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sarcasticallybee · 3 years ago

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Shots fired

Spencer x reader

Sitting on Spencer's couch you'd been reading one of your favorite books. It was early, at least for a weekend it was. You'd come by Spencer's hoping to catch him before a phone call from the team, however he seemed to have been gone already.

You thought about just going home, but decided to stay and clean the already, mostly pristine apartment. It was organized in his own chaotic way. You'd slowly put away his paperwork and obsessively marked books.

You then walked over to his nearly empty sink washing the dishes. After that it was doing his laundry and maybe make and remake his bed.

Today was your last day off which is why you were hoping to catch him. You worked at an elementary school and taught a rambuctious group of 2nd graders. They were great kids and you loved them all dearly.

That being said tomorrow was Monday so you had things that you needed to prepare. That is why you called Spencer and let him know you'd been there. You knew he was observant and may panic if he saw his apartment.

"Hey Spence, it's me. I just wanted to let you know I stopped by. I love you and I'll see you when you're back. Kisses." Then you hung up.

Nothing could have prepared you for the next day.

You woke up at 5:00am and got ready for the day. The school day didn't start until 8:30, but you wanted to catch a shower.

Swinging your legs over your bed and wobbled to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and your brush on the way. You had your clothes laid out the night before, surprisingly you were set for Monday it was Friday when you just threw your clothes on and prayed they matched.

That being said you sauntered into the small room flipping the light on and flinching at it's brightness.

"Ugh no! Tis to early for this." You groaned plopping the towel on the toilet.

You stripped the overnight clothes off and turned the shower on, the steam rising from the enclosed space and into the rest of the room.

Pulling the curtains aside you stepped in, the hot water cascading down your back and soaking your hair. The water washed away your sleepiness and you began to shampoo and condition your locks. You hummed as the suds made your hair squishy and soft. You giggled before putting your head back under the rushing water. The soap washed out gathering around your feet and down the drain.

Once you were sure the soap was out and that your body felt refreshed, you shut the water off. Stepping out of the shower your feet padded on the shower mat. You smiled reaching over and grabbing the grey towel.

Drying your body you then dried your hair. Once you were sure you wouldn't drip water everywhere you brushed through your damp hair.

Spinning back to your door you wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. You needed to get dressed and you'd sleepily left the clothes in your room. Huffing you opened the door, the cool air rushing at your damp flesh, goosebumps rising.

Shivering you padded to your room and made sure the curtains were closed, windows locked, and then locking the bedroom door. You heard all sorts of stories from Penelope about how women were attacked in their own homes while they were vulnerable. No not you and not today.

Quickly you slipped into your clothes, which happened to be a pair of black leggings and a (favorite color) dress that ended just above the knee, with a light overcoat

You huffed before grabbing your phone. 5:45 am. Good you were on a roll. You lived about 15 minutes away from the school so you had time.

Sliding your sneakers on you tied them before hearing your front door open. You immediately jumped up, opening your night stand, and pulling out the pistol you'd kept stashed there.

You crept over to the door and unlocked the knob. With the way your apartment was set up you couldn't see the front door or the kitchen. Stepping into the hall you slinked down towards the living room. Once you entered you saw the back of the person kneeling in front of your fridge.

You almost laughed out loud, but clicked the safety back on.

"Spence you couldn't text me before coming over?" You giggled as the brunette jumped, hitting his head off the top of the fridge.

"Ouch! Crap. I'm sorry y/n I wanted to surprise you. I figured I could stop by early enough that I won't be called in." You laughed at the male before placing the gun in another drawer in the kitchen.

"Awe that's sweet Spencer. What were you looking for?" You laughed walking over to him and pushing his bangs out of his face.

"Ehm well I was looking for some coffee creamer because the barista forgot it. They were really busy." You nodded before brushing past him and to the refrigerator.

"Ahh let's see I have hazelnut and vanilla and oh! There's some caramel, too."

You heard him whisper a soft "Vanilla, please." Before you stood up the container in hand. Turning around you saw his eyes were downcast and your eyebrows raised in concern.

"Spencer. Is everything alright?" He seemed to jump at the question, but nodded reaching for the bottle in your hand.

"No. There's something bothering you, love. What happened yesterday?" His eyes widened as you placed the bottle behind him on the counter.

"You can talk to me. You know that. Now spill, Spence." He shuddered slightly before sighing.

"There's a case. The unsub is targeting elementary schools in the area. He targets the female employees killing them, talking about it's them or the kids. He even used a recording to lure them. Still no one is taking us seriously! We've gone to several of the schools, even the superintendent! They're refusing to shut the schools down saying that 'our employees are trained for this.'" He huffed heavily running his fingers through his hair.

"This guy is smart y/n. He's already gone to three schools and killed 23 people and-" he choked up as he thought about the 13 children who died.

"Spence, what school would he go for next? He's smart and calculated I'm sure. Where would he target next?" You looked at your best friend worry in your eyes. He looked up at you the gears in his head turning.

"That's the thing y/n he's unpredictable. We thought he had a connection to one and he attacked another. We have no idea which school he'll target next. So far all of his attacks would seem random but they're not." He sighed out rubbing his face.

"He's killed 23 people. 10 teachers and 13 children. We thought we were so close Y/n and he killed again. We can't lose. We can't let him kill again." His voice sounded so strained.

You went to answer him when his phone beeped. He jumped slightly before pulling it out.

"I got to go. The team needs me. I'm sorry. I love you! Be safe" he rushed kissing your forehead, before slipping out of the front door.

Fisting your hands you sighed. This man could target your school next. Grabbing your purse and keys you rushed out the door.

"Yes sir I understand there's no evidence or reason for him to come here but please listen to me. If we take the precautions, just until he's caught there's less likely of a chance for anyone to get hurt!

We are an elementary school. We don't have to switch classes. We can have indoor recess, allowing the children to be safe, to learn, to have fun!

We can have lunch in our classrooms and avoid being out in the open. This man is dangerous sir. Please."

Your boss looked at you his eyes sharp.

"Ms. L/n I'm sure this man is dangerous, and I'm sure you're worried but there is no reason for us to go into a panic. You may do as you wish with your class, I'll permiss it but I cannot make the other teachers to through with it. I'm sorry." You sighed but nodded.

"Thank you Victor. I appreciate it but please inform them?" He hesitated but nodded.

"I will."

Walking back to your classroom your shoes thudded along the tile. At least you got permission to protect your class. It was definitely something.

Unlocking your door you pulled together today's activities. You'd have to make sure everything was prepared for if something happened.

Going through your cupboards and closets, you emptied or organized them, to maybe hide the kids in. It wasn't much but you wanted to keep them safe.

School would be in session soon and you needed to be sure that you were prepared.

"Hey Lola! How are you today?" You greeted the young girl as she plopped into her desk.

"I'm mad. Mommy told me that Skylar isn't coming to school today! And she is like my bestest best friend!" You laughed as she threw her arms up in frustration.

"Maybe that's what's best Little Lady. Don't worry though! We might play hide and seek later!" You said handing her a squishy ball to squeeze.

Soon you had all of your kids for today. You may have called the parents and let them know of the risks and Victor might not be impressed but you'd deal with his wrath later.

Looking around you told the class of the plans today and gave them a math game to play in small groups. The door of course was locked along with the door stop.

You gave each child an assignment, but made it a game so that they wouldn't be scared. You made Lola and Jaiden your captains who took care of their crew. If someone had to go to the bathroom you'd take a small group and leave the other group to watch the classroom. Then you'd come back and switch.

That being said you were constantly checking in on Spencer. He didn't answer much but he did reassure you to his best ability. At least he had been.

You didn't understand what was happening until you heard someone bump into the microphone in the office.

It made a terrible screaming noise before you heard Haley, the secretary announce that everyone had to take the school intruder precautions.

Quickly you told the kids to go to their "bases" or hiding places. Jaiden and his team hid in the cupboards while Lola and hers hid in the closet.

You? You stood next to the door out of sight. Earlier you'd put up a curtain so that if the guy did show up he couldn't look in.

You heard the other kids in other classes asking what was going on and some of them were crying. You grimaced at the thought of their faces.

You waited for a while before Victor came on.

"I understand you are scared. I need you all to stay calm and keep the children safe. No matter what you hear, or see DO NOT leave your classrooms. Thank you that is all."

Glancing around you began pushing some of the desks in front of the door. Then you ran over to the window and unlocked one. You didn't open it for fear of making your escape obvious. If you needed to get the kids out quickly you would.

Pulling out your phone your dialed Spencers number. If you heard any evidence of the unsub he'd be on speed dial. That being said you told the kids to stay hidden and go over their "battle plans".

Steadying your breathing you walked over to the door and stood next to it out of sight.

It didn't take long before you heard screaming, a female. She was yelling about how it was the schools corrupt system that got her son killed. That if they had listened to protocol and protected him he'd still be alive.

You gasped before calling Reid.

"Hello?" Shuddering you replied quietly.

"The unsub is actually a woman. She has a dead son. He died in a school shooting or something similar." The other end was silent for a moment before you heard some scuffling.

"Y/n?" You sighed as you recognised Hotch's voice.

"Yes sir?"

"I need you to tell me what's going on." Before you could answer a loud gun shot was heard.

"Y/n! Are you okay!" You heard Spencer panic.

"I- I am fine. So are the kids. I don't know about the others though. The unsub. She's here Spencer and she's mad." You cried softly before another shot echoed throughout the building.

"Y/n. We're on our way. Just stay safe. We're coming." You nodded before mumbling a soft 'okay' and hanging up.

"YOU TEACHERS KILLED MY BABY! YOU DIDN'T PROTECT HIM! HE DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE. HE WAS A CHILD!" you gasped as she wailed before shooting her gun again. Directly into your door.

Gasping you waited. You heard her walk over to the door before pulling on the handle.

"Oh. So you think you can protect them huh? With a measly door and a glass window with a fucking curtain? No way in hell."

With that she put the gun against the glass with a 'clank'. Before you could react and loud ringing filled your ears as she pulled the trigger.

Glass flew everywhere as the woman laughed. Thinking fast you grabbed a desk and faced it towards the window holding it in place. With her only way in temporarily blocked you called for Lola.

"Lola honey! C'mere!" You whisper yelled as the small girl crawled out.

"Ms. L/n what was that? It was really loud and we're scared." You smiled softly.

"I know honey but I need you to get all of your classmates and take them to the 3rd window. Do you understand?" She nodded quickly rushing around.

Sighing in relief you jumped when another gun shot sounded.

Gritting your teeth you let go of the desk, glad it stayed.

Helping Lola gather them all was much harder then you wanted it to be, but they were scared and that you understood.

"Okay my little adventures, we're gonna do an escape mission. I want you all to climb out of this window and hide in the bushes until the good guys come okay?" They nodded and you shivered in relief. Once they were safe you could do what you needed to.

Quickly you put them on the counter and they climbed out, the taller boys going first to help the shorter ones.

Finally it was Lola's turn and she looked at you with big watery eyes.

"Ms. L/n I'm scared." Your heart broke before you hugged her.

"Me too. Don't worry though our knight is coming princess." She cried as you put her on the counter helping her out.

"Be safe. Hide. Go!" They all nodded and ran off. As soon as you were sure they were safe you rushed to the door that connected to Mr. Groves room. Unlocking it you rushed in all the kids looked at you wide eyed.

"Hey guys! It's okay you need to be really quiet and come with me okay?" They cried and looked over at their teacher and you nearly screamed at the sight.

He had gotten hit by a stray bullet or something and was bleeding out on the floor.

"Okay. Okay come on. Quietly." They nodded rushing into your classroom. When you had them all you helped them out like you did your own, giving them the same instructions.

Rushing back the other class you took off your jacket pressing it into Steve's chest.

"Hey Steve. How are you?" You laughed awkwardly and he gurgled at you. Crying you kept pressure.

"They're all safe. I helped them. It's okay." You smiled at him and he smiled lightly and you sobbed quietly as his life slowly seeped out onto your hands and jacket.

Slowly pulled your hands away you jumped when you heard sniffling.

Whipping around you looked under his desk finding a little boy.

"Hey hey! What's your name handsome?" You asked quickly wiping the blood off.

"C-christopher, b-but my mo-mommy calls m-me Chris." He sobbed.

