annoying and exhausting end to your school day.

Noticing the sour look on your face, your friend and fellow Ravenclaw housemate, Hongjoong waved his fork in front of your face. “Earth to Y/N.”

You wrinkled your nose at him. “Whaaaaat?”

“Have you seen the time? We have class in 5 minutes, and – did you seriously not eat anything, again?”

You blinked down at your where your plate should be. Instead, you saw your Potions text, riddled with notes in the margins and covered in pink highlights. To the side sat your plate of food, untouched.

“Ah, shit.”

 Hongjoong began to open his mouth to lecture you before you cut him off, “Just save it- as if you haven’t forgotten to eat because you also got caught up in some project at the table!”

He quickly closed his mouth and gave you a stern smile instead. “At least I don’t do it every day. From tomorrow onwards, if you don’t eat, I will force feed you, I swear.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and finally pulled your sandwich towards you. Still, you only managed a few bites before it was time to go.

You sighed as you walked down the stairs. You were really not looking forward to – before you could even finish the thought, you were attacked from behind. Gasping, you almost lost your balance down the last step, but the perpetrators steadied you. You shot a look of annoyance over both your shoulders at the two banes of your existence.

“Aw, noona. What’s got you sighing like that?” San asked.

“Or should we ask- whoooo?” Wooyoung wagged his eyebrows at you.

You huffed as you pushed them both off. “As if. Try to kill me again, and I’ll hex you so bad you won’t be able to sit your exams, I mean it.”

“Oh, noona. Please hex me. PLEASE. I really don’t wannaa take these fucking N.E.W.T.s.” Mingi added.

You pushed ahead of the three Gryffindor idiots, hiding your smile. “Why do I even bother?”

A low chuckle reached your ears. “I ask myself the same question every day, Y/N.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your features cool as you turned your head up to Seonghwa who was holding the door to the classroom open for you and the guys. You managed to say hello and thank him before the blush could really bloom on your cheeks and across your nose.

Hongjoong wagged his eyebrows at the look on your face as he took his usual spot next to you at the worktable. He was the only one who knew of your crush on the Slytherin.

It had all started in 6th year. Up until then, Potions had always been taught to you with the Hufflepuffs. As such, you, and Hongjoong for that matter, had never had this class with the Gryffindors or the Slytherins. However, at the N.E.W.T. level, there were barely enough students to fill a single classroom. This is when you first came across Seonghwa in a classroom setting. Even though you were friends with his “band of pirates” as they liked to call themselves, you had never seen or interacted with Seonghwa outside of the group. Here in class, San and Wooyoung were paired up at a workstation, as they had been their whole Hogwarts career, and the same was true for you and Hongjoong. Though Mingi and Seonghwa were from Gyrffindor and Slytherin, respectively, they had never been partners before 6th year. Even though they had always been friends, House always came first. Even you had always paired with Hongjoong, even though you were both close with Yunho who was a Hufflepuff who you had shared Potions with for 5 years.

“I’m telling you, Y/N. We gotta glamour your face or something, you’re as red as a tomato.”

You looked at Joong in horror as your hands came up to cover your cheeks. “Is it really?”

It was at that moment that Seonghwa reached his table and took his seat in front of you two. “Everything alright?” He looked between the two of you.

“Yes, of course!” You laughed awkwardly as you hit Hongjoong on the arm. It sounded a bit too high even to your ears.

Seonghwa’s smile was stiff on his face as he nodded and took his seat, just as your professor started the class.

“Alright class. New orders from above. Today, we are going to be striving towards inter-house unity!”

As the class gave each other unsure looks, the false cheery smile slipped off Professor Nott’s face. “I know it’s annoying guys, but please find a partner from a House that is not yours. And before any of you try to be sneaky- yes, I’m looking at you Mingi- if you already have a partner from a different house, then find a new one! We’re going to be working on the Shrinking Solution today, and you all know that needs two hands for the chopping and stirring that needs to happen at the same time.” The class groaned. “Do not kill me; it was not my idea,” he held up his hands. “Why the Headmaster decides at the very last minute of your academic career to shake things up; I’ll never understand,” he muttered under his breath, not quite successfully.

You stood from your spot with your bookbag, unsure of where to turn. But, before you could even take a breath, Mingi came around your corner of the table, jostling you, and wrapped his arms around Hongjoong. “Dibs!” The Ravenclaw was quick to shrug out of it and yell and start wagging a finger at him, but Mingi just stuck his tongue out at San and Wooyoung across the aisle who were throwing their arms up in the air and giving him the finger.

In the chaos, Y/N didn’t see Seongwa scowl at Mingi as she steadied her balance yet again.

You chuckled and started to make you way over to the Gryffindors you were most comfortable with, before San and Wooyoung quickly and efficiently swapped partners with the Slytherin boys that always sat in front of them, Changbin and Leeknow.

You frowned and quickly let your eyes dart around the whole classroom. Everyone was paired up, except for Seonghwa. He sat calmly at his spot, twirling a quill between his long fingers, almost as if he was waiting for you.

He sensed your gaze and looked up at your from under his long lashes.

“Wanna be my mine?”

Even though you were quick to surmise the true meaning of his not-so-innocuous question, you couldn’t help your eyes from widening as your heart heard a different meaning.

“S-sure, I’ll be your partner.” You took Mingi’s vacated seat quickly and avoided his gaze.

As the class settled, Professor Nott started his brief lecture on the potion. Your knee bounced under the table. You were so aware of every line of Seonghwa’s body, just inches from yours. Did you and Hongjoong sit this close, also? You had truly never noticed. The space between you and the Slytherin felt so heavy with static. Were you moving too much? You stopped shaking your leg, but that lasted two seconds, before your fingers started drumming against the desk.

Seonghwa suddenly leaned forward from his slouched position to place his forearms on the table next to where yours were. His fingers covered the movement of yours.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you kept your eyes on the board, as you felt him lean his head towards yours.

“If you’re so nervous about this potion, Y/N, don’t worry, I’m the top of this class. I’ve got you.” His whisper was a tickle against your ear.

Was it just you being delusional or did all his words have double meanings? You smirked back even as your heat raced in your chest at both his proximity and his teasing words.

You met his eyes briefly to retort back. “Actually, you’ll find that your tied for that position, with me. So, maybe it is I that will be carrying you.”

He smiled back, and your eyes caught in a moment that lasted what seemed like forever, before it was broken by the sound of scraping chairs.

You both blinked before also standing to start your potion. Pink dusted both student’s cheeks, unbeknownst to the other.

“Oh also, class! I know you know this but be careful when you’re chopping the cowbane. Even the juice on your knife is very poisonous blah blah, get to it!” You smiled at Professor T’s cavalier attitude, even though you knew he cared very deeply for his students and educating every generation of students he could be available to.

You and Seonghwa quickly settled into an efficient routine. It was almost like you could read each other’s minds; without even speaking, you both divvied up the tasks in a way that made sense to you. He had already chopped the shrivelfigs and added their juice to the cauldron, while you intuitively prepared the next steps by mincing the daisy root and preparing the hairy caterpillars as he heated the cauldron gently.

You were surprised, as you had never had such chemistry with another Potions partner before. You always had a hard time doing group projects, because you thought you could just do better on your own and were often irritated at having to go at someone else’s slower pace. You and Hongjoong had always worked well together, with the minor bumps caused by his temper tantrums and your passive aggressiveness, but you had thought that he was the best a partner could ever be. As you watched Seonghwa vigorously stir the potion, a step you always hated because your arm always got tired, you realized you couldn’t have been more wrong. You both naturally gravitated towards the different aspects of the potion that you favored and preferred. It was honestly euphoric to be working together like this, and the academic in you was singing with joy.  

You were working on juicing the leeches when the heat of the room started getting to you. The many fires under the cauldrons made it so that the dungeons were sweltering. Somewhere in the room, Wooyoung started screaming that he had accidentally added rose petals instead of daisy root, and the whole class groaned because any first year knows that combining rose to blood from anything made for the most disgusting smell. The fumes started to make you dizzy, and you were suddenly regretting only eating two bites of a sandwich.

Seonghwa paused in his shaking of the rat spleen you had just handed over, barely a tremble to your hand. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Yes..?”

His eyes looked into yours deeply. You were not used to someone noticing when things were barely off with you. This little bit of dizziness was nothing.

“If you’re sure.” He didn’t look too convinced as he turned to stir the cauldron clockwise.

As you started working on the cowbane, these thoughts took another turn. Not only was he the best partner you had ever had, but he was also so caring and asked after your wellbeing! Your crush reared its big head before you could stifle it down.

You were carefully slicing the second piece of cowbane to render more liquid- the first had not yielded enough for the potion. All of a sudden, the dizziness came back in full force and your vision swam before your eyes. The knife missed its mark and instead imbedded in your thumb. You blinked and swayed.

“Y/N!”

A hand wrapped around your left wrist, while another took the knife out of your right hand.

“Sorry, Seonghwa.” You had ruined the potion. He had stopped stirring because of you.

Along with the dizziness came a new feeling. Your body felt so floaty. Everything was too bright and too loud.

A voice swam in from far away.

“I think the knife had some juice on it, Professor, and she cut herself pretty deep. I’ve been holding pressure, but…”

“No, you did the exact right thing, Seonghwa. Don’t worry; she’ll be okay. We just need to get her to Madame Patil in the hospital wing, and the antivenom will fix her right up.”

There was the sound of a bomb exploding.

“I’ll go take care of San’s potion- he clearly added the rat spleen incorrectly, seeing as it misfired. Are you ok to take Y/N up by yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

Then, an arm wrapped around your waist to pull you up from your chair. His other arm took yours over his shoulder as he began to take you out of the classroom.

“Seonghwaaa.”

“Y/n, just hang on, ok? We’re going to the Hospital Wing.” He looked down at you.

“You’re too tall.”

He looked down at you, confused, but did not stop his hurried rush across the corridor to the stairs. “Excuse me?”

“My arm hurts at this angle.” Why were words coming out so readily right now? Was it the cowbane?

He brought you both to a standstill. “Um, yea, it’s one of the effects of cowbane poisoning. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was uncomfortable.” You could barely feel alarm that there was no filter between your brain and your mouth through the haziness that was descending over your whole body.

He looked unsurely up the stairs and back at you twice before his face set in determination.

“Ok, Y/N, I’m going to have to carry you.”

“No!” You stepped back shakily. You were definitely too heavy. This was going to be so embarrassing. But, also, it would feel so good probably. To be in his strong Chaser arms. Oh my god. Wait, he could hear everything. This is so embarrassing.

He smiled privately to himself before pulling you closer. “I hate to do this without your consent, but technically, you are not sound of mind and actively have a poison in your system, and Professor told me to get you there as fast as possible, so-”

And with that, he swung you up in your arms, like you weighed nothing and started off up the stairs.

The sudden change of position set your stomach rolling and the dizziness came back with doubled force. You whimpered and burrowed your head further into his neck, forgetting to fight him for manhandling you.

“I don’t feel so good.”

Seonghwa glanced worriedly down at your face which was turning an unhealthy-looking shade of green. “We’re almost there, love. Just hang on. I’m getting you there.”

You whimpered and tried to focus on breathing in and out slowly. Still, even though you were feeling so sick, the comfort and exhilaration of being so close to Seonghwa was not lost on you. If you threw up on Seonghwa right now, you were gonna kill yourself.

“Please don’t. I’d miss you too much.”

“Ugh, please stop reading my mind,” you managed to say between clenched teeth.

He chuckled quietly before depositing you softly onto a bed. Oh, a bed? Was it his bed? What was he going to do? What did you want him to do? Before your brain could come up with incriminating ideas to answer that question, a soft voice interrupted you.

“Oh, thank Salazar she’s conscious.”

“Um, Ms. Y/N, you are in the Hospital Wing.” There was a laughing lilt to her voice before it turned serious. “Mr. Seonghwa told me of the situation that happened in the Potions class, and I have just administered the antidote. It takes effect in 15 minutes, so just try hang on a little bit longer as it clears out the poison in your system. I also administered an anti-emetic, so just breathe in and out so you don’t throw up the antidote, or we’ll have to start all over and you will just feel worse as the cowbane spreads further. Just these 15 minutes, Y/N, and after that you should start to feel better within the hour. I’ll go whip up a hydration potion, also, because your basic diagnostic charm did not look good, young lady.”

You finally blinked open your eyes to see the high ceiling above you. Madame Patil was not wrong in taking extra measures to make sure you didn’t throw up. You felt like a ragdoll thrown at sea. The nausea was overwhelming, and the panic that it was causing wasn’t helping either. Before you could start hyperventilating in full, a hand grabbed yours.

You turned your head to where Seonghwa sat in the chair next to your bed.

“Sh, just focus on me.” He inhaled exaggeratedly and raised his eyebrows at you to follow.

You clamped down your jaw harder and mimicked him. It helped a fraction. Then, the next breath came easier. As did the next.

You don’t know how much time passed, but looking at him helped you hold on and focus even when your whole body was thrown in turmoil. Staring into his eyes and seeing him stare back just as hard at your own anchored you and healed you in more than one way.

You didn’t even realize 15 minutes had passed and that the nausea had stopped until Healer Patil bustled back into the room, a pale pink potion in her hands.

“You did so well, Y/N,” she soothed quietly. At the nurturing tone and the knowledge that you could finally relax a little now, your eyes welled up.

“There, there- none of that. The worst has passed. Now, drink this.”

You wrinkled your nose and glanced at Seonghwa in dread. Rehydrating potions tasted so bad. When will the horrors end?

He shook his head at you sternly. “Hurry up, Y/N.”

“Ugh.” You downed the whole glass, and Healer Patil leaned you back softly onto the headboard.

“All done. Now, you just rest. I’m writing you a pass for classes tomorrow as well.”

“Oh, but-”

She looked down at you sternly. “No buts. I know it’s exam season, Y/N, but if you want to write those exams to the best of your ability, then you need to take care of your body as well as your mind. That means eating well, sleeping enough, and resting when you need to. Your body has just undergone a major ordeal even if it was healed so quickly, so give it the time it needs to recuperate.”

“Okay, okay. I promise I’m not that bad at taking care of myself!”

“Do you think my diagnostics lied to me? You haven’t eaten well in the past week and a half from the looks of it and are severely dehydrated! The poison wouldn’t have worked so fast if you weren’t already so compromised!”

At that, you had nothing to say. The older Ravenclaw nodded and sniffed as she walked away.

That left you alone with Seonghwa. As the haziness of your mind started to clear, the events of the past hour came back to you.

You snuck a glance at him. He looked the most worried you had ever seen him. Even more than when Yeosang had been upset- this sent any of the pirates into a spiral. More than when Jongho had to take a break from Quidditch because of a knee injury. More than any occasion before.

You looked back down at your hands. It was surprising to see the cut that had started this whole fiasco. Though it wasn’t that deep of a gash, it was pretty long, almost the whole length of your thumb. You winced as you prodded at it.

“Oh, here. Let me heal that for you.”

You looked up, surprised. “Oh, that’s okay. It’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is.” He frowned at you. You were scared at his expression. He had never looked at you like that before. Just what exactly had you said in your state of delirium? What if he hated you now?

Before you could suggest that Healer Patil could do it, he took your hand gently in his and pulled it towards him. He softly muttered the incantation as he waved his wand over the cut, and the cooling rush of his magic tingled all the way up your arm. It was so intimate.

The heady feeling of happiness rushing through your chest at the feel of his magic coming up against yours halted in its tracks. What if he hated you now? His whole demeanor was so off. You had to clear the air.

“Listen, Seonghwa. I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for noticing what happened immediately and getting me here so quickly and helping me… And, also, I wanted to say I’m sorry.” You were glaring at where your hands were twisting the sheets, so you missed his look of surprise. “I feel bad that you had to take care of me and that I took time out of your learning time, especially when we know that the Shrinking Solution is probably gonna be tested on the N.E.W.T.s, and I – I , whatever I said, I’m sorry. If you could just tell me what I said that offended you, I promise I probably didn’t mean it. Or if I did, then I can just explain-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His hands covered both of your own.

You looked up at him, your lip between your teeth.

“Who said I’m mad? I’m not. I promise.”

“But you- you looked so serious just now.”

“Well, yea! Of course, I am.” He ran his hands through his hair agitatedly. “But not because I’m mad that I had to take care of you or leave class because of you or any dumb reason you just came up with right now.” He smiled at you.

You laughed weakly. “O-oh.”

He looked up at the ceiling and muttered under his breath, “Fuck it.”

His hand came up to wrap around your own again. “Y/N, I was worried. Just now. That’s why I looked so serious. And who wouldn’t be when you hear that the girl you’re in love with pushes herself so hard that she is physically unwell? That a Healer who was trained for years had to spell that out so clearly for you?”

Where the poison couldn’t finish the job, his words just had- your heart was stopped. But that was surely impossible, because you could feel the telltale burn of blood across your cheeks. Could a girl still blush if her heart was stopped? You dropped your gaze to your hands again.

He chuckled quietly at the look on your face and leaned impossibly closer still.

“But, you don’t have to worry. I won’t look so serious again, because I figured out a solution to my problem.”

“What’s that?” Why was your voice so shaky?

“Since you won’t do it yourself, I’m just going to have to take care of you.”

You looked at his eyes, his impossibly soft brown eyes. And you saw reflected in them for the first time the same feelings you had harbored for him in your own the past two years.  

You teared up at the sudden revelation, the tenderness with which he spoke, and the utterly gentle care you had received from him. And you just knew- this was it. This was it for the rest of your life. He smiled back at you just as brightly as you both were quiet in the reverence of such a moment shared between two souls.

The sudden bang of a door could be heard, not from the entry to the wing but from the Healer’s private office. It signaled that she had stepped out. Seonghwa tilted his head and then smirked mischievously at you before quickly climbing into the bed with you.

“Hey!” You laughed as you poked him in the side.

“Don’t act like this isn’t sooo comfortable for your poor healing-from-a-poison body right now.”

“Mm, I can’t deny that.” Now that you were not nauseous or dizzy or delirious anymore, your body felt like it had been hit by a truck. You sighed against his chest and his arms squeezed around you tighter, only this time you could properly enjoy it.

The silence was peaceful.

“Now, I know I’m in your bed, Y/N, but please try to keep your thoughts a little innocent for now. You’re sick, you know. When you feel better, we can revisit all those things you wanted me to do to you in a bed, ok?”

“Shut up!”

[snowbellewells]

Captain Swan Collab Words 23 fic: "Freed to Love"

This even was such a fun idea, and the three of us - @statustemporary @jrob64 and @snowbellewells - had a lot of fun working together and seeing our initial idea come to life. We decided we really wanted some whump and hurt/comfort taking place, and eventually we settled on a Revolutionary War time period AU for our setting. We also used a suggested quote about the persistence of hope, and the idea of being touch starved, both of which played into our idea well.

Thanks so much to the @CSCW23 @Captain Swan Collab Words 23 for the idea to create a story as a group. It really was a new and exciting challenge that made for a new CS adventure.

And a very special thanks to @hookedmom for all the time and care she took as our beta reader for this fic!!

(Fic cover art by @snowbellewells)

"Freed to Love"

by: @jrob64 @statustemporary and @snowbellewells

Early morning dew soaks through Emma’s boots to her stockings. The wetness chafes at the skin of her feet and she holds back a wince with every step she takes. Her eyes remain downcast in the role of a perfectly submissive British nurse ready to abide by the orders of officers and soldiers alike. Her horse arrived late yesterday afternoon to the stern face of Colonel Sitwell, a high-ranking officer of the British military who is well aware that escorting a new nurse to camp is far below his station.

Last night’s rain is making the trip uphill more strenuous than anticipated. Sitwell’s boots kick mud back at her, staining the bottom of her gown, and a part of her wonders if he does it purposely.

Philadelphia.

