#i had a cast for the first week n was non-weight bearing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

calumxkisses · 3 years

Text

Sweet Creature | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: i think implied smut?

summary: request - Heeyyy, can you do one, where they have a big fight and they are in quarentine, and they stop talking to each other, and the sleep in different rooms, with cal... kiss from brazil 🇧🇷

a/n: this is one of my favorite song! let me know what you think about it! i hope you enjoyed it ;)

you should read this imagine while listening to: sweet creature

➳

“What the hell is wrong with you?” a scream comes out of your lungs. Your face has turned red, your head hurts and you feel your heart pounding. Your throat is now dry and you feel your nails sticking into the palm of your hand.

What Calum notices, however, are the tears running down your face and the pain behind your eyes. What hurts him the most, though, is knowing he is the cause of your pain. He would like to hug you, tell you that he is sorry, that he loves you and that he doesn't even remember why you are fighting, but his pride prevents him from being the person he would like to be. The person you are in love with.

“All you do is whine.” he screams out, rolling his eyes and letting out a snort.

This discussion was the straw that broke the camel's back, filled by being forced to stay at home, by a canceled tour and canceled parties but, above all, by the concern of a world that is in chaos, with a fatal virus that spreads like wildfire.

He is worried, he feels the burden of not having to disappoint anyone, of being a good person who says the right things, of being a child who cares about their parents who live on the other side of the world and cannot go to visit, reassure, and that he can only see through a mobile phone screen.

“I have a right to be angry, you know that, right?” Your voice calms down a bit, but anger still runs through your veins. You walk up and down the room, with one hand on your forehead and being careful not to step on the broken glass of the fallen vase.

Calum has spent the last few weeks in the studio, out in the garden practicing, or locked in a room, anywhere but with you. He preferred to wake up early and go to sleep late, feel cold instead of holding you and skipping meals to avoid being with you.

For the first time in days, you get a good look at him: his hair has grown, as has the beard surrounding his face, he has terrible dark circles and the vein on his neck comes out prosperous, underlining how much he is screaming.

You felt abandoned, alone, left on the sidelines, and your feelings were amplified by the impossibility of going to someone, just to escape from that situation, to be held by someone else or just to talk over a coffee with a friend.

The only thing you could have done, was to ask him why, what you had done to deserve such treatment, and to spend some time together. And that’s where the scream started.

Tears roll down your face and you run your hand under your eyes to wipe them away. If you didn't notice them before, now the pinch caused by their wake has become hard to ignore.

“Are you going to cry now? God, you’re making me regret being with you. I really wish you weren’t born.”

Calum feels the pain it caused you before even reading the expression on your face. He puts his hand in front of his mouth in hopes of being able to block the words, but they have already left his lips and have come straight into your ears, getting stuck under your skin and breaking even the last pieces of the broken heart you have left.

His words hit you like a bolt from the blue. Arguing often leads to saying unthinkable words and among all the things you've been yelling at each other in the last hour, some bad words have certainly escaped, but nothing so terrible.

You feel a pain in your chest never felt before, deep and intense, and even the tears stop flowing. You inhale deeply, seeking relief in a breath of air and waiting for your body to react in any way, all is better than feeling full of pain. The room starts spinning, your head feels full and empty at the same time, and your legs struggle to bear the weight of your body.

Calum carefully scans your face, looking for any reaction from you to understand how much your mind has absorbed his words. His stress, his worries have led him to be a different person and the fear that you may leave him has terrified him, but his insecurities have done the opposite of what one expects, making he walk away from you and treating you coldly, and now he fears that he is really on the verge of being alone, with his broken heart in his hands, ready to mend every wound himself.

You didn’t deserve this.

“I can’t do this anymore. Not with you.” You whisper, lifting your face and looking him straight in the eye. The words he used, the coldness of his tones and the loneliness in which he left you have piled on top of each other on your chest, making it difficult for you to even breathe. You need time, space, whatever helps you figure out what to do.

“What do you mean?” He asks in a shaky voice. His eyes are glossy, his hands are shaking and his face has lost color. His heart carries so much goodness and you know it wasn't his intention to hurt you, but his words were like stab wounds and you need to take care of them now.

You don't want to leave, and not because you can't take a plane, but because Calum means too much to you and leaving is not an option to consider. If it ever ends up between you, after all you've been through, it should be in a more dignified way and not because of a stupid fight and insincere words.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room for a while and then we’ll see what to do.” Is all you can say and all you can do.

“So you’re not leaving?”

“I don’t think so, at least not now.”

Silence.

And that silence means everything and nothing.

You pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and, after casting one last look at the boy in front of you, you take refuge in a room that doesn't belong to you. The air in the guest room is different, you can't breathe the love that characterizes every corner of yours and Calum's and even the sheets seem different, cold, painful. You put a hand through your hair and lean on the door, slowly sliding towards the floor and letting go of your frustration.

Calum closes his eyes and puts his hands to his face as his body slumps onto the sofa behind him. The house reigns in silence, the only audible sound is your sobs in another room and, before he knows it, he starts crying too. He doesn't care about wiping his face or stopping the moans that come out of his mouth, he deserves to feel awful and humiliate himself like that, the guilt is devouring him and he just thinks about how he wishes he could disappear, to make your life easier.

When you first met, he knew you were the right person from the first look you gave him. Behind your eyes, deep in the irises, there was a whole world, made of kindness, love and joy. You had your demons, but the strength you emanated made it clear that you were able to overcome them, even without knowing it. A world that he wanted to discover, with delicacy and patience, and in which he wanted to live.

But what he feared most was bringing darkness into the light you emanated, turning your smiles into tears and your heart into a mass of sharp pieces.

He had told you, while you were eating some heated pizza on a rainy morning, your legs were on his and your face on his shoulder. And you had caressed his face, wiping away the dirt on his lip with your thumb, assuring him that you would have love him anyway and that you would have happily shared some of your light, and then you had kissed him, and that kiss tasted like tomato sauce and love, a combination you still love with all your heart.

And now, the only thing he can do, besides pitying himself, is wondering if you're regretting sharing your joy with him, if you'd rather stay full of light instead of welcoming his demons. And he fears your answer is yes.

Duke rubs his face on his leg, asking for scratches but also showing his affection. He doesn't know what happened and Calum wonders if the dog, who loves you more than any other person has crossed the threshold of your home, would look at him differently knowing that he broke the heart of the person he loves most.

If so, as his mind is trying to convince him, he couldn't handle it. He would not be able to live knowing that he has let down another being he cares about. Because he cares about you, but it is difficult for him to show it, the fear of rejection is stronger than he would like.

So, he lowers himself a little and gently strokes the dog, hoping to be able to receive that affection he is so afraid of losing.

As Calum's world shatters before his eyes, you take care to gently reassemble what's left of yours. You're still on the floor, getting up takes too much energy and a motivation that you can't find.

How you feel about the guy down the hall cannot be described in words, there is no way to describe what his gaze makes you feel, the way his words reassure you or how his love warms your heart up. It just works like this. Your love does not need big gestures or difficult words and never like now, it is better to absorb the silence and be lulled by the air.

Perhaps it would have been better to remain silent, let the cold of his words slip on you and learn to live in the loneliness in which he left you, but you couldn't go on like this. Not fighting would have meant not caring about him or your relationship and that's exactly the opposite of how things are. He had to know how you felt and what you were missing.

The sweet sound of his voice or the warmth of his skin are essential for you, not only on a love level, but in the daily routine of your life. A routine that had changed, which was no longer full of joy and smiles, light and perfume, but of demons that wandered undeterred around the walls of your home, ready to bring the cold into your souls.

And that routine, once full of love, was now non-existent. No more words had been said between you, no meal had been eaten together and your bed had forgotten what love meant. The stars, ever present witnesses of the passion that surrounded your bodies, were now always absent, covered by gray clouds and black skies. Even the moon, which guards all lovers, shone with a paler and more blurred light.

The moon gave way to the sun, the grass grew and the days alternated on the calendar. And yet, it seemed to you that you were still still that afternoon. Sure, breathing had become less difficult and the tears had stopped flowing on your face, but even in the middle of spring the coldness brought chills on your body.

You have no idea what he is doing, occasionally you see the shadow of his shoes behind the door of the guest room or you hear broken melodies coming from the studio, but his face becomes more and more unknown.

You spend your days studying, working, playing with Duke or reading your favorite books. You wake up late and go to sleep early, hoping to feel less lonely.

The truth, however, is that you miss him immensely, like water in the desert or milk after eating spicy food. You need to be able to get lost in his eyes or just hold his hand. The headache meds don't work like his kisses on your forehead, and no number of blankets could bring you the same warmth that a hug from him gives off.

You feel so pathetic to need him by your side, but after so many years of loneliness, he was able to convince you that you were worthy of being loved just like everyone else and, specifically, that he would love you more than anyone else. And he had done it, always and anyway, for the sake of the joyful news and the bad of your depression, he had always been there, ready to show you that you were worth it.

He wants to do it, he wants to continue to hold you and to tell you how beautiful you are, how honored he feels to be the keeper of your heart and the champion of your love, but he believes that no apology would bring serenity to your sky.

What is he supposed to do? No words would express the humiliation he feels whenever he thinks back to your fight and his behavior, no hug or kiss would bring love into your broken heart.

He spent his nights awake, the insomnia caused by his thoughts was making it impossible for him to live. The table seemed too big and the bed too uncomfortable, the bass was always out of tune even as he spent hours adjusting its strings and no melody seemed catchy enough to lift your mood in the other room. He knew that when you were sick, listening to him play brought some peace to your troubled world, but now no sound would chase the bad weather away.

None of his gestures would be enough to show how bad he feels. Nothing can express the pain he feels and the regret of his words.

However, 3 years of relationship is enough for him to know what makes you smile. There is one song in particular, in the immense repertoire that is your music library, that you love to hum and listen to when the silence is too loud.

So, wearing his best shirt and trying to fix the clump of his hair, he sits down at the piano in the living room and, after taking a deep breath, he tries to voice his thoughts.

Sweet creature

Had another talk about where it's going wrong

But we're still young

We don't know where we're going

But we know where we belong

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

It's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

As you put down your favorite book after reading it again, Calum's sweet, broken voice spreads throughout the house, bringing a sense of comfort to your heart. You can hear the pain behind his voice, and even though you know your wounds will take some time to heal, the words he screamed at you lose their value. One part of you is still angry but the other, curious and in love, wastes no time getting you out of bed and walking towards the room.

The piano overlooks the garden, the sun shines above and illuminates all the plants. Duke is chasing a butterfly, its tail wags quickly and some leaves are stuck in its fur. Calum has his back to you, his back leaning slightly forward as he looks outward, but his mind wanders somewhere else.

You lean on the door jamb that separates the two rooms and close your eyes, letting yourself be carried away by the music and breathing regularly, giving your body respite from all the accumulated stress.

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Sweet creature

We're running through the garden

Oh, where nothing bothered us

But we're still young

I always think about you and how we don't speak enough

Calum watches the garden as the lyrics of the song automatically come out of his mouth. He was never good at playing the piano but, during the nights spent away from you over the years, he promised himself to learn all your favorite songs so he could sing them to you whenever you needed them.

And while Duke rolls around in the grass, he can't help but think about the thousand picnics you had on that same lawn, the laughter you shared and all those moments when he always fell in love a little more looking at you.

And even if the song doesn't belong to him, he can still feel every single word and a small tear falls down his face.

And oh we started

Two hearts in one home

I know, it's hard when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You take a few steps forward and, after taking a deep sigh, sit next to him. Calum winces at the contact but his face turns into a big smile after seeing you. He doesn't know if you're still mad at him or if his singing worked, but being able to see you again after so many days spent in agony brings a sense of peace to his messed up world. He knows that this song is not enough, that he will have to prove a lot more to you - even if you will probably forbid it - but knowing that he has you there, frees him from a weight that he carried inside.

And as usual, there is no need for words, he just needs to feel your head resting on his shoulder to know that you have come back to him. And when your hands touch his, he feels at home again.

Almost automatically, your hands begin to move to the rhythm of the music and your fingers touch the keys of the piano, accompanying Calum in the melody, just as he taught you.

Duke is rolling in the grass, the butterfly now forgotten, and his happy face is illuminated by the sun. It seems that the sky has returned to shine too, not just your eyes, and the pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly again.

I know when we started

Just two hearts in one home

It gets harder when we argue

We're both stubborn

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

You'll bring me home

There was no need to talk to him, or to explain, risking losing you was necessary for him to understand that something was wrong, that he had to find the right path, that you can risk skidding, the important thing is getting back on track.

“I am grateful to your mother for bringing you into the world, but even more grateful to you for being a part of my life. I'm sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I love you and I always will.” He whispers, placing his hands on his thighs, as soon as he finishes singing the last words. His words are sincere, you can perceive the displeasure behind his tone and you know he believes what he says.

He kisses you on the forehead and, taking your hand in his and squeezing it, he rests his face on your head, closing his eyes and absorbing the silence, a cautious silence, full of peace and fresh air.

“I love you too.” You whisper back, closing your eyes in turn and letting yourself be lulled by the peace and serenity found. You know that everything will be fine, that even if you’ll have other fights, you will always find a way to get back to each other.

#calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood imagines #calum imagine #calum x reader #calum hood x you #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum hood x reader #5 seconds of summer #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #ashton 5 seconds of summer #luke 5 seconds of summer #michael 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sos

649 notes · View notes

waywardnewcomer · 4 years

Text

The Hardest Goodbye

A/N: So, I’m fully expecting this to flop because I don’t know how many of you like marvel, but I’ve been watching loads of marvel movies in lockdown and reading fics and I was inspired to write this. It’s a tearjerker, be warned.

Summary: Chris and Y/N lose a child and it almost tears them apart.

Warnings: Death of a child, angst, grief, a whole lot of fluff, mention of alcoholism

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader, Scarlett Johansson x Platonic!Reader, Chris Evans x Platonic!Sebastian Stan

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

The worst moment of your life seemed to spiral so quickly as if you fell off a roof and never stopped falling. The death of your son was never something you had prepared for. He was always meant to outlive you and Chris, become successful and have a family of his own. Not die at the mere age of 5 in a car crash that was completely your fault.

As soon as you woke up in the hospital seeing Chris’ sad face you knew something had gone wrong.

“Charlie?” You asked softly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“I’m so sorry Y/N,” He broke down sobbing, holding onto your hand for dear life.

You felt numb. For days following you were on autopilot. You couldn’t think, sleep, eat or shower. Even after you’d gone home you sat in your son’s bedroom and stared at the wall in a state of blankness waiting for it to swallow you whole as if it would solve your problems.

“Y/N come on this isn’t healthy, you need to eat.” Chris tried, sitting down on the small bed next to you.

“I don’t deserve to eat. I killed our child.” You muttered, tears building up for the umpteenth time that week.

“You know that wasn’t your fault,” His features softened, his heart breaking at the sight of your broken frame. He grabbed your hands and squeezed, trying to bring you back to the present.

“Then whose was it Chris? Huh?” You snapped, suddenly fully aware of the situation. “I didn’t see you sat in that driver’s seat.”

“Y/N it wasn’t your fault.” He looked deeply into your dull eyes almost pleading with you to believe him.

“Just leave me alone, you don’t get it.” You mumbled, shrugging his touch off you and walking to his toys in the corner of the room, picking one up and hugging it to your chest.