"Okay Chris why don't I help you out with your other friends?" The boy shook his head aggressively in a 'no' motion.

"I can't." Your eyebrows raised before your eyes widened.

"Christopher, are you paralyzed?" The boy nodded and you let out a breath.

"Okay come here. I'll carry you." His eyes widened.

"We, we can't go out there. The bad lady will shoot us!" You winced at his loud voice and he seemed to realize what he'd done because he began to softly cry.

"Ahh honey it's okay. We won't move. We won't move." You hushed pulling him into you.

You sat there for what felt like forever before you heard Derek talking down the Unsub.

"Ma'am you don't want to do this! Put the gun down. Ma'am!" You and Christopher jumped when someone slammed into your classroom next door.

Pulling Christopher into your lap you held him close as he cried into your chest.

"THEY KILLED HIM! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT. THEY KILLED HIM." You jumped at how close she seemed.

Breathing out shakily you put Chris down gesturing for him to be quiet.

Slowly you pulled yourself up. Glancing at the door connecting the rooms you saw it was partially opened.

Taking a deep breath you slowly made your way over jumping when the woman began to yell again.

This was your chance. Running at the door you slammed it shut turning the lock.

"YOU CAN'T PROTECT THEM!" She screamed slamming into the now locked door.

Quickly you dragged a few desks to block her from entering. From there you unlocked the main door.

"Chris, baby, I'm going to pick you up and I want you to close your eyes. Do you understand?" He nodded quickly tears bubbling up.

"Okay come here honey." He dragged himself over to you and you quickly gathered him into your arms.

"Okay you have to trust me. Just close your eyes." You hushed quickly and quietly opening the classroom door, as the women continued to bang and scream in yours.

Rushing into the hall you saw Derek's eyes widen as you held Chris to your chest, the blood from Steve staining your outfit.

"It's not mine!" You assured as you jogged to him, Chris hiding in your hair.

"The kids are outside hiding in the bushes." You whispered once you were close enough so the woman wouldn't hear you.

"Mr. Groves, she killed him. And Chris he's paralyzed." You informed as Derek ushered you behind him.

"You need to get out of here. If she sees you she'll-" *BANG*

You yelped in shock as the shot rang out.

"Move in!" A man yelled followed by his team.

Christopher held onto you sobbing into your dress. You held him close and hushed him, whispering reassurances into his ear.

Derek led you outside and when you got there you were surrounded by police and EMT's.

You handed Christopher off to one of the women, promising him he'd be okay. Then you ran over to the bushes and found both your students and Steve's.

"Hey guys! Come one the good guys are here." You promised as Lola ran to you.

"Hey princess." You murmured as she cried into your shoulder. The other kids surrounded you in a group hug.

Standing up you held Lola to your chest.

"Come on guys." You ushered them to the authorities.

You were shocked when a woman mobbed you and began to cry as she held you and Lola.

"Thank you! Thank you so much." She cried and you were to shocked to do anything.

When she pulled away she held Lola's face in one hand and yours in the other.

"You don't know me, but I know you. You saved my little boy Chris." She sniveled and you nodded.

"Chris. Is he okay?" You asked as you set Lola down next to you keeping ahold of her hand.

"Yes thanks to you. He's a little shaken up of course but thank you!" She continued.

You nodded before you led her to an ambulance where Chris was sitting.

"Hey Chris. This is Lola. You mind if she stays with you and your mom?" You asked as you brushed Lola's hair back.

He nodded patting the spot next to him.

"Thank you. Lola honey I'll be right back." You assured her before turning to scan the crowd, looking for Spencer.

When you found him you rushed to him. Calling out his name, he turned, and you ran into his arms.

"Spencer." You wept lightly and he held you, wrapping his arms around you as he held you tightly.

"You did it." He whispered and you nodded.

"We did it." You told him pulling away.

He nodded and kissed your forehead.

"You're amazing." He murmured.

You shuddered lightly.

"Amazingly gross. I- I need to change. Steve..." You muttered and he nodded.

"I think JJ might have a change of clothes.... Or I could ask Penelope?" He suggested and you nodded hating the blood on your clothes.

Leading you towards his team mates, he kissed your forehead.

When you got there Derek clapped you on the shoulder, congratulating you for your quick thinking.

Hotch nodded to you in respect and Emily and JJ fretted over you.

Emily gave you one of her shirts, and you borrowed a pair of sweats from Morgan.

"Thanks guys." You smiled tightly as Spencer held you to his side, one arm wrapped around your waist.

Leaning into his shoulder you closed your eyes. Today definitely didn't go to plan.

You found out later after you asked what happened, that the woman was named Marissa Timmins. Her son was killed in a school shooting after one of the teachers snapped.

The boy was eight. The snap occured after she found out that the man who'd killed her child was going with an insanity plea.

That being said the gunshot you'd heard was her... well taking her life into her own hands.

Everyone was deemed okay but were understandably shaken up. Luckily no children were harmed. Haley was being treated for a gunshot wound to her hip and Victor had been shot in the abdomen but was rushed to the hospital.

It seemed the only casualties this time were Steve and Marissa.

That night Spencer had taken you home and stayed with you the entire time, which the team understood. Several parents sent you thank you cards, and so did the kids. School had been cancelled for the rest of the week so you slept in, or tried to.

The nightmares weren't helping but waking up in Spencer's arms calmed your racing heart.

You were glad you had him. So glad. That being said Steve's funeral was on Thursday, and then despite how everyone else felt you attended Marissa's as well.

Maybe it was to see how her family saw her before she lost her child, maybe it was to try and get to know her for who she had been, or maybe it was so you could put a face to the woman who'd killed so many people.

It was closed casket for her, but the pictures showed enough. As for Steve's, well you felt terrible. Seeing his wife and two daughters, it broke your heart.

You offered your condolences and Mrs. Groves held you for a long time. She thanked you for being there for him in his final moments.

Spencer waited for you both times, ready to hold you as you sobbed.

You never understood how Spencer could do this, see people die, day in and day out but you loved him for it.

Standing on your tip toes you pecked him on the lips.

"Let's go home?" You asked and nodded walked around the car and opening your door.

"Let's go home." He confirmed kissing your cheek.

#criminal minds #spencer x reader #Spencer Reid x reader #reid x reader #criminal minds imagine

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theladyofdeath · 3 years ago

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I’ll Be Seeing You {5}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @snelbz

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war, blood

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2429

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

“How do they look?”

Nesta removed the bandages, slowly, from Cassian's back. They didn’t look great, had looked far better the day before, but they had certainly been worse.

“A little discharge we have to keep our eye on, but nothing to worry about,” she promised. “How did you sleep last night, Major?”

“I can’t complain,” he said, sighing as she began to clean his wounds. “Only woke up a handful of times. I’ve certainly had worse nights of sleep. And you? How did you sleep, Nurse?”

“Well enough,” she said, as she eyed the book that sat beside his cot, the leather band that typically tied his hair back being used as a bookmark a few chapters in. “I see you’re enjoying the western.”

Cassian’s back straightened. He’d been caught. “It’s….decent enough.”

“Decent enough?” she repeated, amused, as she dabbed the wound with alcohol. Cassian hissed, even though it was quiet. “Admit that you’re a fan of Alexander Hillsworth.”

Cassian scoffed. “Alexander Hillsworth is a wannabe cowboy. It’s pathetic.”

“Mhmm,” Nesta crooned, continuing to work.

“Daisy, though,” Cassian went on. “She seems….nice.”

Nesta suppressed her grin. “She-.”

Her sentence was cut off by commotion going on outside of the tent. Everyone’s attention swiveled to the tent flaps as they were thrown open, and a group of soldiers hurried inside, carrying a fallen man, Madja close on their heels.

She stood there, frozen for a moment as she took in the gore covering the soldiers, the way the man’s arm hung in bloody ribbons. What was left of it at least. His leg hadn’t been as fortunate.

“Go.”

She looked down at Cassian, who was watching the scene unfold in front of them. She still had the bottle of alcohol in her hand, had barely begun to clean up his wounds, though she’d removed the bandage from his entire back. He jerked his chin towards the battered man they were carefully moving on a cot. “Go. They need you.”

“Your back—.”

“My back is nothing compared to that. That man might not make it the next hour. You need to go help him.”

Nesta nodded, her feet moving before her mind caught up with her.

It never got easier, seeing the blood, seeing the inside of a human being. Nesta didn’t focus on that, though, she focused on the man being laid on the table at the far end of the room. His eyes were wide open, glazed but panicked.

Nesta stood above his head as Madja and another nurse began to look at his wounds.

“Soldier, can you hear me?” Nesta asked, getting close to his face, so that she was all he could see. He met her eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?”

Madja began working on the man’s arm while another nurse began stitching up his leg.

So much blood.

Too much blood.

He had already lost more blood than they knew.

The man’s eyes began to fade, but Nesta shook her head. “You must stay awake, soldier.”

“Nesta, press this against his wound,” Madja said, then hurried away to get the tools she needed from the cupboard.

Nesta pressed the already blood-soaked rag into the man’s arm, where his wounds were the worst.

It was no use, though.

It was too bad.

He’d already lost too much blood.

Nesta pressed the rag into the wound, though, minimizing the blood loss.

She could feel death hovering outside the tent. Glancing back up at his face, she found the man was nearly unconscious again, but the soldiers who carried him were still nearby. “What happened?” She asked, tossing her head to try and get the loose hair that had fallen out of her braid out of her face.

“Artillery shell,” the oldest of the men said. The other two looked to him, as if he were the leader amongst them. With how young they all were, she assumed he must be. “Landed just a few feet from where he was laid out. He took a few bad shots to the chest before the shell went off.”

Nesta used her other hand, already covered with blood to move the man’s shirt out of the way. Sure enough, there were bullet wounds in his chest, and not in a place that would heal easily.

Shit. She couldn’t mutter the word out loud, couldn’t let the soldiers think it was something they couldn’t handle, so she chanted the word in her head. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Madja came back with a series of surgical tools and got to work. Nesta remained where she was, rag in hands pressed to the wound that was bleeding out.

The soldier’s eyelids began to flutter shut again.

“No,” Nesta snapped and got in his face, once again. “No, no, no, no,” she repeated, her voice getting louder with each one that came out. “Madja, he’s fading.”

But Madja wasn’t moving anymore.

She had stilled.

“Madja!” Nesta yelled.

Madja slowly set the tools down on the table before her and said, “He’s gone.”

Nesta looked back into the face of the man to find his absent eyes staring at the top of the tent. Nesta’s hands were still pressed into his wound.

“Surely there can be something-.”

“He’s gone, Nurse Archeron,” Madja said, quietly. “You should go clean yourself and return to the patients.”

She stepped back, nodding, and swallowed harshly. Hurrying towards the tent entrance, she wiped her hands on her apron, removing it and dropping it and the bloody rag into the soiled laundry bin. She heard Madja give the soldiers instructions on where to take the young man’s body, which the younger of the two tended to, while the eldest man filled Madja in on who he was, what battalion he belonged to. She blocked out the answers as Madja asked if he had any living family. She didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know.

Pushing through the tent flaps, Nesta nearly dragged her hands down her face, but she remembered that the dead soldier's blood coated her hands, even if most of it had been wiped off on her apron. She hurried across the camp, to the small area where fresh water was brought for baths every day, and grabbed one of the smaller pitchers, as well as a small pile of rags and a bar of soap that was no more than a sliver. The camp mothers said nothing as Nesta stalked off to a quiet tree and sat down, splashing water onto a rag. It was almost warm after having sat in the sun all morning, but everything felt cold to Nesta as she rubbed the soap over her damp hands and scrubbed. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the blood was gone and her hands were red and raw, but still, she kept scrubbing.

She didn’t stop until a tan, calloused hand wrapped around her wrist, making her pause. After it was clear she was done with the unnecessary scrubbing, he let go of her wrist. Cassian, wearing a loose, cotton shirt, dropped down next to her by the tree.

“You should be in bed,” was her only words of greeting.

��I’m not tired,” he replied, simply, planting himself in the grass with a grunt.

“You should be in bed, anyway,” she snapped. “You’re injured, you’re in no condition to-.”

“Here,” he said, holding out a couple of cigarettes and one of the small bottles of whiskey that had come from the care packages sent to them a few days prior.