She started in Fort Ticonderoga in late July, aiding the troops who overtook the abandoned rebel colonists’ camp. The end of August found her in Bennington, caring for the few wounded left behind after their defeat at Rebel hands. September brought her to Brandywine Creek, before her new orders informed her to follow the river to Philadelphia.

She has traveled so far just to end a few days up the river from David and Mary Margaret.

Emma’s heart pounds as they encroach on the troops standing guard outside the British camp. How many more can she bear to approach before she’s unable to handle the heartache?

All of them, she thinks immediately. She’d travel up and down the colonies if she has to, until she finds him. Her hands would service each wound on every British soldier if it brought him back to her. She’d swallow back the bile while they brag about killing her friends, she’d clench her fists as they discussed future strategies while on their sick beds.

She is trained for this. Mary Margaret showed her how to survive, while David taught her how to blend in. And Killian…

Her heart lurches when the familiar accents of British soldiers reach her ears. Emma barely pays any mind to what they’re saying. Instead, she embraces the only reminder she has of Killian, of the way he spent hours teaching her his accent to help her prepare for her role.

Despite the harsh, uncaring intonation, the familiar words that swirl in the air around her easily send Emma’s mind back to a happier early morning, months ago now, but emblazoned on her memory with the warmth and clarity of something from mere moments ago. 

Killian had come to the house to report his findings from a recent scouting mission, and when he finished, she had pulled him into the kitchen to speak privately, blushing hotly as she did so, the heat from the pot-bellied stove keeping the room toasty, though breakfast preparations were over.

Up to that point, they had spoken a few times, and Killian had also been friendly, polite, even playfully attentive with her, but Emma had not gotten the occasion to speak with him as much as she would have wished. Mary Margaret had encouraged her, with her ever-present optimism and her hope to see Emma as happily in love as she was herself; to take this very genuine opportunity to seek him out at once and gain the knowledge she sought.

Seated facing her on the rough hewn wooden bench at the Nolan’s kitchen table, Killian had grinned impishly as she settled beside him and arranged her skirts, clearly knowing what she was about, even though the tops of his ears were a heated pink to match her blushing cheeks. When she dared to look up and make full, uninterrupted eye contact with him, Emma had nearly toppled off her seat onto the floor at the electric impact of his gaze connecting with hers.

She was only saved from making a fool of herself prattling away nervously by Killian speaking. The gently cultured cadence of his words reminded her of her purpose, as he dipped his chin to look up at her rakishly through his dark lashes. 

And so it had begun between them that simply. She asked Killian for instruction in British pronunciation, accent, phrases, anything which might help her to better blend in and avoid detection as a patriot spy amongst the Redcoats. Granted, few paid much heed to what the nurses - or women in general - had to say; for once, her femininity was an advantage in the quest for near-invisibility. Still, she wanted to be ready. If the need to speak arose while she was posted in some hospital or camp, Emma was determined to sound as English as any fine lady in London.

Not only was it all too easy to pull up the hazy-warm and peach-sunrise-gilded memories and lose herself within their comfort, but as time and distance stretched between them and Emma searched fruitlessly once they learned of Killian’s capture, it had been one of the rare bits of joy left her for a momentary escape. She could envision his face so clearly within an instant of closing her eyes. The curious tilt of his head as he waited for her to speak whatever term he had just taught her. The way the tip of his tongue poked tantalizingly from between his parted lips to tease her mind addled with flustered desire. The way his lips moved deliberately, patiently, repeating whatever sound or inflection she attempted to imitate, until they were both satisfied with her repetition - usually left Emma nearly in his thrall before they were finished.

One particular morning as the seconds stretched and melted together between them like butter and honey slathered on a hot, homemade biscuit, making her want to soak up every delicious second she could, she paused hesitantly before bravely clutching his hand in shaking fingers, “And what would you say…”  she asked, clinging as tightly as possible to him while they both were still together and safe. “What would you say,” she tried again after swallowing hard and gathering her courage, “if you were captured and threatened with death?”

Emma had held her breath, waiting anxiously for his response, all the while knowing it would not be one to put her at ease, nor had she truly asked for the sake of gaining some stoic, proper British response for her own use. She knew Killian would never yield to questioning or torture, would not plead for his life or make any sort of fearful compromise, much as she might wish him to, if it meant his life. Emma wasn’t sure what she was hoping to hear, but somehow she needed his answer all the same.

“I’d tell them they might bloody well try to end me,” he had replied stoutly, the blue of his fathomless eyes almost drowning her as he held her gaze determinedly. “But I’m a survivor, Lass, and I will find a way to return to you. You need never doubt that.”

His words had left her breathless then, and now Emma forced herself to release the breath she held in her aching chest as she remembered that promise.

Opening her eyes again brings her back into the muddy, chaotic, and haphazardly organized camp around her, which seems all the more removed from the haven she had recreated in her mind’s eye, because of the loneliness that immediately accosts her and the complete absence of Kilian. Though the speech around her had brought those better days to mind at first hearing, now they seem to highlight just how alone she is, since none of the accented voices belong to him… 

“Miss Swan,” Sitwell growls. Emma shoots her gaze up to meet his and she purposely widens her eyes to bear the image of apologetic innocence. The move infuriates the officer further. His white hair is slicked back with sweat across his broad forehead, the wrinkles there crumpling together as he glares down at her. The lines around his mouth become more pronounced as his face fashions into a sneer and he juts his large nose up at her. “Has cannon fire damaged your hearing or are you fit to perform your duties to the Crown and His soldiers?”

“My apologies, Colonel Sitwell,” Emma says, effortlessly picking up the accent Killian worked so hard to teach her. “It won’t happen again, Sir.” She bows her head to him and clasps her hands together in front of her. Her small bag bounces against her hip and she thinks not of the weapons that have been stored there for months, swaddled between clothes and hidden in pockets.

Sitwell scoffs and strides into camp with the silent expectation that she is to follow. Hurrying behind him, she catalogs all possible routes of escape and makes a note to pay attention to guard rotation over the next couple of days.

The European theater of war plays out drastically different than it does in the colonies, or so David has said. Rules of engagement in Europe allow a modicum of respect for the treatment of prisoners of war, varying with rank. To escape while a prisoner is considered desertion and dishonorable. Except, they’re not in Europe, and British troops refuse to recognize Colonists as an independent entity, tossing all procedure out the window.

Will Scarlett’s return just a week after Killian was taken occupies the free moments in her mind. 

Malnourished, with a number of infected wounds and diseases bringing him knocking on death’s door, Will, a fellow rebel from their town, explained to the women that the British didn’t have the care or the resources to deal with their large numbers of prisoners. He’d been kept in a warehouse packed together with other prisoners, like a school of fish with vermin nibbling at their toes. Feces became their pillows and the dead bodies of their comrades their blankets.

Her friend’s words work as nightmare fuel when she lays her head down to sleep. Visions dance behind her closed lids of the worst possible scenarios.

Will was just an everyday soldier, but Killian – he’d barely been a man when he followed his brother into the Royal Navy at the end of the Seven Years War in the colonies. After his brother’s death due to their King’s nefarious orders, he swore off his homeland and pledged his allegiance to the colonies. She watched as he moved up in rank and provided crucial details and secrets of the British.

If what Will saw is what the British did with a regular soldier, what would they do with a traitor of great importance?

Emma's hope for the future outcome of their struggle against the British and for Killian's safe return to her had flickered like a candle struggling in the wind at the picture Will painted. For several frightening moments when he first told them of his experience, she had feared it extinguishing altogether. Her ability to believe had already been fragile; the odds were against them, after all. But as she cleaned and bandaged her friend's wounds, and allowed him to clutch her trembling hand in his, his bloodied knuckles made the bile rise in her throat once more at the idea that Killian could be bleeding out somewhere and she would never know. She had held on just as tightly, trying to impart to him what she needed for herself. She simply couldn't give up. Killian was a survivor; he would never stop fighting, and neither would she.

Emma attempts to swallow around the lump in her throat as she surveys the camp. The area’s fortification means a quick escape is too risky and more planning will be needed if Killian is here.

If he’s still alive, a dark corner of her mind taunts.

At the start of her search for him, Emma would have fought back tears. The topic proved too sensitive to truly dive into, and she felt the walls Killian worked hard to break down shoot right back up. Now she bats the whispers away without thought.

He is alive. She just knows. And she will find him.

Sitwell brings their brief and stilted tour to an end outside of the hospital tent. He pauses and debates with himself before eying her up and down. With a sigh, he turns away from the hospital tent and points to the other side of camp where a small tent is pitched. The material of it is weathered, with mismatched linens patched over holes. The tent sags and barely looks able to stand up, let alone handle the weight of the cloth.

“Understand this, Miss Swan,” he starts, eyes darting between her and the tent. “No matter what you hear – crying, groaning, screaming – whatever you hear, do not enter that tent. Is that understood?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion and her heart skips a beat. In all of her stays at different British camps, she’s never received such an instruction.

Could it…

She briefly forgets the persona she’s created of Nurse Anna Swan and lets Emma Nolan take over for a moment. “What’s – ”

Sitwell doesn’t let her say anything more.

“Do not enter that tent,” he snarls. “Refrain from disobeying my orders, Miss Swan. Otherwise you may join the traitor on the execution block tomorrow.”

The officer spins on his heel and strides away, agitation dripping from him with every stomp of his boot. Yet she pays him no mind as she gazes at the collapsing tent across the way.

Traitor, her mind replays.

Killian, her heart hopes.

Gulping down a large breath, Emma eyes the soldiers of the camp for a moment to ensure no one caught her stare, before she dashes into the surgical tent. Her mind races and her fingers are sloppy, fumbling one too many bandages.

She found him.

*********

Emma is busy all day nursing the sick and wounded, but keeps an ear out for any mention of the traitor being held for execution. She’s torn between praying it isn’t and hoping it truly is Killian. 

As the sun sets and the day transitions into early evening, she becomes more on edge, anxious to see inside the prisoner’s tent. When she is finally finished for the day, she collapses onto a wooden bench outside the hospital tent. 

One of her fellow nurses - Belle, if Emma’s memory serves her correctly - pauses in front of her, gesturing toward a small building nearby. “They’ve a meal prepared for us inside, Anna,” she says. 

Emma hesitates. Should she take the time to eat when Killian could be in that wretched tent, tied up and living out his final hours? Grudgingly, she knows she has to keep up her strength in order to help her beloved escape. 

Rising from the bench and forcing a smile onto her face, she thanks Belle and falls into step with her. They enter the rustic building and find seats at a large, wooden table, where bowls of thin vegetable stew, a few strips of salted meat, and chunks of dark bread are set in front of them. The food’s aroma reminds Emma’s stomach that it hasn’t been filled since breakfast that morning, right after she entered the camp and signed on as a nurse. 

Knowing they will need food for the journey back home, she surreptitiously slips the jerky and half of the bread into the secret deep pockets of her skirt, cleverly designed by Mary Margaret, where they join the boiled eggs she saved from breakfast.

She is just dipping her last bit of bread into the broth at the bottom of her bowl, when the gruff voice coming from a junior officer makes her ears perk up. 

“Well, someone has to take him his tray, and it shan’t be me. I can barely tolerate the thought of a traitor in our midst, let alone feed the bastard!” 

Hurriedly stuffing the bite of bread into her mouth, Emma rises from her seat and approaches the man, her brain scrambling to formulate what to say. “Excuse me, sir,” she says, stepping into the man’s line of sight. “Is there someone who needs tending?”

The officer turns to her, appraising her with his eyes. “Who are you?” he snaps. 

“Anna Swan, sir. I’ve been working as a nurse.” She doesn’t add that she’s been there for less than a day. 

“Are you finished with your work for the day, Miss Swan?” 

“Yes, sir. I was just having my evening meal when I happened to overhear you say that someone needed a tray of food delivered to him.” She hopes he won’t detect the nervous quaver in her voice. “I would be willing to do that, sir.” 

“The man of whom I was speaking is a prisoner - a traitor and a threat to our beloved king and country,” he spits. “Why would you want to aid someone of such ill repute? Someone who is scheduled to be executed on the ‘morrow, I might add, as soon as our commanding officer arrives.”

Emma chooses her words carefully. “I am a nurse, sir, and as such, I have sworn to give aid to anyone in need, regardless of their allegiance.”

Time seems to pass at a snail’s pace as he considers her offer. She knows she is probably out of line for offering and could be facing punishment herself, but she simply cannot forgo the possibility of seeing Killian.

At last the soldier snaps his fingers and shouts over his shoulder, “Bring the food for the prisoner!” 

Emma prays her trembling legs continue to hold her upright. Once the tray, containing nothing but a small piece of bread, cup of watery broth, and a strip of jerky, is placed in her hands, the junior officer escorts her out the door. They trudge through the camp without speaking, until they come within sight of the ragged tent, guarded by two soldiers. 

“The prisoner is in there. Tell the guards Sergeant Gold gave you permission to enter the tent. The traitor is restrained and will pose no physical threat to you.” 

“Excuse me, sir, but if he is tied down, how is he able to feed himself?” 

“I was only instructed to supply him with food. Whether or not he is able to eat it is none of my concern.” After barking out those words, the officer turns on his heel and stomps away. 

Emma squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath, before trekking across the clearing to the tent. The guards drop the butts of their sidearms to the ground, crossing them in front of the opening to the tent as they shout in unison, “Halt!” 

“S-Sergeant Gold sent me to d-deliver this food to the prisoner,” Emma stutters. 

The two men eye each other, then one gives a slight nod and they return their muskets to their shoulders. “You may enter,” she is told. 

Emma ducks her head and pushes through the canvas opening. Once inside, she drops to her knees, her eyes trying to adjust to the dark interior. When they do, she wishes they hadn’t, because what she sees turns her stomach and breaks her heart. 

The man is sitting on the ground against the support pole in the middle of the tent, his legs extended in front of him with thick rope knotted around his bare ankles. His arms are behind him, and she assumes they are tied as well. He is stripped except for his tattered breeches and she can see bloody stripes across his emaciated body. His head hangs down, dark, matted hair obscuring his face, but Emma knows this man is her beloved Killian. 

Quickly, she sets the tray of food off to the side and crawls to kneel beside him. She notices crusts of bread littering the circumference around him and rage burns through her as she realizes that, even though food has been delivered to him, he has been unable to eat much, if any, of it. 

She nearly gags as the stench coming from his unwashed body fills her nostrils. Apparently, he hasn’t been taken outside to relieve himself and reeks of the smell of urine. “Oh, Killian!” she gasps. “What have they done to you?” 

His head jerks up. “Emma?” he croaks weakly. “Is…is that you, Love?” 

Her fingers brush his hair away from his face, a sob catching in her throat. His left eye is swollen completely shut, his lip is split open, and dried blood obscures most of his handsome face. 

“Yes, my love, it’s me,” she whispers. “I’ve come to get you out of here.” 

“You…shouldn’t…be here. I…I told you…not to come after me.” 

“I never listen,” she tries to joke. 

“You’re…impossible,” he sighs. 

“And you love me for it.” 

A hint of a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “Aye, that I do.” 

“How long has it been since you have eaten?” she asks, turning to slide the tray containing the paltry meal closer. 

He grimaces. “I…I don’t know.” 

Emma holds the cup of broth to his cracked lips, tipping it until it dribbles into his mouth. His eyes close as he swallows, a moan escaping him as if he was enjoying a fine steak dinner. She pulls the cup away when half of the liquid is gone, tears pooling in her eyes as she watches him chase after it. 

Setting it aside, she picks up the chunk of bread and tears off a small piece. As she feeds it to him, she whispers, “We have to figure out how to get you out of here.” 

He finishes chewing and swallows. “Don’t risk your life for me, Love.” 

“Without you, I don’t have a life, Killian.” 

She offers him another bit of bread, but he shakes his head. “I wish…I could hold you right now.” 

Moving carefully so she won’t cause him any more unnecessary pain, she wraps her arms around his neck, scratching her fingers through his long, unkempt hair. His body shakes with a sob. “I…I’ve dreamed of having you in my arms, Emma. I have been starved for your touch.”  

She is loath to release him, just as desperate to feel his body against hers, so she murmurs into his ear, “I feared you were dead, and am relieved I have found you, but I heard them say that they…they plan to e-execute you tomorrow.” 

“Aye, so I have been told,” he confirms with a sigh. “I am surprised they have not done it already.” 

“They are waiting for the commanding officer to arrive so he can give the order. I am hoping the rain last night will delay him, but we cannot count on that. We have to get you out tonight.” 

Her heart aches as he lays his head on her shoulder, mumbling, “I do not think there is any hope of that happening, Love.” 

“If Mary Margaret has taught me anything, it is that there is always hope,” she says firmly. 

They are both startled and jerk apart when one of the guards shouts, “How long does it take to deliver a tray of food, Miss?” 

“I have to go,” Emma whispers, reluctantly pulling away from Killian, “but I will be back. Do not doubt that. I love you, Killian.” 

“I love you, too, Emma. Please be careful.” 

She nods absently while her eyes sweep around the perimeter of the tent, cataloging  weaknesses in the canvas. Before leaving, she feeds him the rest of the bread and broth, pockets the jerky, then kisses him tenderly, careful of his split lip. 

Just before exiting through the flap, she turns and gives him what she intends to be a hopeful smile. She is encouraged when he attempts to return it.  

The brisk night air of the impending autumn season greets Emma as she exits the tent. Bumps rise on her skin and a shudder runs down her spine during her short walk to the nurses’ tent. Lifting the flap, she finds their sleeping quarters still empty, Belle’s voice wafting through the air from the direction of the campfire. She’s only met the other nurses at their camp in passing at the change of their shifts, but worry creeps up her spine that one of them might walk in.

Her small bag sits on the ground at the foot of her bed, the gray and brown staining a far cry from its original white. A quiet thump fills the tent when she tosses it onto her bed linens, a soft clanging heard just a moment later.

If Killian was with her, he’d chide her for the careless way she shoves her hands between her clothes and blindly feels for her few weapons. There are three knives haphazardly sandwiched between layers of skirts, but pulling them only dampens her spirits. Her fingers grip their leather bound handles and her arm saws furiously at her blanket to no avail. If the blades can’t even rip the thin linen, they’ll be useless for Killian’s ropes.

Her heart starts racing as she fights to keep panic from clawing at her.

Emma paces the short length of the tent, hands on her hips as her mind offers solutions.

The knots are too tight and complicated for her to unravel, and Killian is in no shape to walk her through it. Which brings her back to cutting him free. The thought of stealing something from one of the many British soldiers around camp crosses her mind. She could sneak into one of their tents once they’ve fallen asleep, but she runs the risk of discovery. There’s no helping Killian if she’s delivered the same fate as him.

Belle’s laughter rings loudly in the slowly quieting camp, and Emma’s eyes widen in realization.

Her steps across the camp are soft and she keeps to the shadows of firelight. She moves slowly, eyes constantly roaming the area, her guard on high alert. The lanterns burn low in the tent where she spent most of the day, creating a glowing beacon on the edge of camp. The tent flaps gently move in the breeze, and Emma hears the voices of Zelena and Fiona, as they gather bandages to wash at the basin near the campfire.

The chill of the night starts to prickle at her skin, and her breath becomes visible in small wisps of white clouds before her eyes. She waits, shivering, for their footsteps to move away before she enters the back of the tent.

John Darling, a soldier not yet twenty, groans quietly six cots away from where she ducks in. His eyes remain closed as he calls for someone who is not there, and his blood is visible through the mountain of bandages she applied before the end of her shift. Her heart lurches as he continues to call for people she’s never met and with whom she doubts he’ll be reunited.