“You know you’re not the only one who lost a child right?” Chris snapped back at you, sick of being overlooked. “I’m hurting too. I need my wife to help me through this, you happen to know where the fuck she is?”

“Oh, go fuck yourself Chris, I’m trying my best here!” You shouted turning around to face him, red in the face.

“Trying your best? You’re wallowing, you need to snap out of it. I need you.” Chris pleaded, the lump in his throat thickening and eyes threatening to spill over.

“And I need my son.” You mumbled leaving his bedroom for the first time since you’d came home, leaving Chris to look down at the floor in despair.

The funeral was the hardest, you and Chris barely on speaking terms and so many people coming up to you and giving their condolences as if it mattered. None of it was going to bring him back. You walked away from the church after his tiny body was lowered into the ground, ignoring all of your friends and family and going back to his bedroom at home. You needed to be alone.

That’s where Chris found you an hour later, sobbing on his bed with his teddy bear gripped to your chest. He looked at you sadly and came up behind you on the small bed and brought you to his chest. You turned around accepting the hug and cried into his chest, breaking his heart in the process.

“Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.” Chris whispered in your ear like a mantra, kissing your hair and holding back his own tears.

“I miss him so much Chris, no one seems to understand.” You hiccupped through your tears.

“I know, I miss him too.” He muttered, letting a few tears slip.

“How are we gonna get through this?” You asked him.

“Together.” He replied softly and rubbed your back. You both stayed like that until you got some much needed sleep for the first time since he’d passed, curled up in your husband’s arms the way it was meant to be.

*A couple months later*

“Y/N, I’m going back to work. The new movie has a deadline and it keeps getting pushed back for us. Please just come with me.” Chris asked you for the tenth time that week.

“Chris I’m not ready to go back you know that.” You sighed, almost pulling your hair out with stress.

“Y/N they need you to come back, so the movie can be finished.” He tried softly.

“Fuck the movie. We lost our little boy what don’t they understand?” You shouted at him unscrewing the bottle of whisky and pouring yourself another glass to calm your nerves, a habit he’d become all but used to.

“They do understand, we’ve had 2 months off. They can’t wait much longer honey.”

“If it’s that urgent tell them to write me out of the fucking thing. I can’t go back to work. I’m sorry but I’d rather lose my job than go back somewhere when I’m not ready.” You shouted, not caring anymore.

“Okay, I’ll tell them. I’m leaving now, is there anything you need before I go?”

“You’re still fucking going?” You asked surprised.

“Yeah baby, I need to work. I can’t sit around all day it’s not good for me, for us.” He said calmly, trying not to get into another fight.

“Fuck off then, I don’t need you. Get out, don’t come home if that’s how it is.” You mumbled, practically pushing him out the door and collapsing on the other side in tears. You really weren’t coping, you knew it, but you didn’t know how to get out of the rut you’d seem to have got yourself stuck in.

It took every fibre in Chris’ being to not turn around, open the door and cuddle you until you felt better, but he had to go to work before he went insane. Your relationship was just getting worse everyday and he needed some time to grieve himself. He needed to be busy.

When he finally got to work and had a hug from practically all of his cast mates, he felt so much more at ease, he was with his other family and he could finally breathe.

“How’s Y/N?” Scarlett asked when she was alone with Chris and Seb.

“She’s not doing well, she’s drinking, we’re constantly arguing. Hell, she even told me to tell them to write her out of the script. I’m so worried about her. I love her so much but if it carries on, I don’t think I can stay with her much longer.” He said sadly, his friends noticing the pain in his voice.

“You know she doesn’t mean that. Any of it she’s just hurting, don’t screw up the best thing you ever had.” Seb smiled sadly at him.

“Honestly, I never want to leave her. It’s why this is so hard. I can’t grieve myself because I’m busy looking after her.”

“Do you want me to go stay with her for a couple of days? You stay on set in your trailer, I’ll go speak to her.” Scarlett offered smiling.

“I think she could use a friend thanks Scar, although I don’t know if I should stay here.”

“You stay, go out with Seb and Anthony, have some guy time. I’ll go have some girls time. I’ll call you if I need you.” She smiled, seeing him visibly relax.

“Come on man, you need it.” Seb patted his back.

“Okay,” Chris looked at them both softly.

A few hours later, Scarlett found you on the sofa cuddling one of Charlie’s stuffed toys and staring blankly at the TV with Dodger’s head in your lap cuddling close to you, ears pricked and head up as Scarlett entered the house. You had finally sobered up and you weren’t feeling your best.

“Hey hon, how are you doing?” Scarlett asking lifting up your head and sitting down, placing it back on her lap and playing with your hair.

“Not good, I just can’t seem to get over it.” You muttered looking into her soft eyes, realising how much you’d actually missed your friends and cast mates.

“Y/N you’ll never get over it, Charlie was and always will be your son. You just have to get used to him not being around and looking out for you up there instead. It’s not going to be easy, but it’ll get easier every day if you let us in and let us help you.”

“I feel like I’ve failed as a mother.” You whimpered, crying softly.

“You never failed Charlie and you never could. It was an accident, not your fault whatsoever. You can’t change this or bring him back. But you can’t let it come in between you and Chris. You need each other, now more than ever.” Scarlett spoke making more sense than ever.

“God I’ve been so shit to him haven’t I.” You muttered sitting up and bringing your palm to your forehead. “He must hate me.”

“Hey, he loves you. He understands. He’s feeling it too.” Scarlett smiled at you. “Want me to call him?” She asked making you nod softly.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” You breathed out, and walked towards the shower for your first peaceful, non-forced shower since his death. You finally felt a weight lifted off your shoulders. It was going to be okay.

Chris walked into a calm household, feeling the tension in the air gone. He saw you sat on the sofa with freshly washed hair and Scarlett making dinner in the kitchen. You were petting Dodger and waiting for your husband to come home.

“You showered?” He asked surprised.

“It’s time I started getting back to normal life.” You breathed out, willing yourself not to cry and keep it together.

“Are you sure baby?” He came closer to you, breathing in sharply.

“I don’t want this to come between us. I haven’t been considering your feelings and I’m so sorry.” You whispered standing up and stepping towards him.

“Honey you don’t have to be sorry you were grieving. I understand, I just want you to let me in so we can grieve together.” He mumbled taking you into his arms and kissing your hair.

“It was just hard realising I’m not a parent anymore.”

“Baby we’ll always be parents. Even if he’s not around, you will always be his Mom, and a Mom to any future children we have.” He whispered to you.

“You’d really have another child?” You asked, brightening up a little.

“I’d do anything to make you happy.” He smiled kissing you softly.

“I’ll come back to work, if it’s not too late.” You mumbled, feeling ashamed for even suggesting they write you out of the script.

“It never will be they all love you.” Scarlett piped in from the kitchen smiling at the two of you getting along.

“I’m sorry. I love you so much.” You mumbled looking into your husbands sparkling eyes.

“I love you too.” He smiled kissing you, sensing the spark coming back to you.

*A few months later*

You looked to Chris and your beautiful bundle of joy in his arms as you laid flowers on Charlie’s grave.

“It’s been a year buddy.” You breathed out softly “You have a little sister, like you always wanted.” You smiled, tears starting to leak out of your eyes as you spoke to him.

“We called her Charlotte, after you bud. You’d love her.” Chris smiled, pulling you into his side and kissing your forehead.

“I promise we’ll tell her all about her big brother when she gets older. She would’ve loved to play with you.” You smiled.

“We love you lots.” Chris smiled and looked at you making you nod.

“I’m ready,” You breathed out and took his hand into yours and walked away down the path.

“I never thought we’d get here.” He confessed to you shyly.

“Honestly, I didn’t either. But I’m glad we did. It was the hardest goodbye I ever had to make but we got through it together.” You smiled at him.

You looked to your daughter seeing your son’s cheeky smile already forming on her face and back to your husbands happy face and smiled, your family was glued back together.

Forever Tags (people who have asked, let me know if you want adding) @creativedogs @a-magey @natashacamillaus @platonic-plots @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @sleepylunarwolf @claitynroberts @theshortegg @casiskween @robfangirl @fanficwithasideofcanon @jaremish @mlovesstories @lauren-novak @hi-my-name-is-riley @spn-tw-37 @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @spnrelatedurl @phonegalhelp @springholland @the-hufflepuff-hunter @chonisberonica @coralphantomninja @therealmrshale

41 notes · View notes

get-your-fics · 5 years

Text

Whatever He Wants

Summary: You’re an intern at Wayne Enterprises, and you mistakenly catch Bruce Wayne’s eye.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Warnings: Smut, rape/non-con, sexual harassment, language

You stood in the back corner of the executive-conference-room-turned-work-party with a drink in your hand and your arm folded protectively around your waist. The air was filled with chatter and laughter, and you stared at the clusters of business execs and board members who all got paid ten times what you did. It was supposed to be a casual affair, but casual meant something completely different at Wayne Enterprises than it did to you. You felt out of place in your plain slacks and button up blouse. Everyone was wearing what they had worn to work that day, but that meant the women wore Louboutin stilettos and designer dresses, and the men wore two piece Givenchy suits. It looked like a casting call for New York Fashion Week models more than a work party.

Being an intern, you didn’t have many friends at Wayne Enterprises, especially not ones of this high of status. In fact, your work only ever required you to talk to one person, and you hadn’t spotted him yet...

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” You snapped your head to see your boss Lucius Fox walking up to you. Spoke too soon. “Shouldn’t you be on a coffee run somewhere?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, shut up.” You knocked your shoulder playfully into his.

Contrary to his joke, Lucius was one of the few bosses you had while interning that didn’t make you fetch Starbucks orders or make copies the entire time. He actually taught you things that would apply to your career later in life, and sometimes he would even let you handle projects he oversaw. For someone in this cutthroat line of work, he was surprisingly nice and levelheaded. He never talked down to you or acted you like you were less than him. He treated you more like his coworker than anything, and you severely respected him as your mentor.

He opened his arms, and you gave him a big bear hug. “How are you?” He stepped away. “Why are you lurking in the corner by yourself?” he asked.

“Waiting for you to show up, don’t you know?” you taunted him.

“Oh, I’m flattered.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “But relax tonight. Mingle, meet some people.”

“Right, ‘cause who wouldn’t want to talk to a broke college intern in a room full of world class business execs?” You scoffed.

Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but he never got the chance to as a tall figure approached. Bruce Wayne strolled up to you, dressed in a black Yves Saint Laurent suit. His jet black curls were parted and slicked, and his dark, brown eyes were sharp like a hawk’s. “Lucius.” He gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Bruce.” He met his gaze before shooting you a look out of the corner of his eye.

Bruce Wayne was an absolute foil to Lucius Fox. He walked around like he owned the place even though he had just recently come into his inheritance of the company within the last year. He would strut into Lucius’s office and completely ignore you most days. On the days he didn’t, he would send you on meaningless errands and talk to you like how an owner would talk to his dog. He claimed the title of advisor and CEO, although he hardly did more than prance around and flaunt his abundance of wealth and condescend to anyone who had the unfortunate displeasure of crossing his path.

He turned his head, and his dark eyes locked with yours, scalding you. “Mr. Wayne.” You clasped your hands in front of you and kept your tone passive and neutral.

His eyes narrowed into slits as he looked you up and down. You felt like you were under examination. “Intern, I have some papers in my office I need filed.”

Your eyes widened. He didn’t just... did he?

“Bruce,” Lucius’s tone was sickly sweet and artificial, a warning, “it’s a work party. Nobody’s doing any work right now.”

He laughed like he had said a joke. “Like she does work any other day of the week? All she does is sit there and watch you type on your computer.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side, and you bit your tongue. He was acting like you weren’t even there. You so badly wanted to tell him off for speaking to you in such a rude manner, but you knew better than to do so. As much as you hated it, he was your boss, even more so than Lucius, and he could have your ass thrown out of the Wayne Enterprises building any time he liked.

“Come on, Bruce. Let her enjoy the party. You should enjoy it too,” he suggested.

His face remained stone cold and unfeeling. He switched his gaze to you. “Let’s go. I’ll show you where they are.”

He spun around on the heel of his polished dress shoe, and you knew better than to disobey him. Lucius let out a sigh next to you. “Have fun, intern,” he accentuated the last word, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, you know I will.” You took one last look at Lucius’s smile full of blinding white teeth and chased after Bruce. You hurried to close the distance between the two of you before he could realize you had tarried.

You turned out of the conference room and into the hall as you followed him. Your flats slapped against the glossy, marble floors as you approached the elevators. He jammed the button displaying an up arrow with his thumb, and a second later, a resounding ding sounded as a red light flashed above the elevator to your left. The sleek, metal doors of the elevator slid open.

He placed his hand on your lower back. “Get in.” You stiffened under his touch. His hand moved down until it was resting just above the curve of your ass. You were about to step out of his grasp when he gave you a nudge with his hand towards the elevator.

You caught yourself on the frame of the elevator door before you could tumble. You thought you heard a deep chuckle behind you, and you gritted your teeth before walking into the elevator. He got in beside you, entering with grace and elegance, and hit the button for the top floor of the building. It lit up as the doors clicked into place, and the elevator jolted as it started its ascension.

Silence settled over the elevator, and you could feel it eating you up inside. You fidgeted and shifted your weight from foot to foot as Bruce stood beside you, stoic. The prospect of spending time alone with him made dread form deep in the pit of your stomach, although you didn’t mind getting away from the party. You were slightly grateful for having an excuse to escape, if only he hadn’t have been that excuse.

The elevator halted, and a moment later, the doors opened. Bruce stepped out first, and you followed after him on instinct. You walked down a corridor before stopping in front of a tall door. He fished his keycard out of the pockets of his suit pants and swiped it through the scanner. The red dot changed to green, and he turned the handle without a problem. He pushed the door open and stood to the side, gesturing you inside.

You walked into his office. All of the lights were off. He stepped in behind you and let the door fall shut. With a flick of his finger on the light switch, the dim, overhead lights cast a warm, yellow glow down on his office. You had never been in here before, but it looked just how you expected it would. The walls were lined with floor to ceiling bookcases, the shelves filled with neatly stacked, color coded books. A grandiose, black desk was in the middle of the room, a overstuffed, tufted desk chair on one side and a plain one on the other. You assumed whoever had sat in the plain chair was either really lucky or really unfortunate. But the most breathtaking part of his office was the wall behind his desk that consisted of large windows looking out onto Gotham City’s skyline. You could see every neon light, every digital billboard, and every headlight of the cars stuck in traffic several levels below your feet. You wanted to press your hands and face to the glass and stare out the window all night, but resisted the urge to.

“You have a beautiful view,” you broke the silence, your voice wavering.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He merely walked past you, and you swore you felt his hand brush up against your ass. But it must’ve just been your imagination. You shook off the feeling as he got out a stack of loose papers piled a mile high. He dropped it onto the desk with a solid thud.

“Here’s the papers.” He maneuvered around the desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. “And here’s where you can file them.”

You walked over and peered down at what he was talking about. The bottom drawer of the desk was a built in filing cabinet. It was separated by multiple dividers all a different color. They each had a tab with a letter going from A to Z in bold, black font and a manila folder behind each divider.

“I want all of them sorted by the first letter of their last name.” He put his hands on his hips. “Think you can manage that?”

You quirked a brow, but his face was hard and unreadable. Was he joking? You learned how to do this in middle school. “Yeah, I can,” was all you said, however.