Nesta blinked, her anger fading, just for a second. “What is this?”

“You need it,” he said, outstretching his hand. “Here.”

Nesta stared at his hand for a moment before taking a cigarette and the bottle. She cleared her throat, “Thanks.”

Cassian nodded and put the other cigarette between his lips. He took out a match and lit the tip, then lit Nesta’s.

“Thanks,” she said, quietly. She took one drag then coughed, quietly.

“Been a while?” Cassian asked.

Nesta repeated the motion, and blew a cloud of smoke. “Something like that.”

Cassian nodded and remained quiet for a moment.

After a moment, Nesta asked, “What are you doing out here, Cassian?”

“I’ve done enough battlefield patching up to know how hard it is to lose a man.” He took a longer drag, holding it in for longer than she would have suggested before exhaling. “It’s not easy. And you sure as hell shouldn’t be alone after that.”

She swallowed harshly, but nodded, fighting the tears filling her eyes. Clearing her throat, she said, “It’s something I’ve had to become used to. I suspect it’s something I’ll have to deal with quite a bit more before this war is over.”

He nodded, not saying anything. He knew she was right, no matter how much he wished it weren’t so.

She toyed with the cap of the whiskey bottle in her hands. “I’m surprised Madja let you out of bed.”

“She was a little bit preoccupied when I left. Though I didn’t exactly ask for permission to go anywhere,” he admitted, taking the bottle from her and opening it. The wax seal came loose and he handed it to her.

She gave him a look of pure disapproval before taking the bottle. “You know, there’s a reason we give you specific instructions.”

“You know how I feel about staying in bed,” Cassian muttered.

Nesta took a sip from the whiskey bottle before handing it to Cassian. He looked at it for a moment before taking it and taking a swig.

His face contorted as he swallowed it. “I can’t wait for a decent glass of whiskey.”

Nesta snorted, even though there was no emotion behind it.

“I guess it does the trick though, doesn’t it?” He asked, handing the bottle back.

Nesta nodded, taking a bigger sip this time. “Yeah, that it does.”

Cassian looked down and froze before he slowly reached over and grabbed her wet, bloodied rag.

Nesta jumped back as he reached for her. “What are you doing?”

“You missed a spot,” he replied, softly, and when he reached for her arm again, she didn’t move.

He flipped her arm over and just below her elbow, Cassian began to wipe off a patch of nearly-dried blood, that cigarette dangling from between his lips.

Her throat felt tight, but she let him clean her up. It was quiet between the two of them for a few minutes, as they passed that cheap whiskey back and forth between them. Finally, Nesta breathed, “It’s never going to get easier, is it? Seeing… seeing death?”

He looked over at her and for a second, she wondered if he’d even answer. “I won’t lie to you, I’ve been on the front since the day the war started. I’ve seen battles that ended in victories and some that I was lucky to walk off the battlefield. I’ve lost some good friends.” He paused at that and looked out into the trees they were camped in. “I still see the face of every man I’ve lost and every man I’ve killed. Death isn’t easy. I’d be worried if you told me it didn’t affect you. But the fact that it does tells me you’ve got a good heart, and that you’re even here, helping take care of us, tells me what kind of person you are.”

Nesta followed his gaze, over the rolling hills and the gemstone-colored treetops.

“I could see myself loving a woman like you.”

Nesta’s eyes jerked to Cassian, but his eyes were still fixed on the woods beyond.

“You hardly know me,” she said, quietly, even as her heart began to beat a little bit faster.

“I like what I know,” he replied, without missing a beat.

Nesta chuckled, and shook her head. “I think you’re a little drunk, Major. Between the whiskey and those pain meds.”

“You know what they say about the drunk,” Cassian said, and met her gaze, at last. “They say what’s on their minds and they tell the truth.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. “Well, I think you’ve been reading too much of that romance novel and your heart is going soft. Perhaps you’re lovesick.”

Cassian’s grin was heartstopping. “Blame it on Daisy.”

Despite herself and what she had just endured, Nestas head fell back and she laughed.

“You’ve only just begun reading it!” She protested. “How can you grow to like a character so quickly?”

Cassian shrugged, lighting another cigarette. “I like how she’s described.”

“Mhmm,” Nesta crooned, “and how is she described? Do tell.”

“Let’s see,” Cassian began, looking up at the sky. “Gorgeous, with the voice of an angel. And, apparently, she has quite the wardrobe.”

“She’s an entertainer at a brothel!” Nesta protested. “She’s going to have quite the wardrobe.”

“You just don’t like her because she pleasures men for a living,” Cassian argued.

Nesta laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no. There’s a reason I dislike her and that certainly has nothing to do with it.”

Cassian gasped. “Are you spoiling the book for me, nurse?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then it snapped shut as she realized that she indeed was about to spoil a few key details of the book. A laugh sputtered out of her instead. She very well may be a little drunk as well, since it had been quite a while since she’d imbibed in the slightest.

Turning to look at him, anything she was about to say died on her tongue as she found him already looking at her. There was something in his eyes, something aside from the glaze of the liquor and the pain meds, that made her chest tighten.

Clearing her throat, she stood, holding out a hand for him. “We should go. You need to be in bed resting.”

Rolling his eyes, Cassian took her hand. The rough calluses felt good against her skin, but he stood and grabbed what was left of the whiskey.

Nesta walked Cassian back to the tent, feeling something that closely resembled peace.

Not quite peace, but close.

She could at least carry on with her day, doing her duty with her chin lifted high.

Their hands remained touching each other’s, lingering, for just a moment after Cassian rose, after they began to walk toward the tent.

Nesta pretended that she hadn’t noticed.

But she certainly had.

Cassian had no idea what time he awoke, but it was dark, an oil lamp burning by his cot.

It wasn’t the only thing that was burning.

Cassian was drenched in sweat, his sheets soaked, his clothes sticking to his body.

As he opened his eyes, a wave of nausea swept over him that had him quickly closing them, once more.

He was going to be sick.

He tried to roll over, tried to pull himself up, but couldn’t.

His back ached, throbbed, burned as he moved against the sheets.

It had him hissing or groaning or something, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that a noise must’ve come out of him because he felt cool hands against his head a moment later, then hurried, hushed voices saying something that he couldn't quite make out.

He said something.

Her name.

Nesta.

Or, maybe he thought it, maybe his lips had simply moved, had formed her name but hadn’t quite gotten it out.

Either way, it was her face he saw behind his closed lids.

“He’s burning up,” a voice said, and Cassian heard it this time.

He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t quite muster it.

He heard someone curse.

That was her.

A filthy word portrayed beautifully from the woman who had captivated him.

He tried to say her name again, but wasn’t quite sure if he was successful or not as he faded into darkness.

#nessian #nesta #cassian #sjm #acotar #acosf #1940s au #war au #shacmc collab

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moonbeambucky · 5 years ago

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 24)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Peter Quill x Reader Word Count: 3460 Warnings: fluff, light angst

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

HEY NEIGHBOR PART 23 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The sun beckons you to rise, to leave the bed you’ve grown so accustomed to in the last few days and with reluctance you do, trudging across your apartment to get ready for work even though all you wanted to do was sleep the day away. Finding out you couldn’t graduate on time like you expected to do was a huge blow to your motivation, and Peter’s belittling of the subject didn’t help.

For the first week after you ignored most of his texts, even if they woke you up in the middle of the night. You debated shutting your phone off again like you used to but ever since you started dating Peter you kept it on, rousing from sleep with texts that let you know he was okay after coming back from a fire. You began to reply with just a few words here and there so he didn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was for Peter to come over.

You weren’t in the mood to see him, making up excuses about having to work late instead of wanting to get into the truth about how you were feeling. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to address it, you just didn’t want to now. You already had a terrible headache from all the tears you spent crying over a stupid mistake, you didn’t need to add an argument on top of it.

Knowing Peter’s schedule made it easier to come up with excuses for the days he had off so you didn’t expect him to show up at your door one evening. But it wasn’t Peter’s face that you first saw through the peephole of your door, but the kind smile of a stuffed animal.

Opening the door a little you saw Peter’s eyes peeking out from behind the plush, a floppy eared dog that wasn’t quite as cute as Groot but still adorable nonetheless. Peter lowered the doll revealing a serious expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, with sincerity laced in every syllable.

You gripped the door tighter, feeling tears begin to well in your ears but still you said nothing. Two words could not make up for the four he said that broke you.

“I realized how much of a jerk I was, I didn’t validate your feelings and I’m sorry, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you.”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you sniffled, opening the door wide enough for Peter to come inside, enveloping you in his arms. More apologies fell from his lips as did your tears but when Peter nudged the nose of the stuffed animal against your arm you began to smile. He pretended like the dog wanted to get in on the hug and you happily obliged.

Peter stayed for a while, explaining he switched days off with someone. It kind of threw off his schedule but he didn’t care. “You’re worth it,” he told you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You kissed him goodbye, waving the dog’s paw as he walked down the hallway. While it was nice to have made up with Peter there’s still a feeling of resentment deep down inside that you can’t help but hold onto.

Despite forgiving him Peter still wanted to make sure he was there for you, by distracting you on the day you should have been graduating and going to a movie under the stars at Riverside Park. You held hands, resting your head on Peter’s shoulder as you watched Footloose, “the greatest movie in history” according to him.

The chill of the night made you shiver and Peter draped his jacket around your shoulders and from that moment on you sort of spaced out, remembering a chilly night not long ago when you were wearing Bucky’s jacket as he kept you bundled in a warm hug. The memories stung like needles in your heart. The movie is a blur. Your mind was off graduation but lingered on more unpleasant thoughts...

It didn’t take long to get your mind off the past, not when you began working at Metro-General again. Elena was kind enough to let you complete your hours on the weekends and it was only going to take just over a month. Working long hours at two different places every day of the week was going to be a bit of struggle but it was one you would happily push through.

You saw less of Peter as a result but truthfully you hadn’t the chance to see much of anyone except for Steve at Stark’s and occasionally running into Sam at the hospital. When your schedules did allow for an evening together you weren’t much company, spread out along the couch with Groot at your side, cuddling him as you shut your eyes until dinner was ready. And afterwards Peter joined you in the shower, the water waking you up enough to feel every sweet press of Peter’s lips on your skin as you got clean– and dirty together

In bed, your hand rested on his chest as Peter held you close, whispering your name softly to see if you were still awake. A soft hum vibrated in your throat and Peter asked something you thought you’d be able to avoid.

“Thor’s having a barbecue on Monday. Can we go?”

Monday, Labor Day, the only day you had not to do any laboring except for much needed laundry. You really wanted to spend it sleeping until noon, possibly later, and enjoy the only day you had off.

Peter’s lips flattened into a thin line, wondering if you had fallen asleep or didn’t respond on purpose. He knew it might be hard to convince you, with you being so exhausted already during the first week of your new schedule but he really wanted to see you that day and with a deep breath he let you know how much it would mean.

“I love you Y/N and I really miss you. We wouldn’t have to stay long, I just wanna be with you since we both have off.”

You hoped Peter couldn’t feel the way your heart began to rapidly pound against your rib cage. Peter loves you? He said the words. He said them and you… tried to pretend you were asleep. You were probably doing a terrible job, Peter could surely feel your panicked breathing.

You had to say something. Anything. But you couldn’t say it back.

Not those words.

Through a sleep-laden sigh you mumbled an “okay” a guilt fueled answer in response to a party you really didn’t want to go to, along with the rhythm of words that could maybe have been an “I love you too” if someone chose to interpret them that way.

Despite how tired you were it took some time to fall asleep with Peter’s words keeping you awake.

Thor lived in a narrow apartment with clean white walls and light oak floors, and simple furniture that left room for a lot of open space. There was a plain wood table with curved back chairs on thin tapered legs, a decent sized couch across from a slim TV mounted on the wall, and a large potted plant growing tall and green, soaking up the sun from the glass doors that opened to an outdoor balcony.

You first spotted Gamora inside, standing up to greet you and Peter. The women she was speaking with introduced themselves as Jane and Darcy, and they were happy to have another person to talk to that didn’t work for the FDNY.

“We were outnumbered before but now you’re here!” Darcy cheerfully said.