Emma swallows back the image that comes to mind of Killian sitting alone in his tent doing the exact same, as he receives food scraps he can’t eat and unable to move to relieve himself. Instead, she tiptoes over to the table that holds the equipment they’ve been using throughout the day. The amputation saw sits on the edge, blood staining the blade. She used one once, back in August after the British faced intense losses. The man said his name was Arthur; he had dark hair and blue eyes that made her heart yearn for Killian. She refused to look at him as she amputated his mangled left hand, but that didn’t stop the nightmares from replacing his face with Killian’s.

Her fingers move deftly past that to the scalpel. Blood stains that blade as well, but it is smaller and more easily concealed. It’ll be sharp enough to cut the ropes and easy to maneuver around his wrists without risk of injury.

Zelena and Fiona’s voices drift into the tent, and Emma glances up in alarm. In a quick move, she snatches the scalpel and rushes out before she can be detected.

Once outside the tent, a thought strikes her, and she seeks out the area where she knows discarded clothing of the deceased have been tossed. There are several jackets and shirts, but breeches are more difficult to come by. She digs through the putrid pile until she is lucky enough to procure two pair, bloodied and full of holes, but still usable. She tugs one pair on under her skirt, then stuffs the other pair, along with two shirts, into her blouse, and buttons it back up. Knowing they may face raw weather, she also picks out two uniform coats, rolling them up and clutching them tightly to her chest.

Moving as stealthily as she can with the extra bulk, she begins picking her way across the camp. Frustration sits heavy in her belly because she wants to hurry straight to where her love is suffering, but she can’t take the risk of being caught. 

Along the way, she catches snippets of soldiers’ conversations and can’t help comparing them to those of the soldiers in the camps of her fellow countrymen. They may be on opposite sides of this conflict, but the same topics occupy their minds - deep longing for their families, hot, home cooked meals and their homes. They’re not very different, after all; yet, they’re killing each other by the hundreds, in battle after battle. 

At last, she comes within sight of the shabby tent, still being guarded by two soldiers. Quickly stepping behind a large tree, she surveys the immediate area and decides on a route which appears to be safe. 

She is just about to step out when she hears a shout coming from behind her. 

“Halt! Thief!” 

Her blood freezes in her veins as her breath stutters in her lungs. Cautiously turning her head, she sees Colonel Sitwell striding across the clearing, approaching a young soldier who looks to be no older than a teenager. He is cowering in front of the officer, his hands clasped behind his back, holding what appears to be a loaf of bread. 

As Sitwell begins questioning the boy about where he is going and what he is doing, Emma turns her eyes to the guards in front of the tent and realizes their attention is drawn to the confrontation, giving her a golden opportunity. 

Crouching down to make herself as small as possible, she scurries to the back of the tent. A thin sliver of moonlight is all that illuminates the heavy canvas and she gives herself a few precious seconds to allow her eyes to adjust. Once she is able to make out a seam, she pulls out the scalpel and, starting a foot above the ground, slices through the thick threads. 

As soon as the seam separates, she drops to the ground, removes the pilfered clothes and pushes them through the opening, then she shimmies herself through. She gets up to her hands and knees, her eyes immediately trained upon the man still sitting in the same position in which she left him.

The dew has already settled on the grass in the darkening night, and Emma shivers as she stands just inside the tent - the leather boots she’s worn all this time are thin enough with gaps in the soles that some of the moisture has soaked through - making her teeth chatter along with the trembles of fear. The heat of the day has long since fled, and Emma feels the clammy chill down to her bones - aching for nothing so much as someplace safe and warm for herself and Killian. That desire drives her forward, despite the uncertainty that plagues her and the fear that she will fail him. She has to grit her teeth at the sight of Killian just feet from her, in a shelter full of rips and holes allowing wind and rain to blow right through, while his clothes are torn and threadbare - not even dry. They have barely deigned to feed him, and so of course he has not been granted any sort of blanket for the cold, autumn nights. She feels as though she is freezing; she cannot fathom the torment he has been going through. It’s a wonder he has not already succumbed to the elements and his countrymen’s gross mistreatment. She means to be certain he does not suffer even more with torture at their cruel hands.

She hates each hesitation as she sneaks across the dirt and grass at her feet; anxious to bolt and flee the danger like a startled rabbit. It is only Killian, so close again at last, who manages to stay her and keep her tiptoeing forward, making sure the way remains clear. All must still be distracted by Sitwell’s angry interrogation and the hapless young soldier he had accosted, to be checking in on their weak and battered prisoner, for she hears no further calls of alarm, no pounding feet bearing down, and she breathes out in relief.

Her eyes begin to water almost immediately - the stench unbearable in such close quarters - and her emotions nearly overcome her at Killian’s being forced to remain in his own filth; a man proud and fastidious of his manner and appearance, determined to present himself in his best light whenever possible. The wounds she had seen on him previously must be festering and growing infected. She cringes against the pain and shame she knows he must feel, in spite of it being no fault of his own.

Finally at his side, Emma drops to her knees and reaches out to clutch his shoulder, shaking gently and hissing urgent whispers of his name.  When he fails to respond immediately, it strikes her all over again just how serious his condition is, and she wastes not another second before beginning to saw at his bonds with her stolen blade. To her dismay, Killian’s dark head lolls lifelessly, chin against his chest, until in her haste, she accidentally nicks the tender skin at his wrist.

With a startled grunt, he jerks an inch or so away weakly, and finally turns to face her, his unswollen eye fluttering uncertainly before managing to focus blearily and murmuring “Emma?” in question, as if he does not quite trust his own vision. “Why are you back here, Lass? If they catch you…” he sucks in a quick breath, whether from the effort it takes him to speak, or from jarring some injury she cannot see, Emma’s isn’t sure, but she aches for him all the same. He struggles on breathlessly, “You have to leave me here and get out. I am not worth – ”

“Hush!” she scolds sharply, giving the single word as much volume and strength as she dares. Her eyes spear his, staring him down with a look that allows no argument. She has managed to break through the ropes holding his arms behind him and around the central tentpost, and Killian nearly slumps over on his side at the sudden release of tension, but she steadies him, then cups his scruffy, nearly-bearded chin in her hand, willing him to accept her words as fact. “You are worth it. I won’t hear another word,” she whispers.

For a moment, unbidden and breaking across his face like the sun from behind the clouds of a storm, a smile upturns his cracked lips, and he chuckles just barely in spite of his condition, then merely sighs, acquiescing to her words largely out of sheer fatigue, but indeed loving her for them.

Releasing his chin, Emma gives a curt little bob of her head and reaches to the pile of shabby, but at least dry, clothing she had managed to scavenge. She had dropped it hastily to the side in her hurry to reach him and make sure he was still alive. Holding out a shirt, she gives Killian a hopeful look, tremulous smile aiming to inject inspiration into both of them for this perilous escape they are about to attempt.

She watches him try to work the feeling back into his hands and arms after their being bound behind him for so long. His limbs move awkwardly, even as he reaches forward to take the shirt she offers.

Killian’s eyes roam her face with entirely too much awe for her comfort, drinking her in hungrily and as though she has done something noteworthy rather than merely rooting through a pile of discarded uniforms and cutting through tent canvas to crawl back to his side. He simply nods to her in agreement.

His silence unnerves Emma; she is used to a lilting flow of eloquent words from Killian - so much so that she has often wondered if he talks for his own entertainment as much as he does to charm her. Whatever the case, his gently cultured, warm, and soothing voice had been one of the things she missed most desperately about him while they were parted, and she cannot help but worry now, as the quiet persists, just how little strength her beloved has left.

When he fumbles to get his hands into the sleeves, a strangled sound and arrested movement at his effort to raise his arms and slip the shirt on over his head attests to just how much pain he is in. Emma soothes him regretfully, reaching out to ease his arms down to his sides and guide his limbs gingerly into the garment, swiftly securing the fastenings as well.

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” she whispers, hating that it had taken so long to find him, that he had ever been hurt at all, and that she has to press him now when he cannot move without causing further anguish. But he is already shaking his head at her, forgiving what she cannot help without a moment’s hesitation. 

He is panting once he finally gets the shirt on, and the sheen of sweat glistening on his face concerns Emma more than she wants to admit. How is he ever going to flee as quickly as they need to, over rough terrain, if just this has taxed him so badly? And, even if they get away, how how sick is he and how badly is he hurt? Will they be able to help him recover? 

Emma bites her lip against another swell of emotion at just how large the shirt appears on Killian’s emaciated frame. His collarbone protrudes sharply where the neck of the shirt hangs low, to a degree that Emma knows it would not have done when last she saw him.

Hesitantly she tries to help him stand, not wanting to insult or demean him - a man of lesser strength might not have clung to life as long as he has - but she genuinely fears he may not be able to support his own weight, and she isn’t sure what she will do otherwise.

Killian grunts, clenching his teeth and lurching forward to plant his hands on the hard-packed dirt and push himself upwards, then leaning against the tent post, he does indeed manage to leverage himself to his own two feet. It isn’t without obvious discomfort and struggle, and he lists worryingly to one side, though Emma isn’t certain if he is favoring broken ribs or trying to appease the stretching of the whip weals on his back.

She has already seen more of his body bared to her eyes than ever before - more than is entirely proper. It is far from the interlude she would never admit to having envisioned when they would finally explore each other’s bodies one day. All the same, she will not let that keep her from any small modicum of comfort she can offer him, not after all he has already withstood. Blushing hotly, but ready to press on, Emma is about to hold out the stolen pants in offering, when with a low moan, Killian crumples back to his knees weakly, barely catching himself by leaning once more against the post which had held him captive.

Heedlessly, Emma tosses the breeches away in alarm. They will have to worry about comfort and his taking further chill later. He cannot stand much more of this, and she has to get him out. His eyes rise to hers looking so pained and ashamed that Emma wants nothing more than to wrap his trembling frame in her arms, hold him close to her, and comfort and soothe him until he is well again. That he would feel embarrassment in front of her for something he cannot help, weakness forced on him through malnourishment and abuse, breaks her heart anew. She can hardly stand to push him further, but there is nothing for it.

She only shakes her head when he attempts to speak. “We’ll manage,” she asserts with a false bravado. There is no other option. She won’t even allow herself to consider it.

He nods again, some of the resolute steel she knows and loves at last returning to his gaze. She places her hands under his arms, and with them both heaving and straining, Killian gains his feet once more. This time Emma doesn’t let go, keeping one arm around his waist as he uses her as a crutch, sliding her shoulder under his arm so he can brace against her. 

Quickly grabbing the pack she has carried with her from camp to camp, she leads forward, and together they take the first few shuffling steps toward the hole she has made in the back of the tent. She can tell he is lightheaded, hurting, struggling even to breathe properly, but now that Killian is up, his survival instinct - or at least his concern for her survival - has him painstakingly putting one foot in front of the other.

It is only as they near her makeshift exit that Emma realizes in horror that the distracting commotion which had been going on outside has calmed, and that she is still dressed exactly as anyone else in the camp would have seen her earlier. Quickly she cautions Killian just to lean against her for a moment, seeing his discarded tricorn hat in the corner of the tent, she grabs it, stuffs her brightly identifying hair up under it, then unbuttons the waist of her skirt and flings the long, heavy material away. It is far from a brilliant disguise, but that would only cover her absence for so long, anyway. Once Killian’s escape is discovered, the new nurse who had asked to bring food to him, then disappeared the same day she arrived, is going to be the most likely suspect. Her shaking hands quickly transfer the food she managed to grab from her skirt pockets to her stolen breeches, and she stands to let Killian lean on her again. She doesn’t have time to worry over any other items left behind at the moment; they just need to make haste as soon as possible.

As she adjusts her grip on Killian, Emma realizes once more just how poorly he must feel. Unlike his usual self, he has not a playful comment or even a salacious wink for her, despite the fact that she has seen him shirtless, helped him dress, and shed her skirts in front of him. She sends up a silent prayer that they can make it to the surrounding woods before they are discovered. She knows he cannot run full tilt - he can barely stand - so they must manage some sort of a head start. 

Dipping her head to peer just barely through the roughly torn flap of tent in which she created an exit, Emma sees that although things have grown much calmer since she snuck in - Sitwell must have carted off the poor younger soldier he caught stealing - the other staring eyes throughout the camp have returned to their previous concerns and conversations. Though it still feels much too risky, far too exposed, the time will not get any better for them to escape.

As a last minute thought, Emma changes her mind, throws on one of the jackets, grabs the breeches she’d tossed aside, realizing she’ll eventually have to get Killian into enough clothing that he doesn’t freeze. Then, half-supporting and half-tugging him, Emma ducks her head to slip out of the prisoner’s tent through the hole she made, making sure Killian follows without stumbling or getting caught on the ragged edge.

Killian bites his lip against the agony that each step and merely standing upright clearly causes him in an effort to ease her nerves and steel himself for flight. He nods, visibly marshaling every last bit of strength he possesses to push forward as they step onto the dew-wet grass. Holding her gaze for one brief, but weighted moment, he then bows his head to watch each wobbly step he struggles to take. Gritting his teeth, the wounds that burn and pull each time his feet strike the ground try to steal his wind, but he forces himself on, matching Emma pace for pace.

She doesn’t dare speak, but she urges him along in her head, silently cheering with each foot they progress across the trampled field and closer to the treeline, nearer to the relative cover and safety of the woods nearby. Heart pounding in her ears, frantic and alert for the first sign they have been found out, Emma forces herself to lead without looking back, to focus on the shadows and brush of the forest as they draw blessedly nearer. Twenty-five feet…fifteen feet…ten…just a few more feet…

They have only just gained the edge of the woods when a shout of alarm goes up. Bellows of “The prisoner has escaped!” and “Search the area!” ring out, along with the sound of feet pounding and general mayhem as the camp mobilizes from the drowsy comradery of evening by the fire to the dogged pursuit of a fugitive. Emma’s breath catches in her chest with fear, and she risks one frantic look thrown over her shoulder as they dodge beneath low-hanging branches and plunge into the darker foliage that surrounds them just in time. 

She sees torches - far too many to evade it seems, as panic momentarily takes hold - fanning out from the camp in all directions; some moving closer to them than she can bear already.

This time it is Killian who brings her back to the present, to the immediate steps before them. “You can do this, Emma. Bloody brilliant you are,” he pants. “Lead on, we’ve almost made it.”

Grateful for his steadying belief, though she knows he is half-delirious with pain and fever and is no more certain of their escape than she is, it is the jolt Emma needs to shake her panic and bring her back to her task. Turning once more, she steps forward again, only to snag her foot on an uprooted twig, making her stumble forward off-balance, bringing Killian with her.

The ground seemingly dissolves beneath their feet, falling away to nothingness and sending them plunging downward into the dark. It happens so suddenly that Emma has rolled and pitched against the hard, sloped ground several times before she can cry out - thankfully - and a wounded grunt is all she hears from Killian before hitting the bottom of an inclince hard enough to knock the air from both of their lungs and landing on top of him with a sickening thud. 

Scrambling off of his body, Emma tries to squint in the dark to find his face in front of her, stomach turning at the thought of having hurt him further. “Killian?” she whispers, not daring to speak any louder. He doesn’t respond, but before she can try anything else, she hears yelling and footsteps drawing nearer, crunching through twigs and fallen leaves. Wrestling a dirt-stained, ragged gray blanket from the pack that is miraculously still on her shoulder, Emma flings it desperately over them both, hoping it will blend into the night and the overgrown vegetation at the bottom of this steep dropoff. There is nothing else to do, with their enemies nearly atop them. She holds herself motionless, her hand over Killian’s chest, feeling for the barest rise and fall, praying the Redcoats will pass by and fail to see them.

Each agonizing second seems to stretch on for an hour as she waits, but slowly, painstakingly, the tramp of threatening forces move on, circle back, and judging by the calls she overhears, return to the main camp to regroup. They will be back on her and Killian’s trail by first light, but it is a miraculous reprieve in that moment, and she lurches upright to see if he has regained awareness to carry on.

“Killian?” she pleads once more, clutching at his shirt and gently trying to shake him awake. “Killian, please! You have to answer me!”

At last his eyes flutter open, though focus in them is far from clear. “Emma…?” he mumbles blearily, the words hazy in a loose-lipped mush. “What happened?”

“I tripped on a root of some sort, and we tumbled down a ravine. I- I’m sorry, I didn't see it until it was too late.”

He reaches out unsteadily and cups her cheek as if to brush her apology and fear away, despite the ever-weakening tremble of his limbs.

She presses on doggedly. “It’s hidden us from your jailers for the moment at least,” she adds, “but we’d better get as far as we can before daybreak. They will be after us again, no doubt.”

Doubt and an embarrassed uncertainty flicker in Killian’s eyes, but he does not speak, only pushes himself into a sitting position through sheer force of will. “You may have to help me up,” he finally relents, no longer meeting her eyes, but Emma is so relieved and glad that he is awake and willing to try that she somehow musters the strength and adrenaline to help him lever himself back to his feet.

Rather than attempting to scale the hill they had tumbled down, they follow a small trickle of water running along at their feet, until after a mile or so it becomes a stream. Pausing briefly to see that Killian gets a drink and has a crust of bread she stuffed into her pocket, Emma wrestles the ruined pants Killian wore off his legs, hurrying to dip a less dirty part of them into the stream and wash his skin the best she can, knowing that despite the cold it must be done after he’d been forced to wear them so long. She doesn’t dare look him in the face as her fingers skim his bare skin, and she still looks off to the side determinedly as she urges and helps him wrestle the change of breeches she had found over his jutting hipbones, helps him back to his feet and fastens the pants securely. She shoves the other pair in her bag for the moment to avoid leaving evidence behind. They just need to focus on getting out of here. Anything else they could work through once they were safe.

By the time the first pale rays of sunrise start to color the sky, Emma hopes they have covered enough distance to avoid detection. They are heading for David and Mary Margaret’s quiet, out-of-the-way farm, but they will not make it today, not before Brits catch up to them.

Luckily they find a small cave, and Emma presses them as far into the dank, winding depth of it as they can possibly get. Sitting at last, she urges Killian to rest, his head in her lap, her hands smoothing through his matted, sweat-soaked hair. Watching over him, fretful and sleepless, she tries to gauge how long it has been and listens for any sign of discovery. When she finally sneaks out, she discovers they have made it until dark again and they can press on. 

She counts each ragged breath that rattles through Killian’s shockingly light frame, and thanks the Lord above he hasn’t been taken from her yet. They are still together, and so they will fight on.

*****

They have been traveling for two days when Emma hears the low babbling of a brook. Killian struggles during their journey, relying heavily on her to help him move. His weakened state only worsens with the small amount of food she can scavenge and no canteen to provide him hydration. Blood seeps through his pilfered clothes to stain her own when she supports his weight on their walk. She thanks the heavens he’s only awake in the night hours so he doesn’t see it, all the while cursing herself for not being able to do more for him.

But the sound of fresh water is enough to give her a sprinkling of hope.

Emma practically drags Killian in the direction of the noise, eyes frantically scanning the tree line for an enemy to surprise them. If worse came to worst, she’d drop Killian to the ground and batten her defenses, grabbing the blunt blade from her boot. She’d fight the entire British army if she had to, just to help him.

Thankfully the only other inhabitants of the woods are the animals that scurry across their feet.

Killian’s eyes blink rapidly as he fights to stay awake. She knows that they’ll have to stop for a full night tomorrow or the next day. He needs to regain his strength, and, aside from a few hours rest the night before, Emma hasn’t slept a full night since before she arrived at camp. Adrenaline has kept her going thus far, but even she knows it’s not sustainable.

“We’re almost there,” she whispers to him, Killian’s head lolling against hers as he grunts a reply.

Twigs scratch at their ankles, and the cool night air wraps around their shoulders in a deep embrace. Moonlight offers their only source of light, and Emma desperately clings to the moon beams that shine down between the treetops.

Relief floods her body as they break through a particularly profuse thicket and the creek flows just a few paces from their spot. Rocks litter either side of the stream, one large enough to lean Killian against. She drops to her knees once he is situated. Dew seeps into her clothes, a wet patch gathering quickly where she kneels. The cool sensation is nothing compared to the water.