“Good. Then get started.” You thought that he would leave, but he remained stationary where he was.

You grabbed a paper off of the top of the stack and scanned it with your eyes. It looked to be contact information of some sort. You found the person’s last name and bent over the filing cabinet. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Bruce lean over as well, as if he was trying to get a peek down your shirt. You fixed your blouse so it covered more of your cleavage and shrugged it off. You were just paranoid, and now your mind was playing tricks on you. You searched for the corresponding letter and filed the paper into the appropriate folder.

You still felt his presence behind you. Maybe he was just trying to make sure you knew what you were doing. He didn’t trust you to file a few papers correctly? “Like that?” you asked, hoping the slight edge to your voice made it clear you wanted to be left alone.

“Yeah, just like that,” he answered. His voice sounded breathier and lower than it had before.

That’s when you felt it: two hands on your hips, and something hard brush up against your ass. You immediately retracted and turned around, your back bumping into the desk. You stared at him with wide eyes. “What the hell?”

Unfortunately, your position allowed him to trap you between him and the desk. “You’re such a tease, you know that?” He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and pressed an openmouthed kiss to your neck. “Walking around this office with your nose in the air like you’re better than everyone, like you’re better than me.”

He nipped at the skin on your throat, and you squeaked. You grabbed him by his shoulders and shoved him back far enough so he wasn’t touching you. What was he talking about? He was the one who thought he was better than everyone! “I... I think I should go.”

You made to slip between him and the desk, but he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and jerked you back. “You’re not going anywhere, not until I show you where you belong.”

You furrowed your brows. “What are you doing?” It was becoming increasingly hard to hide the panic in your voice. You tugged against his hand on you, but his grip held strong. “Let go of me!” You struggled to break out of his grasp. “Help!”

“Go ahead, scream. Most of the floors below us are empty. No one will hear you.” He pushed you back against the desk and held your body flush against him. His erection was now painfully evident as it strained against the fabric of his pants and poked you in the stomach.

Your eyes widened with fear as you realized no one was coming to save you. Now that flight was no longer an option, you decided to fight. You raised your free hand and clawed at him with a snarl. However, he caught your hand before it neared the smooth, pale skin of his cheek. Your vengeful expression fell, and his lips curled into a devious smirk.

“We’ll have to work on your behavior,” his hold on your wrists was tightening, his fingers painfully digging into your skin, “especially towards your boss.” He leaned in and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent. His hips bucked against yours, and you yelped when you felt how hard he was.

“I’ll... I’ll tell someone!” you threatened, your voice shaky and uneven. “I’ll tell-”

He reared back. “Who are you going to tell? Lucius?” he cut you off. “He can’t do anything. Besides, I’ll just fire you, and you’ll look like you’re making up shit to save face.” He took the skin of your neck between his lips and sucked, clearly aware of the power he had over you.

You bit down on your lip to hold in any moans that wanted to escape as your body tensed against him. You didn’t want to lose your job - couldn’t lose your job. It was the first internship you had found that you had actually enjoyed, not to mention being an intern as a freshman in college at Wayne Enterprises was a major feat. You knew you would have to give into him eventually. It was inevitable; he was Bruce Wayne. Everything got handed to him on a silver platter. Anything he wanted, he got, no matter the cost.

“Please, don’t fire me,” you squealed. You despised how pitiful and helpless you sounded.

He pulled away and cupped your face in his hands. “Oh, you want to be a good girl for me now?” You were forced to stare directly into his eyes. They were dark with lust, and his pupils were extremely dilated. They looked completely black.

You sucked in a breath before your next statement. “What will you do for me if I do?”

He grinned like a wolf barring its teeth. “Now, you’re talking.” He moved his leg in between yours and pressed his thigh right against the sensitive area in your crotch. You gasped at the pleasure that ran through you like a chill as warmth pooled in your gut. “I’ll double your salary,” he rocked against you, causing his thigh to rub your clit, “and guarantee you a job in four years time.”

“Do you like doing this?” You tried to seem tough despite your wavering voice. “Forcing yourself on vulnerable interns?”

He chuckled at that. “Lucky for you, you’re my first. There’s just something about you I find so... irresistible.” He ran this thumb over your bottom lip, and your jaw went slack. You were the same age, but right now he seemed so much older than you. “So, do we have a deal?”

You were absolutely aching now. As much as you hated the wetness that gathered in between your thighs, it was growing unbearable. You didn’t think you could stand it any longer, and his offer was pretty much impossible to pass up on. Securing a job at Wayne Enterprises would set you on a good career path for the rest of your life.

You nodded. “Okay.” Your voice cracked.

His grin widened, and his eyes darkened until they swallowed all light that hit them. “Good.”

He crashed his lips against yours. You were so taken aback that you bumped back into the desk, causing the stack of papers to crash to the ground. They scattered across the floor, and some floated in the air before slowly descending and coming to rest. He didn’t seem to care and continued to move his lips against yours. You closed your eyes and tried to relax into the kiss. He tilted his head to the side and slipped his tongue into your mouth, quickly gaining dominance over yours. He tasted like whatever drink he had been sipping on downstairs at the party: sweet, but bitter. You loathed the fact that you enjoyed the taste and found yourself yearning for more.

He disconnected your lips, a flush of red across his pale features and one dark lock out of place on his forehead. “Get on the desk,” he whispered huskily, his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You did as he said and grabbed the lip of the desk, pushing yourself on top of it. You laid down on your back and hugged your knees to your chest. You caught sight of the red marks he had left on your wrists and rubbed at them. You rolled out your sore wrists, knowing you would find bruises there later.

He grabbed your blouse and tore it open, causing buttons to pop off and fly everywhere. You listened as they bounced off of the desk and onto the floor. He covered the cups of your bra with his hands and left a trail of wet kisses over the swells of your breasts. He moved his hands lower to the zipper on your pants. He pulled it down and practically ripped your pants and your underwear off of you. He pushed your legs apart, and you became aware of how exposed you were. You felt like you were on display for him.

He stared down at your pussy like he was mesmerized and ran a finger through your folds. “You’re so wet, all for me.” You felt your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. He slipped his finger inside of you, and you gasped as the burning stretch gave way to pleasure. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this.”

He got on his knees and wrapped his lips around your clit as he continued to pump his finger in and out of you. The sensation was too much for you, and you couldn’t stop the filthy stream of expletives that spilled from your lips. You needed something to grab onto, so you threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned against you as you roughly yanked on his dark curls, the vibrations only aiding the arousal pulsing through you.

Just as you felt your climax building, he pulled away. You almost whined at the loss, but stopped yourself by biting down your tongue. He ran his tongue over his lips, licking your juices that dripped off of his chin, and sucked your slick off of his fingers. He shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened the tie around his neck. Then, he reached down and undid his own zipper. You watched as he pushed his pants and boxers over his hips, freeing his straining erection. You got a good look at just how big he was, precum dripping off of the red tip.

He leaned over you so his face was mere inches from yours. You felt the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushed in, and a squeak fell from your lips. You felt like you were being pulled apart in different directions. You sat up on your elbows and spread your legs wider to alleviate some of the tension. He pushed you back down and pressed his chest flush against yours. He finally pushed in to the hilt, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

He pulled out of you only to thrust back in with a sharp snap. You yelped, your walls still too tight to accommodate him comfortably. “Relax, intern,” he purred, his tone strangely soothing. He planted one arm on the desk next to you to steady himself as he set a pace. “Fuck, I knew you’d feel amazing.” Sweat gathered on his brow as his lips parted in rapture. The sight made your stomach crawl, and you looked away. He grabbed your chin, squishing your cheeks, and turned your head back to face him.

He forced you to stare into his eyes as he fucked you. They were like two blackholes, endless, bottomless voids that you could fall into. He pounded into you faster now, and you could feel your orgasm starting to build once again. His white button up clung to his chest with sweat where your bodies met, and the creaking of the desk under your weight filled your ears. Your breaths came shorter now, and there was no stopping your desperate mewls. He grunted in time with his thrusts, the head of his cock hitting that spot in you just right each time he pushed in to his max.

You were on the cusp of your orgasm as you latched onto his shoulders. “Are you going to cum for me, intern?” he almost sneered at you.

You wanted to curse him out, but found that your brain couldn’t form any words. All you could do was let out a breathy sigh and nod your head. You locked eyes with him as your pussy constricted around his cock, drawing a high-pitched whine from you. Your juices spilled out of you and coated your thighs as you came. You arched your spine, the back of your head painfully connecting with the desk, and curled your toes as every nerve ending in your body was set on fire. You raked your nails up his back under his shirt, leaving goosebumps and red, irritated skin in your wake.

He groaned and sped up. “Gonna fill you with my cum,” he muttered and licked at your breasts. “You want that, intern? For me to cum inside you?”

You couldn’t say anything; you were still coming down from your high. He growled and pushed your knees up by your shoulders. He thrust into you all the way as he came, spilling his warm seed into you. He stilled on top of you, his thighs twitching and his face frozen in ecstasy. Then he pulled out of you, and you could feel his cum drip out of your sore pussy.

He collapsed on top of you, burying his face in your hair. You both stayed like that for a moment as you recovered from your climaxes. Then, he pushed himself up and covered your face in kisses. It was a strangely sweet and intimate gesture for the harsh fucking he had just done to you.

He got completely off of you and pulled his pants up, zipping his fly. You slowly sat up, your head spinning. You looked for your discarded pants on the floor and eventually located them through your blurry gaze. You reached for the lacy underwear sitting on top, but a hand snatched them out of your grasp before you could get to them. Bruce brought them up to his nose and sniffed, a mischievous smirk coming over his face. “Consider these assurance of our agreement.” He dangled them from his finger tauntingly before stuffing them in his back pocket.

You grimaced as you pulled on your pants, the material sticking to your legs. You didn’t know why you were getting dressed; there was no way you could go back to the party looking how you did. Your hair was mussed, your lips red and swollen, and you were covered in sweat and saliva and cum. You looked thoroughly fucked, and everyone would know what you were up to with your boss in his office. It wouldn't be hard to come to some conclusions.

Speaking of... “So, when will I get my raise?” you asked as nonchalantly as possible. You tried to casually lean back against the desk. You could see an outline of your entangled bodies in sweat on the surface.

You watched as he adjusted his tie. “Probably by the end of this weekend.” He fixed the collar of his button up. “However, it is going to come directly out of my personal bank account. Not that that’s a problem, but I think that I should be the one getting the benefits of your hard work instead of Lucius.” He smoothed out the fabric of his shirt with his hands. “So you’ll be interning under me for now on.”

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Wha... what?”

He smirked. “You heard me, intern.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your matted hair. He had gotten the last laugh. “It looks like me and you will be working very, very close together.”

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #dark!bruce wayne #bruce wayne x you #Gotham #gotham fanfic #gotham imagine #gotham fanfiction #dark!fic

786 notes · View notes

ohtheseboysilove · 5 years

Text

Sexy panties to dirty nappies II/? [ Ben Hardy x F!Reader ]

Words : 3,300 K +

Warnings : language, pregnancy, fluff, nervous futur parents, cute dog

Summary : Reader is eight months pregnant. The only problem ? She just find out. Yep, pregancy denial. Now they only got a month to be ready for the baby. Ready…steady…go !

Note : here is part 2 ! I’m really having fun with this cute fic, reader and ben start to realise that the baby is coming really soon, a bit of panick and fluff moments

Masterlist & Requests

@/ none of these gifs are mine xx

The first next three days you and Ben stayed at home. You didn’t do a lot, couldn’t sleep or thought about something else than the elephant in the room. You were on maternity leave, yeah your boss was for the least surprised. Ben had few weeks of break but he called his agent and announced the...unexpected new. At first he thought he was doing that to earn few more weeks for sunny holidays but when the blond almost had an panick attack during the phone call he believed him. His planning was lighter than before, he will not have new castings but he still did have obligations, pregnancy surprise or not. But it could be worse.

You spent these days eating and watching t.v, kicking Ben’s ass at video games, pretending nothing was going on in your belly. But on the fourth day you couldn’t ignore it, you were, to say at least, plump.

“Are you sure you not excepting twins (Y/N) ?” Ben was sitting next to you in bed, looking terrified by your swollen tummy. You did change a bit during these past days but this night...you reached your fully eight-months look. It was fucking strange. You went to sleep with a cute little belly to waking up with a round and imposing belly.

“I am not, Benjamin” You scoffed. “The doctor said it was only one baby and that more than enough” He pinched his lips and you both jumped when the baby started moving. Their movements clearly visible on your bare skin, both of your gazes following every of their gestures, eyes wide opened.

The baby did move these last day but never that much. It was pretty scary.

“It look like an alien about to rip off your stomach to get out of here” Commented the blond, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly in his throat.

“I know” You whined. “I want this baby out of me” You complained with a groan as they kicked harshly than before.

“I’m sorry babe” Ben grabbed your hand and pressed it gently, his face was very pale. “What we are gonna do ? We have a billion things to buy before this kid is coming and I need to call my mom, holy shit, that wasn’t the plan at all” He scratched his unshaven chin, it did happen when he was home for few weeks, he was lazier about his appearance and you didn’t mind it but these days was just because he was incapable of doing anything else than staring at your growing belly.

“We should do a list” You looked around the room, it was messy and really need a good cleaning. You thought about the pile of dirty laundry waiting in the bathroom. And the other one of greasy dishes in the sink. The small bag of weed and rolling paper on the coffee table. The household products under the sink, easy to grab. So many changes were required. In a such short amount of time.

Ben came back in bed with a little notebook and a pen, sighing deeply.

“Okay baby, what do we need to buy in first ?” He wrote To buy urgently!!! on the top of the page and underlined it multiple times.

“We need nappies, wipes, baby clothes” You enumerated the first things that crossed your mind when you thought about a baby. Ben nodded and quickly wrote all your ideas. “Fuck, we need a bed for this baby and...a fucking stroller ?” You grimaced and gently massaging your temples. “Can you grab my laptop, we gonna order everything we can online. I’m not in state to wondering around for hours in all these baby shops”

The blond picked your laptop from the end of the bed and switched it on. He tapped few words on the keyboard and the screen quickly filled with a sparkling big tittle Baby Paradise, rainbows and teddy bears all around. You both swallowed sickly at this view.

“Alright, nappies...jesus these so many different sorts of” Ben scrolled through the page, biting nervously his lips. Few days ago you were scrolling to find a nice travel destination for your week of holiday in two months, well it seemed rather compromised now. “This one ? No. 1 Newborn nappy with features specially designed for the comfort and protection of newborns, up to 12 hours protection, perfect for day and night usage...Sound good ?”

“I guess...” You shrugged and rested your head on his bare shoulder, he added five box of these nappies to the basket. “Good, one thing done. Only a billion more to do” You joked...but not really.

Your boyfriend chuckled, putting a kiss on your hairs as a big ad invaded the screen. Nappy Rash Cream.

“The fuck is that now ?” He clicked on it and apparently you couldn’t not buying some of it. For soft and non-irritating baby bottom. “This shit is fucking expensive” He mumbled but put it in the basket anyway.

“It’s because you pick a bio label, Benny” You snorted and he rolled his eyes.