“We’re still outnumbered,” you heard Jane remark in passing as you made your way to the balcony to find Thor.

He took a moment to step away from the patio sized barbecue to say hello before returning to ensure the meat was properly turned on the grill. Over his shoulder he introduced you to some of his coworkers introduced by their last names, Fandral, Hogun and Volstagg.

Everyone got on along well and the conversation made everyone smile. Peter broke out in laughter as he told a story about Drax, who was working today and couldn’t defend himself or his sensitive nipples. You were having a really nice time but while eating Thor’s food you couldn’t help but think how this would compare to George’s barbecuing. Is Bucky there now? Is Claire? Are they happy?

Are you?

You don’t see Peter again until the end of the week, another night spent in his apartment that you should have felt a little more comfortable in by now but you don’t. Sure you’ve slept there often enough and showering wasn’t strange but it was something on a deeper level that you didn’t connect to. Everything still felt like Peter’s, which makes sense of course but the feeling you can’t get past is that you can’t see these things ever feeling like yours.

Groot nudged your arm to stretch across your lap, eating a cookie that crumbled on your thigh. Ironically Peter’s pets were the only things you really felt connected to. Oh and Peter too, you realized as an afterthought, feeling bad about it.

Your head was hanging down, staring at Groot as you stroked his head, not paying much attention to Peter as he sat back on the couch. He stretched his legs out onto the coffee table, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. His hands dug around the cushions for his Firestick remote, asking if you’ve seen it but instead of answering your head snapped up at the mellifluous voice of Shirley Jones.

Seeing The Music Man left you in a state of frozen shock, and watching as Marion sings to herself of her feelings for Harold Hill, the feelings she’s been denying for some time now brought painful tears to your eyes. You couldn’t stop them, tears dropping on top of poor Groot’s head as Marion poured her heart out for the person she loved.

Peter turned when he heard you sniffling, giving up his quest to find the smaller remote and wrapping his arms around you. “Awww kitten, you cry at musicals, that’s so sweet!” He kissed your temple, a feather light peck pushed daggers into your heart. “I cry too, like the time I saw Little Shop of Horrors…”

Peter’s words fade as you focus on the pain radiating in your chest, the ache of an atrophied muscle beating to a song you made it forget. It cries out in longing as Marion does for Harold… as you long for Bucky.

It’s hard to believe that a little over a year ago you were invited by Tony Stark to be a part of the team that got The September Foundation off the ground. You remember being taken to his office, nervous as if the principal was going to call your mom and becoming absolutely flabbergasted when he asked you to work on this project.

It’s funny how things have a tendency to work out. When your living situation changed so did your life, and Stark Industries became a raft in the water. It kept you afloat as you cruised slowly down the river towards your degree, and when the time came to complete your requirements you took a chance, sailing on choppy waters and in the end you survived. Not only did you survive but you came out stronger.

The last year has given you so much to be grateful for, from being able to have the opportunity to learn from one of the city’s best damn social workers Elena Rodriguez to working alongside brilliant minds like Tony Stark and Pepper Potts and so many others to create an amazing organization.

The September Foundation opens its doors next week but tonight was all about celebrating. You’re shaking with nerves but in an exciting way as you take your Uber to the modern penthouse of a gorgeous hotel in Tribeca.

Your heels clack on the large marble tiles that spread across the lobby. It's a mix of modern and contemporary with charcoal walls and a sleek backlit sign above the check in desk with the most gorgeous chandeliers you’ve ever seen, like fireworks frozen in their fullest burst. To the side people sit on velvet green chairs that surround a gold hammered coffee table, noses glued to their phones.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirrored elevator doors, standing taller when you notice your slouch. There is no need to slouch tonight, you look and feel amazing. Dressed in an elegant black halter gown with a thick embellishment of pearls on the neckline, you kept your jewelry simple with a delicate gold bracelet, letting the dress and bold red lipstick stand out.

“Y/N!” a woman’s voice beamed, and you spotted the reflection of Maria Hill in the mirror.

You turned around, finding yourself in her tight embrace. You always got along well with her, but you didn’t think your former boss would be this happy to see you. She introduced you to a man you had seen only in pictures, Tony’s friend James Rhodes who he had always called Rhodey, and while she walked in on his arm you didn’t want to assume anything.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse was filled with small talk, Maria couldn’t believe how much had changed since she last saw you. She handed you her card, “That’s my mobile,” she said with a hint of an Australian accent peeking through, encouraging you to call and catch up while she’s in town.

Rhodey extended his arm across the elevator doors, allowing you and Maria to exit first. You were stunned looking around the space rented for the event. Floor to ceiling glass walls gave a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. The outdoor balcony was grand, with stylish seating and candlelit tables.

Tony walked out from around a corner, looking sharp in a designer suit and perfectly knotted bow tie. He was accompanied by a woman in all black, the event planner who clutched a tablet in hand, her head whipping around in all directions as she spoke to him visually scoping the space for any last minute issues that needed tending to.

He smiled as he spotted the three of you, his eyes lifting with acknowledgment before he could come over. Pepper had come out from somewhere behind you, stunning in a twilight blue satin dress. More people who were part of The September Foundation team quickly filed in from the elevator taking your attention away from lingering on the tiny protrusion below Pepper’s waist, your suspicions confirmed later when she refused a glass of champagne. A lot of things had changed indeed.

When the gala was officially opened you were meeting and greeting with so many faces, repeating yourself a few dozen times though never losing enthusiasm. This was so important and you really hoped tonight’s event was not only a celebration of everyone’s hard work but a reminder for those with philanthropic abilities to continue supporting this community outreach program.

Familiar faces in the crowd made you light up brighter than the sun. You greeted Natasha, Wanda and Steve, all dressed impeccably for the event. “Where’s Clint?” you asked.

“Where else?” Natasha chuckled, pointing towards him stalking a tray of bacon wrapped dates.

Wanda apologized for Sam, he was working tonight in the ER and obviously couldn’t make it.

“Peggy sends her regards as well,” Steve chimed in. “She had to fly back to England for some family business.”

You understood, almost all of your friends were there at least but not everyone. You had thought about inviting Bucky but extending an invitation to Claire didn’t feel right and purposely not inviting her felt worse. And after your stomach felt like it got flipped upside down you gave up on the thought altogether. You and Bucky weren’t friends anymore and you’re not sure you ever could be again.

“I don’t see Peter,” Steve said.

Wanda and Natasha were no longer beside him and you felt comfortable enough to whisper, “I broke up with him.”

You knew things weren’t the same anymore. It began when Peter showed a lack of respect and concern when you couldn’t graduate on time but even after he apologized you knew it was over the moment he told you he loved you and you couldn’t say it back. You didn’t love Peter. You had fun with him, you enjoyed his company but you didn’t love him and you would never be in love with him.

The breakup happened shortly after your last night together, when The Music Man reminded you that you did love someone once and even if they didn’t feel the same you owed it to yourself to be with someone you could love. It felt weird not telling your friends about what happened but with The September Foundation opening and finishing up the hours at Metro-General you really didn’t have a lot of time to focus on anything else.

Besides, you didn’t need them for this. Breaking up with Peter didn’t hurt because you knew it was the right thing to do, although saying goodbye to Rocket and Groot was terrible.

Steve clenched his jaw, swallowing before he asked, “Does he know?”

Your brow creased. “Who?”

“Bucky.”

What difference would it make if Bucky knew? Bucky chose to be with someone else. You weren’t good enough in his opinion so what is the point? Your breakup has no effect on his relationship.

You held your tongue, remembering where you were. With a frustration laced sigh you answered, “It doesn’t matter Steve. He–”

Before you could finish, Tony stood beside you and interrupted, “I’m so sorry, could I bother the lovely Miss Y/L/N? There are a few people I’d like her to speak with. Tony Stark, by the way,” Tony said, extending his hand towards Steve even as his feet began walking in the opposite direction.

Steve understood, this was technically work related but he wished he could have told you the truth about Bucky and Claire. He let out a heavy sigh, wondering if it was even his place but he was tired of the two of you ignoring the truth. You insisted on never speaking about Bucky, cutting Steve off if even tried to say something and Bucky was just as bad. He told Steve about his breakup with Claire but when your name came up it was too painful to hear.

He shook his head with frustration; Steve can’t believe he is friends with the two biggest idiots in the world, idiots that couldn’t see what was right in front of them.

He debated texting Bucky, telling him to come down here and profess his feelings in a grand way but he didn’t. You would definitely hate that, not wanting to take any attention away from the important organization that actually mattered, and besides Bucky was busy at his own event tonight, the screening for a movie he scored. Steve sighed again, grabbing a glass of champagne off a tray and drinking it quickly, hoping that one day soon you and Bucky can finally work this out.

Your feet ached all the way home until you finally stepped through the door and pulled them off, the wood a cool relief on your soles. Your dress was hung back up and you slipped into comfortable pajamas and a tank top. You spot the breakfast pajama bottoms, happy faced foods staring back at you wondering why you haven’t worn them in months. It was stupid, you loved those pajamas but you couldn’t put them on since Bucky wore them.

A tear slips slowly down your cheek as you think of his runway walk but you convince yourself it's just the water you’ve splashed on your face as you take off your makeup. You’re thoroughly exhausted after tonight and yet floating on a cloud carried by joy as everything worked out.

You completed your internship hours this past weekend and though you did have to wait until December you were going to graduate, officially. The September Foundation was going to keep you busy until then as you were asked to stay on to oversee everything and help it run smoothly. You were optimistic but Tony said to always be prepared for the worst. His words rang true in your head as you received a phone call from Sam an hour or two after you shut your eyes.

Harsh puffs blew out from his nose and mouth as if he was trying to catch his breath. He sounded relieved when you answered though his voice was unsteady, “Y/N, come down here quick. It’s Bucky... there was an accident.”

PART 25

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #peter quill x reader

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misterghostfrog · 4 years ago

Note

39 FOR THE PROMPTS PLEASE AAAAA

LOOK OK, i’m going to start by saying this one... got away from me a little bit. And I didn’t originally mean to combine the prompts, and neither are technically correct. BUT consider you can’t stop me

39. Kissing tears from the other’s face.

30. Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

Cw; This takes place after the unknowing but before Jon wakes up in canon, and Martin starts in a rough headspace. Also accidental compulsion.

(This is actually a sorta part-2 to the pre-unknowing ficlet I did! Tho u don’t gotta read it to understand it works as a standalone too. Anyway welcome to the AU ZONE)

EDIT: fixed a typo

Martin usually visits Jon on Thursday.

He used to visit every day. But the nurses began to give him looks after the first month, and it was hard to balance checking on Jon with regular life things like groceries, laundry, and work. So he’s cut back. If only to preserve his sanity.

He considered Sunday. But Sunday is the day he visits his mum, another thing that has been hard to balance with- well. Everything. Besides, it’s hard to stack that much heartbreak into one day.

The receptionist gives him a funny look. He would give himself a funny look too, he looks a wreck, he knows it. She knows him, so seeing him on a wednesday looking like he crawled out of the back end of hell. Or maybe just hasn’t done any laundry for a few days. Or showered. And got in a fight and lost.

He’s already waited too long though, he thinks. He... well. It’s his last chance, he supposes. If Jon isn’t coming back, then...

Yeah.

It’ll be for the best.

He turns the knob on the door, he knows what he’ll say. Even if he’s talking to a dead man he needs a speech apparently. And-

He bounces off of something- or someone. Who trips back a step in turn.

“Oh god- I’m so sorry-” He says almost automatically.

“No, don’t worry about it I wasn’t-”

“I wasn’t even looking where I was going a-and-”

“Really it’s fine-”

The man isn’t a nurse, Martin’s sees that much. He’s tall-ish. Handsome, certainly. Definitely no-one he’s ever met. And certainly no-one he thinks might have a reason to visit Jon. Not that Jon shouldn't get handsome visitors, but- well. He doesn’t- didn’t? Have many people outside of the institute he ever talked about. And so this guy turning up out of the blue is... well.

“Er- I’m sorry, but who... who are you?” He’s not- he’s not upset. that this random stranger is visiting Jon. It’s just weird is all. Yeah. Really weird, actually.