Emma dunks her hands into the water in a quick fashion, hissing when the brisk liquid stings her fingers. She quickly pulls her hands back and looks to Killian. “You need to drink,” she murmurs, not expecting an answer that he has no strength to give. Taking a deep breath, she sinks her hands into the water, up to her wrists and cups them together, gathering water that she hastily carries over to him, tipping her hands onto his lips. Water slips between her fingers as she tries to give him some, droplets slide down the sides of his face. He gasps as he gulps down the meager offering she has.

She repeats the process until she suspects his stomach is getting upset. Her fingers tear the hem of her borrowed clothes and rip a few bands of cloth. The moon highlights the blood cresting on his skin, the open wounds along his body, the dirt collecting on his person.

“I need to clean you,” she whispers as her hand cradles his cheek. Killian opens his eyes to meet hers, and she sees the corner of his mouth lifting under his unruly facial hair.

“You’ve done enough, love,” he says just as quietly. “Give me a moment and I can wash myself.”

“The water’s cold,” she argues.

“Suppose I’ll need a distraction then.”

Hydrated and more awake than he’d been when they arrived at the creek, Emma helps Killian shed his shirt and aids him in kneeling at the creek’s waterbed.

Killian stares at the water, and Emma notices a faraway look taking over his face. The look is one she’s become familiar with working on other soldiers. Memories – nightmares really – that haunt even their waking hours. Her hand reaches over to cover his shaking fist crushing a band of cloth. She swallows as he suddenly swivels his head to her, blinking a few times before he offers her a wobbly smile.

“Do you remember when you caught fish?” she asks. Her tone is light and her smile is encouraging. The undercurrent of teasing that usually accompanies the story is barely tangible.

Killian breathes out a small laugh. “You would never let me forget.”

A nod is shared between them and her voice offers a distraction as he dips the cloth, hissing as it touches his raw skin.

The sun was barely rising over the horizon when a specialized knock echoed throughout the quiet Nolan house. David and Mary Margaret were undoubtedly already awake with the livestock kept on the property, but Emma had hoped for a few more hours of rest. Her feet ached and her fingers felt numb, her first week spent treating wounded revolutionaries draining every ounce of her energy. She won’t be shipped out to a British camp for another few months; her secret coding needed to be finely tuned and her stitchwork gave her away as an inadequate nurse.

She winced as her fingers worked to knot the belt of her robe. Sleep still scratched at the edges of her consciousness, but her racing heart beat it back vigorously.

Emma opened the door in a rush, breath caught in her throat from anticipation. She sighed heartily when she realized it was merely Killian standing on the porch. A woven basket hung off of one arm, and he clutched a bouquet of wildflowers in the opposite hand.

“Morning, lass,” he greeted with a wide grin.

She squinted as the early sun rays overwhelmed her sight. “To what do I owe this honor?” The door squeaked momentarily as she leaned against it, her heart racing for an entirely new reason. A smile threatened to emerge as she struggled to keep a disinterested face in the presence of such a magnificent man.

The sun shone on him like he was a gift from above just for her. Golden rays of light gleamed on his dark hair to create a halo and his grin was certified to make any lady swoon. His eyes crinkled in delight as he gazed down at her, and she swallowed hard as she awaited his answer.

“I remember you mentioning over the summer how much you missed cod,” he said as he maneuvered his way inside the house. The basket is placed gently on the kitchen table while the flowers remain in his tight grasp.

“I don’t think that’s enough of a remarkable statement to explain your appearance this morning. Nearly everyone in town misses the cod.”

Killian grinned, something quick and hidden as he ducked his head out of her sight. Her statement was true, no matter the humor he found in it. The increasing warships offshore had chased the fish further out into the ocean. The wider landscape made it difficult to catch a quantifiable amount of cod to justify the trip, not counting the dangers that came with being in the same waters as opposing military forces.

“Well,” he started, “it does offer an explanation for my appearance.”

“Oh?”

Wildflowers were suddenly thrust in her direction, and she blinked for a few moments before it finally registered. Killian’s arm was extended to her and nerves crept up his tense shoulders. “Firstly, these are for you.” His tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, her attention dramatically pulled from the flowers by the movement. The sight was always a distraction when they practiced her accent, but now it felt like it had intent. An intent to tease her, to bring her to a different focus.

Belatedly, she took the bouquet from Killian. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking a moment to smell the flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers before. Most girls she grew up with were married off with children of their own by now, but she found herself too different from them to warrant the attention of a gentleman in town. Until Killian.

“And this is for you as well.” Killian proudly walked over to the basket and pulled back the linen covering its contents. “Freshly caught cod.”

Emma stepped closer and peered into the basket. A gasp left her mouth before she covered it to prevent her laughter from becoming noticeable.

“What?” he asked.

“You never went fishing here before, have you?”

“No… Why?”

She failed to keep the laughter from her voice as she spoke. “These fish aren’t cod.”

A slew of expletives was voiced under his breath as he moved to her side. His hand reached for the basket to examine the fish closer. “Are you positive?”

She huffed. “I may not be a fisherman, but I do know my food.” Her eyes examined the fish, wrapped and salted to preserve it for the days long trip back, as a smile threatened to appear on her lips. “These are flounder, which are still edible and mild tasting. I appreciate your efforts.”

The amusement left her body as she watched Killian’s face fall and his demeanor depress. His hand toyed with the edge of the basket as his jaw ticked from how tightly he clenched it. She called his name only to receive a shake of his head in return. He dropped his weight onto one of the kitchen chairs and sagged into the seat.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he murmured to himself. Emma followed his lead and sat beside him. The urge to reach out and grab his hand between her own brewed deep in her stomach.

“Wanted what?”

“Apologies, love,” Killian said. He offered his best self-deprecating smile for a brief second before he returned his stare to the table. “I had hoped to present this as my official request to court you, but alas, I’ve made a fool of myself instead.”

Her throat dried at his words and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered. He wanted to court her? The mere thought left her practically speechless. Killian had wanted to present her with her favorite meal – cod – and picked flowers for her by himself.  He traveled in dangerous waters just to impress her.

She hummed, bringing the flowers to her nose. The fresh aroma made her head spin in the most delightful way, and she sent Killian a shy smile. “It seems to me like you’ve been doing a splendid job, so far.” He grinned back at her for a moment before it fell at the sight of the summer flounder. “You really went out to sea to catch these fish? For me?”

There was no teasing inflection to her words, a heavy weight instead accompanied them. Their eyes met over the table, and she watched Killian’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. He matched her seriousness and kept their eyes connected; his single word answer said a million things to her.

“Aye.”

Emma placed the bouquet gently on the table between them and refused to let her eyes trail away from his. She leaned forward as he watched in anticipation, breath hitched in his throat.

Their lips met, and Emma finally tasted freedom.

*********

“Just…a little further…Killian,” Emma gasps, her arm tightening around his waist. Her eyes are trained on the small house shining in the moonlight in front of them, but they also continue to dart around for any sign of being followed.They’ve been careful to travel only at night, seeking out dense woods where they could hide and rest during the daylight hours. 

It’s taken them nearly a week to reach Mary Margaret and David’s farm, their progress hampered by the constant surveillance of their surroundings for fear of being captured, and by Killian’s injuries. Emma has tried to treat his wounds along the way, cursing herself for not grabbing any medical supplies when she pilfered the scalpel and clothing. He was also weak from lack of food, since the small amount of food she smuggled and berries she was able to find were not doing much to build his strength. 

But now, the end of their arduous journey is finally within sight. Emma tries to quicken their pace, but Killian’s groan of pain reminds her that he’s already going as fast as he can. He hasn’t once complained, but she knows every step has been agony for him. 

“I’m sorry, Killian. Please forgive me for my impatience.” 

“You…you’ve been anything…but impatient, Love,” he rasps. “I should be…apologizing for…causing you all this trouble.” 

“Hush, now,” she admonishes. “You are worth everything to me. I would go to the ends of the earth to find you and bring you home.” 

“It almost feels like…that’s how far we’ve come,” he says with a dry chuckle. 

She laughs in response, her heart lifting a little over his attempt at humor. They continue their laborious trek over the uneven ground until finally, they are standing on the small wooden stoop at the back of the house. 

“I hope someone is awake,” Emma whispers. Raising her hand, she raps on the door three times, pauses a few seconds, knocks twice, then twice more in rapid succession. 

The wait seems interminable until they hear a familiar voice saying, “Identify yourself.” 

Emma almost cries at the sound of her brother’s voice. “Em-” Her voice is suddenly not working, so she clears her throat and tries again. “Emma Nolan.” 

There’s a pause. “What happened when I was twelve that you always thought was your fault?” 

Without hesitation, she replies, “You fell out of a tree and broke your left arm trying to rescue my kitten, Patches.” 

She smiles at Killian as they hear the sound of a key turning. Before she can react any further, the door swings open and she’s pulled into a crushing hug. 

“Where have you been?” David’s voice rumbles under her cheek where it’s pressed against his chest. 

“Let us in and I’ll tell you.” 

“Us?” he questions, pulling away to look behind her. 

“I found him,” she says simply, reaching to take Killian’s hand. Even in the dim light coming from the fireplace in the kitchen, she can see David’s eyes brighten. He steps out of the way so the two travelers can enter. 

After closing the door behind them, he turns around and the happiness in his eyes instantly turns to dismay when he takes in the condition of the other man. Before he can say anything, Mary Margaret’s voice can be heard from their bedroom doorway, asking, “Who was it, David?” 

“See for yourself,” he answers, grabbing a match to light a kerosene lamp on the kitchen table. 

She emerges, tying the belt of a thin, cotton robe. “Emma! We’ve been…” Her eyes move to the figure leaning on her sister-in-law. “Oh, Killian! Look at you!” Pulling out a chair, she helps Emma gingerly lower the injured man into it. 

“I’m alright,” he says, but can’t stop the groan from escaping his lips when he’s fully seated. 

Mary Margaret immediately begins assessing the injuries to his face. “David, please bring the basket of supplies. Emma, get a wash basin of water and a cloth.” 

They both scurry to do as told, coming back to find Mary Margaret has already started working on the shirt fasteners. “Have the two of you had anything to eat?” she asks.

“Just whatever we could scavenge from the woods,” Emma answers, placing the basin on the table and tossing the cloth into the cool water. 

Mary Margaret finishes with the fastenings and pushes the shirt aside, gasping when she sees how much weight Killian has lost. “I’ll, um, I’ll let you clean him up while I heat some chicken stew.” Emma can see tears shining in her eyes when she turns away. 

After setting the medical supplies on the table, David moves to the fireplace to remove the kettle. He pours some hot water into the basin, replaces the kettle, and returns to help Emma peel the shirt off of Killian. When he sees the wounds from a whip across his back and chest, his mouth tightens into a straight line, his eyes hardening with anger. 

Emma speaks as she squeezes out the cloth and begins tenderly wiping her beloved’s face. “When I found him, they were holding him prisoner, planning to execute him the next day, as soon as their commanding officer arrived.”

She continues relating the conditions in which he was held, as she moves on to begin sponging his neck and chest. Mary Margaret and David share grim looks as they listen, appalled at the way their friend was treated. 

“He was actually much worse than this, but we came across a clear creek and he was able to wash himself off a bit, even though the water was pretty chilly,” Emma says. 

“David,” Mary Margaret says, turning quickly to her husband. “Can you please begin filling the tub with water? I’m sure soaking in a hot bath would feel good, wouldn’t it, Killian?” 

The man looks up at her with bleary eyes. “Aye, it would.” 

“Take the tub into our bedroom, David. We can move into one of the rooms upstairs and Killian can have our room so he won’t have to climb the stairs.”

David sets to work getting the metal tub moved and filled with water, while Mary Margaret dishes up bowls of reheated stew for Emma and Killian. His hands are shaking as he spoons the food into his mouth, slopping some into his unkempt beard. “Sorry,” he apologizes. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Mary Margaret says, as Emma dabs the spill away with the cloth. “Just don’t eat too fast. Your stomach is going to have to get used to having adequate food in it again.” He nods in understanding, giving her another look of gratitude when she sets a plate containing several slices of bread between him and Emma. 

They’re just finishing their meal when David rejoins them in the kitchen, announcing that the bath is ready. He offers to help the other man bathe, and it’s a testament to how weary and weak Killian is that he accepts. 

Once the men leave the room, the women have a whispered conversation. “Do you think there’s any chance they’ll find him here?” asks Mary Margaret. 

“I really don’t think so. We were very careful and diligent about not leaving any evidence behind. You and David taught us well.” 

“How did you find him?”

“I kept moving from camp to camp, working as a nurse. If I didn’t find him in one place, I would move on.”

“You were very fortunate to find him when you did. If you arrived even one day later…” 

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Emma shudders. “I came so close to losing him.”

Mary Margaret reaches over and pats her hand. “But you did not. That is the important thing.” 

“Now we need to help him recover, and I fear it is going to take a long time. He is very weak. There were times when I was afraid he would not have enough strength to make it here.” 

“I suppose you will not want to be far from him tonight,” Mary Margaret observed. At Emma’s confirmation, she added, “We can set up a cot for you just outside the bedroom so you will be able to hear him, should he need you.”

By the time the two of them retrieve the cot from the attic and take it downstairs, David is exiting the bedroom with a concerned look on his face. “A couple of his wounds appear to be infected, but I can’t be sure until we see them in the daylight. I cleaned them the best I could and bandaged them. I know you wanted to tend to him tonight, but he is utterly exhausted, so I already helped him to bed.” 

“That is probably for the best,” Mary Margaret says. “I think we all need to get some sleep. Emma is going to sleep on the cot so she can be there for him if he needs her.” 

“Do you want me to fill the tub with clean water so you can take a bath, too?” David asks Emma. 

“No, I will just take a sponge bath using the water in the basin. I’m so tired, I would probably fall asleep in the tub.” 

Husband and wife empty the water from the tub and carry it out, then set up the cot in the kitchen and cover it with bed linens, while Emma washes up and changes out of the filthy, stolen set of clothes into a soft, flannel nightgown. Releasing her hair from the tight bun, she brushes the snarls and tangles out of her long blonde tresses, then, after bidding her brother and sister-in-law goodnight, goes into the bedroom. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she observes her love by the dim light of the kerosene lamp on the nightstand. His face is relaxed in sleep, but she can still see the cuts and bruises marring it. Tenderly, she reaches over and brushes some strands of still damp hair away from his brow. Leaning down, she brushes kisses to his cheeks and lips. “You are safe now, my love,” she whispers. “No one is ever going to take you from me again.” 

After watching him sleep for a few more minutes, she moves out to the cot, climbs between the soft, clean sheets, and falls into the first deep sleep she’s had since she said goodbye to Killian months ago. 

*********

Emma is awakened in the middle of the night when Killian begins groaning loudly and thrashing around in the bed. She throws back the blanket and rushes into the bedroom, distressed when her hand touches his forehead and feels the heat radiating from it. 

Quickly, she goes back into the kitchen and pumps more water into the basin, adding a couple of washcloths to it before carrying it into the bedroom. Nudging the extinguished lantern aside, she makes room for the basin on the nightstand. 

She wrings out the first cloth, folds it, and lays it across Killian’s forehead, then repeats the process to lay one on his chest. He begins mumbling, but she doesn’t think he’s quite awake. Leaning down, she speaks into his ear, “What do you need, my love?” 

He runs his tongue over his dry, cracked lips, murmuring, “Thirsty.” 

Returning to the kitchen, she fills a glass with water and brings it back. She slides her arm behind his back to help raise him up, tears coming to her eyes once again when she feels the sharpness of his shoulder blades through his nightshirt. 

He gulps the water thirstily and thanks her, before she lowers him back to the mattress and kisses his feverish brow. After returning the glass to the kitchen, she refreshes the washcloths with cool water, then sits down on the wooden chair beside the bed, turning to face him. She sleeps fitfully the rest of the night, reapplying the cloths and checking his temperature a few more times.

Once the morning light begins filtering in through the thin curtains, Emma dresses hurriedly and goes into the kitchen to find Mary Margaret already preparing dough to make bread. She looks up at Emma with a smile that fades when she sees the worried look on her face. 

“What’s wrong?” Mary Margaret asks, pulling her hands out of the dough and wiping them on a towel. 

“Killian has had a fever all night. I’m afraid he does have an infection.” 

“Is he awake?” 

“Not yet. I know we need to examine him more thoroughly, but he needs his rest, too. Do you think I should wake him?” 

Mary Margaret ponders for a moment. “Let him sleep a while longer. David has gone out to ride the perimeter of the property. When he gets back, we will find out what he thinks we should do.” 

Emma pinches off a small piece of dough and pops it into her mouth. “Is he making sure we weren’t followed?” 

“He knows you were careful, he just doesn’t want to take any chances,” Mary Margaret explains, beginning to shape the dough into small loaves. 

Upon hearing a sound from the bedroom, Emma turns and hurries in there. She finds Killian sitting on the side of the bed with his feet on the floor, his head hanging down and his hands gripping the edge of the mattress. 

She steps in front of him, cupping his face in her hands and gently lifting it. “Good morning, my love. How are you feeling?” 

He manages a weak smile. “Much better, being here with you, Love,” he says, his voice rough with sleep and fever.

Combing her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Do you want some breakfast?” 

“Aye, that sounds good.” 

Emma discreetly runs the back of her hand over his forehead, troubled to still find it overly warm. “Do you need help getting dressed?” 

“Trying to peek at me naked, are you?” he jokes weakly. 

Despite her concern, she still blushes and can’t help but smile. He has always had a knack for making her laugh, and she’s pleased to see he hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m just trying to be helpful.” 

He turns his face to press a kiss into her palm. “You are helpful, and also very beautiful. My beautiful saviour.” 

Her heart swells at his words and all she can think to say is, “I love you.” 

“And I, you.” 

She dips her head and brushes a kiss to his cheek. Leaning her forehead against his, she sighs. “I cannot believe I actually found you and we made it back home. There were times when I thought I…” The emotion makes her breath catch in her throat. “...I would never see you again.” 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Emma. You should know by now that I’m a survivor.” 

“The order of execution did give me pause.” 

“Point taken.” 

She soaks in a little more time of being able to touch him, before declaring, “I’ll go upstairs and get some clothes for you.”

“Thank you, Love.” 

Giving him one more kiss, she exits the room. David is stomping his feet off on the mat inside the kitchen door. “Is everything secure?” she asks. 

“As far as I can tell,” he answers. “How is Killian this morning?” 

“He is carrying a fever, but it does not seem to be as bad as it was in the middle of the night. I’m going to get clothes for him. Could you please go in and check on him?” 

“Of course,” David agrees, already heading toward the bedroom. 

Emma goes to the cedar chest, where Mary Margaret keeps extra clothes for anyone in their spy network who is in need of them. Kneeling down before the chest, she takes the opportunity to send up a prayer of gratitude and also a plea for healing. Killian may be putting on a brave front, but she knows him. He’s weak and in pain; far from the strong, robust man he was months ago, before he went undercover behind enemy lines. 

Gathering the shirt and knickers into her arms, she descends the creaking stairs, finding Mary Margaret removing the bread from the oven. “Is David still in with Killian?” Emma asks. 

“Yes. He came out to get some clean water, whiskey and towels. He said Killian has wounds showing signs of infection and he has heard that pouring alcohol on them helps.” 

Emma grimaces. “That sounds like it would be painful.” 

“Not as painful as amputation, should the infection get worse,” Mary Margaret notes quietly. 

Emma’s face pales as she thinks about the possibility. The wound around his left wrist, caused by the ropes with which he was tied, is especially concerning; the flesh around it red and angry, while the wound itself appears to be festering. 

“David said Killian is relaying information to him about the enemy’s position and strategies. Even being held for execution, he was gathering vital information. That man of yours is a model of bravery, Emma.” 