“Like I would let my kid have some shitty cream because it’s cheaper, no way” The way he said my kid warmed your heart a bit. The idea of Ben with a baby in his arm was less scarier. But only a tad. “Thanks god we have good salaries because this child gonna cost us an arm and a leg”

“I think your right” You sighed and checked the list. “We need wipes to clean the little bum of this baby”

After an hour of shopping about every essential baby stuffs like bottles feeding, newborn bath products, an easy-to-use thermometer, a little bath tub exclusively for baby and other things that you didn’t even know you needed like a freaking baby nails trimmer or a dozen of pack of water bottles because – you just learnt it but it did make sense – babies didn’t drink water from the tap as they were fragile tiny person, only clean and proper water. You checked on your phone and the baby wasn’t supposed to drink water before six months at least as he was going to drink your milk. But Ben insisted. It’s done, we can keep it in the empty closet in the kitchen.

It took you the entire morning, deciding between this label and this one, if you should pick the bottle feeding with bees on it or bunnies...yes that an argument you didn’t imagine having with Ben but life was full of surprise. You put your childish behaviour on your pregnancy hormones. At the end Ben added a pack of bees bottles and bunnies’.

“I really need to pee” You pouted and Ben closed the laptop with a dramatic grimace.

“It’s only the forty times this morning” He teased and made his way to you, getting up and walking was still a bit weird for you. In only few days you had to adapt to a massive weight, pulling you down, it was so strange. He helped you reach the bathroom, his arms supporting you protectively.

“M’ gonna cook I’m starving, fancy something special baby ?...and my other baby, of course” He winked playfully, glancing at your swollen belly.

You giggled a bit and carefully rubbed your bump, your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the baby immediately reacting to your tender gesture. You barely interact with this little human since you learnt about it, it wasn’t fair for this baby but it was so scary...You promised yourself to make more effort, to bound with this upcoming child.

“Can you make me your tomatoes and pesto sandwich ?” You asked as you slowly took your pyjama pants off and sat on the toilet seat. Ben always offered you his help but you wanted to do the most you could by yourself.

“Only a sandwich ? Baby, this little alien need more than that” The mother hen was back and you cheekily smiled.

“Well, I wasn’t finish Benny boy. I’m gonna eat this sandwich, meanwhile you, pretty boy, gonna cook your delicious pasta, the one with marinara sauce. Please ?”

“Gimme fifteen minutes” He winked at you and left for the kitchen.

You were laying on the sofa, stuffing food in your mouth like you didn’t eat for a week. You immediately felt better but you were still hungry, waiting patiently for the pasta.

“Alright, here the pasta for the two babies” He put a giant pasta plate in front of you, fuming and smelling incredibly good. You slowly sat up correctly and grabbed the dish, drooling at this perfect sight. “I also bring the doctor envelope, thought that it would be easier to buy baby clothes if we knew the sex, no ?”

You nodded as an answer, your mouth to busy munching your meal to reply vocally. Ben took a deep breath and opened the envelope, his face a little tense.

“Girl” He cleared his voice and repeated louder. “It’s a girl, you...we’re expecting a baby girl” He smiled nervously as you quickly swallowed your bite.

“That’s...great” It sounded more like a question but the whole situation was still feeling like a prank sometimes. “Are you happy ? Or you wanted a boy ?”

You stared at each other for few seconds before both of you bursted in laugh at your last words. Neither of you wanted a girl or a boy. The closest thing to a baby that you could have wanted was another puppy but even that you had decide to wait, a dog was already a lot of work to take care of. You were so relieved you didn’t take another dog.

“I...to be honest, I never think about that. Kids in the future yes, but the sex...it doesn’t really matter ya know ?” He shrugged as his cheeks were a bit flushed. “I guess, a girl, it’s good. Easier than a boy, right ? Calmer”

You snorted, very amused by his naivety.

“Ben, baby. Maybe in films, the cute little girl with pretty blue eyes and braided blond hairs love playing with her doll, eat all her vegetables and said I love you to her parents every night but in real life, it doesn’t last longer than ten minutes” You pinched your lips, repressing a laugh at his wide and scared eyes. “When I was little, I was a monster, terrorising all the boys in my school”

“What are you telling me that ? Do you really want me to cry or what ? Because I will if you keep going doing this” He whined, shoving a fork full of pasta in his mouth. “But at least I’m not going to have this horrible conversation about these awkward hard-on you can get anywhere and anytime. I’m still traumatising by my dad’s conversation.”

“More traumatising than the day you get hard when you saw your older cousin in bikini ?” You teased with a cocky smile, you knew it was one of the most embarrassing moment of his life. Comprehensible. “Because you know your granny still remembered”

“I was thirteen years old, jesus ! Stacy can’t still not look me in the eyes”

“You’re such a drama queen Benny” You pressed a light kiss on his cheek before digging back in your plate.

“We will see who’s gonna be the drama queen when the kid gonna start bleeding” He chatted back with a smirk.

You dropped your fork and felt a wave of panic crashed through your body.

“Oh my god, you’re right !” You put the plate away and hid your face in your hands, tears sliding freely on your cheeks. “No, I want to change ! I want a boy Ben !”

The blond frowned and reached for your face, surprised and worried of your sudden change of mood.

“Babe, I was just kidding, a girl is awesome !” He tried to cheer you up, a bit guilty for you state.

“But you were right ! I was so scared when I get my first period and fuck, this is so painful ! I’m not ready to explain her that...and what about her first time ? I’m gonna need to talk to her about sex with boys...or girls ! Shit I don’t know–”

Ben stopped your rambling, grabbing softly your face and wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“(Y/N), my love, breath okay ? You’re not alone in all of this, I’m here. I will do whatever I can to help you raising our little girl” You sniffled a bit and slowly calmed down. “Plus, I think we have few more years before worrying about all that, right ?” A noise between a laugh and a sob escaped your throat as you shook your head, he was right. “Can you stop crying now, baby ? You know I hate seeing you like that”

“I can’t, I swear Ben I’m trying to stop but look...” You rubbed your eyes and immediately tears came back, rolling down your face. “I don’t have anymore control on my own body” You complained but still smiled through the tears. “Fucking pregnancy hormones”

“Sound rather annoying” Ben said softly, his lips lingering during few seconds on your forehead.

“It is” You hiccuped loudly and your boyfriend laughed a bit.

“Would you want more pasta baby ? Would it make you stop crying ?”

“Maybe” You sniffled and gave him your empty plate and he winked at you.

You were so glad that your emotional support was back on the track. You couldn’t do it without this marvellous man. You saw Frankie stood up from her little bed to follow Ben and you called her, always craving for a cuddle with his dog. She looked at you hesitantly but entered the kitchen anyway. You sighed, since the last two days Frankie wouldn’t come closer to you, probably feeling your weird surprise pregnancy vibes that suddenly started emanating from your body.

“There, baby” You smiled softly at the blond and took the plate from his hand. He put two bottle of beer on the table and opened them, taking a big sip right after. “Want a beer babe ?” He pushed the drink toward you, his eyes glued on his phone as he scrolled furiously on the screen.

“Ben” You giggled quietly and pushed back the beer to him. “I can’t”

He glanced toward you with a frown then immediately cursed loudly.

“Shit, I’m sorry baby, I didn’t even think...we always drink beers on saturday lunch” He pressed a sloppy kiss on your cheekbone. “M’ sorry (Y/N), only four weeks and you could drink again, yeah !” He grinned at you and raised his beer playfully before drinking another sip.

“Ben, you’re being rude right now” You complained with a grimace. “I’m not allowed to drink as long as breast-feed the baby”

He almost chocked on his beer and coughed roughly. “Fucking hell, that’s make sense. That’s really unfair, though.” He bit the inside of his cheek to not laugh and you rolled your eyes, he was such a dork.

Frankie jumped on Ben’s lap and cuddled against him, but still keeping an eye on you.

“Frankie still doesn’t let me pet her” You whined and sadly watched the cute beagle nuzzling under her owner’s hand. “She act like she is the only one scared by the little alien. I’m as surprise as you Frank’ !” She raised her head when she heard her name but didn’t make a move toward you.

“I guess she just need time babe” Ben shrugged and scratched her furry head. “Your belly is rather...impressive, still a whole thing to process, ya know ?”

“That why you never touched it ?” You snapped rougher than attended and his smile fell as soon as he heard your words. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound rude, I know you need time, it’s okay” You gave him a shy smile and looked at your half-empty plate, you weren’t hungry anymore.

The truth was that you were hurt by the fact that Ben never touched your bump during the past four days. Not even once. You get it, this belly was terrifying but still, the baby was here and well alive, he couldn’t just keep ignored it.

Ben grabbed the plate from your hands and put on the coffee table before sliding his fingers under you chin, turning it toward his gaze.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I’m truly am, I never mean to hurt you. It’s just...if I touch it...her...she gonna be so fucking real” He mumbled ashamed, his lower lip pinched between his teeth, eyes travelling between your bump and your eyes.

“But she is already real Ben. And she is coming to be out in less than a month, you...we need to create bond with her. We have eight months to catch up and I don’t want our kid to hate us because we were scared” You raised your pyjama top and exposed your swollen belly, placing a gentle hand on it. “She’s awake Ben, please come and meet your daughter”

The blond sniffled quietly and you tenderly kissed away the only tear which escaped his beautiful green eyes. He nodded timidly and put a shaky hand on your bare stomach, licking his suddenly dry lips nervously. You moved your own hand on his and slowly slid them to where the tiny foot of your daughter were pushing your belly. Ben gasped surprisingly when he felt her kicking against his palm, an amazed smile on his features.

“Hi baby” You moved your hand away and softly caressed Ben’s hairs, watching the first interaction between your daughter and her dad, eyes inevitably watering at this sight. “I’m sorry I didn’t say hi sooner...I was so scared but not of you my sweet girl. More about my questioning abilities to be a father...but I will do my best, me and your mom, we will do everything for you to be happy” Now you were sobbing quietly and not only because of the pregnancy hormones. He pressed a soft kiss on your parted mouth then on the top of your round tummy, murmuring sweet nothings to the baby.

You hissed when she kicked harder and Ben immediately backed up.

“Did I hurt you ?”

“No, n– ouch, no, Benny, you didn’t do anything” You smiled through your grimace. “I think she just a bit excited to finally meet you, she’s kicking me everywhere, evil little creature” You joked and rubbed your belly, trying to calm her. It felt pretty natural to do it, probably your maternal instinct finally waking up. It was about damn time.

“Oh.” He gave another kiss to your belly then focused on your lips. Sweet but deep one, showing his infinite love and affection for you. You smiled widely through the kiss, Ben and you could do everything as long as you were together.

Your eyes opened surprisingly when you felt something wet brushing against your stomach. You broke the kiss and lower your gaze to see Frankie, her cute little nose pressed against your belly, sniffing and rubbing it carefully.

“Oh good girl Frankie. Can you feel the baby Frank’ ? Can you feel your little sister ?” Ben – and you even if you won’t admit it – always took this stupid baby voice when he spoke to his dog and you were pretty sure it gonna be the same with your daughter. His excited voice combined with a rubbing on your stomach were enough to drive the beagle wild, not afraid anymore of the little alien. Her tail was wiggling strongly and happy barks were echoing into the flat, she was licking your tummy but stayed incredibly careful, she knew without a doubt another tiny life was inside here and she didn’t want to hurt it. Probably one of the cutest thing you ever witnessed.

“I guess she’s ready to be a big sister” You sighed happily, scratching her lower back exactly the way you knew she loved.

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #ben hardy #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap

156 notes · View notes

xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 5 years

Text

Out on the Town (Part 12)

Thor brings you to new Asgard where you’re welcomed as a returning Queen. It isn’t until Thor sees you visibly wince at his Tower and looks around himself that he realizes how bad things were. When you set down your messenger bag and start rolling up your sleeves to get to work, he just wants to kiss you. If you’re disappointed in him, he can’t see it. All he can see is you ordering Korg and Meek to get to work helping you set the place to rights.

You spend two days working almost non stop to make the place livable. You don’t have high standards, but you do require sheets on beds and not plastic dishes. Functional cast iron cookware is a bonus. Brunhilde is impressed and wastes no time teasing Thor for being wrapped around your slender fingers. It doesn’t take long for her to come to respect your passion and your perseverance. Less time than that for her to be enamored of your cooking skills, becoming a frequent guest to eat, which allows you to quietly begin to understand what New Asgard could possibly need from you. You’re always quiet during these discussions. A princess now in your own right you’ve been forced into diplomatic things before, but this is not a Sidhe court. This is Asgard. You make a few comments, keeping plates filled and glasses full. Supporting Thor as best as you know how. Rocket and Brunhilde are the first to notice your struggling for want of things to do. A woman of action and vigor, Brunhilde told Thor, needs more to do than playing with the children and satisfy you. Asgard had been without an official Queen since the death of Queen Frigga and had adapted. You were beloved for your kindness but mostly unnecessary.

With S.H.E.I.L.D and the Avengers both dealing with the most extended peace in their memory, you had even less to do. When Thor muses out loud that it might be time to start a family Rocket slaps him across the face. “Look!” he said, pointing to your stable where you kept your silver horned stag, “Really look.” You were feeding the Staf from your hand, petting his neck and staring off into space. It was cold out, the first breaths of Autumn in the air but you stood barefoot and in a tank top and jeans despite the cold. Your perception of time, even reality around you had been different since the snap. When Thor tried to ask you about it once you simply shrug, saying that it all felt like a dream.

You sometimes leave for a few days to visit the Sanctuary, but even that seems to bring no solace. With no work to do and no meaningful way to use your energy, you’re lost. After spending your whole adult life doing your job excellently well, with no duty to do you’re rudderless. Happy to be with Thor. Glad to be alive, but lost. Thor sighs, leaning on the railing as he watches you, wondering where you go in your mind when you stare off at nothing. “You’re right,” he says softly as you sink to the frosted grass to watch the sky.

Thor tries to give you things to do, and you appreciate it, doing each task to the best of your ability no matter how small. It isn’t until T'challa shows up with Natasha, Steve, Bucky, and Dr. Strange that Thor silently thanks Valhalla for intervening. T'challa has a guard, making this a state visit and when he bows to you, you look around confused by the pomp,“ Y/N, Princess of the Keltoi Sidhe, keeper of Secrets, protector of the first people; Wakanda asks for your aid.” he says formally. “Cool,” you say, nonplussed “Come on, tell me about it while I make lunch.” Natasha snorts and so does Bucky as they all crowd around the scrubbed oak dining room table. T'challa looks at Steve in askance, he still found you hard to read, “All you had to do was ask, man.” Steve chuckled, “She doesn’t use her title if she can avoid it.”

Once everyone was crowded in T'challa lays out the problem. Children are disappearing from in and around Wakanda. You listen quietly with your own plate of food untouched. You ask a few questions while he talks before nodding an involuntary shudder going through your body as you grope for words.

“The sisters.” is all you say ominously, looking at Natasha. The spy’s eyes widen slightly, and she reaches for you but thinks better of it when she sees the expression on your face. “The sisters are former nuns Imelda and Jessamine Bryce,” you say slowly. “Born in 1890 they started out small. Black magic to get their way. When they wanted more… Well. Souls didn’t seem so important anymore. They were my handlers during my time as a Hydra captive.”