“Oh! I- I’m- I’m a friend of Jons.” The man says with an awkward smile, his eyes darting down to his shoes for a moment as he says it. “Er- Antonio.” He tacks the name on like an afterthought. This time his gaze flicks somewhere around Martin's shoulder, he shuffles on his feet.

Martin’s never been an expert at picking up on lies, not to say he’s bad at it. He just doesn’t find it something to worry about generally. But it’s hard not to notice when ‘Antonio’ is basically holding an imaginary blinking neon sign that says ‘I AM LYING’ with accompanying metaphorical Morse code with the same message.

He swears he’s heard that name before though.

“Oh. Er- he’s never um, talked about you?” he says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Very old friends. Haven’t um- talked in a while.” ‘Antonio’ waves a hand awkwardly. And casting consistent looks towards the elevator.

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway! I’m uh- I’ll be going now. Visits over stuff to do y’know.” He’s already walking away as he says it, backing up for a moment and casting a quick wave before trotting away down the hall.

“Oh, y-yeah. Sure, bye?” Martin waves- though ‘Antonio’ isn’t looking. Watching as he basically runs down the hall.

“Bye!” ‘Antonio’ throws over his shoulder as he turns the corner to the elevators.

Well then.

“Huh.”

That’s not how he thought this visit was going to start.

He pauses for a moment. He’d been working off of something of a momentum. Check in with the nurse, make his speech. And be ready to say his goodbyes. But that... whatever just happened. Well, it threw him off.

He sighs.

It doesn’t matter. Weirdo visiting Jon. Seems about right, actually. If he thinks about it. Probably left a statement somewhere too, just to complete the weird weird picture.

The word ‘weird’ is starting to sound less like the a word the more he thinks about it.

He pushes the door to the hospital room open, he knows he’s imagining it. But the air feels heavier. The dread of the situation. The finality. Jon is still there, unmoving in his hospital bed. There's several machines tucked into the corner, they’d unhooked him from everything after the first month when it became clear that this is simply his state of being. That’s also about the time the nurses started telling him Jon probably wasn’t waking up.

He’s not going to wake up. Martin knows he’s not going to wake up. He’s been fooling himself for so long but now with the flesh attack he needs to do something. Or at the very least stop feeling like he’s doing nothing. But being miserable isn’t a solution either.

Maybe there is no solution. Maybe it’s just, problems. Stuff he can’t fix or deal with and just- has to let it follow him until he dies.

He shifts, and his ankle twinges.

He’d tripped. It’s so stupid, it wasn’t even the monsters. He’d just- fallen and ended up hiding in a side room while everyone else dealt with meaty things crawling out of the floorboards. Just sat and hid and did nothing.

He’s tired of doing nothing.

Jon snores, interrupting his train of thought.

Martin smiles, god he’d forgotten Jon did that. Those little snorting snores- he’d only heard them a few times, back at the institute. It had scared the hell out of him the first time he’d been living-

Wait.

What?

Martin blinks. And watches as Jon scrunches his nose, making a small irritated noise- and turns over.

What.

His head skips, rewinds. Plays what he just saw back. Jon is breathing, how long has he been breathing? Doesn’t matter, he’s breathing which means he’s alive but what-

That weird guy. “Antonio”

He’s gone, Martin knows he’s gone. But he checks anyway. Even running all the way to the elevators. But he’s gone.

And Jon...

Jon is alive.

The thought hits his brain, and then slips away like a wet fish. There’s no guarantees. This could be a fluke, this could be a trap. It might not even be Jon. Just... something that looks like him, and snores like him. And-

A nurse taps him on the shoulder. And he realizes he’s been staring at the elevators for, well, he doesn’t know how long. Long enough to catch several concerned glances from passers-by though.

“Are you alright sir?” She asks, politely. He recognizes her, he chatted with her once when visiting Jon. She’s nice. She does the check ups a lot of the time, one of the few who’ll actually do it.

“He’s alive.” He says flatly, instead of answering. Because he’s not sure what the answer to the question is anyway.

The doctors do tests, though not many. According to them he’s fine. Fit as a fiddle aside from some fatigue and a little confusion. Which clearly makes them uncomfortable. Which he understands. A man wakes up from a three-month coma like he’d just rolled out of bed on a Monday morning? It makes him uncomfortable too, he thinks.

Basira drops off a statement. ‘Just felt like I should’ she’d said when he asked why. And neither of them felt particularly good about that answer.

After the statement he’s fine, not even fatigued. He’s alive.

He keeps looking at Martin.

Martin isn’t sure why he doesn’t want to look back.

Maybe it’s because it still feels like a trap, all of a sudden he comes back with no- no fanfare no effort. Right as rain and just... there.

Nobody else wants to deal with him right now- not after he just pulled a Lazarus like that. Jon wants to go to the institute. But Martin isn’t having it. He just woke up from a three-month coma. He’s going home. And yes- his lease apparently expired before the unknowing, so he doesn’t have a place to stay. And yes the only person willing to give him a place to stay is Martin. And Martin... well, it’s Jon. and even if it wasn’t, in the wake of losing three months of his life- and a friend. Or someone who had been a friend at a point before this all went to hell. He wouldn’t leave him alone for anything.

Martin tries to force himself to come to terms with it as they both climb into his car- this is what he wanted. He should be overjoyed. But it feels... it feels like if he looks at Jon for too long he’ll just... disappear. Or stop breathing again. Or stop being Jon.

“Good to see not too much has changed while I was gone.” Jon says wryly as he wrestles with the seatbelt. Which squeaks as he struggles to pull it out far enough to actually fasten it.

Martin just hums in response. Not trusting his voice not to betray whatever it is he’s feeling right now.

The drive to his flat is mostly quiet, aside from a few awkward attempts at conversation from Jon that all fall miserably flat. Eventually he gives up, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence.

It’s not too far from the hospital to his flat. So before he knows it he’s leading Jon up the steps to his home.

It’s not much, he knows. Can’t afford anything truly fancy when carrying medical bills around. But it’s nice, homey. He hopes.

“Home sweet home.” He says, dropping his keys on the table by the door and hoping he sounds cheery. Because he doesn’t know what else to be right now. He’s figured out what emotion he’s feeling, though he’s not sure it counts as an emotion honestly.

Numb.

Stupid, isn’t it?

“The bathrooms down the hall- I think your stuff’s all in storage at the moment,” his voice wobbles at that, he swallows “so we’ll have to go get that soon. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge-” He’s stopped by a hand on his wrist. Familiar, too-thin, and cool.

“Martin.” Jon says. “Did I... did I do something to upset you?” It’s a question, small and helpless. Martin just wants to brush it off, he’s fine. He just needs time-

“You died, Jon.” He says instead. The words coming out unbidden.

“I- I came back.” He tightens his grip on Martins wrist for a moment before loosening “In one piece even. I believe that was a part of our agreement” There’s a note of teasing in that last part, Martin wishes it was funny.

“I said come back safe Jon, not ‘come back from the dead’” Jon's hand drops from his wrist.

“Do you not... Are you not glad I’m back?” He sounds- sad. Of course he sounds sad Martin basically just said he wished he'd died.

“Of course I’m glad your back, I just-”

“Then what’s wrong?” The words are just- they’re just words. But Martin feels something pull in his chest.

Martin looks at Jon for the first time since the hospital.

“I’m scared, Jon! I You were dead for three months, Y-you didn’t even have a heartbeat and I-” He brings a hand upland runs it through his hair, Jon doesn’t need to hear this. He should be resting not listening to Martin dump his issues like this- “you were dead and I was the only one left. A-and yeah you came back, but- god what even is this! You’re just, fine. A-and I’m- I don’t want you to not be fine but I- I can’t even prove to myself that you’re real and not- I-I don’t-” He forces himself to stop. clamping his jaw shut around the words that suddenly feel like they’re pushing at the back of his throat like bile. Jon stares back at him, eyes wide and confused and hurt. He’s disheveled and still wearing the pajamas Martin had brought for him in the first week. Small and tired and maybe even real. He looks at Jon until he can’t because his vision begins to blur and his eyes begin to burn.

“Martin, I- I’m- I’m sorry I-” Jon's blurry form moves, and Martin shuts his eyes. Shaking his head. He should be the one apologizing, Jon didn’t need to hear that and he just- threw it at him.

“I’m-” Martin tries to apologize, but it comes out as little more than a croak. Cool hands cup his cheeks, and he opens his eyes. Jon's face is closer now, eyes scanning desperately over Martin's face.

“I- I’m not- I don’t know what I am but I’m- I-I’m me. I-I promise, I don’t know how to prove it to you but I-” Jon starts, and Martin can see his lips move to form the words-

Jon is here, he’s alive. He’s awake. His hands are on Martin's cheeks and he’s running his thumb through the tear tracks, fumbling over awkward reassurances. and looking so, so earnest. Hell, he made a joke about a conversation nobody else heard. Something just between the two of them, nobody else. And to fear entities, maybe that doesn’t matter. But for now, with Jon so close and acting so perfectly imperfectly Jon. Martin can let- no. Make himself believe. Jon’s not dead, it’s not a trap. Not right now, not yet. Just for right now, Martin isn’t alone anymore.

It doesn’t take much to lean forward, pressing their lips together. Jon makes a small, cut-off sound of surprise before melting into it, letting a hand move to the back of Martin's hair and the other fall to his shoulder. Martin's arms wrapping around Jon's waist.

Eventually they have to part for air. Martin doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel Jon's breath on his face, and his hand in his hair and it’s all just another reminder he’s alive. And so wonderfully real.

He feels Jon move after a moment, using the hand he’s left on the back of Martin's head to guide him down. Pressing now-warm lips to the wet patches on his cheeks. Martin tries to laugh, he’s not sure why. It all just seems a little absurd all of a sudden. but it comes out as sort of a wet hiccup. Prompting Jon to tilt his head, and lock their lips together again.

Martin doesn’t know how long they stand in his entryway, trading kisses and just... being in each other's arms. But it’s long enough he’s run out of tears for Jon to try to kiss away, and the strange wired feeling has faded. Leaving him tired and heavy and in desperate need of a lie-down.

He pulls back, though not far. He can still feel Jon's lips against his as he speaks.

“Please don’t die again.” He says softly.

Jon sighs, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and Martin can feel the words as Jon's mouth brushes his as much as he hears them. And then he kisses Martin again, like he’s trying to seal the words there with his lips.

And, Martin supposes that promise was enough last time. It might be more than enough for him now.

#tma #the magnus archives #ficlet #jmart #jonmartin #Jonathan sims #Martin blackwood #Ghostly scribble #Ghostly scribbles #coulson-is-an-avenger

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diazboys · 4 years ago

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i’ll be holding on to you | 1.3k words | buddie | domestic, established relationship | ao3

written for Eddie Diaz Week 2021 | Day 1 - “I have no idea what I’m doing” + fatherhood

“You know, for a former soldier, you’re really bad at packing.”

Eddie doesn’t even bother to look up from the mess in front of him. Even without looking, he knows exactly what Buck’s face looks like - the corner of his lips curling up into a mocking smile, one brow raised slightly as he leans against the doorframe and watches Eddie.

“Shut up, Buck,” Eddie mumbles half-heartedly.

It’s not packing that he struggles with right now. If needed, he can pack a bag in less than 10 minutes with minimal chance of wrinkles or running out of space to stuff one more shirt. But that’s not the point. Christopher insisted that he wants to at least be a part of packing for the trip, so Eddie won’t do it without him. Eddie just wanted to prepare some things before he goes to pick Chris up. Make sure that no favourite shirts are left behind in the laundry or no sock is missing its pair. Somehow, Eddie ended up on the floor in his son’s bedroom with the contents of Chris’ entire closet spread out before him on the floor.

According to Buck, he’s been sitting like this for almost an hour.

Currently, Eddie clutches in his hands a red T-shirt with some cartoon characters he doesn’t even know the names of. What he does know is the fact that Christopher has grown out of that one at least a few years ago and there’s no reason for this shirt to even be in the closet.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Eddie says with a heavy sigh, finally looking at Buck.

There’s a heavy feeling in his stomach and at least some of it must show on Eddie’s face, because Buck doesn’t even try to make fun of him. Instead, his whole face softens and he pushes himself off the doorframe.

“I figured,” Buck says as he takes a few steps towards Eddie. “You look a bit… troubled.”