Now her chest swells with pride, but the moment is interrupted by a hoarse curse coming from the bedroom. “Bloody hell, David! That bloody hurts!” 

The two women share a concerned, and slightly amused, look. “At least he has a little fire in his voice,” Emma comments. 

Her sister-in-law nods in agreement before asking, “Should I prepare a tray of food for him?” 

“I’m sure Killian will insist on joining us out here. He won’t want you making a fuss over him.” 

“He deserves to be fussed over, after all he’s gone through.” 

“I agree, but you know he won’t see it that way.” 

Emma approaches the bedroom door and taps on it lightly. At David’s permission to enter, she pushes it open and peeks in. “I have some clean clothes.”

“Bring them in, I just finished treating his wounds,” David says, tying off a bandage around Killian’s wrist. 

Emma’s eyes scan over her love’s form as he sits slumped on the side of the bed. He looks up and manages to give her a small smile. “Thank you, Love.” 

She deposits the clothes on the bed beside him and catches David’s eye, communicating silently with him to ask about Killian’s condition. The grim set of his mouth and slight shoulder shrug tells her he shares her concern about the other man. 

Emma picks up the shirt, unfolds it, and carefully pulls it over Killian’s head. David helps guide his arms into the sleeves, Emma ties it, and a lump forms in her throat when she sees how loosely it hangs on him. Mere months ago, he would have easily filled it out with his muscular physique. The stolen shirt was also baggy on him, but she tried to reason that the man to whom it belonged must have been much bigger than Killian. Now, there’s no denying that he has indeed lost a substantial amount of weight during his captivity, and her hatred toward the soldiers of his former homeland intensifies. 

She holds out the remaining clothes to David. “Please help him put these on while I go help Mary Margaret get breakfast on the table,” she says, knowing her voice sounds gruff from the raw emotion she’s feeling. 

Turning on her heel, she exits the room. 

*********

The next two days for Killian are a series of ups and downs. He continues to run a fever, sometimes mumbling deliriously because of it. His stomach repels the food he eats ravenously, the vomiting causing his already dangerously weak body to weaken even further. Heedless of the custom dictating unmarried couples not sleep together in the same room, they move the cot into the bedroom so Emma can get to Killian more quickly when he needs her aid. 

There are far too many moments when she wonders if they escaped and made the dangerous trek back home, only for him to die anyway. 

Yet, in the mornings, after a good night’s rest, he’s fairly alert and his endearing personality comes shining through. They’re relieved to see his wounds responding to their careful treatment, the fiery looking skin around them returning to normal as the infection ebbs away. 

On the third morning after their return, Emma is awakened by Mary Margaret rushing into the bedroom, shaking Emma’s shoulder as she whispers urgently, “Get up! David just found signs of someone being on the property, and we need to get the two of you down to the root cellar!” 

“Enemy soldiers?” Emma asks, throwing off the covers, her heart in her throat. 

“He does not know, but he also does not want to take any chances. He and Leroy have gone out again to see if they can find anything else, and he wants me to get the two of you into the cellar.”

Emma pulls her robe on and ties the belt, then slides her stocking feet into her shoes. Mary Margaret is trying to rouse Killian, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. “Gather as many quilts and blankets as you can and go down to the cellar to try to make up a bed for him on the floor,” she instructs Emma, her voice still a whisper but full of tense anxiety.

Emma hurries to do as she’s told, emptying the linen closet under the stairs. It takes two trips down the steep, rickety steps to get everything to the dank root cellar. The pungent smell of earth and unwashed vegetables fills her nose as she tosses the thick quilts on the ground in the corner under the stairs, quickly straightening them the best she can and dragging sacks of grain over to use as pillows, before dashing back upstairs. 

Mary Margaret has managed to get Killian standing and into a pair of breeches. She’s just tugging a heavy, knitted sweater over his head, his arms sliding sluggishly into the sleeves, when Emma re-enters the room. She grabs his boots from under the bed and works to get them on his feet. 

When he’s dressed, the two women half drag him to the opening in the kitchen floor between the fireplace and the stairway, which leads to the cellar. Emma moves down the steps backwards so she can help guide Killian with her hands on his hips, while Mary Margaret is behind him, supporting him under his arms. As they struggle to keep him moving, they both give him quiet encouragement, praying they can get him out of sight in time. 

It seems to take an eternity until he finally sets foot on the packed dirt floor. As they maneuver him behind the stairs and lower him to the pile of quilts, Mary Margaret whispers, “There is a lantern and matches on the shelf, but only light it if absolutely necessary because it might show between the floorboards. As soon as I get back upstairs, I will get a basket of food together and bring it down to you. Oh, and there’s a chamber pot under the table.”

“How long do you think we will have to stay down here?” Emma questions. 

“I do not know, but it’s better to be prepared in case it ends up being a while. Please remember to stay as quiet as possible,” she reminds them needlessly. After squeezing Emma’s hand, she turns and bustles up the stairs, dropping the door down behind her. 

Emma and Killian are left in complete darkness, and she fights to tamp down the panic tightening her chest. Her eyes work to adjust, beginning to make out the shapes of objects around her with help from the tiny slivers of light sneaking through the floorboards overhead.

She turns her attention to the man lying on the pile of quilts, head resting against a burlap bag of grain. He’s still feverish, and she fears the dampness of the cellar is going to exacerbate his condition. Her hands grope for the pile of blankets she had dropped carelessly to the floor. 

As she unfolds one blanket after another and lays them over him, she listens for any sounds coming from above. Everything is muted, but all she can hear are shuffling footsteps she’s sure are Mary Margaret’s. 

Soon, the room is flooded with light again when the trap door is lifted. Emma rises and hurries to the bottom of the steps to take the basket of food and pitcher of water from her sister-in-law’s hands.

“I think I heard David and Leroy’s horses returning to the barn,” Mary Margaret tells her. “Hopefully they have some good news and you will not have to stay down here very long.” 

Before Emma can answer, Mary Margaret returns to the kitchen, leaving them in darkness once again. Emma cautiously picks her way back across the floor, setting the food and water down when she senses she’s back at Killian’s side, then sits down herself. 

“Killian,” she whispers into his ear, “you need to drink some water. Can you sit up?” 

He pushes himself up, groaning with the effort. Since she doesn’t have a cup to pour the water into, she holds the rim of the pitcher to his lips, slowly tipping it up until he’s swallowing the liquid. She gives him several sips before he pulls back and taps her arm to signify he’s had enough. 

“Do you want something to eat?” she asks, but he’s already dropped back down to the makeshift bed. 

“Not…right…now,” he forces out through chattering teeth.  

“Are you cold?” 

“A…bit.” 

She already used all of the blankets to cover him, so she does the only thing left she can think to do to help him get warm. Peeling back the blankets, she stretches her body out alongside his and pulls the covers up over both of them, then wraps her arms around his thin frame and buries her face into the crook of his neck, breathing warmth against his skin. 

Soon she can tell he has fallen asleep, but she remains awake and alert. All is quiet upstairs, but just as she’s dozing off, she hears muffled pounding on the back door. Her eyes pop open and her breath catches in her throat. 

Murmuring voices reach her ears and she strains to listen, but can’t make out anything that’s being said. Heavy boots thud across the floor, and Emma holds her breath, praying whoever is up there doesn’t discover the trap door beneath the innocuous-looking braided rug. 

The voices increase in volume and she can catch a word here and there. “...nobody…sister…left yesterday…” she hears David saying. 

Another deep voice, obviously a man’s, responds, “...proof…evidence…escaped…” And then the word that makes her heart stop “...traitor.” 

She hears doors slamming and wonders if Mary Margaret had time to hide the cot before their unwanted visitors arrived. She has to believe she did, since her sister-in-law has plenty of experience with hiding evidence. Their spy ring has been active since the beginning of the rebellion, and they’ve had a few close calls, but they haven’t lost anyone yet. 

Killian shifts in his sleep, letting out a soft moan, and Emma swiftly covers his mouth with her hand. Chances of anyone upstairs hearing him are almost nil, but she doesn’t want to tempt fate. 

Disconcerting noises continue for what seems like an indeterminable amount of time, until at last, the door slams and silence settles again. Emma strains to hear anything, but there is absolutely no sound at all. She should feel relieved, but she’s worried for her brother and his wife. What if they’ve been taken by the soldiers? If they have, will they become prisoners of the British army? Unbidden tears fill her eyes at the thought, and she forces herself not to think along those lines.

It is several minutes before she realizes she still has her hand over Killian’s mouth. She removes it and strokes his cheek, allowing herself to enjoy the prickling of his beard against her palm. 

She has no idea how much time passes until she hears the sounds of someone entering the house and her entire body tenses. If the soldiers have come back to search again and find the hidden cellar door, she and Killian are helpless and will without a doubt be captured…or killed. 

Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s afraid she’ll give them away, when she hears light tapping on the floor above them. Three knocks, followed by two and then two more in quick succession. She wants to hope, but what if it’s a trick? 

Then she hears Mary Margaret’s voice through the floorboards. “It’s me, Emma. They’re still on the property, so stay put.” 

They stay hidden in the cellar the rest of that day. Emma is eventually able to get Killian to eat and walk in small circles around the crates of vegetables, but most of their time is spent lying on the nest of quilts. In between fitful spurts of sleep, they have whispered conversations and cuddle together. Emma understands the danger they’re in, but she has to admit she doesn’t mind the time spent in Killian’s arms. 

Later in the evening, Mary Margaret brings down more food and water and tells them that David is pretty sure the soldiers are long gone, but as a precaution, recommends they stay in the cellar overnight since they could be waiting to see if there’s any movement from the house after dark. After her sister-in-law goes back upstairs, Emma lets tears of exhaustion and relief pour down her face as she buries it in Killian’s chest. 

*********

David and Leroy thoroughly inspect the property early the next morning to ensure the soldiers have moved on. Once they return to the house and give the all clear, the two men help Killian back up the steps. While Mary Margaret and Emma collect the blankets and begin making breakfast, David fills the metal bathtub and assists Killian into it. Being in the cellar all that time is surely detrimental to his recovery, and they want to drive the chill and dampness from his body with a long soak in hot water. 

Mary Margaret fills Emma in on the men who searched the house and barn as they fry eggs and slices of ham. “It seems they sent men more interested in finding something of value to steal, rather than finding the two of you, because they were looking in places where it would be impossible to hide - inside cupboards, behind the stove, in dresser drawers. If the situation hadn’t been so nerve wracking, I would have laughed at their blatant disregard for their mission.”

Emma manages a small smile, knowing if the British would have sent doggedly determined men like Colonel Sitwell and Sergeant Gold, she and Killian would surely have been discovered.

“It was our good fortune that they were more preoccupied with burglary, though,” Mary Margaret continues. “I do not think they realized that a house can have a cellar beneath it. As many times as they tramped across the kitchen floor, they did not notice the hollow sound of it.” 

“The search seemed to take an eternity and I do not think I breathed the entire time,” Emma states. 

“I was holding my breath, too. That is the closest call we have ever had.”

They are plating the food when David comes out of the bedroom, carrying a bucket of the bathwater. “Killian wants to join us in the kitchen for breakfast,” he informs them, before emptying the bucket outside. 

“He is feeling up to it?” Emma asks, a hint of worry in her voice. 

“He says he’s tired of being a bother to everyone. And yes,” he adds quickly when he sees Emma getting ready to object, “I assured him that is not true, but you know he is stubborn.” 

“Yes,” Emma agrees, “but his stubbornness is what kept him alive.” 

David nods with a grin and disappears into the bedroom again. Emma and Mary Margaret share a smile and finish putting the food on the table, eager for the four of them to be eating together again, just as they had so many other times.

On the eve before Killian left to infiltrate enemy lines, he shared a hearty meal with Mary Margaret, David and Emma. 

“We double checked the route Killian will take to try to find the British encampment,” David said between bites of his hash. “He should be able to follow the river almost the entire way.” 

Emma blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling. She had seen many spies off on missions, and had been sent herself, but this time was different. This time, it was the man she loved who was putting himself in danger. 

She felt his knee bump against hers under the table and knew he was well aware of her thoughts. He always seemed to be able to read her like an open book. Swallowing hard, she turned to look at him, valiantly forcing a smile onto her face. He returned it with one of his own, though it didn’t quite reach his beautiful, blue eyes. 

They finished their dinner, speaking of mundane topics to skirt around the issue that was weighing heavy on all of their minds. Afterwards, Mary Margaret waved away Emma’s offer to help clean the kitchen, and Emma knew it was because her sister-in-law understood her desire to have some time alone with Killian. 

The two of them walked outside, enjoying the evening’s cool respite after the heat of the mid-June day. 

“You plan to leave at daybreak?” Emma questioned, already knowing the answer. 

“Aye. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be able to come back to you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “There’s not a day will go by I won’t think of you.” 

“Good,” she replied with a slight smile. 

They continued walking until they were on the back side of the barn, out of sight of the house. Killian turned and took both of Emma’s hands. “I will miss you, Love.” 

“Promise me you will be careful and will come back to me.” 

“I will try my best, but you know as well as I that what we do is dangerous. Extremely important, but dangerous.”

She nodded solemnly, casting her eyes down to the ground. After several moments, she looked back up at him. “If we do not receive any communication from you for more than a month, I will come looking for you.” 

“Emma…” 

“You know you would do the same for me,” she interrupted, before he could object.

“Of course I would, but we do not know exactly where I will be.” 

“It does not matter. Wherever it is, I will find you.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her cheek, damp with tears, to his chest. “I will always find you.” 

Returning her embrace, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you, Emma.” 

“I love you, too.” Turning her face up to his, she added, “We probably will not have any time to ourselves tomorrow morning, so I want to give you something now.” 

His brows rose in question. “What is it, Love?” 

“This,” she said, then pushed up onto her toes to press her lips to his. It was a tenderly sweet kiss, expressing all the love, fear and longing they shared, and neither wanted it to end. When it finally did, she pulled him close again. “Take that with you to remember that I am here, waiting for you.” 

The next morning after a quick breakfast, Killian mounted his horse, pressed his fingers to his lips and waved goodbye to her. She wouldn’t see him again for more than three long, agonizing months.

*********

Two mornings later, Emma opens her eyes and immediately rolls over to face Killian. His eyes are also open, and she can see that they appear clear, bright, rested and fever-free. 

She wastes no time throwing back the covers and getting off of the cot to go to his bedside. “Good morning, my love. You look like you feel better.” 

Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he gives her a lopsided grin. “I do feel like I have re-entered the land of the living.” 

Emma sits on the side of the bed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes while releasing a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to wonder when you would decide to stop making us coddle you,” she teases, her heart lighter than it has been for as long as she can remember.

“Do you mean to tell me that by recovering, I will be giving up my chance to be coddled?” he asks, flopping back down onto his pillow. “Perhaps I haven’t thoroughly thought this through.” 

She leans over and boldly presses a kiss to his lips. “I believe there are better ways for me to pay attention to you, than by nursing you back to health,” she says, only pulling away far enough to look into his beloved cerulean eyes. 

“Do tell,” he grins, reaching up to twist a lock of her hair around his finger. 

A knock on the door interrupts their private moment, and Emma sighs for an entirely different reason. Killian finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “Best answer that, Love.” 

She nods in resignation, rising from his bed and grabbing her robe from the nail beside the door. Once she has cinched the belt around herself, she opens the door to find Mary Margaret on the other side. 

“How is the patient this morning?” 

“Much improved,” Killian answers for himself. 

Mary Margaret steps into the room to see for herself. “Oh Killian, you do look better!” 

“Back to my devilishly handsome self?” he cheeks. “After all, the bloody Brits pretty much knocked the handsome out of me.” 

“No army is that powerful,” Emma assures him, earning her a warm, loving smile. 

She knows he still has a long recovery ahead, but it relieves her to see that he finally appears to have turned the corner. 

*********

It takes several months for Killian to completely regain his strength and health. He stays with David and Mary Margaret during his recovery, so he and Emma are able to spend every day together while their relationship continues to deepen and flourish. 

One day, when Killian is almost fully recovered, he asks Emma to take a walk with him after the evening meal. She can tell that something is on his mind, and when she questions him about it, he turns to face her, gently clasping both of her hands. Then he slowly lowers himself to one knee and Emma gasps, realizing what he intends to do. 

Looking up into her beautiful face, he says, “Emma, I know that we face an uncertain future, but there is one thing I want you to be certain of - that I always, always want to be by your side. So…Emma Nolan, will you marry me?” 

“Oh, Killian,” she begins, tears already escaping her eyes and trickling down her cheeks, “you know how much I love you, but are you sure this is the right time? We still do not know when or how this conflict is going to end.”

“That is exactly why I think we should get married. I do not want to waste any of the time I could have as your husband, because we have no guarantee how many years we may have together. I love you, Emma, and I don’t want to wait any longer to marry you, but if you do not want…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupts firmly. “I am not saying I do not want to marry you, because I do, with every fiber of my being. I just do not know if we should take the time to plan a wedding, when there is still so much work to do for the cause.” 

“I understand how important our work is, but you are more important to me.”

Emma sinks to her knees and frames his face with her hands, scratching her nails lovingly through his beard. “And you to me, my love. You are right - we should not let what is happening around us dictate our lives. So yes, Killian, I will marry you and be the proudest and happiest woman alive.”

Killian huffs out a relieved breath and flashes her a dimpled grin, before dipping his head to claim her lips in a celebratory kiss. No one knew what the future held, but the newly engaged couple was sure that whatever it was, they would face it together. 

*********

The conflict, which becomes known as the Revolutionary War, will drag on for another six years. The spy ring organized and aided by David and Mary Margaret will operate until the end, providing important intel to the Continental army. After their close call, Emma and Killian won’t risk going behind enemy lines again, but continue to work tirelessly for the cause nonetheless. 

One evening, nearly a year after Killian’s capture, their daring escape, and his lengthy recuperation, he and Emma sit on the rickety wooden steps leading up to the back entry to David and Mary Margaret’s home. They watch the sun set with golden spangled light on the field and trees of this land for which they are fighting, and for which he nearly died, fingers twined together and Emma’s head lying on Killian’s shoulder. They are in the process of working with David to save the money to purchase a few acres next to he and Mary Margaret’s property, where they will build a home of their own, when the fighting is over, and hopefully the colonies are left to self-govern.

Emma sighs, in as near a state of perfect contentment as she can remember feeling in some time. There were many dark moments in the last months, and even years, and she knows better than to think the future will be perfect or easy. But the hope that feeds her, bolstered by the strength of their love, is a source of joy that she trusts will endure through any challenge. She might once have thought hope and true love fanciful notions from fairy tales rather than the stuff of real life. 

It’s true that people often speak of hope as if it’s this delicate, ephemeral thing made of whisper and spider’s web. She knows better though, after what they have been through. Hope is not fragile or fleeting. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, the grit of the cobblestones in her hair, and just spat out a tooth as she rises for another go. But that’s the beauty of it; hope will always get up and start again.

Killian’s arm around her lends the warmth of any blanket as he draws her closer to his side, murmuring his love for her into the skin at her temple before placing a chaste kiss there as well. The fight may not yet be over, but that time will come. They will see the battle through and celebrate that day - a happy beginning - together.

*********

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @apiratewhopines @anmylica @stahlop @bdevereaux @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @motherkatereloyshipper @winterbaby89 @justanother-unluckysoul @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @killian-whump @cocohook38 @wefoundloveunderthelight @drowned-dreamer

[kyeomkuppie]

Insomnia.

Pairing: Joshua x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Synopsis: Your boyfriend comforts you when you can't sleep.

"Darling, why aren't you sleeping?" He groggily sat up. You'd been tossing and turning for the past 30 minutes, which led to your boyfriend waking up.

"Can't sleep."

"C'mere," He pulled you by your waist, your back against his chest. "We'll fall back to sleep together, hm?"