Thor drops a hand to your shoulder from the back of your chair, stroking the end of your neck with his thumb gently. You don’t go into much more detail, but as the others argue about a course of action, you listen before finally saying, “You need good bait.” Natasha winced as Thor thundered, “I forbid it.” You stand and face him calmly, a scary calm on your face and smile slowly. More a bearing of your teeth than a real smile and Thor realizes that he made a grave tactical error. “You hold no authority over me,” you say. “I’m your lover. Not a hound to command.” Thor wants to pull you to him and kiss you senseless to banish the plan from your mind, but he doesn’t. You’re right. It’s dangerous but… Your whole life has been unstable, and he cannot just install you as queen and wrap you like glass. So he leaves Valkyrie in charge and gets on the quinjet with you. If he can’t talk you out of it, he can at least keep you slightly safer.

You sit dressed for battle cross-legged on the seat. Eyes closed. Thor sits across from you, aware of the curious stares from the Wakandans and from Strange who had never seen the interactions between you two before. Thor is unbothered by it.

When they drop you off, and you walk into the desert unarmed, it takes all his self-control not to run after you. You don’t look back. This is your chance. The chance you tried to take at 13 and failed. You could have vengeance for your younger self. Retribution for every child that they stole. You just have to make this work.

It was two weeks in hell for Thor. The god was anxious and irritable with everyone. Only Natasha, and now Clint, who came to be moral support seemed to understand what he was feeling. They had seen you the first time, small and broken on the floor of a cell. Natasha was mainly affected by it. She had had to cling to a door frame to resist running after you and forcing you back into the plane. She knew it was the best plan. She knew it was their best chance of bringing those children home.

Knowing that didn’t prepare her for the pain of seeing you being beaten when you were already broken. New incisions wept under dirty bandages, blood ran down your face, and you were breathing hard. She could see they had you manacled in such a way that you were forced to stand. Natasha and Thor crept into the room while the others worked to get the children. The man guarding you slapped you across the face. Hard. Hard enough to make your mouth bleed. Thor watched your head fall forward and bit back a roar.

The only thing that stopped him was when you looked up, blood pouring from your mouth, and smiled. Your eyes were so dark black that it was like staring into a bottomless pit and you looked horrifying. The guard realized his mistake too late as you laughed, a low maniacal sound that made the hair on the back of Thor’s neck stand up. You glowed white your body phasing out of the manacles as you sprang forward and pounced, tearing out the guard’s throat with your bare hands. Natasha’s face was white as she pulled Thor after her, chasing you up the hall to catch you.

She handed you a sword and your whip. The fight was on. It was bloody and brutal. The Sisters were intent on killing you, but you were just as intent on killing them. Steel clashed, and your whip lashed. There was so much magical energy in that room that Stephen Strange had to stop just to admire the artistry of the combat. At the end of the battle, you stand on the field watching the Sisters burn and spit a mouthful of blood onto the ashes with disdain. Thor turns as the last HYDRA agent falls just in time to see you collapse a pile of ash and a pool of your own blood. Thor cries out in alarm and hits his knees near you. He’d known you were hurt. He’d known you were weakened, but he didn’t realize until now that it was only your magic keeping you on your feet. That it was sheer force of will and rage were the only reason you were able to fight.

T’challa spares no expense on your care, flying Bruce in to help Shuri piece together what they had done to you so it could be healed. Natasha cries outside the operating room, the guilt of letting you go weight in her Chest, but both Bruce and Clint remind her that as soon as the words left your mouth, there was no stopping you. Even Thor acknowledged that. You do recover, slowly. Too slowly for your liking. Thor only chuckles and says that you’re just impatient.

He is attentive, bringing you books to read and anything you can be tempted to eat. When you've recovered enough, he sleeps beside you, letting you snuggle into the softness of his belly, wrapping his arms around you. Thor is a furnace for which you are grateful. So much of your energy is going into the healing that you’re always cold. His presence stops the nightmares. Or at least, he lessens them, soothing you back into a restful sleep with gentle hands and his deep voice drowning out the nasal whining of the Sisters that echoes in your head. When you’ve recovered enough to be out of bed, there is a feast. A celebration. The children you helped to rescue clamor into your lap, and you hug each one, gently reassuring each one that the nightmare is over. Their earnest faces and wide eyes make tears flow down your cheeks.

It soothes the rawness left by your time in captivity somewhat, and you can understand the pain Natasha had felt when she looked at you, a mirror of herself on the floor of a cell.

Okoye stands near Thor, watching you hold each child, heedless of your broken ribs and nods tacit approval. You had asked for this to be private, your own part in events unmarked. Thor can hardly breathe watching you. Three times now, he feared that he was going to lose you forever. And yet you were here. You were still you. You had taken everything that had happened, and everything that had been done to you and refused to be the weapon HYDRA had tried to make you. Okoye looked at Thor sideways and smiled a little, “You better marry that girl,” she said. “A King needs a strong Queen.” Thor only smiled, “I intend to. As soon as I can make arrangements… I asked her once. Years ago now, but The Universe seemed to have other plans for us both.” Okoye nodded and stood in silence for a moment before drifting away.

Back in New Asgard, you continue to recover. Thor stays attentive, insistent that you eat meals, and not hurl yourself into work and training. He wants you healthy. He wants you back at a comfortable place, where you were before your time as a captive, and the subsequent healing had made you so thin and fragile he feared he’d break you if he held you too tight. He hates being able to count your ribs as he undresses you for bed and the sharpness of your hip bones. Its summer and you’re always cold. Your hands on his are freezing and a breeze ruffling your hair makes you shiver. If you were impatient before, he’s impatient now. If you were so small and healthy, he wouldn’t care. You’re his love, regardless of size. It’s how fragile you look that scares him.

One night as he holds you, nothing seems to warm you and even in sleep, you shudder with cold. He wraps you in blankets and keeps you to him, awake all night to watch over you the way you had often watched over him when you first returned. In the dark bedroom, he says a silent prayer for your safety, kissing the scar on your eyebrow. Slowly, you manage to get yourself back to health with help from Brunhilde and Thor. Healthy weight and muscle tone fill out your frame, and it’s almost like watching you come back to life. Thor is still firm with his warriors, you are only to train for an hour at a time and never in full gear or at full speed. Even when he makes love to you, he holds himself back, reluctant to lose himself in you and set back your progress. The thunderstorms are as soft as the petals that fall.

It’s quiet in New Asgard. Thor can almost see the appeal of being king as you sit on the Arm of his Throne, reading while he discusses goings-on with Brunhilde and… Loki of all people.

The return of his brother had been the last piece Thor had needed to restore the tranquility to his soul. The final bit of pain he had held on to that he could now let go of. He relaxed into your side, threading a lock of your impossibly long hair between his fingers as he listened. It was just right. A peace that Asgard had never really known while Odin had had the Throne. For the first time in centuries, his people had new knowledge and a new purpose. Thor noticed the way Loki watched you, a speculative look on his face as if he was waiting to see what you would do. He saw the way Loki tried to needle at you, poking, looking for a way to irritate you. It satisfied Thor to see him try and fail again and again to get under your skin.

He knew that it was killing Loki not being able to get a reaction out of you. That night as Brunhilde helped herself to more fresh bread and some more of the stew you had made, ravenous after training she laughed, “I don’t know how Thor managed to feed himself while you were gone. This is magical.” You smile, poking Thor’s belly teasing him, “Mostly Pizza and beer if the accounts are correct.” Thor laughs his great booming laugh and swats your backside before pulling you in for a kiss that makes your lips tingle.

Loki glances away, he doesn’t want to be jealous, but he is. He believes that Thor deserves the happiness you’ve brought to him. He believes that Thor is madly in love with you to the point that losing you robbed him of his will to live. But your stillness. Your calm. They make him believe that you cannot possibly love his brother. Not the way he deserves it. He cannot read you the way he can learn everyone else in the room. He can’t make sense of the colors in your eyes and the way you hold yourself, apart from the others but still so connected. When Thor pulls away from you and sees the warm glow of amethysts in your eyes, he grins at you but lets you go when you move to help Bruce before he spills his drink in his lap trying to serve himself.

Bruce turns slightly pink but leans back and lets you help him, sometimes learning to work one-handed was still difficult for him. You help him and kiss his cheek fondly before going back to the kitchen. Loki can see concern crease his brother’s forehead for a moment and then understanding when you busy yourself with some mundane kitchen task. Thor settles back into his chair with a contented sigh and stretches lazily. For a moment, he gets to be not a king but a man, enjoying a good meal and some good company. Loki wonders to himself how you bring this into being but then, in a way, he does understand that. You make no demands on Thor. Only requests and really only ever for his attention, something he would gladly give you without your asking for it. You bring his closest friends to him and make meals that are if not fancy, comforting. When you appear again next to Thor, settling on to the arm of his chair and picking up your book, Loki looks away again. Thor has pulled you into his lap, and you go willingly, resting your head on his shoulder. Today is a rough recovery day, and you’ve overtaxed yourself.

Loki can see that Thor knows it in the way he cradles you to him. It’s fascinating how quickly you can doze off when you get comfortable. Thor asks you a question and chuckles to find you asleep, hair covering your face. More carefully than Loki had thought possible, Thor stands and carries you up to the bedroom you share to tuck you in. Banner frowns thoughtfully after him, and the Valkyrie across from him notices, “What?” she asked. Banner shook his head, “I don’t like how easily she tires out still,” he said, “I need to get her back to my lab and run tests.” Brunhilde shrugs, “She’s not all-powerful. And she fought. Hard. While gravely injured. It’s not surprising.” The professor snorted, “You didn’t see her before the Snap. Even before she was a fully powered Sidhe… I saw her be thrown down 11 flights of stairs, and the next week, she was in a training room.”

The Valkyrie blinks but shrugs after a moment, “Perhaps it’s for the best. Thor likes it better when she’s where he can coddle her.” Bruce snorted, “Yeah, maybe. I’d still like to run tests… They took pieces out of her.” Loki choked on his drink, “Pieces of what?” he asked coughing. “Bone, organ, vein, nerves,” Bruce said cringing, “When I asked her she said they took it to eat. That they intended to eat her one piece at a time.”Valkyrie pushed her plate away, face blanching. That she had not heard all these long months since you returned and she could have lived her whole life not hearing it.

Thor walked back into the kitchen then and looked at their faces, smiling fading, “What?” he asked. Bruce took a deep breath, “I want to take Y/N back to the compound. I want to run some tests.” Thor took a seat, going from man to king in the time it took to pull out his chair, “What manner of tests?” he asked. Bruce explained again, reminding him of how quickly you could recover. Thor nodded, eyes getting stormy with his discomfort, “It could be nothing.” He said immediately, “But I’d rather run the tests and have it be nothing then let it go and have it be something.” Thor took a drink of his beer and sighed, “We will speak to her in the morning, my friend.”

Loki stayed with Thor after the others had left, sensing Thor’s desire to go upstairs and hold you. “Brother,” Loki said after a long moment, “Are you sure this Midgardian creature is the one you want to leg shackle yourself to? She’s not even the prettiest one.” Thor laughs softly, leaning back in his chair, “Loki, she’s… Y/N feels like home. Even on Asgard, I was never as comfortable as I am with her near me.” Loki made a soft gagging noise, “I almost miss when you were an unrepentant whore.” The blonde shook his head, smiling.

"I don't miss it. Y/N stole my heart long before I ever had her in my bed.” Loki nodded, “And are you as sure of her affections in return?” Thor raised an eyebrow, “Why would you ask me such a thing?” Loki shrugged, “She’s just so… still. No one can see beneath the surface.” Thor smiled softly, looking towards the stairs with something like longing on his face. “I know what lies there. Y/N is made of love. Of joy. And pain. And longing.” He leaned back in his chair, lazily, “She doesn’t show it, but it is there. It glows around her. I can see it.”

Loki nodded, accepting this and adopting Thor’s posture. “So what did she say, when you came home and saw the mess you made of yourself.” The God of Thunder snorted, “Nothing,” he said, “She said nothing except that she was hurt that I would think little enough of her that I would believe she only loved my body.” Thor felt his face color slightly, but his chest still warmed at the memory of you in the hotel room. He knew it was probably unnecessarily candid, but he also knew that Loki was going to get antagonistic soon if he didn’t puzzle you out. Loki raised an eyebrow, “Any talk of children? Or are you going to make me assume the throne after you get yourself killed?” Thor didn’t answer right away, remembering years before when you’d had to choose between his child and the rest of the children on Midgard.

Loki saw a flash of pain in Thor’s eyes and was almost sorry he had asked about it. “There was almost a child, 8 years ago,” he said the dull ache evident in his voice. “But it was lost,” Loki had questions but decided not to press on that wound. Thor looked up, the pain vanished into something like hope, “But, Y/N adores children. She’ll be a good mother when we’re blessed that way.” Loki smiled a little, glad not for the first time that his brother was not the King his father had wanted him to be. Thor stood and stretched looking like a bear that had been taught to walk on his hind legs and Loki stood as well, “I’d best be off.” The Trickster said, “While you wish you could bed a sleeping woman, I have a room full of awake women waiting to bed me.” Thor chuckled, “Sleeping or not, she makes for a lovely view.” Thor pulled his brother into a hug and headed towards the stairs. He itched to touch you even if it was only chaste caresses as you slept.

Loki let himself out, looking wonderingly after his brother. He definitely missed Thor being an unrepentant Whore. It was a lot easier to make bawdy jokes about women whose names Thor wouldn’t remember in the morning. Banner and Thor find it hard to convince you to go back to a lab for testing. For the first time since Loki has known you, your face pales, and you shake your head. No words are said, but the terror in your eyes makes Thor pull you to him and hold you firmly to keep you in the room. “Oh my love,” he soothed, “Shhh, it’s all alright. Bruce doesn’t want to hurt you. No one wants to hurt you. You’re safe. With my last breath, I will keep you safe. I wouldn’t send you if I thought he was going to harm you.” You cry in frustration. You’re terrified and panicking and frustrated because you know better. You know Bruce would never hurt you. Thor just murmurs soothing bits of nonsense and holds you through it, waiting for the panic to subside. “I can’t breathe.” You pant, tears flowing faster. Thor settles in a chair with you on his lap, “You’ll be okay, dearheart,” he soothed, he put your head on his shoulder, one large hand stroking your hair while the other caressed your back. He just let you cry. He’d known this was going to happen and he knew you needed to work through it. You cuddle close to him and let him be your safe place to hide. He’s softer now, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t just as strong or that he doesn’t feel just as safe when he holds you in his arms this way.

Loki is struck by just how small you are compared to Thor. He’s bursting to make a snide comment, but the way Thor is holding on to you is enough to stop him. He’s seen his brother with Many. Many. Lovers. None of them have elicited the tenderness he sees at this moment. No one else exists for Thor right then. He and Banner could be fucking on the kitchen table, and Thor wouldn’t know. Banner rocks back on his heels and just waits for you to gather yourself. Once the initial shock wears off Thor bundles you onto the plane with Bruce but not before kissing you so hard Thunder rumbles in the distance. Bruce does his tests and works to fix the last of the kinks the torture left in your body. When Bruce isn’t fixing you, the other Avengers are distracting you. Not only do you miss Thor but being back in a lab, even with Bruce doing his best to keep things comfortable for you is hard. Girls nights with Carol and Natasha are fun but you miss sleeping next to Thor’s warm body and waking up in the night only to have his arms tighten around you, and his snores lull you back to sleep. Thor has a similar problem. He can’t sleep properly without you on his chest and the feel of your silky hair brushing against him. The bed feels too big without you in it. So he sleeps on the couch. Well. Sleeps as well as he can. The sofa isn’t comfortable for sleeping on either. That’s why you sleep on him when you sleep on the sofa. When you do come home, a custom cocktail of pills to take and a portion of your heart replaced, Thor, is overjoyed. You’re home, and you’re already looking better. Loki is traumatized. He made the mistake of walking into the house through the back door just as Thor was lifting you on to the counter and putting your legs around his hips. Loki was out of there so fast and blushing so hard that Valkyrie couldn’t breathe. She was laughing so hard.