Eddie sends Buck an unimpressed look and the other man only laughs in response. A moment later a shoulder is pressing against Eddie’s as Buck sits down on the floor next to him. They’re quiet for a moment. Though, even the solid presence by Eddie’s side is enough to soothe his nerves slightly. He doesn’t even realise he’s still gripping the shirt until Buck reaches down and gently frees the material from his hands. It’s replaced by warm fingers, entwining with Eddie’s.

“I don’t want him to go,” Eddie says and he probably should feel embarrassed by how weak he sounds.

If it was anyone else sitting beside him, he would be. But it's Buck. Eddie knows that he'll understand and he won't judge and he'll still love Eddie even if he's weak. So he lets himself be just that for a moment. The laugh that escapes his mouth is a bit watery but he continues.��

“I know it’s just two weeks and he’ll be taken care of. He really wants this, but— God, I don’t want him to go to that stupid camp.”

“Me neither. I will miss him like crazy and I can only imagine how it’d feel for you,” Buck says. His thumb is rubbing the back of Eddie’s hand in a calming gesture. “But it’s going to be OK.”

“Weren’t you the one who told me this camp was a stupid idea?” Eddie asks, looking up at Buck with a raised eyebrow. "What happened with that?"

Buck chuckles before he answers. "That's called being an adult and making sure to take into consideration all the factors instead of just focusing on your own feelings. You should try that sometimes," Eddie rolls his eyes at him and Buck adds, his voice turning softer, reassuring. "You know it's good for him. He’ll make new friends, he’ll have fun. And then he’ll be back with you soon."

Eddie nods automatically. All of this sounds reasonable and true but the heavy feeling is still lurking in his chest, making it harder to breathe. “I know. I know you’re right but— It’s really hard to let him out of my sight for too long. I’ve already spent so much time away—”

Before he can even finish, Buck’s hand goes around his shoulders, tugging Eddie closer and placing a kiss on his temple. “Don’t do this again. You’re a wonderful dad and Christopher knows that. Although he might change his mind if he sees the current state of his bedroom.”

Eddie lets out a small laugh and shoves at Buck’s side. It doesn’t really work, considering how close they’re sitting, so he ends up pressing further into Buck’s arms and their welcoming warmth. It’s good enough.

“We’re going to let Christopher have fun at the camp,” Buck starts, leaning back just enough so he can look at Eddie properly, “and we’ll hate it as much as we want once he’s gone. Deal?”

“Deal,” Eddie agrees, finally managing to curl his lips into a proper smile.

His heart still feels heavy but at least now he knows he doesn’t have to carry that weight on his own. It's a comforting thought.

Eddie turns his head to press a short kiss to Buck’s lips. When Buck smiles, Eddie can feel it pressing against his skin.

“Besides,” Buck says, not trying to put any distance between them. “I’ll try my best to keep you occupied for those two weeks so you won’t have much time to worry.”

With one last kiss, Eddie finally leans back and shakes his head at the smirk on Buck’s face.

“I appreciate it, but I’d rather not discuss the ways you’re going to keep me occupied while we’re in our kid’s bedroom, please,” Eddie says.

Hearing that, Buck beams, his eyes glowing with so much love and joy that he's barely able to contain it. It’s hardly the first time Eddie implied that Buck is as much of a parent as he is, but it still seems to catch Buck off guard. Eddie doesn’t mind. Not if it means that he gets to see the pure happiness lighting up Buck’s face every time he says that.

“I meant kicking your ass at Mario Kart, obviously. I don’t know what you’ve been thinking about.” Buck grins and then kisses Eddie once more before getting up. He pulls Eddie up from the floor and gestures to the mess. “Come on, one step at a time. Let’s deal with all this and then go get Christopher. We can still spoil him before Monday comes. Maybe he’ll change his mind and decide to stay with us after all.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t. Two weeks without your stupid face sounds like a dream, sometimes,” Eddie jokes.

In response, Buck shoves at him hard enough that Eddie stumbles and falls onto Christopher’s bed. He laughs and takes a moment to just lay there. His eyes track the glow-in-the-dark stars Buck helped Chris stick to the ceiling. Then he glances down, watching Buck fold some Christmas sweaters that Eddie apparently dragged out of the closet during his little meltdown. Eddie takes a deep breath and gets up to help. One step at a time.

The anxiety is still tugging at his heart and Eddie doubts it'll stop before Christopher is safely back home. But he feels lighter. As if every word, every worry he shared with Buck lifted some weight from his chest. His feelings are out there now, safe in Buck's hands instead of crushing Eddie, slowly but surely.

They can do this.

#eddiediazweek2021 #eddieweek2021 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #buddie #my writing

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shotsbyshae · 5 years ago

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My Oh My

Warnings: Language, Smut-ish

Words: 1.1k

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Summary: A Monday Madness before the Holidays. Hugh Ransom Drysdale might not be who everyone thinks he is.

*Spoiler free: no movie connections whatsoever.

A bad reputation, insatiable habits.

It’s a small town.

Finding out what bar he frequents is easy.

You also learn he’s a spoiled, playboy who has slept with nearly every single, attractive woman within a fifty a mile radius.

Douche. Prick. Asshole.

The laundry list of names everyone else has for Hugh Ransom Drysdale is colorful to say the least, but you’re only here for one reason. A low-cut pink blouse with a barely there black mini skirt and thigh high black boots to match should get you the answers you’re looking for – plus some.

You take a deep breath before entering the bar, feeling eyes on you instantly because, after all, you’re a stranger. Mysterious and beautiful.

You stride right up to the bar, because you need a beer before dealing with a bunch of hormonal frat boys who are living on their trust funds. After you place your order with the pretty blonde bartender you can feel the presence of someone standing behind you and his voice causes goosebumps along the skin on your arms.

“You’re new here.”

You turn slightly and find piercing blue eyes staring down at you. It takes your breath for a moment and he reads it as instant attraction, but that’s not it. His look is cool, calculated, and manipulative, not warm, thoughtful, and endearing. His hair is a bit longer on top, a darker brown, and his lips are soft and pink.

He is exactly what you expected.

And everything you didn’t.

“Just passing through,” you finally breathe, giving him a half-smile.

He reciprocates the smile, “I’m Ransom.”

You bite the inside of your bottom lip flirtatiously, “Yet, somehow I don’t feel like you’re the one to deliver me from sin.”

A laugh escapes him, and he nods in agreement, “No – probably not.”

“I’m Natalie,” you lie, taking your beer from the bartender.

“Care if I join you Natalie?” he questions, and you feel his eyes on you.

“Why not?”

You watch his mannerisms as he talks, bragging about his wealth mostly, as you twirl the silver ring on the middle finger of your right hand idly. He’s flirting and he’s good at it, which isn’t normal from that face.

He’s handsome – too handsome.

There’s no possible way he’s real, much less sitting here having a conversation with you. You get lost in the banter with him, it strays every so often to the topic of his wealth but manages to steer itself back on track and after a little while you excuse yourself to the bathroom.

“Get it together,” you tell yourself as you stare into the mirror over the sink. “Just because it looks like a duck, and talks like a duck, doesn’t mean it’s a duck. It could very well be a goose.” You think to yourself as you dry your hands.

As you round the corner from exiting the bathroom, you bump straight into someone. The soft, cream colored sweater familiar as his hand grabs your arm gently, “Oh – sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you reply, taking a step back into the small hallway leading to the bathrooms.

His brows furrow, an all too familiar look of worry crossing his face, “Are you okay?”

“Yea,” you say breathlessly, now is your chance. You reach up with your right hand, cupping the side of his face, making sure your ring touches his skin. Nothing. “You – you just remind me of someone.”

“Is that a good thing?” he smirks mischievously, moving his hand from your arm to your neck and the feel and warmth are enticing to say the least.

“Maybe,” you had only wanted to get is attention, to test him – which he passed. ‘Douche. Prick. Asshole. He’s a spoiled, playboy who treats women like objects.’ You remind yourself. ‘He’s not who you think he is.’

You shouldn’t allow it, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t explain, and you close the small distance between the two of you as he presses his lips to yours. Your hand moves to his neck while your other hand rests lightly against his side, fingers gripping the fabric of his sweater as his tongue darts into your mouth.

It’s familiar and strange all at once and you weren’t aware how much you wanted it – needed it. His hands pull you against him – frantic – desperate to feel you. It’s not enough, yet too much. He feels, moves, tastes the same. His large frame pushes you back against the wall and you feel him press into your thigh – hard. Everything about him feels the same and it makes your core ache.

You can’t.

“I’m sorry,” you pull away. “I – I have to go.”

Lamest excuse ever. Hopefully he won’t follow you as you duck under his arm and all but run out of the bar.

“Wait,” you hear him calling out, but you don’t stop.

You’re in your rental car and pulling out of the bar as he chases after you, a dumbstruck look on his wretchedly beautiful face.

He makes his way back into the bar, completely confused and sits back down on his bar stool. The blonde bartender places a fresh beer in front of him, “I’ve never seen one actually run away from you Drysdale. What did you do?”

“I don’t know,” he looks at her in confusion. “What was her last name?”

“Well, for starters,” the blonde puts her hands on her hips with a smile. “According to her credit card, her name isn’t Natalie.”

“What?”

“Yea, she lied straight out the gate,” she replies.

“What’s her name?” Ransom questions.

The bartender smiles mischievously, “That’ll cost you.”

He gives her a look of annoyance as he reaches for his wallet to find an empty pocket. The look on his face changing as he frantically searches all his pockets, “Son of a bitch!”

“What?”

“She took my wallet,” he replies, unsure whether to be pissed at you or impressed.

***

You slowly make your way to the park bench and sit down casually next to the man who’s already sitting there.

“Well?” Nick Fury doesn’t look at you when he speaks, just continues to look at the paper in his hands.

“Not a shapeshifter or a doppelganger,” you reply, glancing around at the people in the park. “I went through all his accounts, nothing out of the ordinary. I think he’s clear. Just a guy that looks like him – bit of dick if you ask the locals.”

“What did you think?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say. “Even though others think it – he’s not a monster. But mainly –” You take a deep a breath before continuing.

“Drysdale’s not him, Steve’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

#ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #marvel #mcu #avengers fanfiction #fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #ransom drysdale fanfic

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lynnsaundersfanfic · 4 years ago

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Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order: Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded | Chapter Ten: Dreams | by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

#grounded #anna and bates #anna x bates #Banna #downton abbey fanfiction #anna smith #john bates #coffeeshopau #alternate universe #sticky

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yungidreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Catch You

The fourth oneshot in my Kinktober series

Summary: Mingi is a guardian angel who loves his assignment. Sure he spends all his time protecting her from a series of unlikely events thanks to a curse that has been on her family since her great grandmother, but hey she’s cute, funny, and smart. It’s not a bad deal really.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Content warnings: Really, nothing...maybe an unrequited crush? This is mostly a pure fluff humor piece and a little bit of how I imagine Mingi would be as a guardian angel out there living his best life.

Suggested music I’m Gonna Be by The Proclaimers and Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars

Mingi sat at the end of her bed. She was so precious when she was sleeping. So much less trouble, too. Not that he would change charges for anything in the world. She was just a little more work than he had anticipated. Not everyone had a guardian angel because, well, not everyone actually needed one. Most people had ordinary luck, lived ordinary lives, and didn’t have a generational curse.

She was different. Her great grandmother had pissed someone off enough to have gotten a curse that had lasted for four generations. He hadn’t been told what had been done and he hadn’t even thought to ask when he was assigned to her. Maybe he should have, then he would have been better prepared.

Soon she would be getting up and starting her day, and his, but for now she was tucked in and sleeping peacefully. He wished a little that she knew he was there. Maybe it would make things just a little bit easier. She would look a third time before crossing the street or just go a little slower in life that would give him a little more time to react.

Alas, she didn’t know he was there, didn’t know how hard he worked to keep her alive and well, didn’t know that she had worked her way into a little corner of his heart. She lived her life, ignorant of him, as she was supposed to.

The alarm on her bedside buzzed, starting both of their days. While she groped for the ‘damned machine’ as she often called it, Mingi deftly pulled the glass of water out of the way, letting her turn off the alarm before setting the cup down on the bedside table again so it would be where she left it when she got a drink before getting out of bed. She was at least pretty predictable, he consoled himself.