You turned around to bury your head in his chest. It felt so warm, the way his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to hear the sounds of his heartbeat.

"What's on your mind?" Silence. "Darling?"

"I'm just so tired— and sleep just isn't coming." You whispered.

Your voice was hoarse and exhausted, barely above a whisper. The exhaustion was eating at you and you were only yearning for a way to get you to sleep.

He gently patted your back. Silence engulfed the room but it was as if some unspoken words were going on between you two. He knew you had insomnia and that it was difficult— very difficult for you to fall asleep but despite that, he wanted to share your sleepless night with you even if it meant waking up tired like he had been sleeping on rocks

You were starting to feel drowsy as your boyfriend told you about his day and random things about the past "Remember when when you used to like me and you wouldn't look me in the eye." He chuckled "I used to think you hated me then."

You smiled to yourself, remembering how you used to act around him. Joshua had always been the one person who knew how to make you smile in the toughest of times, despite not being at his best either.

He was tired. It was apparent from the way he kept yawning every few seconds but he still insisted on keeping you company.

You were finally getting drowsy and your eyes were slowly closing on their own. "Love you Shua." You whispered before finally closing your eyes, drifting off to dreamland.

"I love you too darling." He smiled before his head finally fell back on his pillow.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[bvtbxtch]

Angry Heart | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (Part 1: Prom Night)

Series Summary: Your best friend Chrissy Cunningham always got everything she ever wanted, even you new friend and crush Eddie Munson. When Chrissy does the unthinkable, Eddie is left to pick up the pieces alone... or is he?

Chapter Summary: You have finally started to find your own groove after accepting that Eddie and Chrissy were an item, and ultimately more into each other than you. But why do you still feel such a strong connection to Eddie? Why are you secretly wishing for their downfall? Everything comes to a head during your final high school play and the prom where a new friend makes Eddie rethink everything.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson x Reader (eventually), reader and Chrissy are friends but have a fallout. Minimal usage of Y/N

Series warnings: MDNI 18 +, Smut, fluff and angst (everything all rolled into one beautiful shit show), mentions of drugs and alcohol being consumed, overall adult language and theme. By clicking the read more, you agree that you are over 18! Ageless and minor blogs who interact will be blocked.

Word Count: 9k (I got excited)

A/N: Holy hell! I never thought that this series would get so much love just from the prologue. I thought this was going to take me the next week or so to write, but I whipped this puppy out in 2 days. Thank you thank you thank you for all of the support. Again, your feedback, reblogs and replies are so appreciated!

Prologue

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

April 1986

Falling in love with Eddie Munson was easy. He made it so incredibly simple. The spring production rehearsals were in full swing and you got the lead role. It meant long hours in the theatre with your favorite metalhead, sharing snacks, laughing at inside jokes and telling deep dark secrets. You had started to spend equal amounts of time at the Hellfire table, making quick friends with Jeff and Gareth, you grew to love and protect the freshmen as your own as well. Even though you had no interest in playing DnD with them, Eddie always invited you to sit in on their campaigns. Chrissy and the other jocks started to distance themselves from you on the days you would decide to sit with them, but it started to bother you less as you made more meaningful connections with people who liked you for you. The last 5 months caught you off guard. Things seemed like they were normal, better than normal even; until you went home alone after school and remembered that Eddie had someone else keeping his bed warm. Chrissy was there. Your best friend stealing your other best friend away from you and nobody knew.

Things between you and Chrissy were tense only on one end. The blonde always greeted you in the hallway and passed you notes in class, blissfully unaware of the heartache her new romance had caused you. But when you were in a group, she seemed to unconsciously take value to others in the group. Eddie and Chrissy had started their relationship in private, and you were their sworn protector. Even when you didn’t necessarily want them, you got all the gory details of how Chrissy let Eddie feel her up for the first time, or how Eddie is a lot more well endowed than many had previously thought. It killed you on the inside, but throwing yourself into the spring show gave you a healthy distraction. Cheer kept you just close enough to Chrissy to keep up the feeling that things were not falling apart between the two of you, but you could focus on what you needed to do on the field. It felt good to put effort into new friends and reignite passions, even though the love the two of your best friends shared would always take up a small residence in the back of your mind. 

It was three weeks until prom. You were seriously considering not going, but you knew you would regret not going, so you decided that you would make an appearance, likely not a sober one, but you would show up. You waltzed past the posters in the cafeteria, and the ballot box being guarded by the student council, stationed around it like soldiers. You knew who would be winning each crown, there wasn’t even a point in voting for anyone else. You would be there to cheer Chrissy on for the third year in a row of winnings. Like clockwork, she would accept her crown, dance with whatever meathead got crowned king, and then help her fix her mascara that ran from her happy and “surprised” tears. You rolled your eyes thinking about it; but you were snapped out of your trance when you heard the blonde call your name. You reluctantly wave to her and the other ponytails looking expectantly at you and you start to cross the cafeteria. You are interrupted by a mop of light brown hair and a gleaming smile.

“Hey! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Gareth greets. You instantly relax as your new friend puts his arm over your shoulder and leads you to the Hellfire table. You look over Gareth’s shoulder to see the cheer table staring daggers at you. Chrissy looks disappointed, and the rest of the table looks mildly disgusted. Chrissy understood why you would hang out with the freaks but she still didn’t necessarily approve. Your image was important to her as you continued to be associated with her. You look at Chrissy apologetically, but happily turn and walk with Gareth. 

“It’s good to see you, Gareth” you smile up at him. 

“How are rehearsals going? You getting excited for the big show?” He remembered, and he seemed genuinely interested. 

“Yeah I guess so! I’m sort of ready for it to be over so we can push through exams and get out of here.”

You slide out your usual chair at the hellfire table, across from Gareth and beside Eddie at the head of the table. 

“I thought you were eating with Chrissy today?” Eddie questions. 

“Good to see you too, Ed…” you mumble. 

“No, it’s just… I wanted you to see if anyone had asked her to prom yet” Eddie leaned over and whispered to you. 

Gareth rolled his eyes. Eddie had recently let him in on his secret relationship with Chrissy, since he was missing or late to more and more hellfire meetings and had been mentally absent during their band practices. He needed someone else within the group to be able to cover for him when you couldn’t, and Eddie trusted Gareth with his life.

“Why the hell wouldn’t she be going with you?” you snorted. You knew that Eddie and Chrissy weren’t necessarily public, but you would never think that she would brush him off like that. 

“I don’t know… because I’m well… me” Eddie looked to the ground. You grabbed his hand and he instantly turned red. Your skin burned when you touched him. It felt like it had been so long since you had any physical contact which made you feel empty. Eddie was always one to give you a hug, or hold your hand or pick you up and carry you down to the theatre when you were running late. He was a tactile person and it took you until now to realize how much you really missed the way things were.

“Eddie Munson you listen to me, anyone would be lucky to go to prom with you” You turned pink as you reassured him. Gareth noticed and tried to hide his smirk underneath his hands. You kicked him under the table. You wish you were the lucky person that he would take, but you know that he would soon rather die than be seen with anyone else but Chrissy.

“ I don’t know” Eddie questions as he shyly pulls his hand away from yours. Both of you felt cold after the loss of contact. “I just really like her and I really want her to be with me, you know, not in secret… sometimes I think she’s ashamed of me.”

“Well, that’s her problem then, isn’t it?” Gareth snaps. He was so tired of watching Eddie stomp all over your heart when he knew that Chrissy was going to do the same to him eventually.

Both yours and Eddie's heads snapped to look at him. He was never one to question anything from Eddie, but he looked bothered. He stood up and left the table without a word. 

“What’s up with him?” You chide. Eddie shrugs and picks at his pretzels. 

“Hey, I was wondering if you could give Chrissy a note for me? I think I’m gonna ask her to go to prom with me today.”

“Ed, shouldn’t you just go up and talk to her? She’s your girlfriend for fucks sake.” You were getting sick of being put in the middle. Neither of them understood how much their romance crushed you. 

“Whatever, I thought you would wanna help me, seeing as you’re my best friend and all, but I’ll just humiliate myself then”. He shoved his chair backwards and with a huff, he stormed out of the cafeteria. Eddie was always one for theatrics. Usually it was entertaining, but this felt more like a toddler’s temper tantrum. You rolled your eyes and flipped him off as he left.

Eddie’s departure caught the eye of Chrissy. She looked at you quizzically and you gestured for her to follow him and rolled your eyes. She discreetly got up and trotted out the exit Eddie had just used. The back exit opened up to the field outside. You could see Eddie’s figure heading out to the bleachers - the place where you often went to to get out of O'Donnell's class, or smoke after a particularly stressful rehearsal. But it wasn’t sacred to you two anymore. It was their spot now. You could see Chrissy’s figure following behind him. You took the rest of Eddie’s pretzels and ate them with a huff.

The final night of the play was here. Your last hurrah as the lead and the last show you may ever be a part of. Hawkins for sure does not have a thriving theatre community, so who knows what other opportunities you might have. You didn’t want this to be the last time though, it made your heart hurt and you wished this night would never end.  You had spent your time before curtain warming up with Eddie. He could tell you were nervous. 

“Sweetheart, I am telling you, you have nothing - and I mean nothing to worry about. You have been crushing this whole show run. All you have to do is go on stage and do your thing! And if anything bad happens, I tell the booth to blackout and I cut your mic!” he giggles. You didn’t find it as funny. You paced back and forth across the small stage, arms shaking and your breath hitching. None of your friends had been there to see your performance yet. You weren’t expecting many people, at least Chrissy, but she hadn’t said a word about your show or if she was coming. You pacing was driving Eddie wild. He hated seeing you so bothered.

“Y/N just relax” Eddie grabbed you by your shoulders and your whole body went stiff. Your breath caught in your chest and your heart sank to the floor. You could feel his breath on your face; you hadn’t been this close in a long time. Without being able to help yourself, your eyes flicker from his to his lips. All you would have to do is lean up and your mouth could be on his. His gaze lowered to your lips as well. You wanted to give in so badly, you wanted to kiss him, to feel like his again - but you couldn’t do that to your friend. You broke his contact and took a step back. Eddie cleared his throat and looked at you expectantly. 

“Did Chris say when she was coming to the show?” You ask, clearing your throat in an attempt to clear the thick, tense air. Eddie’s gaze went from soft and longing to hardened. Eddie looked to the floor and shifted his weight. 

“I-uh I don’t know… I haven’t talked to her in the past couple of days.” Your eyes doubled in size.

“What do you mean? What happened that day after lunch?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it” Eddie turned to stalk back behind the wings of the stage. You pulled his arm back and turned him towards you.

“Eddie, please. What happened?”

“She said she didn’t want to go to prom with me, okay? Are you happy now? Is that what you fucking wanted to hear?” His voice boomed through your skull. His eyes were glassed over, dangerously close to spilling tears, like yours have already started to do. He had never talked to you like that.

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“Oh don’t be so naive. You’re fucking happy that Chrissy doesn’t want to be seen with me. This is what you wanted the whole time, right?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you whisper to him, tears free flowing. “Why the fuck are you coming at me now when you just wanted to kiss me? I know you felt that too and you can’t deny that to me” You yell at him with a shove. You were shaking. You wanted to pour your heart out to him now, tell him how angry you were and admit that maybe you were happy that things weren’t picture perfect for them. But it wasn’t worth it now. 

“You know what, Eddie? You both deserve each other. Have a great show” you turn away from him, panting. You felt like you were going to fall to the ground because your legs felt like jello. Eddie grabbed you by the shoulders. You both looked into each other's eyes, glassy with emotion. For the first time in what seems like forever, you could not tell what Eddie was thinking. His eyes clouded with conflict, with anger, but with something else you couldn’t quite decipher. His lips quivered and his cheeks were flushed. 

You felt like your head was going to explode. What was going on? You felt like all of your weight, your body and soul were all dependent on Eddie holding you up. In one swift movement he pulled you in and his lips were on yours. Your whole body tensed, your eyes remained on his face. It was so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But as much as your mind was screaming at you, his lips felt perfect on yours, like they were made to be there. Your heart was on fire and you felt like you might crumble into tiny pieces. But this is not how it was supposed to be.

You pull away and look at him. His eyes were beautiful. The glow of his chocolate irises were back. He looked at you like you were his world, but he looked guilty. 

You slapped him across the cheek. You turned around and you paced back to the dressing room, leaving Eddie there with a burning cheek and a hole in his own heart. He walked backstage.

“Fuck!” He yelled and punched the cinderblock wall, making his knuckles bleed. He trudged back up to the booth to prepare for the show, the feel of your lips on his lingered on his  like a tattoo.

You took your final bows with heavy applause. Your heart felt warm and finally you felt like things were falling into place for you. The stage is where you belonged and where you felt the most like yourself. You had almost forgotten that you were standing in the very spot where Eddie Munson kissed you for the first time three hours prior. He shouldn’t have done that. You shook the memory out of your head. He didn’t matter right now, this was your time. You gestured up to the booth for their applause and there your gaze met Eddie’s. He was beaming, both dimples showing from the sides of his cheeks. For a moment, you saw your proud best friend. You saw the boy you made friends with in seventh grade art class and you saw the boy that came and knocked on your door to see if you wanted to go to the arcade with him. You beamed back at him, in hopes that he felt those same feelings as well. You eyes cast down to the audience and you searched for the other face you were so wishing to see. Chrissy was nowhere to be found. Instead, you saw another mop of shorter dusty brown curls and four other hellfire shirts to accompany him. Gareth whooped when you took your final bow. Your heart soared. You finally found your moment. 

The Hellfire club waited for you in the hallway outside of the auditorium. Jeff and Gareth each wielding bouquets of flowers to give you. The freshmen were buzzing about the performance. You ran to them and embraced them in a big group hug. You thought your face was going to break from how wide you were smiling. 

“Holy crap, Y/N! You were amazing!” Mike gushed.

“That actually made me regret not going to more plays here” Gareth laughed and handed you the bouquet in his hands.

“Thanks guys. I am so happy you’re here” You were so relieved to be telling the truth from the bottom of your heart. It seemed like forever since you could be totally honest with yourself.

“Dude, we wouldn’t have missed it” Jeff offered his bouquet to him and you gave both older boys kisses on the cheek. 

“Did I ever tell you guys that you’re the best?” You exclaimed, while you brought them in for another group hug. 

“I’m just gonna run and grab my things from the dressing room and then we should go grab something to eat! I am starved!” You turned and trotted towards the stage door. 

“Hey, Y/N wait!” Gareth ran up to your side

“What’s up?” Gareth shifted his weight and looked to the floor. 

“I want you to know that we - I think you’re great.”

“Thanks, Gareth” you wrapped your hand around his wrist and gave it a squeeze.

“You deserve better than you’re getting, sweetheart.” Your smile faltered.

“What do you-”

“You know what I mean, Y/N…” Gareth implored. You nod. 

“I know that I am not your first choice, but I was wondering if you wanted to go to prom together? I promise I am not in like love with you or anything, and I want to go with you as a friend, but I don’t want to see you go alone, or worse go with friends you don’t like or don’t show up at all because I think you could win pro-” You cut Gareth off by giving him a tight hug and when you pull away you give him a kiss to his cheek. Your eyes wet with gratitude.

“Gareth, I would love to go to prom with you” Gareth lets a long breath out and laughs.

“Okay, great. That’s really great… cool” You squeezed his shoulder and turned towards the door again.

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff and then we can talk more about plans over some food” You offered. 

“Okay cool! Awesome! And Y/N? We’re all really proud of you. You shone out there.”

Gareth retreats back to the group to wait for you. Eddie had now joined the group, his face looked hardened. Why did you just give Gareth a kiss on the cheek? He knew, like him, that you were a tactile person. You showed your appreciation in physical ways, but he had never seen you be so close to Gareth. It bothered him more that it should. “What was that about?” Eddie interrogated.

“Nothing man, I was just congratulating her.”

“Did she say anything about me?” Eddie pressed.

“...No? Why would she?” The rest of the group snickered at Gareth’s remarks. Eddie turned away. Not only was his mind racing, desperate to talk to you, but now he was embarrassed in front of his own group of friends. He couldn’t take being in the same room with you right now. He needed time to think.

“Alright, I’m going then.” Eddie stalked off to the double doors.

“Wait! You aren’t going to come out to celebratory dinner with us?” Dustin whined. 

“Not this time. I got shit to take care of” Eddie retorted. 

“Probably another hot secret date” Jeff poked at Gareth and they both laughed. 

Eddie grumbled as he turned and opened the door to the parking lot, a cigarette already out of his pocket and in his mouth. He needed to find Chrissy.

It was 11:36pm. Chrissy had gotten home just an hour ago from an outing with Tiffany and Sarah. Her stomach was in knots, she was afraid her reputation was slipping. They had both made a comment about you sitting with the Hellfire club recently and she instantly went into defensive mode. She couldn’t handle them talking shit about you, her best friend and her boyfriend. The girls grilled Chrissy about why she had been being so nice towards the Hellfire seniors and started to put two and two together.

“Oh my god, did that Freak Munson put a spell on you or something when you went for that deal?” Sarah sneered.

“Holy shit! That would make sense as to why Y/N is spending so much time with him too. I heard she sucked his soul out of his-”

“Okay enough!” Chrissy boomed. She could feel her chest caving in. She hated hearing people talk about you that way, but she hated the idea of you and Eddie being together even more.

“He was really sweet and friendly to me when I went over to his trailer. He seems like a really nice guy. And Y/N is one of us, she wouldn’t do that with him.” Tiffany and Sarah sat with their mouths ajar, unwilling to believe that Chrissy would ever talk back to them like that. 

“Oookay, Chris. Didn’t know you were like, in love with him” Tiffany teased. 

“Ugh, as if. Let’s just drop it…” Chrissy mumbled.

She couldn’t sacrifice her already jeopardized reputation by being seen in the auditorium, where both you and Eddie would be. She wouldn’t be able to help herself around him. Her feelings towards the metalhead, although still conflicted, were growing stronger. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold out in keeping this a secret if she was going to actively be seen in public with him. 

She had plopped onto her perfectly made bed with a new Danielle Steele novel when she heard a knock at her window. She looked up and her face contorted into the most beautiful look of surprise to see her favorite curly haired metalhead at the window. He looked like he lost his lucky DnD dice. She opened the window quickly and stood out of the way to let him stumble into her room.

“Eddie? What’s wrong, darling?”

“Are your parents home?” he grabbed her waist and began to back her into her wall.

“Ummm no, they’re out” Chrissy breathed. Eddie pressed his lips to her neck, moved his right hand up her torso as his left hand flicked the lock on her door.

You had tried to call Chrissy a few times after you had returned from the diner with the hellfire club. You were hurt and wanted to know where she had been. But most importantly, you wanted to tell her what happened between you and Eddie. Although you also felt your friendship slipping, this was something you couldn’t keep from her. You had showered your show hair and makeup off and had gotten yourself into comfortable pjs. The flowers the boys had got you sat neatly in a vase on your nightstand; they made you smile every time you looked at them. You had just closed your eyes and surrendered to sleep when your phone rang. You answered and you heard the cheery voice that you had been waiting for.

“Hey babe! How was the show?” So she did remember, but just decided not to show up.

“It was great Chris, but it would have been a lot better if you were actually there.” You tried not to sound angry, because in the long run, you really wanted her there. She hurt you more than made you mad. 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I had this thing that I couldn’t get out of with Tiffany and Sarah. I’m sorry, you know I’ll be at the next one” She offered.

“What if that was the last one, Chris? You know what, I would rather not do this over the phone… Can I come over?”

“Oh.” Her voice dropped. “Yeah, Okay.”

“I’ll be there in 10.”

You knock on Chrissy’s door. Unlike her previous visitor, you knew you were always welcome at her house. She was quick to open the door. She looked perplexed, worried even. It wasn’t often that you saw her being anything but her shiny happy self. You knew something was very wrong. She knew too.