Outside, a storm raged. Thor couldn't bear being parted from you, and he couldn't take not being able to touch you. He held back as much as he could, but you gave him no quarter. You were hungry for him after the deprivation of her illness, and you didn't care if it left you exhausted and sore, you wanted him. Thor tried. Gods help him; he tried to be a gentleman and be careful with you, but everything about you drove him to behave like a beast. You were his greatest vice. He craved you. Like a starving man when a feat is laid before him, he devoured you. You took what he gave you again and again until need burnt it's self out, and you were sprawled comfortably with your head on his squishy belly. Thor lay there a long time, fretting quietly as he toyed with your fingers. "I can feel you thinking," you say in the quiet, "Stop it." You turn your head to kiss the tummy you're cuddling, and Thor chuckles, "I only just got you healthy," he said, "I'd hate to be the reason your recovery took longer than it needed to." You shrug, "Maybe you were just what I needed." Thor chuckles, “I hope you’re correct,” he murmured, “I’ve been a king without a queen long enough.” You nuzzle his belly, finding your favorite spot to tickle and he laughs, “I meant an official Queen, my darling. The people already adore you. The only reason you aren’t your Majesty’ed to death is that you don’t allow it.” Thor admired the view of your bottom for a moment, contemplating finding a reason to turn you over his knee and spank it properly before continuing, “I think it may just be time for a Royal Wedding.”

You laugh softly, “Thor, I’m not Queen material, I’m not even a competent Princess.” You caress the softness of his belly, trying to distract him so he wouldn’t press the issue but there was no luck to be had. The god flipped you onto your back, pinning your wrists firmly but gently over your head with a growl. “Y/N,” he growled, making you shiver, “I have seen you walk into a lion’s den unarmed to save Children you had never met. You make choices and sacrifices time and time again in service of others. You scare Loki. You have lead armies and faced impossible odds. I have seen you stare your own impending death in the face and laugh. I wish I were the king you deserve, but whether you like it or not, you are the queen I need. You are the Queen of my heart, and it’s time for you to be the queen of my kingdom.” He releases your wrists and presses a gentle kiss into your lower belly, making you sigh, “Aside from that I will have no question that every child you bear is mine. Including this one.”

You gasp softly and card your fingers through his hair. You don’t ask if he’s sure, you know that he is. You know he’d not make jokes about that, not when he wants it this much. The tears start flowing before you can stutter out any words and Thor scoops you up gently, kissing them away. “I was so afraid they’d broken me.” you manage through the tears, and Thor hugs you tighter. “Oh my love, no.” he said, softly, “You could never be that.” Thor kisses you, covers your face in kisses until he makes you giggle and he laughs, his big booming belly laugh chasing away any leftover anxiety.

#thor x reader #thor x you #thor imagine #heavily implied smut #angst #fluff #No one is dead and nothing hurts #Loki deserves better #Saturdays are long fucking days so this is a long fucking chapter

16 notes · View notes

artistic-writer · 6 years

Text

Fragments of Home :: CS AU :: E :: Chapter 9

Title: Fragments of Home by @artistic-writer

Summary: Emma Swan must return home to her childhood town of Storybrooke when her mother dies and stays in the house left to her and her brother, David Nolan. Emma must juggle a temporary job at the hospital with her loss, something that has made her feel smaller than she ever was. When a tall, dark, handsome stranger comes into her life in the most unexpected way, and she begins to fall in love, will she stay in Storybrooke, or return to her new life back in New York?

Rating: E

Previous: Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8

Also on: AO3 - FF

A/N: Just when you thought you were all safe...*evil cakcle* Many thanks to my lovely beta, @kmomof4 who persuaded me that this would work as a CS fic in the first place.

——————————————————————————————

“Fifteen minutes,” Mary Margaret clarified in an almost silent whisper, her face scrunched up slightly as she peered through the smallest crack between the polished wooden frame and the door of David’s office. She was kneeling on the floor, her body quivering as she fought to keep her silent balance against the frame. Her knees formed concave hollows in the plush office flooring and she tried to ignore the itching caused by the carpet against her skin.

“Fifteen minutes?” David whispered back, pulling his gaze from the sight before him and looking down at Mary Margaret with a puzzled frown. “Are you sure?” He stood behind her, his full muscular arms bracing his entire body weight against the door frame as he was greeted with her nod. They both stared at each other surprised, and then as if in a choreographed move, resumed their peering through the door at the same time.

They were staring at Killian. He was sitting in David’s leather chair with his arms folded loosely across his chest, the action causing creases to form in the elbows of his suit. He had slipped down in the chair a little, his knees holding his body in the chair as they pressed against David’s hardwood desk uncomfortably. The room was silent and the gentle rise and fall of Killian’s chest was joined with a soft grunting sound that rumbled from his throat. His eyes were lightly shut and his messy haired head was rolled to one side, his lips caressing the woven material on his shoulder as he dreamed.

David chuckled a little, quickly stifling his giggles with a bear like palm over his mouth. Mary Margaret sprung to her feet in fright, jumping back and inhaling hard as she frowned at David and pressed her hand to her quickening heart. “I’m sorry,” David trailed off lightly as he felt the next eruption of laughter. “He’s asleep,” he announced excitedly as if his receptionist had not seen for herself. Mary Margaret opened her mouth to speak but David cut her off, his laughter faded and his curiosity had him eagerly pressed to the door once again. “He never sleeps. He’s a machine. Something’s wrong,” he said quickly between breaths, spinning to look at the silent Mary Margaret once again.

“There is always something wrong,” she began, her hand slipping from her chest and resting on her hip with a roll of her eyes. David ignored her words and narrowed his gaze at Killian’s slumbering figure once again.

“He hasn’t shaved,” he noted, his tongue casually parting his lips and moistening them as he thought. “He always shaves,” he thought out loud, his words leaving his mouth on a warm breath that left a dew condensation on the doorframe.

“Maybe he’s out of razors?” Mary Margaret offered with a shrug but the look David gave her confirmed exactly what she thought as soon as she had said it. Her words were ridiculous. Of course, Killian hadn’t run out of razors. The man probably had a years supply in storage, just in case.

David suddenly gasped and Mary Margaret jumped back another foot, her eyes widening with fear as David spun to face her like an enraged bull. “He wore that suit yesterday!” he declared in a hushed tone, pointing over his wide shoulders with his thumb. His face was frightening and his pupils had grown small because of how wide they were open.

Mary Margaret’s hand flew up to cover her own gasping mouth in shock. Even she knew how obsessively Killian kept a quota of suits so as not to wear the same one two days in a row. David’s silent and knowing nod told her he was thinking the same thing. “Oh my,” she whispered to him with a nod of agreement. “Something is wrong.”

The morning sunlight shone through the huge, lightly tinted glass windows of David’s office and danced across the room, warming the space they covered with silent heat. The rays never moved, but the fine particles of dust that jumped and flickered in the daylight made it seem so. David pushed his door open tentatively, the hinges keeping silent and the carpeted floor disguising the action as it absorbed the rubbing noise like a sponge. David’s head entered first, bobbing around the corner like an investigative dog and was soon followed by his body.

David’s footsteps felt awkward on the floor as he tried to keep his balance while tiptoeing into his office. His arms flailed through the air but he did not make a sound and his body was so rigid with trying to stay still and quiet that his muscles ached. Killian continued to snooze as his colleague approached inhaling hard and expelling a long breathy sigh in his sleep. The morning sun had begun to move around the office, leaving its warmth across every surface it touched, and was gently heating the side of Killian’s face.

Killian twitched a few times, his face gently contorting into a grimace. David froze dead in his tracks, his breathing almost non-existent as Killian’s hand flew up and absently tried to scratch away the sunlight from his prickly cheek. David’s eyes went wide, the whites clearly visible when he turned and displayed his panicked face to Mary Margaret. She held up her hands that had begun to sweat and held her breath as Killian’s hand flopped back down into position.

David had just turned back around, carefully avoiding the edge of his desk when Killian spoke. “I know you’re there, Dave,” he grumbled into the fabric of his crumpled shirt. His eyes did not open and his words were damaged and slurred from his exhaustion.

David straightened up with a slight frown and cleared his throat into a balled fist. “Just getting some paperwork,” he lied, searching his desk top with eager eyes for a folder, a piece of paper, anything to confirm his pretence.

Killian peeled open an eye slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the warming orange glow of the room. Everything had been illuminated by the sun by now, and it turned everything as bright as Emma’s hair. Everything reminded him of her, and even though she had agreed to lunch, he couldn’t keep himself occupied enough to forget in the meantime. Killian hadn’t slept in the last five days, and his body felt heavy and argued against his awakening.

“Okay so I’m not getting some paperwork,” David admitted as he lifted his leg slightly to perch on the edge of his desk. “You were asleep,” he said, still surprised.

“Aye, I do that occasionally,” Killian grunted, his words stretched to a higher pitch as he sat upright in David’s chair, the leather material creaking under his movement. He yawned, his eyes pinching closed on his face and his jaw separating so wide he felt like it was going to break off. His arms reached out in front of him and a light shiver rippled down his spine as his stretch ended. “I haven’t exactly been sleeping well lately,” Killian admitted suddenly, casting his eyes downwards and taking in his appalling appearance.

Killian looked like shit. His silvery grey suit was creased and patched with stains. Some looked like coffee and were darker in the middle with a lighter radiating edge that resembled the edge of the ocean on a map. Others were powdery like dirt and were easily brushed off with a large sweep of Killian’s grubby hands. His shirt was crumpled beyond help and dust from the Storybrooke city streets had imprinted itself on the fair fabric. He knew he was a mess but he didn’t care. All that had crossed his mind over the last week was Emma, over and over, in reality, and in his dreams.

“Uh oh,” David said casually, tilting his head at Killian’s words. Killian’s head snapped up towards his partner’s and he took in the concerned look on his face.

“Uh oh?” Killian repeated his words as he used the same hand he had brushed his suit down with to rub the back of his aching neck. “Why uh oh?”

“Because you need sleep,” David pointed an accusing finger at Killian as he spoke. “Because this firm depends on you getting sleep,” he continued, his voice a little louder than before. “Because,” he paused and narrowed his eyes at Killian.

Killian suddenly felt uncomfortable and his cheeks prickled with a pink glow. “What?” He questioned timidly, patting his hands to his chest and inspecting his pants for anything that could have caused David’s sudden cessation of words.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping?” David asked calmly. His voice was a mixture of concern and intrigue that made Killian feel a little uncomfortable.

Killian sighed and scratched his blackened nails over his lengthening beard growth. The hair was short and bristly and it made a rustling sound as he clawed over it. “Woman trouble,” he said simply, his words but an echo in the office around him. David’s frame softened and he tilted his head sideways, taking in Killian’s broken exterior more closely.

“Killian,” he warned gently, calling his friend’s name until he saw the darkened greyness of his eyes. They were darker than usual, the hues of them shadowed by Killian’s complete anguish, and puffy purple circles had begun to appear under his eyes. “This isn’t another Shelley is it?” David tentatively asked with a sorrowful sigh. He feared for his friend, again, because every time he seemed to date, things always went wrong. “We can’t move the business again,” David finished solemnly.

“No,” Killian interrupted quickly with a shake of his head. His tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before he spoke some more, a penalty of not having been hydrated enough this week. “This is not a Shelley thing.”

“Well good.” David smiled nervously at Killian, waiting for his friend to mirror his action. Killian didn’t smile but instead just looked at David like a scorned puppy. He was emotionally drained, any fool could see that, and David didn’t know what to do. Killian had lost his drive, his passion, and his eagerness to work and that meant only one thing; his drive, passion and eagerness had been directed at another source. A woman. Killian yawned again, tearing his eyes from David briefly as he did so and covering his mouth with his tainted hand. “Is she worth it?” David asked out of the blue, fiddling with his own fingers on his lap.

Killian didn’t even hesitate as he shrugged off his yawn and answered. “She is,” Killian said with a quivering smile. His eyes fell closed and he saw Emma’s smile imprinted on his eyelids, her tempting locks bouncing on her shoulders and her eyes glinting with happiness. Killian gulped back tears and opened his eyes to meet David’s once again. “She is worth everything.”

“Then go get her!” David sprang to his feet and tore off his suit jacket, crushing the expensive silky material between his fingers before he watched it fall with a dull thud atop his desk. “If she loves you as much as you obviously love her,” David began, motioning up and down Killian’s tattered frame with a flat open palm, “then you have nothing to be scared of.” He smiled, leaning back against his desk and folding his arms over his chest.

Before Killian could respond, the inside pocket of his jacket began to vibrate when his cell phone began to ring. He scrambled for his jacket, pulling it aside clumsily and reaching into his pocket. The pocket was lined with purple silky material that soothed his skin as he stroked his knuckles against it, and the phone jiggled in his palm, vibrating violently with an audible buzz as he pulled it free. “It’s her,” Killian stuttered with a broken voice as he stared at the illumination of the caller ID.

David smiled weakly. “I’ll be outside.” He nodded with a wink and pushed his bulk from the edge of the desk and hurried from the room. Killian gulped hard and took a large, steadying breath before answering the call.

“Emma,” he said softly, her name meaning everything before he had even pressed the device to his ear.

“Killian?” Emma said quickly, a little confused by Killian’s changed voice. It was deeper, more rugged than she remembered it sounding yesterday. “Did I wake you?” She enquired politely, her own voice a tad raspy.

Killian shook his head and spun on his heel to begin pacing the office. “No, not at all. Are you alright?” Killian caught sight of David’s diplomas hanging on the wall behind his desk and quickly busied himself with straightening a crooked brass frame.

“Not really,” Emma began apologetically. “I’ve called in sick at work today. I think I caught a bug that’s going around the hospital,” she said, swallowing the urge to vomit once more. She was in her bathroom and her voice bounced off of the walls in the whitened room. “Can we reschedule lunch?”

Killian’s heart sunk lower in his chest and the hair on his neck stood on end. He flushed hot with a combination of nerves and defeat. “Oh,” was all he could manage on a tone overshadowed with hurt. “Are you alright, love?” Killian repeated his earlier question slowly and softly, concern lacing his words.

Emma shrugged to herself in her empty bathroom and a thin smile crept across her lips slowly. “Nothing some chicken soup can’t cure,” she smiled. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she said quickly, suddenly needing to expel the content of her stomach once again. “I’ve got to go,” Emma hurried, clenching her hand around her throat as the vomit crawled its way up from her stomach. “I’m sorry,” she repeated quickly and hung up.

The line had gone dead long before Killian pulled the cold, square-shaped cell from his ear. He gulped a hefty lump down his throat and stared at the phone in his hand. Killian’s heart hurt, and it still pounded a little in his chest, making his palms sweaty with anxiety, his hands clenched around the cell phone as he tapped its hardness against the light fuzz on his upper lip, staring intently at the carpet before him in thought.

Killian’s attention was diverted with an echoing knock on the office door. Killian looked up, his gaze blurring slightly as he did so, and caught sight of David’s inquisitive face poking around the door. He was funny, almost comical. The way he stood made him look like he had no body and his head was held up by a single arm, gripping for dear life to the roughly sawn door edge. “You need anything?” he asked gently, unsure as to how Killian’s conversation had gone. Killian was a hard man to read, and even harder to read when he was exhausted.