She stretched, took a drink, and threw back the covers with a smile, ready to start the day. First thing was first, he narrated in his head, shower. Together they headed down the hallway to her bathroom. Stripping off the shirt she had slept in, she tossed it into the laundry basket, barely making it in and, somehow, unbalancing it until Mingi hopped forward, catching it and setting it right. Would it have killed her to have the laundry on the floor? By itself no, but the curse sort of worked like a Rube Goldberg machine, relying on a series of highly unlikely events that alone were inconsequential, but cumulatively could lead to her death.

How did a basket of laundry play a part? Well, the laundry falls, covers up the bar of soap that had dropped (something he had picked up yesterday), she steps out of the shower to find that her towel had dropped into the toilet (thanks to a loose screw he had instead tightened three days ago) so she steps out dripping wet instead, leaving a puddle on the floor that, in combination with the soap, makes for the perfect bathroom slip and slide that ends with her smacking her head against the edge of the tub and… well that would be the end of his assignment.

So that was most of his day, spotting those odd, unlikely events in her life that could lead to her untimely end. She turned on the water and undid her hair before stepping in under the water. Mingi checked inside the tub, having a niggling suspicion that something was slightly amiss. Nothing in the tub… the curtain rod was fine… ah-ha! Somehow the hot water faucet was loose and… slowly turning itself on more? Ugh, why? With a sigh, Mingi sat down on the edge of the tub holding the faucet in place. When she was done he would mess with it, make sure it was tight and do a little something to clear the curse that was animating it. But now, he would just hold it and let her take her shower in peace.

“I don't care if Monday's blue, Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too,” she sang as she soaped herself up behind the curtain. “Thursday, I don't care about you, It's Friday, I'm in love…”

Was it Friday again already, Mingi wondered to himself. I guess it is, he recalled, singing along with her as she belted out her favorite start-the-day song for Fridays. She was cute when she sang in the shower, so uninhibited. No one was listening, well no one but him and he didn’t really count.

He felt her hand go through his as she turned off the water, signaling the end of her shower. Letting go of the faucet, Mingi moved over to the other side of the bathroom, deliberately giving her his back while she put on her towel and dried off. She was still singing and he hummed along with her, listening for where she was in the bathroom. Teeth were brushed, a bit of makeup put on, and hair was fixed up for the day.

“You’re having a good hair day,” Mingi commented with a grin.

“Man, if only I knew what I did some days to get this look,” she muttered to herself, almost as if she had heard his compliment. “Not that I am going to complain on the good days.”

“You always look lovely, though,” he sighed, following her as she headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. Putting on her underthings first, she went to her closet to decide what exactly she was going to wear today.

“Hmmm, is it a lacy sort of day or badass business woman sort of day,” she wondered aloud, flipping through her wardrobe.

“You’re badass even in lace,” he said, sitting on the end of the bed, chin resting on the heel of his hand.

“Maybe something that is both?” She pondered, pulling out a vintage styled button up and a dark grey pantsuit.

“Good choice,” Mingi agreed, giving an approving thumbs up. She pulled on her clothes and checked everything in the mirror before deciding she was ready to take on the day. Mingi caught the empty hanger that dropped itself off the rail, putting it back up before she noticed or it could cause any havoc. Giving it a tap and a stern look that said, I’ve got my eye on you, he turned to follow her as she headed down the hall to the kitchen.

Her steps were confident as she headed to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast. Mingi was always on his toes here. Here he had to be nimble and eagle eyed. Really, why did they have to concentrate so many potentially deadly things all in one place. He had a distinct sense of relief when she picked out granola and some yogurt for breakfast. Thank you, he said to the universe, as she took a seat at the counter and opened the magazine she had left half read there the day before. No stove to watch for things that mysteriously ended up sitting on the element. No knives that seem to leap off the cutting board. No toast that got stuck with the strength of a magnet on the inside of the toaster. No burns from shockingly hot coffee or tea.

“You know,” he told her, taking the seat in the chair closest to her. “I love these days where you make my job so much easier.” She flipped through a couple of pages as she took bites. “Anything interesting?” He peeked over at the magazine to see what she was reading about. Diversity and Dynamics: the wonders of the Amazon Rainforest. “Really? It has 10% of the total global diversity? Neat.” Reading over her shoulder was always fun. She was curious and really enjoyed reading about a little bit of everything. Since she graduated college a couple of years ago, she had kept that curiosity for new information and for all kinds of topics. Without a doubt, he was never bored with her.

Rinsing the dishes, she put them in the dishwasher, which Mingi re-closed behind her when it decided to just fall open again when she turned to rinse her hands. Pursing his lips, he shook a finger at it, sending a warning to the device with his mind.

“You can be replaced,” he reminded it, sternly. The machine, properly chastised, stayed closed this time.

Well fed and ready to start the day, she headed for the front door, gathering her bag and her shoes along the way. Mingi followed, staying close as she entered the wider world, yet another space where he felt like he had to be on guard. He took a playful karate pose as he stood near her at the bus stop, eyeing the passing people and cars as he hovered near her. With her headphones on, she might not notice something that came up behind her.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “I’m watching your back.” Together they boarded the bus and he stood guard by her seat as she looked out the window as the city passed by. This was one of her favorite parts of the day, he could tell by the way her shoulders relaxed and her lips quirked into a little smile as she day dreamed, looking out at the buildings and the people passing by.

When her stop drew near, he lightly brushed her shoulder to make sure that she noticed and pressed the button to call for the bus to stop. He caught the door as it tried to close early on her giving it a parting slap and a disapproving look as the bus pulled away, forcing him to jog to catch up with her. At least it wasn’t far to her office. The modern, tall business block looked largely the same as the other half dozen multi-storey office buildings in the surrounding neighborhood. There was nothing terribly dangerous about the space...except for the hours of tedium...and maybe the long stairwells. Luckily she worked on the seventh floor and preferred to get her cardio going the long way to the bus so that she could pick up a cup of her favorite coffee some mornings.

In her cubicle she put her things down and switched on her computer, taking a moment to spin in her chair while she waited for it to boot up. Mingi gave it a little extra push to keep its momentum, smiling as he did so. With a sigh, she straightened up and scooted her chair in to actually start her work day. If Mingi slept, he might have done it during this part of the day. Spread sheets were just...mind numbing. But at least, when she was in her cubicle, a paper cut was the biggest threat to her for the most part.

Mingi took a seat on the open part of her desk and entertained himself making the leaf of the fern on her desk ripple in the non-existent draft. Nothing anyone would find out of place but at least it was something for him to do.

“Coffee,” she said, pushing herself back.

“Oh are we having actual coffee today or are you going to decide to get a hot chocolate again instead?” He asked as he trailed behind her. Shuffling down the hall, she waved at a couple of co-workers as she passed on the way to the breakroom. In the little kitchen like breakroom she pulled a mug out of the cabinet then shimmied over to the fancy coffee machine. Putting the cup on the little shelf under the spigot, she started going through her options on the screen.

“Mocha, I think, today,” she decided after a lip biting moment of deep consideration.

“Both,” he nodded approvingly. “I like it.”

“Ahhhh,” she gave a satisfied sigh after taking a sip. “Caffeine.” They headed out of the kitchen and Mingi caught the handle of the cleaner’s mop that decided it wanted to fall into her path just before she turned the corner. He hurried ahead and caught it before she could even see it, giving her a little bow as she passed, blissfully ignorant as she enjoyed the drink in her hands.

The morning was unremarkable and largely uneventful, though he did have to keep her mocha from spilling itself… twice. When lunch came, she decided to go to the little cafe at the end of the block, which meant at least their trip into the wider scarier world was short. Mingi walked ahead of her, using his wings to part the crowds of people to make her walk easier. It wasn’t that people could see him or could even really feel him, but they just sort of instinctively avoided him. Brushing into him felt...odd, perhaps even uncomfortable, like a chill or a static shock so people just naturally avoided it.

They looked into the bakery case as they stood in line at the cafe. Mingi thought the croissant sandwich looked especially tasty today along with the raspberry swirl cheesecake. He gave the case over them a little tap, hoping to bring her attention to them. She looked at both, considering them and did take the croissant but skipped the cheesecake today.

“I hope you aren’t skipping it because you think you need to diet again,” he sighed, watching her eat from the other side of the table. “You’re pretty you know. Not only that, you’re smart and funny, which is what someone should really like about you anyway.” He pointed out, kicking a napkin out of the way just before a passerby would have slipped on it, taking her table with them as they fell. Instead they just passed by without incident.

“You sure you don’t want the cheesecake?” He asked as they got up to go. “You can always snack on it later.” She didn’t get it but she did give it a somewhat longing look as she passed it by on her way out.

The afternoon passed with only a few minor incidents and it was finally time to head home again. And, hey, it was even Friday! Mingi watched as she packed up her things and shut everything down, ready to head home.

“Do we have any plans this weekend?” He asked as they headed to the elevator. She sighed and looked at her phone, scrolling through something as she paired and pulled on her headphones. “I guess that is a no.” He shrugged and gave her a little chuckle. I mean, who was he to complain about another Friday evening of Netflix and nosh?

The bus ride home was thankfully uneventful and home was almost exactly how they left it. He had to close a few cabinet doors, pick up a pen that had rolled itself onto the floor, and tighten the shower tap he hadn’t gotten to this morning. Still, it was overall nothing big and soon they had both settled in for a relaxing start to the weekend.

“So, what about ordering something in?” He sent the idea to her, hoping she would skip cooking, just to give him that little extra time off.

“Ooo, pizza sounds really good,” she said aloud, now that there was no one around to think she was odd for talking to herself. Getting out her app, she put in an order as Mingi looked at her adoringly. Sometimes he suspected she knew he was there. Sometimes he thought she did things just to make his job just a little easier and he really loved her for it.

They watched a few hours of a newer drama on Netflix, both talking to the characters as if they could hear them. Complaining when they made stupid decisions and cheering for them when they did something great. It was really his favorite kind of night. Just the two of them and something that made her laugh. He would swear her smile could have lit up the whole world.

Soon it was time for bed and she headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. She changed into her nightshirt and pulled out the book she had been reading and climbed into bed. Mingi sat on the other side of the bed, laying back to read the book over her shoulder until she started yawning and shut off the light. She pulled the covers up over her shoulder and turned on her side. Before he knew it, she was asleep, happily making little puffy breath sounds as she breathed.

“Sleep well,” he whispered softly. “I’ll be here keeping watch, don’t worry.”

He really had the best job.

Masterlist

#song mingi #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #mingi #guardian angel #slice of life #ateez fluff #fluff #humor #Mingi would be a hilarious guardian angel #mingi fluff #guardian angel au

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renegadepisces · 5 years ago

Text

Bright Imagine: Kandomere accidentally meeting your family Pt. 2

You weren’t sure if Kandomere was flirting. You also weren’t sure if he’d meant what he said about coffee on Monday.

Thankfully, an all points bulletin for a centaur brandishing swords in both hands as he galloped through the Natural History Museum prevented you from finding out. Of course, you were less thrilled at the prospect of missing lunch and lingering at the office well after dark.

A notification from your phone tore your attention away from the mound of paperwork in front of you. You’d disarmed the centaur, but not without injury. The stitches you received at the hospital were not enough to get you sent home though. You’d put the cuffs on the centaur, so you had to deal with the paperwork.

That meant forms for booking his swords into evidence, forms for cataloging damage to the museum, forms for turning him over to the hospital for drug screening - and you were certain he was on something - and more forms for processing him in jail. And then there were injury reports and the statements from your colleagues. The centaur would likely face an additional charge of assaulting an officer, which meant you could look forward to wasting an entire day testifying against him in court sometime in the future.

You expected a text from Kandomere asking where your report was. He was usually the only other soul at the office this late. But it wasn’t Kandomere or anyone else in your unit. The notification was from your in-law, and your jaw clenched as you read it.

Heads up, the kids said they saw you on the nightly news while we were washing dishes. Are you ok?

Being on the news and the unwelcome attention that would bring wasn’t the purpose of their warning. You knew what they were really preparing you for. Any second now -

Your phone buzzed sharply against the wooden surface of your desk, only somewhat muffled by the piles of paper surrounding it. The caller ID image showed your sibling smiling broadly and grasping all three of their children tightly in a hug. It was one of your favorite pictures, but you were sure its subjects weren’t smiling now.