“Hi.” You offer

“Hi… come in” she opens the door wider to let you into her foyer. She holds her cardigan tight to her chest. You follow her up her stairs and into her bedroom. It felt so familiar but there was a tension that made this feel foreign. You sat yourself on the end of her bed while she perched herself on her vanity stool. Even though you were facing each other, you found it hard to make eye contact with each other.

“I need to tell you someth-”

“I feel like we need to-”

You both started talking at the same time and with an awkward chuckle, you stopped talking so she could speak.

“Eddie came over after the play” Chrissy whispered. You clenched your jaw. 

“Oh, I couldn’t tell from the numerous hickies on your neck, Chris.” you poked. She wrapped her cardigan around her small frame tighter and kept her stoic expression. 

“Eddie told me that you kissed him at the theatre” she said, her tone hard. You shook your head in disbelief.

“Is that what he really told you?” You pressed. She nodded her head, not being able to make eye contact with you. 

“Huh. So what if I told you that he kissed me? That we had a fight over the fact that you won’t be seen in public with him? That he accused me of being happy that my two best friends in the whole fucking world were destroying each other, all while they pretend that I don’t exist anymore and just keep shitting on each others’ feelings, leaving me in the middle of this whole mess?” you started to raise your voice. You couldn’t believe that Eddie would ever lie about what happened, and you really couldn’t believe that Chrissy would believe him. 

“That sounds like a real easy way to shift the blame, Y/N. You kissed my boyfriend” Chrissy snaps, tears threatening to spill.

“Bullshit, Chrissy! He kissed me! And I still don’t fucking know why! He kissed me, I pulled away, I slapped him in his stupid fucking face and I left.” You screamed. Your tears flowing freely. This had been the single most confusing night of your life. You thought that the two people you loved the most couldn’t betray you more than they already had.

“Well, that’s not the story that Eddie told me” She whispered.

“Yeah… it seems like Eddie told you that story all over your body, Chrissy” she gasped and lunged for her bedroom door. Your face twisted in disgust. He used you because he was mad at Chrissy, and the he used her to lessen the blow.

“Get out.” She sobbed. 

“You tell me to leave right now, you are telling me that you believe Eddie’s word over mine - fuck, not even Eddie’s, a stupid fucking boy over my word. Me. Your best friend. The one who has been there for you since forever.” The air was thick. Both of your eyes were red and chests heaving. 

“I do. I believe him.” Chrissy gasped.

You cackled as you stood up. You huffed out of her room and bound down her stairs. You opened and slammed her front door shut and climbed into your car. You sped out of her driveway and rounded the corner. When you got out of eyeshot from her house, you turned off your car, slammed your hands on your steering wheel and screamed at the top of your lungs. 

You wanted to go see Eddie. You wanted him to tell you that it would all be okay. You wanted him to wipe your tears away and you wanted him to hold you with the same passion he did at the theatre. You wanted him to kiss you and tell you that you were right and she was wrong; but you also knew that she would be calling him right now and she would be getting the comfort you so desperately needed. You turned your ignition and started back to your house. 

The next weeks of school seemed to bleed together. You felt numb. You had no play, no Chrissy and no Eddie. Every other day, Gareth would meet you in the library to eat lunch with you. You were so thankful for his friendship. You didn’t have the heart to tell him what happened with Eddie and Chrissy; knowing that it would cause yet another rift within their tight group. He also thought that it was best to keep the fact that the two of you were going to prom together between the two of you to prevent the same thing; But, he knew that Chrissy had pushed you to the side. You had secretly thought that she was waiting for a reason to ditch you as a friend, seeing as you weren’t what Chrissy envisioned as a perfect person to put on her social resume. You knew that the cheer girls were starting to treat her differently because you were friends and you didn’t subscribe to the jock way of life. Gareth was there to listen through it all, and although your heart was broken, it was comforting to know that you still had a friend that was willing to help you put the pieces back together. You were grateful that one of the biggest nights of the year was going to be spent with him. 

May 1986 

Your preparations had begun as prom week came. You took Gareth shopping for a new shirt and tie.

“Are you sure I don’t need like, a tux or something?” he questioned.

“Do either of us look like we are fancy or rich enough to be tux people?” you joked.

“Fair enough.”

“You are going to look awesome in whatever we find!” you praised. Gareth beamed back at you.

You walked through starcourt mall arm in arm. The sting from the past couple of weeks had become a dull ache and you started to appreciate the little things again. You had been bold enough to take your seat at the hellfire table last Friday and although Eddie looked at you quizzically, he didn’t say anything. It seemed like there was a silent agreement between the two of you, that you were both going to put what happened at the show behind you. As much as you both wanted to though, neither of you could forget. You both remembered each time you looked into each other’s eyes. Your conversations had begun to pick up again, they were surface level and short, but you were happy for the small sense of normalcy. You wondered if Chrissy did tell Eddie about the conversation the two of you had. But in your growth you decided that you didn’t need to know that, and worrying over it was just going to cause you more stress than it was worth. 

As you and Gareth passed through the food court, a pair of chocolatey brown eyes fixed on your figure. Eddie had posted up at the mall with Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High and adult friend to many of the Hellfire freshmen. 

“Dude, you gotta relax.” Steve warned. Eddie’s jaw had instantly tightened and his body had stiffened when he had seen you and Gareth walking through the mall. Why the hell were you out with him?

“Why is she here with him? Why is she holding him like that?” Eddie sneered.

“Is… Is Eddie Munson Jealous? I thought you were boning the hottest girl in school?” 

“Yeah boning. But we’re also dating and she doesn’t want anyone to know that”

“Shit, dude” Steve gulped.

“Yeah… Shit.” Eddie wished he had natural charm like Steve. Maybe it would make it easier for Chrissy to like him. He hated that he was questioning his whole person because of a stupid girl. But he really thought that he liked her. But how could she like him if she didn’t even want to be seen in public with him. Eddie ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated, overwhelmed and wanting to burn starcourt mall down if it meant that you wouldn’t be here with Gareth anymore.

You found Gareth a satin button up shirt and he stole a lavender bowtie that matched the color of your dress. You were finally laughing and joking faintly like you used to. It made Gareth’s heart soar. He cared greatly for you, but knew that your heart belonged to Eddie. It never stopped belonging to him, even if you told him repeatedly that you didn’t have feelings for the Hellfire leader. Even though he was hoping you weren’t going home with him on prom night, Gareth was more than happy to be taking you.

Tonight was the night. Eddie was sure that everyone in his graduating class was stirring with anticipation and excitement for what was going to be the best night of their lives. Eddie wasn’t as optimistic. He had put on his best black jeans (the ones with no holes in them) and was sitting on his bed, lazily strumming his guitar with a lit joint hanging out of his mouth while he waited for his wet curls to come to life. He didn’t want to go anymore. Chrissy had ensured the fact that she was going with Jason Carver meant nothing but keeping up appearances and that she would save a dance with him once she was crowned prom queen. Eddie felt like a charity case and had been feeling so increasingly often lately, Chrissy only daring to talk to him through notes left in his locker, or going to their hiding spot during their class breaks. Eddie was sure that he wanted to be in love with her. But when he kissed Chrissy, it didn’t feel like it did when he kissed you. He was so confused. Your relationship was finally amicable again, and he had the girl that he had been chasing after for years. But he was scared to see you tonight because he was worried he was going to mess everything up. He could be in love with Chrissy, but it seemed like Chrissy might not love him back. But maybe you did. Eddie let out a loud groan and flopped back onto his bed. He finished his joint and put on his burgundy dress shirt and put his arms through his vest. He put on his freshly polished rings and toed on his reeboks. He reluctantly started his van and began his drive to Hawkins High.

Gareth picked you up at 7 o’clock sharp. You answered the door with a bright smile and his face lit up the dusk behind him.

“Wow, girl. You look amazing!” Gareth looked you up and down. Your lavender sleeves landed just off of your shoulders, highlighting the pearls that rested on your collar bone. Your tiered skirt flowed and shimmered beautifully with the light.

“Says you! I told you you didn’t need to get a tux!” you slap him on the shoulder. To your surprise Gareth had showed up in a full tuxedo, sporting the shirt and tie the two of you had picked out.

“Yeah I know but my mom was so excited that I was going that she went out and bought me one anyway” You both laughed as you turned to take your polaroid camera off of the entryway table. 

“Let's take a picture to commemorate the occasion” you tease. The two of you place your cheeks together and smile for the camera. The light flashes and you both giggle. You were so excited to be spending an evening with your friend. 

“Jeff gonna meet us there?”

“One step ahead of you!” You heard from Gareth’s truck. Jeff stuck his head out of the back and gave you a huge smile and a wave. You laughed as you closed the door behind the two of you. Tonight was going to be a good night.

Chrissy had stationed herself at Tiffany’s directly after school to prepare for what was going to be the best night of her life. Sarah had snuck a bottle of champagne from her mother’s wine cellar and by 6pm, Chrissy could feel her own pulse in her head. She felt beautiful, she looked beautiful, but even her baby pink slip dress could not hide the insecurity on her face. The stakes were high and all she wanted was everything to go the way she wanted. Her glossed lips sank another flute of champagne while they waited for Jason and his posse to show up in the limo.

When you arrived, the Hawkins gym was decorated with tinsel and adorned with snack and drink tables on the opposite side of the stage. Your stomach fluttered at the excitement of being at your senior prom with some of the people you loved the most. You grab some punch and you Gareth and Jeff sit. Your head was on a swivel looking for a beautiful blonde, or a mop of brown curls, but to no avail. You took a big sigh and shook out your hands. Tonight was going to be a good night, you repeated to yourself. No one was going to ruin this for you. 

“Wanna dance?” Gareth held his hand out to you. You gladly grabbed it and let him sweep you out to the dancefloor. He spun you and you laughed. Any thoughts of anyone else dissipated as you laughed and danced with your best friend.

Chrissy entered the gym in awe, teetering on her pumps, and brain fuzzy from the champagne. It was her night for a win and she knew that. She walked arm in arm with Jason, a smile plastered wide and eyes full of expectation. Her eyes faltered when she saw you smiling and laughing with your date, she didn’t remember his name. She longed to give you a hug and apologize. She wanted to dance and laugh with you, but she knew that now wasn’t the time. She needed to focus. Tonight was her night. 

Eddie trudged into the gym, head already aching from the synth pop being played out of the large speakers. He grabbed a small flask out of his back pocket and took a swig. He sauntered over to the punch bowl and grabbed a cup, eyes scanning for two women. He found neither. Who he did find was his hellfire clubmates sitting at a table on the outskirts of the gym. Eddie tramps to them.

“Who let the freshmen in here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine” Jeff offers as he shakes Eddie’s hand “Looking good Ed. I didn’t know you even knew what a dress shirt was”

“Ha ha… I feel like shit. How long do we have to be here for?” Eddie whines

“Dude no one is making you stay! So have some fun with your friends would you?” Dustin scolds. Eddie scowls as he sinks into a chair at the round table. He immediately senses your absence. He looks around inquisitively.

“Where’s Y/N?” He asks. Jeff nods towards you on the dancefloor and Eddie’s heart stops. You looked absolutely radiant. He felt his hands get clammy and his chest got tight. You looked so happy and carefree. He missed seeing you like this, his girl the way he remembers you the best. He smiles to himself when he hears you laugh.

“Gareth, stop spinning me, I'm gonna throw up!” 

His smile faded. Gareth? You were here with Gareth? He saw the mop head holding your hands and laughing with you. Suddenly, Eddie felt sick to his stomach. He could feel his pulse in his ears and he saw red. Jeff saw Eddie’s gaze harden.

“Eddie, don’t.” Jeff warns. “She’s having a really good time.”

Eddie didn’t respond. He took the flask out of his pocket and took a long swig. As he put it away, he stood up, vision locked on your dancing figures. Jeff sighed and put his head in his hands. Dustin and Mike looked at him confused. Jeff shook his head at them, implying that they didn’t want to know.

Eddie sauntered up to Gareth and grabbed his shoulder. Your smile faded as Gareth turned around to face Eddie.

“Hey, can we talk?” Eddie seethed through gritted teeth. Gareth looked at you apologetically.

“I’ll be right back okay?” He squeezed your hand and let Eddie guide him out of the gym. You were left in the middle of the dancefloor, too stunned to move or say anything. Dustin came to your side and asked if you wanted to sit back down with the club. You nodded, dazed, but followed after the two boys into the hallway instead.

Eddie pushed Gareth into the hallway and grabbed onto his lapels. You ducked around the corner so you were within earshot and close enough to help Gareth if he needed it.

“What the fuck are you doing Gareth?”

“What are you talking about, Munson?” Gareth pushed Eddie off and he began to smooth out his jacket.

“Why are you here with her?”

“What, like you were going to ask her to go with you?” Gareth challenged. Eddie looked at him dumbfounded. “Look, Eddie. If you really cared about her, you would let her have a good time tonight. You’re too busy with Chrissy lately anyway so I don’t know why this is suddenly such a big deal…”

Eddie clenched his fists and stalked towards Gareth. You covered your mouth to prevent the two from hearing your gasp.

“That’s my girl… you’re here with my-”

“Oh shut the hell up, Munson! She’s not your girl! Your girl is here with Jason fucking Carver. The guy that has been tormenting us for fucking years! Get your head out of your ass and stop playing with Y/N. She isn’t yours.” Gareth yelled. Eddie wracked out a sob and turned away from his friend. Gareth’s stomach sank and he watched his friend unravel in the hallway.

“I didn’t ask her here romantically, Eddie.” Gareth offered. “I care about her a lot, but I know that she doesn’t like me. I know exactly who she wants to be here with.” Gareth bores into Eddie, only hoping that their conversation will knock some sense into him. You slip back into the gym and sit with the hellfire club, mind racing thinking about what you just heard.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am going to continue to keep having fun with my friend.” Gareth stepped closer to Eddie and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get your shit together, Munson, and then try and enjoy yourself for once.” With that, Eddie was left alone in the hallway. He pulled at the roots of his hair, and let a string of profanities leave his mouth. It was better than punching a wall like last time.

Gareth returned to the gym and sat next to you with a smile, reassuring you everything was fine. Gareth whispered in your ear, telling you he wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this night for you or him and that it was time to have fun and forget about everything happening outside of this night. You couldn’t agree more. You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a thankful hug. He laughed as the two of you positioned yourselves towards the stage as the principal announced the prom king and queen would be crowned shortly.

Eddie slithered back into the gym, his arms crossed and a grimace glued on his face. He saw Chrissy and although his heart should have skipped a beat, it did nothing. She looked beautiful, gorgeous even. But she wasn’t you. But you made it clear, and Gareth made it clear. You weren’t his and you didn��t owe him anything. You deserved to have a good night and as much as he wanted to take you away and drive off with you, he knew that couldn’t happen. So he would settle for his dance in secret, and the potential for some action after Chrissy got her ten minutes of fame. 

As the microphone squealed and the gym quieted, Chrissy shifted in her chair restlessly. Her dress felt too tight, and Jason felt too close. She wanted the boy that made her feel the prettiest. She wanted the boy who would do anything for her to be beside her. She wanted to dance with the boy who told her that he adored her. Her eyes scanned around the gym and she saw him lingering against the back wall. She sent him a wave as she smiled brightly. He waved back but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. She thought she knew why he was so upset. He hated seeing her with Jason. She was starting to hate being here with Jason too. When Jason was called for prom King, he patted Chrissy on the thigh, gave her a kiss on the forehead and sauntered up to the stage to receive his crown. Chrissy felt like she was going to be sick. This was the single most important moment to her. Principal Higgins held a white envelope in his hands.

“And this year’s prom queen is…” He fumbled with the envelope.

You were rooting for Chrissy. You knew that you didn’t need to be, but there was part of you that was longing for your old friend back. Maybe her winning prom queen would bring her back from her orbit. 

“Chrissy Cunningham”

Chrissy opened her perfectly glossed lips into a gasp. She stood timidly and strutted to the stage to accept her crown and flowers. She flashed a beauty pageant smile and wave and sobbed a thank you to the gym. You could tell that she was definitely not sober. You worried for her, but this was also your night. She was Jason’s problem, not yours. It gave you a small bit of relief to see Eddie was not in a matching baby pink getup to the blonde’s. They didn’t come here together. You knew you shouldn’t be holding out hope, but the scene he caused on the dancefloor and now this, you couldn’t help but be a bit hopeful.

Once Chrissy and Jason took a bow as king and queen, the DJ had spun a slow song. Gareth offered you his hand again and you happily accepted it. Dancing with Gareth had been the most fun you have had in a while. You both went to the dancefloor and dramatically rocked each other back and forth. 

Chrissy left the stage and as Jason went to grab her to dance with her, she tossed her flowers to him and trudged across the gym in Eddie’s direction. Jason looked back to his posse confused, he followed Chrissy’s bouncy curls to the opposite end of the gym.

Eddie nursed his flask as dancers started to repopulate the space. He saw you get up with Gareth. He scoffed and took another swig of his flask. When his eyes returned to the mass of students, he saw a pair of bright blue eyes bounding towards him. He stood in shock, not knowing what Chrissy was doing. When she reached the wall he was leaning against, she stuck out a perfectly manicured hand to him, her face set with determination. She led him to the middle of the dance floor. 

“Chris, wh-what are you doing?” Eddie breathed

“Shut up, Munson. W-we are gonna d-dance:” she slurred. 

“We don’t have to-” She stopped him in the middle of the gym and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could see Jason fuming behind her and he smirked down at her. 

“You’re ready to stir the pot aren’t you, doll?” Eddie chuckled. 

“Yeah, I’m r-r-ready to start some, some shit b-because I-I love you, E-Eddie Munson.” Her blue eyes bore into him. Did he really just hear her properly? He felt like there was only one right thing to say.

“I, I love you too, Chrissy,” Eddie hesitated. Before he could wrap his head around what had happened, Chrissy pulled his head down to hers and planted a searing kiss on him. He quickly returned her offer and swiped his tongue over her lips. She deepened the kiss. Eddie felt like he was floating, but it didn’t feel like it was a good feeling. Chrissy tasted sour like wine and Eddie’s head pounded. But feeling this was better than feeling nothing. It was better than the emptiness he felt when he saw you being held by someone else. He kissed Chrissy like no one was watching, while in reality all of the gym had directed their gaze to the world's oddest couple they could imagine.

You swayed Gareth back and forth, laughing so hard your stomach hurt and your face felt like the smile was never going to leave. Once your laughs subsided, you pulled Gareth in closely and rested your head on his shoulder. You closed your eyes and hummed in content. 

“Thank you, Gareth. This has been such a great night”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. I am having so much fun with you” Gareth rubbed small circles into your waist as you turned slowly. You opened your eyes and you instantly stood up, your body tensing under Gareth’s touch.

“Hey, what’s wr-” Gareth turned to look behind him and saw the picture perfect way to ruin your night. Gareth stiffened and grabbed your hand. You didn’t want to look but you couldn’t avert your gaze. You felt like you were going to be sick. Gareth grabbed your hand and whispered in your ear.

“Let’s go get some fresh air, okay?” You nodded your head and let him lead you out of the gym.

As Eddie broke his kiss, the first thing he saw was you taking in their display. Then he saw you turn and leave the gym with Gareth’s hand in yours. Eddie grabbed Chrissy’s hand and kissed it and ran out of the gym after you. 

You refused to let the tears fall. You didn’t want to ruin your night with Gareth and you didn’t want to give Eddie and Chrissy the satisfaction. Why would he look at you the way he did, why would he say those things to Gareth? Why would he call you his girl? Gareth could tell you were trying to process, so he squeezed your hand to ground you and remind you he was here for you. 