Killian’s lips crept into a twitching smile as he paced towards the door, causing David to jolt upright and pull the door open to let Killian past. “The rest of the day off,” he began.

David huffed and a small chuckle escaped his lips. “You weren’t exactly working in there, Killian,” David joked, winking at Mary Margaret whose rosy red lipstick smile widened with glee. He was just about to continue when Killian, who hadn’t heard a word he had said, interrupted in unison with the ding of the elevator.

“And some chicken soup.”

Emma felt like her stomach was trying to crawl its way out of her body through her mouth. Muscles she didn’t even know she had were aching. They hurt to touch, it hurt to breathe and no matter how hard Emma tried, she couldn’t shift the feeling of nausea. The thick, padded comforter on her bed covered her with eagerness, clinging to her tiny, clammy frame and desperately trying to warm her body, but she still shivered underneath it. Her jaw hung open slightly and her teeth chattered against each other which left her aching even more. She sighed with a breathy agitation, clutching the duvet even harder.

The room was light, too light, and Emma’s head hurt. It pounded audibly in her ears and tiny bursts of white light popped up behind her eyelids on every thump. Squinting didn’t help, neither did the agonising turn Emma made in her bed to try and face away from the taunting daylight. She let out a groan as she turned, the mere effort of which left her more exhausted. “Stupid hospital,” Emma cursed under her rancid smelling breath as she settled into a colder space on her soft, linen sheets. “Stupid bug,” she grumbled.

Her rant was interrupted by the chirp of the doorbell, high pitched and whistling its way through the silent house. Emma’s groan grew louder when the hollow knocking on the door followed. Her eyes argued as she tried to open them, staying open for just a second before pinching themselves tightly closed again. “Go away,” she whispered, balling the blanket in her fist and pulling it up to her chin as if hiding from the door would make whoever was on the other side go away.

The doorbell rang out again, screeching as the sound tore through Emma’s headache, making it pound harder behind her eyes. Emma heard a squeak as she clenched her jaw tightly, her anger for the persistent doorbell ringer finally causing her teeth to touch and rub against each other. She sighed, her breath smelling of vomit and the peppermint from her toothpaste as it breezed under her nostrils. Emma grimaced and finally peeled her eyes open, released the hold on her comforter and threw it off herself.

Her room wasn’t cold but to Emma the rush of air that hit her fully clothed body was arctic. Her loose-fitting red, cotton pyjama pants were gripped to her painful stomach muscles while the legs fell to cover her exposed flesh when she swung her heavy legs over the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked a little as she sat there, depressing the edge with her weight and waiting for her head to stop spinning. The doorbell chimed out again and Emma wished she hadn’t replaced the batteries her mother had let die so long ago. She swallowed back the urge to vomit now that she was upright, and pushed herself up, tussling her messy hair between her fingers but not really caring who was going to see her.

Killian’s feet tapped impatiently on the broken top step on which he stood. The hot take out chicken soup he held between his fingers warmed their tips, gently caressing and tingling through the white, Styrofoam cup. Steam would have been swirling into the air had it not been for the push on lid that had kept the heat in throughout his journey to Emma’s.

He had pressed his finger onto the cream coloured doorbell button three times now. Killian knew Emma was home. He could feel her radiate through every brick of the house. It was a good house, strong and stable and it felt safe. Emma had grown up here with her brother and her parents, and even through her darkest times, this was a sanctuary for her, and Killian respected the old red bricks. If he could ever make Emma feel as safe as they had, he would be halfway to happy. This wasn’t just a house, it was a home.

“Who is it?” Emma croaked.

Killian heard the weak, broken voice from the other side of the door and his heart skipped a beat. He burst into a smile, his lips spreading wide across his face as he took a small step closer to the peeling black painted door.

“It’s Killian,” he admitted with a hopeful tone but there was no answer. The smell of chicken soup wafted up into his senses, a smell he hated but a smell he would tolerate for Emma. Her silence worried him and his eyebrows pulled together in a small frown. “Emma?” He called gently, his breath laying on the black paint in tiny droplets. He stared down at the ground, straining his ears to hear her on the other side of the door. He could have heard her heartbeat in a thunderstorm, but his concentration was broken when the latch clicked open and a pale, sickly looking Emma appeared around the frame.

Emma’s eyes met Killian’s and they reflected their exhaustion at each other. Killian’s smile slid from his face and concern crept into his features at the sight of her, hair poofy and knotted and her oversized pyjama top looked like it was trying to devour her. Its red colour emphasized the paleness of Emma’s skin, who looked whiter than the hair framing her face. “Chicken soup,” Emma smiled weakly, lifting a heavy arm to point at the cup in Killian’s hand. His gaze followed hers and dropped to his hand that clenched the chicken soup deftly.

“I bought you lunch,” Killian attempted lightly, a quick one-sided shrug accompanying his nervous smirk. He had changed, his crumpled shirt long gone and now replaced for a casual henley and jeans. His prickly growth had been combed and his cheeks shaved, his smooth, blemish-free skin begging to be touched by her much softer hands.

Emma smiled a little. “Who knew Killian Jones did casual?”

“You said to wear something sexy,” he mused. His eyes lifted once more, and Emma’s emerald stare had been transformed into a darker, murkier colour. She attempted a laugh and dragged her heavy frame backwards to let Killian in. “You don’t look so good,” he offered honestly, stepping forward as Emma stepped back and into the hall.

Emma let out a slight chuckle as she pushed the door with no energy and it bounced open again. Killian caught it and pushed it closed with ease, turning back to Emma. Emma had her arms crossed over her chest trying to keep warm and she inhaled deeply. The muscles across her ribcage stretched painfully and she tried to hide her wince. “I’m okay,” she lied, her fingertip touching the light, dewy sweat that was collecting on her forehead as she brushed her messy locks aside.

Killian set the chicken soup down on the table Emma had just inside her front door being vigilant to make sure the hot cup didn’t touch the actual surface. And old envelope scribbled on and dog eared made a perfect coaster. “Are you sure?” Killian pushed gently, taking a step towards her and brushing the salty beads from her brow with his thumb. “You’re sweating, love,” he thought aloud as he cupped her face in his cool palm.

“Mmm,” she hummed incoherently, nudging her face into his palm. Emma found herself needing his touch. The cold temperature of his skin made her head feel better and soothed the thumping in her temples. Just to be touched made her feel better on the inside, but she couldn’t hide how much she felt like she was dying on the outside. She felt ridiculous. Doctors were not supposed to get ill, that’s why they were doctors. They stopped this from happening to people, or if they couldn’t, they helped fix it.

“And you’re burning up,” Killian noticed, his brow slipping into a concerned frown. He shifted his hand to rest the back of his knuckles against Emma’s damp brow, her skin burning his as the fever wracked her body.

Emma’s eyes blinked quickly and she couldn’t keep them open. Flashes of green met blue in a blurred mixture of hues as she tried to focus on Killian. The room seems to spin, whirling in front of her every time her eyes fluttered open. Emma swallowed hard, trying to gain her composure. “Emma?” Killian prodded gently, his voice etched with worry as his powerful hands gripped her shoulders to stop her swaying.

“I’m fine,” Emma whispered, her words barely audible as blackness took her over and she slipped from Killian’s grasp to the floor.

Killian's arms burned. Emma was a dead weight, limp and lifeless in his grip as he stepped into the ER. The etched glass doors slid open slowly, causing him to curse under his breath and bob impatiently on the balls of his feet. “Come on,” he seethed as they parted before him and the sounds of the ER poured out into the ambulance bay. Emma's car, engine still ticking over with a slight misfire, sat abandoned with the doors ajar in the drop off area.

“Help me,” Killian called around the almost empty emergency department. His face was pale but flushed with worry and he had lost all of his capacity to think. “Help me!” Emma's body was a solid weight, floppy in his arms and he desperately clung to her as he came to a halt in the lobby.

A small shift nurse looked up from the desk, instantly hanging up the phone she was on and screaming for help. She was only just able to peer over the tall counter, her blonde hair pulled back loosely into a messy ponytail. She was wearing a lightweight cardigan to keep out the chill of the Storybrooke air as people entered and exited the ER, but as she rounded the desk to run at Killian, she pulled the sleeves up her arms hastily. A tall male doctor that Killian did not recognize rushed towards him dragging a heavy freshly prepared bed, the wheel letting out a squeak as he did. He skidded the thick mattresses topped bed sideways and pulled his whole weight against it to stop it from crashing into Killian.

Killian's vision slowed and he went deaf, the noise from the ER fading away. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat, rushed and pulsing in his ears, and his breathing was ragged with the exertion of his adrenaline fuelled heroics. The voices around them were a blur and all Killian could focus on was the unconscious woman in his arms.

“It's okay, we got her now,” the tiny nurse soothed as she and the burly doctor helped lift Emma from his arms onto the bed. Killian's arms hurt, but it was a hurt he didn't even notice, the release of pressure on his muscles causing them to sear with heat. Emma's body hit the cold, white sheet laden mattress with a thud and her head flopped sideways, her ashen skin deathly pale and sticky with sweat, and a tiny tendril of her golden locks stuck to her forehead, the only colour on her entire face. Killian's hand twitched, wanting so desperately to tuck it from her face, but he was pushed out of the way before he had the chance. No sooner had she left his arms, Emma was being wheeled through the ER, the ceiling lights glaring in flashes of white across her unmoving features.

“She was just standing there,” Killian stammered shaking his head at the words, unable to believe that one second Emma was talking and the next she was a heap on the floor. His shoes slipped slightly as he tried to keep up with the medical team, grabbing the shiny handrail of the trolley as if it was his lifeline to Emma. Killian hadn't seen them appear, but a plethora of nurses and staff in varying shades of scrubs had appeared out of nowhere and suddenly surrounded Emma when the trolley halted. Killian stopped himself at the edge of the area, a clearly marked red line taped to the floor around the cubicle. Just to make sure he didn't cross the line, a short, middle-aged security guard laid a warning palm to Killian's chest and held him back with a push.

“What's her name?” One of the new doctors called out without taking his eyes off of Emma laid out before him. The lights in the cubicle made her look whiter than she was and Killian pressed a shaky palm to his face as he watched helplessly. He was frozen, his ears burning and his heart threatening to burst from his chest, the image of Emma upright and then hitting the cold floor of her hallway with a deafening thud flashing before his eyes each time he blinked. “Sir, her name?” The doctor prompted again.

“Emma,” Killian finally whimpered, his voice shaky and full of panic. The guard's fingers dug into his chest through his slightly damp shirt as Killian pushed against him. “Her name is Emma.” He wanted to be closer to Emma, to hold her hand and tell her it was going to be okay and that he was here. Killian wanted to touch her, however lightly, just so she knew he hadn't abandoned her. He wasn't the man she had thought he was and he still felt like he had to prove it.

“Emma? Emma, can you hear me?” The doctor called louder than needed into Emma's ear, her body remaining unresponsive. Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably and rubbed his hands over his softly furred chin. His mind was racing, thoughts tearing through his conscious like a bull after a red flag.

The dull green tiled floor squeaked under his shoes as he spun away from the scene, a small, burning lump appearing in his throat. Killian's eyes scorched with the threat of tears and he panted into his shaking hands, pressed together over his face in an attempt to hide the salty dew drops. His heart ached like someone had shot it with a poisoned arrow and he might never recover. He had never felt anything like what he felt for Emma. It was euphoric, addictive and he had almost lost it once already in the short time they had known each other, so he wasn’t about to give up on her again. Killian turned around slowly and assured the guard he would stay put with a reassuring glance and a small nod. The grey-haired man nodded back sadly, a silent understanding of how Killian felt.

“What happened?” Another doctor breezed past Killian, not caring that he bumped him back to reality. He was busy whipping the stethoscope from his neck when his eyes fell upon Emma. “Emma?” Dr Whale asked shocked, the sight before him making him stop in his tracks.

Killian narrowed his eyes at the new doctor, unable to see his face. His blood felt like it was thickening in his veins, a reaction from his jealousy and adrenaline. Killian's teeth ground together as he clenched his jaw and balled his hands into tight, white-hot fists. The already present prickle of his skin tightened his rage further and his brow knitted into a frown.

“How do you know the patient?” A doctor quickly asked the newcomer, clear superiority in his voice. The doctor's eyes never left Emma as he rubbed a tightly clenched fist against her chest in an attempt to wake her. Killian shot the new doctor a glance and held his breath, eager for his reply. His eyes followed their conversation, jumping between the two men as they tried to figure out the who, what, when, where and why.

“Emma works here.” Dr Whale blinked in disbelief. “We work together.” His voice was informative and suddenly businesslike, but Killian could also tell from his pitch and tone that he was not a threat to him. The name, Whale, rang a huge, solid brass bell chime in Killian's head, and for the first time in this whole episode, he remembered him. Emma called him ‘only a bit gay’ and with understated revelation, Killian's body relaxed as much as it could.

“Okay, let's get a full blood count.” The doctor nodded to a nurse who was busy filling two gloves with hands. “And you are?” The doctor shouted to Killian, his own voice volume clearly muffled by the fact he had shoved the earbuds of his stethoscope into his ears. He had a small pair of rimless glasses perched towards the end of his long, pointy nose and he was peering over the top of them towards Killian.

“I, uh,” Killian stuttered. Who was he? What was he? Was he a friend? A boyfriend? If there was any colour left, it drained from his face. “Is she going to be okay?” he managed, rubbing his clammy hands over his face once more. Killian didn't know what to say, he didn't know who he was, and the last thing he wanted was to let Emma wake up surrounded by her gossiping colleagues because he had outed them. It wasn't his place to tell people she worked with about them.

The doctor ignored Killian's question and motioned the security guard to move him out of the area with a flick of his head. “Come on, buddy,” the tubby man offered, pulling on Killian's arm gently. “I'll show you where you can wait, okay?” Killian nodded, his breath hitching in his throat when the man's fatherly hand laid to rest on his shoulder. He guided Killian away, his eyes blurry and stinging with tears, imprinting the image of Emma's clothes being cut from her delicate frame on his mind.

The sound of machines beeping and ripping fabric became faded as Killian was slowly led down the hall. He didn't know if the world was moving slower, hazily flashing past his eyes with each blink, or if he was. He gulped a hard lump down his dry throat trying to shut out the noises and the scenarios they produced in his very energetic mind.

Killian felt numb when he sat in the waiting area. The chair he sat in was aged, tired and worn from the many bodies who had sat there previously. The vinyl seat had sunk in the middle and was no longer the same shade of marbled blue as the backrest, and the wooden varnished arms had been rubbed a lighter shade of amber. Killian's hands shook as he gripped at the lifeless wooden arms, feeling the worn, smoother patches under his fingertips.

There was almost no one in the waiting area except for a few pacing patrons and a small boy curled up asleep, his head resting on a man's lap. The man, he assumed his father, was also asleep, his head perched precariously against his bloodied hand and threatening to fall at any time. Killian wondered how they had come to be in the same place, but the man's tattered shirt, full of crinkles and dyed brown with dried blood told him all he needed to know. The man did not look hurt and Killian suspected that the smear of blood across his cheek was not from any wounds he had himself, and his hand draped across the small boy's body protectively told him he would do anything to protect the ones he loved.