“Y/N” you hear a familiar voice ring out. The voice you wanted to hear the most and the least. You turn to find Eddie standing in the middle of the empty hallway. Gareth gripped onto your hand tighter, a scowl setting on his face.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you manage to squeak out.

“I-I’m sorry” he huffed. “I’m so fucking sorry”

“For what, Eddie? For being defensive all night, telling Gareth that I’m your girl?” Gareth and Eddie both tensed. “For knowing that my heart fully belongs to you and you actively shitting on it? What is it?” You were angry. You deserved to be angry. This time, it was Eddie’s turn to cry. You walked towards him, cheeks growing hot. You came chest to chest with him when you heard the gym door fly open.

“E-Eddie, my love?” Chrissy giggled. She stopped when she saw the three of you in the hallway. “Oh no.” She murmured. 

“Chrissy, go back inside. I’ll be there in a minute.” Eddie ordered. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Tears are now dangerously close to ruining your makeup.

“Hmmmm, no. I think I wanna st-stay for this Teddy” she cooed. She stumbled towards him and threw her weight on him. 

“Yeah, Teddy. She might want to stay for this.” you sneer. You could feel your blood heating up, your hand tightening on Gareth’s.”Why did you kiss me in the theatre?” You take a step back as Eddie opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. “Tell me it wasn’t because you were in love with me and I’ll walk away right fucking now.” you sniffle.

“He didn’t love you, babe. He only kissed you b-back  b-because he f-f-felt bad for you. That’s what he told me” Chrissy hiccupped. Eddie looked at you, his eyes now freely flowing.

“Y/N… Please” Eddie begs. You laugh at him.

“Is that the truth Eddie? Is that how you really feel? Or is that what you told Chrissy to feel better about the fact that you kissed me, and you didn’t want to stop?” You spit.”Or was it what you told her to get in her pants without any punishment?”

“Please don’t do that” Eddie whispered. You start to back away with Gareth. Eddie tries to peel Chrissy’s arms off of his torso.

“I’m leaving right now Eddie and you have a choice to make. You can come with me and that will be enough of an explanation.” You stood strong and dropped your hand that was holding Gareth’s. He whispered your name softly. You turn to him and smile tightly to let him know that it was okay. You turn back to Eddie who stands still.

“Eddie, lets gooooo.” Chrissy whines.She began to pull his arm back towards the gym. His feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. He looks to you, completely heartbroken as your gaze hardens at the drunk prom queen hanging around his body. You chuckle as he lets Chrissy pull his body back towards the gym.

“Great. We’re done.”

You hear Eddie release a broken Sob as you grab Gareth’s hand and walk through the double doors.

Chrissy finally drags him back towards the bustling music and plastic tinsel of the gym. He felt like he could throw up. How could he just let you walk away?

Gareth opens his truck door open for you and helps you get seated in the passenger seat. He stands in between you and his truck door. He kissed your forehead and began to run his hand up and down your arm.

“Do you wanna go home, sweetheart?”

“You know what, a milkshake sounds really fucking great right now” you smile. Gareth laughs and you eventually join him.

“Milkshakes coming right up.”

Taglist:

@mxcheese , @anislabonis-love , @zenathebeautiful , h-ness1944 , @nymphetkoo , @tlclick73 , @darknesseddiem , @nega-omega , @them-cute-boys , @eggo-segual , @browneyes528 , @ali-r3n , @micheledawn1975 @partydulce @eddies-puppet , @elvendria , @itsjustwous , @littlemisslovestoread , @kjcmama , @chloe-6123 , @navs-bhat , @loveforreading , @thegirlthatsfalling , @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e , @metalhead-succubus

[goblingardens]

The way i would go absolutely FERAL if they made a comic of Essek and Caleb in Aeor!!!!!!!!1!!1!!1

[yaniiiiism]

but no one can stop the time, i know -h.js 🍢

❀┆pairing : han jisung x fem!reader ͏ ❀┆ info : oneshot , a lot of fluff , cutesy , highschool love (cough cough) , short ! ❀┆ personas + bg : highschoolers ; classmates ; nerdy , funny , flirty, loverboy , head-over-heels jisung, reader matches his energy <3 ❀┆ word count : 3.1k ❀┆warnings : cute af i wanna squish him :< notes at the end !!

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ♡ ㅤ۫ㅤ ೀ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤㅤ✧

happy hannie day ᡣ𐭩

✦ ! i fell in love with you unexpectedly, i think it's so sweet, my baby.

──

It was a weekday like any other, the kind that slipped through the cracks of senior year, unnoticed in the blur of exams and deadlines.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the classroom windows, casting golden beams across the desks. The faint murmur of students packing up and chattering about weekend plans filled the room, but a certain fluffy-haired guy's focus was elsewhere.

He sat at his desk, fingers lightly drumming on the surface, his guitar case leaning beside him. Across the room, she sat with her head bent low over her notebook, the tip of her pen moving in quick, precise strokes.

Her brow furrowed slightly, lips parted as she was focused. The golden light hit her hair just right, creating a soft halo around her, the strands cascading down her back in waves of deep black.

The loverboy had always admired how she seemed to glow when she was lost in thought.

He swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of her face, the way her lashes cast faint shadows on her cheeks, the tiny mole just beneath her left eye that he’d noticed a thousand times before but never tired of admiring. His heart did a small, familiar somersault—something it had become accustomed to doing whenever he looked at her for too long.

Ask her, idiot, he urged himself, his pulse quickening. It was just a study session—completely innocent. Yet somehow, the idea of spending that extra time with her made his stomach churn with nerves, excitement mixing with anxiety in a way that left him breathless.

"And then Lino hyung almost choked me with tis..- ..ssues."

What?

Jisung barely blinked, still half-lost in his thoughts about something, or rather someone.

"Interesting," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the way the sunlight caught the edge of her notebook.

The guy next to him narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Dude, are you even listening?"

Jisung jolted, pushing up his glasses awkwardly. “Uh, yeah..! Minho hyung, tissues. Totally with you.”

The blonde groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re hopeless, man. Just ask her out already.”

Jisung’s face turned red as he shot Hyunjin a panicked glance. "What? What are you talking about?"

“You’ve been all heart eyes for her for the last fifteen minutes. Ugh, young love,” His best friend normally let out a dramatic sigh.

"You're only a year older..!" Jisung grumbled under his breath, trying to focus back on his notes. "I wasn’t staring at anybody,"

Taking a deep breath, the guy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and finally got up from his desk, raising a question out of his friend's mouth.

"Hey- where are you-" he frowned, shaking his head at his best friend's usual lover-self. "Typical Jisung.." He mumbled.

Meanwhile, Jisung was quietly walking up to the desk, only a few steps ahead from his, each step making his heart thud a beat quicker.

And then, he was right in front of her desk. Her hands, firmly holding onto the black ink pen, black streaks of hair framing her face like the icing of a cake.

"Hey," The guy formed the first word, much to his surprise.

He saw her lifting her head, doe-like eyes meeting his. For a moment, the rest of the classroom blurred, and it was just the two of them for him. "Oh, hey, Jisung."

He could swear he almost fainted right there and then, at her gaze. It was as if time had stopped — her eyes seem to hold certain depth which nobody could identify.

"What are you noting?" He replied, an awkward smile etching his lips as he leaned onto the desk, ever too lightly.

"Oh, nothing, just some calculus.. it's been irritating me for 2 days now," She chuckled slightly.

"Ah, I see," He tried for casual, but there was an edge of nervous energy in his voice. "If you want, I can try helping you, you know since the test is near as well,"

Her eyes softened, "I'd appreciate that, but I think the free period's ending in five minutes..?"

"Oh."

"Well, I-I uh, didn't realise that," He chuckled nervously, glancing to his own desk, and earning a fake cough from the same, where his wingman was tiredly spectating the scene unfold, ever so slowly, probably motioning, god get it together, do something!

"Actually! My uh, dorm’s empty tonight. It’d be quieter there than the library."

Han, are you crazy?

He was already sensing his dorm-mate shooting him sharp daggers from his desk, clearly disturbed by his stupid move. Guess Hyunjin'll have to spend another evening at the crowded dance studio.

Anyway, the girl's eyes softened, and a small smile curled on her lips, the kind that made his chest tighten. "You’re inviting me to your dorm?" she teased, her voice lilting with amusement.

He chuckled, trying to mask his rising heartbeat. "Uh, yeah, for math, obviously. I’m not secretly planning to serenade you with guitar solos or anything."

"Shame," she grinned, closing her notebook. "But yeah, I’d love to. I could use some extra help with derivatives."

"Cool, yeah. Same here, d-derivatives, right." he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, his nerves buzzed, and he could already hear Hyunjin's teasing in his head.

~

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, eyes rolling. “Derivatives, huh?”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Shut up.”

“No, no, that was smooth,” Hyunjin continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “My dorm’s empty tonight. Real subtle, loverboy. You really think she’s buying the whole study excuse?”

~

The dorm was quiet by the time she arrived, too quiet, almost like the room had been waiting for this moment. The guy had spent the past half-hour tidying things up—scattering textbooks and notebooks across the floor to make it look like they’d been studying all day.

His guitar, ever-present, leaned in the corner of the room, a few half-finished music sheets peeking out from beneath his laptop. He had left the window slightly open, letting the cool evening breeze flow in, carrying with it the distant sounds of the campus winding down.

When the doorbell rang, his heart jumped. He crossed the room quickly and opened the door. There she was, standing in the warm glow of the hallway light, her eyes bright and curious.

"Hey," he said, smiling that wide, gummy smile that never failed to make him feel a little self-conscious.

"Hey," she replied, stepping inside. Her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the slight mess of papers, the cozy clutter of his space. "Seems cozy," She chuckled.

The room was modest, with a bed pushed against one wall and a desk cluttered with papers and notebooks. His guitar leaned against the corner, its polished wood catching the last rays of sunlight. The space felt inviting, a reflection of Jisung’s quiet, creative world.

Jisung shut the door behind her, trying to steady his nerves. “I hope it’s not too messy. I wasn’t sure if I should clean up or leave it as it is.”

“It’s fine,” she said, her gaze returning to him. There was a soft smile on her lips, and Jisung’s heart skipped a beat. “I like it. Feels warm.”

They settled down on the floor, their backs resting against the bed. Jisung gestured to the array of textbooks and notes spread out in front of them. “So, um, let’s get started?”

She nodded, her smile widening. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her book open in front of her. The guy couldn’t help but notice how her eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as she flipped through the pages. He found himself studying her, taking in every detail—the way the corner of her mouth turned up slightly when she was concentrating, the way her fingers moved gracefully over the pages.

As they worked through the problems, there were moments when their hands brushed against each other, each touch sending a jolt of electricity up Jisung’s arm.

He tried to focus on the calculus problems in front of him, but his mind kept drifting back to her, to the way she looked under the dim light of the room.

Her hair fell over her shoulders in soft waves, framing her face like a dark, silken curtain. The light from the lamp cast a gentle glow on her features, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheek and the soft, pink hue of her lips. There was a tiny mole just beneath her left eye that Jisung found himself staring at, mesmerized by its subtle perfection.

Every now and then, the girl too, would glance up at him, her gaze catching his. When their eyes met, there was a moment of shared understanding, a silent conversation that seemed to speak louder than words. The room seemed to pulse with the unspoken connection between them, a tension that was both exciting and comforting.

At one point, her gaze lingered on Jisung’s face, her eyes tracing the lines of his features with a look of soft contemplation. She noticed the way his bangs fell over his eyes, the dark strands brushing against his glasses. There was something so endearing about his shy, boyish demeanour, and she found herself captivated by the way he looked in the dim light.

Jisung caught her looking and felt a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks. He tried to look away, but found himself drawn back to her. The soft, steady rhythm of her breathing, the way her eyes shone with an almost ethereal light—it was all too mesmerizing.

Without realizing it, she found herself reaching out, her fingers brushing gently against his temple. The touch was light, almost tentative, as she tucked his bangs behind his ear. Jisung’s breath hitched, his heart pounding as he felt the delicate warmth of her hand against his skin.

Her eyes were locked on his, their closeness making the rest of the world seem to fade away. There was a tender smile on her lips, and her gaze was filled with something he couldn’t quite define—perhaps a mixture of affection and something deeper.

“Sorry.. t-they were getting in the way,” she murmured softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Jisung’s heart felt like it had stopped for a moment. Her touch, her words—they all seemed to meld into a single, perfect moment. He looked into her eyes, seeing a depth there that made him feel as if he were falling into an endless, beautiful abyss.

Before he could fully process what was happening, she had leaned in. Her lips brushed against his with a softness that sent shivers down his spine. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, but it carried with it a depth of emotion that spoke louder than any words could.

Jisung responded instinctively, his hand finding its way to her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her skin. The kiss deepened, their lips moving together in a slow, tender rhythm. It was as if time itself had stopped, leaving only the two of them in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, and the room seemed to exhale, the tension melting away into something soft and comforting.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that to happen."

 ೀ⠀. . . ﹙love = u + i﹚.

a/n ♡︎

HAPPY JISUNG DAY YALL <3 wrote this quick for the loml ♡︎ i love this man sm its crazY also chp2 for stars and raindrops comes tmr !! plz reblog/comment/like if u like my fics <33 made another spam acc for skz @loveforseung ALSO I HAVE AO3 NOW !! user's same as @loveforseung go follow !! also making a masterlist for all of my posts, plz lmk if u wanna be a part of it ! <3 have a good day ~ – love, yani ♥︎

✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿ ✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿⠀✿

[howtodolife]

LATE NIGHT SUBTLETIES AND A MILLION MORE CONTROVERSIES

Summary: Reader wakes up at night and doesn't find jungkook beside her but instead in the kitchen, cooking.

Fem!reader × Jungkook

Warnings/Tags: pure fluff, hurt/comfort, insecurity, mentions of stretchmarks, manhandling (A bit?), oc is nervous and restless, she's so in love it makes her jittery and overwhelmed 😭, jk being an absolute sweetheart, REASSURANCE, bit suggestive in the middle but nothing happens, they're so in love it hurts 😭😭💗 (pls tell me if you find any more warnings, I'll add them!)

Writer's note: why is it so hard to write kiss scenes‼️?? it's my second fic, It originally started as a pure fluff imagine but I couldn't help it and made it a bit sad, so now it fits into the hurt/comfort trope more 😭😭 I'm not very happy with how it turned out because it feels kinda personal and I pondered not posting it but here I am. I hope you guys like it! Also it gets better in the end👍😭

"It must be midnight," you thought to yourself as your eyes drifted open, adjusting to the darkness around you. You reached out to the other side of the bed, hoping to find security and warmth, hoping to find Jungkook—the one you sought for love and a sense of belonging. Surprisingly, all you could find was an empty mattress and bedsheets, as well as pillows cold from being unused. Quickly getting up, panic flooded in for a short moment. "Jungkook," you called out, receiving no answer. You walked to the living room, eyes searching for him, and that was when Jungkook caught your sight. He was in the kitchen, cooking god-knows-what with his back turned toward you. The room had a purplish hue due to the dimmed lights, and the atmosphere felt cold with the AC blasting at full temperature. Jungkook turned toward you, hearing your footsteps, giving you a slight smile that had a hint of slyness. You walked closer to him. You felt Jungkook's hand snake around your waist, and then strong tattooed arms lifting you up onto the cold marble countertop. You squirmed due to the sudden movement, gripping onto his shoulders for stability. "Oh my god," you exclaimed, earning Jungkook a chuckle. You rolled your eyes at him. "Hey, c'mon, it's fun!"

"Sure", you retorted. "Besides, why are you making ramen at 2:46 a.m", you mentioned, hitting his head lightly.

"I'm insomniac", stated Jungkook matter of factly. "Also I was bored since it's late and had nothing better to do, so naturally i decided to cook"

I tilted my head at him and hummed in response. He looked beyond beautiful right now. Sharing these little moments together felt so domestic yet special; I'd trade anything for them. Jungkook gave me a quick glance before I felt one of his hands on my thigh, pulling me closer to him so that he could place kisses all over my face and neck. I grinned at that, placing my hands in his hair.

"You're never going to give me a warning, are you?", you asked, raising your eyebrow at him.

He chuckled "And miss out on these reactions? Nah, I'm good".

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, taking his presence in as much as you could. You would never get enough of it, of him. You wanted to stare into his brown bambi eyes forever, and even that wouldn't be enough time. You felt his hand travelling up and down your legs, Jungkook could feel the dents made by the stretchmarks on your legs here and there. You tensed a bit as you felt the warmth of his hand lingering there a bit more longer than the other areas, afraid he might judge you or find them weird but it was evident in his eyes that he couldn't care less. Jungkook's face reflected nothing but the feelings of love, respect and infatuation he felt for you. You felt the cold metal of his rings on your thighs as the grip of his hand strengthened, his head shifting closer to you. You breathed in his scent, shifting slightly closer to him. You gulped nervously, trying to calm your nerves down, heart beating loud in your chest at Jungkook being so close to you, the amount of intimacy you were sharing. You'd experienced it a countless number of times, but it still made you feel all restless and timid. "You can touch me, y'know", he chuckled, and then you lost it. Completely.

"God, I KNOW, its just that the feelings I have for you is so overwhelming and intense plus I don't know what the fuck to do with them. Sometimes I wanna jump off a building because of these and I'm always scared if I say or do something wrong or weird. It just holds me back from doing so much. I have so much love for you and it's unreal and crazy but you'll never get to know it because guess what, I'm too fucking embarrassed to do anything", you rambled and put your hand in your head, feeling upset, guilty and a bit disappointed.

You felt him grab your wrists and pull your hands from your face, holding them. He seemed to be taking in the whole of what you said and understand it in depth instead if coming up with a sudden reply. He scooted his head closer to you, as if trying to emphasize what he was about to say "nothing you do comes off as weird or out of place to me, understand? I love you, I love you, I love YOU, I can't stress this enough. You can never make me tired or upset with you, I love all of your little habits and mannerisms and i'll memorise all of them to take care of you and make you feel safe and wanted. Also, holy shit, that's a lot to carry all at once, Y/N. I don't want you to feel so pressurised and stressed with me, love. I'll do my best to not let these feeling get to you. Besides, I can recognize how much you love me by all your little gestures and the things you say" You felt him grab your chin and turn your attention towards him. "I love you, okay? Don't doubt that". You felt his lips brush against yours, making your heart jump, it was the gentlest of kisses, without the desire for something another. It intensified slowly, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you even closer, making you his body press against yours. Although it was without the anticipation of anything other than this moment you were sharing, not with his hands under your shirt or tangled up in your bra straps. It was one filled with love and innocence, one that was unwavering. You suddenly felt his lips part from yours, a move unlikely for him to do. But then it dawned on you - the food. He reached for the spatula in a sudden movement, trying to do something to make the food edible, at least, though it didnt look like anything could be done.

"Fuck, no, no no. Not the goddamn ramen. I really don't want to eat it burnt, ah" Jungkook conceded.

He held his head in his hands, sighing in a defeated manner. You felt bad for him, though you couldn't help but burst out laughing. He narrowed his eyes at you.

"What, you asshole. There's nothing funny about this".

You raised you hands as if to signify that you were not at fault. "Hey, it's your fault. You should've been more careful and not shifted your attention elsewhere."

"Okay well, nobody told you to wake up at 3 AM to come here and distract me, it's all your fault" Jungkook accused.

You let out a sigh, jumping down from the counter "Just order in food and we'll clean up the mess together"

"Absolutely not, your "cleaning up" never ends well. I'm just left out here all by my own" he teased, fake crying.

You gasped in a dramatic way, half-joking, half-bickering."That's so mean, you absolute shithead. I would clean it up just to spite you and prove you wrong, but y'know what? I'm too tired. Good 4 me though, I'm saved from work" You shrugged.

"Just admit you can't do it" he retorted, putting the dishes in the sink, smiling the whole time.

"Not in my life, never."