Killian breathed a sigh, half sorrow and half frustration. He felt helpless, relegated to the waiting room because he couldn't decide what he was to Emma. A quicker thinker would have given the doctors any information in order to stay at her side. Boyfriend would have been enough. The one word was all he would have had to have said. For a genius, Killian Jones was an idiot, and as he sat alone, lit dimly by a flickering fluorescent bulb above him, he realised how Emma made him feel. Loved. Killian slumped back into the chair, banged his head against the off white wall behind him and pinched his eyes closed, letting a single tear roll down his cheek.

There was no clock in the waiting area and Killian suspected it was so people didn't actually know how long they had been waiting. He pushed the cuff of his shirt over his bulky watch with a shivering finger and sighed when the numbers flashed back at him. The long, digital letters read 13:45 and meant Killian had been waiting for three hours. Three long, agonizing hours in which he hadn't seen Emma or heard anything about her.

It was killing him.

With a small grunt, Killian heaved himself up and out of the chair he had become moulded to. His arms still ached from carrying Emma but he didn't mind, instead only saddened by the reminder of her petite frame lifeless in his arms. His eyes were reddened, mostly from his attempts to hide his grief from the people around him. Killian was a private person, normally, tightly wound and reclusive. He would normally throw everything into his work, meticulously executing every job with the precision it deserved, and he kept himself private. Despite what had happened since he met Emma, he was his own company. Sure, he was friends with David Nolan, but if you had asked him, Killian couldn't even tell you if David had a girlfriend or liked chocolate. David respected Killian enough to give him the privacy he wanted, when and where he wanted it. David was his friend because he didn't ask to be.

Killian heaved a sigh, his breath leaving his lungs with a force as he pulled his arms together in front of his ruffled shirt and stretched. Killian was sure he felt a pop in his shoulder but he ignored it. He probably deserved a little pain after what he had put Emma through and with a sad frown, he knitted his eyebrows together in a wide-mouthed yawn.

“Killian?” The small, manly whisper shook him from his reverie and Killian's eyes locked with the man behind him. He took in the man's features, his curly bleach blonde hair pushed from his face so often the hair had begun to train itself backwards and noted his freshly shaved face. He was wearing the tightest jeans Killian had ever seen another man wear and he clearly looked after his appearance. The slightest whiff of aftershave mixed with sweat filled the air between them and he extended a hand out to Killian. “Victor Whale,” he offered his name professionally.

Killian took Whale's huge hand in his and they gripped each other's flesh like a vice. Whale's hands were cold, uncharacteristic for a doctor, but he didn't even notice through his worry. “Killian Jones,” he replied weakly. “How is Emma?” Killian urged impatiently, his voice ravaged by his agony and not that eager to make small talk.

Whale offered a small smile and shot a look over his shoulder. Turning to face Killian once again, he cocked his head sideways toward the massive exit doors close by. “Walk with me,” he coaxed softly.

Killian fell into step behind Whale, following him across the waiting area. Annoyingly, Killian noticed a dark green tile on the floor out of the pattern and cursed his brain for noticing the mundane things at such a time. Whale headed out the ER doors, the cold, grey Storybrooke weather outside a reflection of Killian's feelings. This morning he had been full of hope and he was giddy with happiness when the sun had been shining. Now the sun had gone, replaced by the anguish of grey clouds threatening to burst their seams and rain on the two men at any second. A siren sounded in the distance, and Killian pushed his hands into his pockets to keep them warm after looking up at the menacing rain clouds with a raised eyebrow.

“I had one of our security guards move Emma's car,” Whale pointed absently at the space where Killian had hastily left her car. He had been foolish, leaving it running and doors wide open in such a public place, but he was thankful that Whale had the foresight to fix his mistake. Whale's arm swung left and Killian followed the point of his finger. “He parked it in her space around back.”

Killian couldn't see the car, but he assumed that was because the parking spaces were not easily accessible to the public. For a second he wondered where her keys were but thought better than to ask. Whale took a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket, the half-empty square box crumbled and worn from its constant removal. He pulled one free of its silver foil lining and extended it to Killian as a stiff wind whipped at his dangling sleeve. Killian shook his head in rejection and Whale shrugged, moving the packet to his lips and yanking the white stick free with his mouth.

“How is Emma?” Killian prodded again, his patience quietly thinning in the ghastly afternoon chill. Whale flicked his lighter, a small flame dancing into view which he shielded from the wind with a huge, cupped paw. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled hard, the wind sucking the poisonous smoke from his mouth where it floated away.

“I can't tell you,” Whale admitted sadly, taking another drag. The end of his cigarette glowed, offering the only warmth Storybrooke currently had to offer. Killian's jaw clenched and he frowned. He gulped down a lump of distaste for the man before him. “You’re not family,” Whale stated matter of factly and he was right, but it didn't stop the words stabbing at Killian's heart any less.

“Then why bring me out here?” Killian shot a look back through the doors as they slid open and let a gaggle of nurses spill out. They clutched their coats around them and their hair whipped around in the wind trap the ER ambulance bay had become. One let out a small shriek when the hood of her coat was flipped forward, hitting her in the back of the head. Whale watched him, following his gaze back into the waiting area.

“No one is coming to tell you how she is doing, Killian.” Whale confirmed Killian's fears. The ER continued to turn its busy, well-worn cogs as if he didn't matter, and a silence fell between the two men, Killian scowling with the realisation that Whale was right. “Her mother died you know, that's why she is here,” Whale stated protectively, taking a final suck of his cigarette before throwing the stubby foam end to the ground and extinguishing its life with a stamp of his smartly polished shoes.

“Of course I know,” Killian snapped. Killian had known very little about how Emma had come to be back in Storybrooke, but he had known this. David and Emma's mother was more dear to him than his own absent parents and Killian was forever haunted by the fact he did not attend her funeral. As circumstances dictated, one of them had to have been present at a new client's mixer, dressed in their best crisp suit to impress. The other had to be dressed exactly the same for an entirely heart-wrenching reason and as much as he probably wanted to take David’s place, Killian could not go.

Whale licked his lips nervously and took in Killian some more. “I remember when you came into the ER that day,” he said accusingly, and the reason for all of his cryptic, sly comments became glaringly obvious to Killian.

“I'm not that kind of man,” Killian growled low, his voice rumbling in his chest a little more aggressively than he had intended. He balled his hands into fists in his pockets and scuffed his shoes through a shallow puddle before him, kicking away his reflection with a splash.

“And what kind of man are you, Killian?” Whale quirked his head sideways as he asked, his blonde mop bouncing atop his head. “Why are you here?”

Killian felt his blood coursing through his entire body, heating him in the damp, cold weather. On one level he understood that Whale was Emma's friend, possibly her only one in the vastness of the city she once was so familiar with, and he was just looking out for her. She had been through so much in her short life, having lost both her parents and throwing herself into her work as a modern day martyr. Killian wasn't surprised to find that someone so selfless as Emma would have such a great friend in such a short time.

“I love her,” Killian rasped, the words catching in his throat and taking him by surprise.

Whale studied the man before him and saw a broken shell of a man. He knew it was true, he saw it every day when a grieving husband was told the devastating news about a deceased wife, or how parents crumbled on hearing their child had been born without an ounce of breath in their lungs. Whale watched Killian's face flush pink and a small tear roll down his cheek as he lifted his head to meet his gaze.

“I can't stop loving her,” Killian whispered softly, his words a cloud of condensation against the chilled air.

“I can tell you this,” Whale paused, his voice softer and kinder than before. Killian waited for his words, a chill creeping up his spine. “Theoretically,” Whale begun, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his hands into the warmth of his armpits. “She would be taken to x-ray for imaging. The doctors would need a better look at her chest, and her blood would most likely come back to show a certain bacterial infection associated with pneumonia.” Whale looked everywhere but at Killian, his words sincere but hidden behind a falseness that Killian was certain was only to protect himself.

“X-ray,” Killian repeated, half for confirmation and half to help him remember. He sniffed some tears away and wiped his roughened face with the back of his hand.

“That's on floor 4,” Whale offered, finally looking at Killian with a smile. “If someone was looking for someone else, they might want to start there.” Whale hopped from foot to foot. He was not a Storybrooke native and the cold really took its hold in his bones. Some days he wished he was still in Florida, the sun beating down on his freshly waxed chest as he strolled hand in hand with his boyfriend through the state's soft sand beaches. Some days he wished for a job where he would get to see his boyfriend more, especially today as he took in the anguish on Killian's face. “Theoretically,” he grinned.

Killian's feet skipped together and he flashed Whale a cheeky thankful grin. He knew the young doctor could get in serious trouble, but he wouldn't. If anyone asked him, Killian would deny everything, telling them that he had found Emma himself. Killian's heart beat furiously in time with his footsteps as he clambered his way up the stairwell, the walls supposed to be white but years of hands and the odd body leaning against them turning them a pale yellow. Waiting for the elevator would take too long and Killian felt he had already been away from Emma for long enough. His fingers glowed white as he gripped the cool, black handrail, pulling himself up two or three of the harsh concrete stairs at a time, as his footsteps echoed up and down the column of steps.

Floor 4 was much the same as all of the others in the hospital and so as soon as he exited the stairwell, Killian looked lost. The heavy fake wood door pulled itself closed with a scraping sound behind him, bumping him further into the hall. To his left, Killian noticed a few more seats identical to the waiting room ones, but these looked newer and hardly worn. There were no people sitting in them and Killian suspected most people waited four floors below him rather than make the pilgrimage to wait on anything as mundane as an x-ray. To his right, he spied a small curved desk, his attention drawn by the dull ringing of a telephone.

The nurse behind the desk was older than others Killian had seen so far and wondered if she had been primarily hired for her administrative duties. Her greying hair was short, slightly wavy from the dampness outside, and pinned from her face with a sliding hair clip. She spied Killian's approach and held out a stern finger as she finished her telephone conversation.

Killian drummed his fingers against the laminate countertop, a surge of adrenaline pulsating through him in every muscle. After what seemed like a lifetime the nurse hung up the white plastic receiver with a clack and looked up at Killian warmly.

“I'm looking for Emma Swan,” Killian blurted out hastily, not even giving her a chance to greet him. “She came up here for a chest x-ray,” he offered more information in the hopes it would help her find Emma even more quickly. The nurse casually picked up a small pair of reading glasses next to her and slid them onto her face, tucking her hair behind her ear as she did so. Her long-nailed fingers found her off grey keyboard and she tapped at the keys, studying the screen that flickered and bathed her face in a white glow.

“Emma Swan...Emma Swan...,” she almost hummed to herself and her eye flicked up and down the screen. Killian craned his neck to see the screen but it was futile from his elevated position. He could tell technology was not this woman's strong point and her lack of haste annoyed him. “Ah! Here we go,” she declared triumphantly running a long, manicured fingernail down the screen and following it across the surface with her eyes. “She has been moved to ICU,-” She began, but the sound of Killian’s boots squeaking on the tiles made her look up from the monitor. “Hey!” She called after Killian as he sprinted away from the desk. “You're welcome!” she huffed.

Killian had already seen a sign for the ICU and he had committed the directions to memory already. His pace was steady but urgent, his shoes slapping against the buffed tiles but making barely a noise in the busy halls. Killian's chest heaved with each breath he took, his nostrils filling with the medical smells of plastic and the coppery tang of blood. People eyed him as he wandered the halls, their eyes flickering over his slightly hunched figure and turning away when he caught their gaze.

Killian rounded a smooth corner, dragging his hand lazily along the cold painted concrete smoothness and committing the texture to memory. Killian's entire world was sensory, his fingertips like hypersensitive receptors that gave him insight into the world. He had a thirst for knowledge, a wanton need to take in every single piece of stimuli his body found. Killian had always been like this, and as a child, his growing knowledge and intelligence had grown his ego. Some people would call Killian arrogant, and he had lost many friends by simply being himself.

Emma had seen Killian at his most arrogant and still accepted him into her life. They had only known each other for a short while but already they had shared each other's lives and beds so often that Killian felt like they had known each other for years. His senses had already committed the feel of Emma to his memory, plastering the softness of her lips, the silky smooth texture of her skin and the beauty and grace of her naked body forever in his psyche. Killian never wanted to forget the feel of her under his hands, the way her body reacted to his so naturally and casually with a single touch. So much could be said without words, and Emma's body sang a chorus for him each and every time he was near. Killian's own words echoed in his head.

‘I can't stop loving her.’

There was a turmoil within Killian. He had never had a relationship, had barely dated even, but now he was searching the dimly lit halls of a busy hospital for the single spark of light in his darkness. When Emma had collapsed in front of him she had ripped away all the power he held over his own body and emotions. Never had he felt this way and as unsettling as it was for him, he never wanted to let it go. Killian was so busy in his thought that he almost missed the familiar scent that invaded his nostrils and made his heart flutter in his chest. He slowed his search, quietly peeking into each room as he passed, his nose pressed to each glass pane until he saw the familiar flash of straw blonde against a crystal white pillow.

Killian took a long look up and down both sides of the hallway and when he was content he was being ignored by all of the staff, he slid open the door to the room. Slipping inside, he pulled it closed behind him with a click, his skin tickling with heat as he finally laid eyes upon Emma. The room was empty apart from her small frame tucked up securely in the bed, a snow white sheet pulled up to cover her body. The doctors had cut all of her clothes off and Emma was now only dressed in a harsh, starchy hospital issue nightgown, its light blue colour clashing with the rest of the room.

Killian took a tentative step towards her, careful not to wake her, his feet making no sound against the reflective, highly polished floor. The room was dark, the blinds having been drawn, and a dimmed orange glow cast itself over Emma as she slept. She seemed angelic, the hue radiating from her entire body as if she was an angel, but she was torn and damaged and a cannula protruded harshly from the back of her still hand. Killian took another step towards her, covering his mouth with a shaky hand, half to hide his gasp and half to muffle the cry that he had let out. Emma lay perfectly still, her eyes closed and unresponsive to the beeping of hospital equipment that surrounded her. She was silent, the sound of gushing air filling the room every few moments the only noise that could be heard as the small box ventilator breathed for her. Two tubes, one white and one blue, were connected to a clear one, taped haphazardly to her grey lips to stop it falling out.

Finally reaching her side, Killian sank down into the high back visitor chair that was there. The room was warm, much warmer than he had thought the rest of the hospital was, and he quickly pulled his arms from his light jacket. He let the stiff material pool behind him as he sat forward in the chair, his face searching over Emma as she lay lifeless before him. Killian's breath caught in his throat, hitching with a vibration in his chest. He reached out, plucked Emma's listless hand from the bed and curled his long, warming fingers around hers.

Killian couldn't believe what was happening and a surge of anger ran through him. Of all the people this could have happened to, Emma deserved it the least. All she ever did was help others, put herself out there for anyone who needed her to. She was a shining beacon in the otherwise enveloping darkness of Killian's existence, and as she lay before him threatening to extinguish, he couldn't take it. Killian bunched her hands in his, cupping it between the two huge palms and pressed it to his lips. Emma's skin was soft and familiar and smelled of cheap hand wash under his nose and he held her to him, letting his lips brush over her knuckles and finally letting his tears escape with a heaving, pained cry.

Enjoying my fics? Buy me a Ko-Fi - Subscribe on AO3 - Follow me on Fanfiction.net

#cs au #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfiction #fragments of home #foh #ch 9 #captain swan #architect!killian #doctor!emma #angst

25 notes · View notes