Sighing, you accepted the call. Your sibling wouldn’t stop calling until they heard your voice. Maybe not even then. You did the same thing whenever they experienced a close call at work.

“Before you start, I am 100% totally fine. There’s nothing to worry about.” You told them, enunciating each syllable slowly and calmly in the hopes it would rub off on them.

It didn’t.

“You went full Xena Warrior Princess on the 7 o’clock news, and that’s what you tell me?” Your sibling screeched, causing you to grimace and pull your phone away from your ear.

“That’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”

That was clearly the wrong answer because you couldn’t manage to get a word in for 10 minutes while your older sibling ran through a laundry list of questions.

No, you didn’t need to make a doctor appointment. No, you didn’t need to stay the night with them either. Yes, you were sure that you were perfectly well enough to drive yourself home from work. No, you didn’t have a concussion. You suspected that last one wasn’t quite true, but that was a problem for later.

Finally, your sibling seemed pacified.You’d put him on speakerphone about 5 minutes into the conversation so that you could keep doing paperwork.

“Okay, fine. But turn on your camera. I want to see your face. The kids want to see you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you warned. “I caught a hoof in the face at some point. I’m sure it looks worse than it feels but it might not reassure them.”

You heard the anxious intake of breath from the other end of the line and cut your sibling off before they could wind themselves up again.

“What if I show you my face and you tell them I’ll come over for dinner on Friday? The bruises will have faded by then. In the meantime, I can read them a bedtime story to distract them and you all can get to sleep.”

Your sibling paused, considering your plan. It was late and getting close to the boys’ bedtime. Your niece was hopefully already sleeping soundly in her crib at this point. But seeing news footage of your scuffle with the centaur had no doubt whipped them into a frenzy. You doubted they would sleep well tonight, and a pang of guilt echoed through you at the thought of them worrying about you.

Your sibling agreed and did their best to stifle a wince when you flipped your camera on. You didn’t blame him. You gotten up from your desk since Ward and Jakoby brought you back to the station, which had allowed you to actively avoid all reflective surfaces. You didn’t need to see it to know it was bad. It felt awful. But you couldn’t let your nephews know that.

The boys hadn’t quite learned to compromise yet, so you had to read two stories - one picked by each of them. Your sibling steered them toward mercifully short tales, and you channeled every ounce of effort you could muster into bringing them to life. At the conclusion of the second story, your sibling switched their camera away from the book and panned over the boys.

Their tiny bodies were nearly still except for the steady rise and fall of their chests. Deftly and soundlessly, your sibling put the books away. You heard the soft click of them flicking the lights off as they crept out of your nephews’ shared bedroom.

“Good job y/n,” they yawned. “Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“Yes! You’re such an older sibling!” You hissed exasperatedly. “I have one more page to fill out, and then I’m going home.”

“No, don’t go home. You’ll go straight to bed and wake up starving at 3 am. Grab some food first,” urged your sibling’s spouse in a voice made husky from drowsiness. Your sibling must have taken the phone with them into their bedroom.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure y/n gets home alright,” Kandomere said from a few feet to your left. You hadn’t heard him approach, or even seen him since you left the scene of the incident. You wondered when he’d gotten back. Had you really been so out of that you didn’t notice?

“We’d appreciate that Agent Kandomere,” your sibling paused, and you could hear the smile in their voice before they continued. What they said next nearly made you fall out of your chair.

“And you’re welcome to come with y/n on Friday if you’re available. They’ll give you the details.”

A stream of expletives flitted through your mind as you processed what your sibling had just done. You’d only narrowly avoided embarrassing yourself on a (maybe?) coffee date at the expense of your ability to move any part of your face and upper body without being in pain. How the hell were you supposed to get out of a family dinner? Your sibling had already told the kids, so you couldn’t cancel without gravely disappointing them. You couldn’t stand the thought of upsetting them like that when they were so worried about you.

But you didn’t find the thought of Kandomere sitting down to dinner with your family much more tolerable. What if your sibling tried to talk cop shop with Kandomere over dinner? What if your nephews asked you to sleepover, which they usually did if you came over for dinner on a Friday night? What if they pulled up those silly selfies you’d taken with them? Or that ridiculous video of you slow dancing with them at your cousin’s wedding last spring?

Kandomere thanked them for the invitation and your sibling hung up, leaving you sitting in the suffocating silence of the MTF’s bullpen with nothing but your feverish embarrassment and Kandomere for company. You’d been avoiding eye contact with him since he made his presence known, so you were surprised when he pushed a steaming hot cup of coffee into your hand. You hadn’t noticed he’d been holding a cup in each hand.

The comforting, sharp aroma of espresso wafted up from the cup. Your mouth started watering as the smell reminded you just how little you’d eaten or drank that day.

“You remembered,” you whispered, and felt very stupid as soon as the words left your mouth.

Of course he had. You always ordered espresso when buying coffee. He could probably smell it all over you. And it had been less than 48 hours since he ran into you with a cup of espresso gelato in your hand. The fact that he remembered you liked espresso was less impressive to you than the fact that he’d actually bought you coffee.

He’d been serious.

“Thank you,” you added hastily, eager to recover some sense of control over the situation, “You didn’t need to.”

“I keep my word.” He said, and you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as he continued, “And you’ve earned it, going ‘full Xena Warrior Princess’ this afternoon.”

You groaned. You should have guessed he’d heard that with his superior sense of hearing.

“Xena would have looked cooler and not gotten kicked in the face doing it.” you laughed.

“You looked good enough to me,” he insisted.

You realized at that moment that both of you still had your hands on your coffee cup. The heat of the liquid inside seeped through the styrofoam cup and its cardboard sleeve, but you also felt the warmth of his fingertips brushing yours.

“When I first tried Aikido, I made a smart-mouthed comment about the rarity of being attacked by a sword-wielding lunatic. It seems that I owe my teacher an apology, given what happened today,” you deflected, trying to smother the mounting unease his comment sparked with humor.

He chuckled and withdrew his hand from your coffee cup. His fingertips ghosted over yours as he did. In the dim after-hours lighting of the MTF bullpen, he looked much less severe than in the bright light of day. There was more than enough light even for your human eyes to catch the faint trace of a smile in his features though.

“Clearly there’s no need for me to ask your sibling if your impertinence is a lifelong trait over dinner on Friday.”

#kandomere x reader #gender neutral reader #men can be xena-like too #everyone deserves to be compared to xena warrior princess #kandomere #kandomere imagine #bright imagine #bright #netflix bright #reader insert #reader imagine

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nathank77 · 8 months ago

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6/16/24

12:27 a.m

So I didn't get any game time in today. I did the sleeping pill. And I have so much anxiety about going to my Dad's it's flaring up my ibs. I might get a chapter of shattered memories done in a little bit but it's like maximum 30 minutes of game time which is unfortunate.

My hdcp bypasser has been an asshole.

I have a lot of anxiety about going to my dad's bc even if I say fuck the car wash, I'm going to get there late. I have to drive home in the dark with my astigmatism that my glasses do not help. And skye prob won't be there bc she's going at 12. She's kinda a buffer not that the kids aren't but I'll just leave when they get the kids in their pj's before bed.

Also the last time I talked to my dad was over the phone about mark dying and he was really mad at me.

Not to mention bc of my circadian rhythm I won't get enough time to justify the cost/Time/energy it takes for me to go there. Imma go but my ibs is acting up for a reason. And make no mistake it's about having to be there.

Unless he asks me to stay after the kids go to bed i will use that as my exit but I don't really want to talk to them about anything. They'll prob push me to go into a institution as I'm not recovering fast enough and I can't recover here. They prob won't ask me to stay after the kids go to bed but I worry about it.

I wish I could get there at like 2 p.m and stay until 6 and drive home in the daylight. I wish I could go with skye. Either way I'm anxious about it.

I'm also disappointed that I'll only be there maximum 3-4 hours before the kids go to bed. My circadian rhythm fucks with my entire quality of life.

I'm so anxious about it I'm picking out my clothes now so after I use the bathroom and eat I can throw on my outfit and leave. Since I'm going late, I'm going to wear jeans and have a hoodie with me. One of the hoodies they got me. Jeans I'm struggling to find a pair out of my many pairs. I'll go into that later.

I'm worried they won't feed me and I have to take a protein bar with me. Why? Cause of the late time I'm getting there. I'll have to take my white mulberries later in the day when I get home with some kind of solid meal. I don't want to bring them in my backpack incase it's hot. Same with the protein bar.

I want to go into the attic Monday and grab my clean clothes boxes the ones from my room that just got cycled into the attic and clean the storage bin skye left in the hallway for me.

I'm planning on making that purchase at Walmart maybe tonight or tomorrow. I'll get the the pillow top mattress cover Monday and the microfiber blanket Friday, I plan to do the laundry for the shared closet (the blankets in the bin and grab the clothes from the attic and wash them and put them into the lid-less clear bin until I get the new storage bins.) And I would do whatever clothes I've naturally accumulated. On Friday I would do the new blanket, the pillow top and the old blanket and old pillow top with my sheets. So I can have a whole new clean bedding experience on Friday. And then on Friday I'd have the clear storage bins and I can swap my clothes into one of them and put the old pillow top mattress cover and blanket in the blanket storage bin. It's a good plan and leaves me Saturday and Sunday to game.

The sad part about going to my dad's today is that I didn't realize it was father's day and I planned to have a game weekend and by the time I realized it. I had already planned things in a different way than I would have if I had known it was fathers day. With psychosis everything is difficult. I hallucinate 24/7. Legit. I'm always planning, to keep myself on the ball. Never waste a minute.

I took my last Doxycycline at 5 p.m today. So any dry mouth from that will be discontinued. Not that its been a problem anymore. I still want to do l salivarius bc of how helpful it can be for gingivitis... I got to get coQ10 again soon.

My pants are driving me crazy bc I'm wearing my dillions right now in 34s. They button but they are tight... and my Arizonas (the ones I've been wearing for months that are not really skinny jeans they are prob slim but they are baggy) are a size 33!!!!!!!!!! Those are huge and roomy and need a belt what the actual fuck. I've tried on every pair of pants I had cause mrsa only lives on things for 2 weeks and I mean it'll be weeks before I wear jeans again but I'm prob stuck in my Arizonas for tomorrow. I'm trying to stretch out my favorite pairs of Dillons. I really wish they weren't so tight. I'm prob 5 pounds away from being able to wear these without being squeezed in. I'm hoping if I stretch them out a little since pants are always tighter after you wash them before you wear them I can make them work. Prob not.

The majority of my pants are 34 and 33.. none of them fit. Only those Arizonas in 33...........

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moving-accounts-uwu · 4 years ago

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Home Is Where The Heart Is {Pt. 1}

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Characters: Seed Brothers x Serah (OFC)

Story Type: Series

Series Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, death, violence, romance, fluff, polygamous relationship, abuse, smut, slight dub-con, religious themes, kidnapping, brain-washing, Stockholm Syndrome & Lima syndrome, some elements of the games is used (locations, story/timeline, etc).

Chapter Warnings: None!

Word count: 2.3k words

Story Summary: Serah is a young woman living in Fall’s End, Hope County and has lived there all her life. She owns her own farm and B&B, nothing very exciting ever happens in Fall’s End - except for the occasional chaos caused by Sharky Boshaw. That is until one day, three men show up with a broken down car and seeking a place to stay. Serah, being the kind and caring person she is, lets these men into her home with open arms, but she truly doesn’t know what she has invited into her life.

A/N: each chapter will have specific chapter warnings/trigger warnings at the beginning to help those who would get triggered to know what is about to happen in each chapter. I wouldn’t want to trigger anyone tho ;w; Other than that, I hope y’all enjoy this chapter 1 and updates to this story will be slow though. I know this first chapter is short but make sure to show it some love so I know y’all like it and I can continue it!! Gif is not mine btw~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope County was never really busy or loud; it was mainly quiet and peaceful. People could leave their windows and doors unlocked during the nights because no major crimes were ever committed, and the fact that Hope County only had a small amount of law enforcement because of the low crime rate.

Hope County was the perfect place for Serah. Serah had lived in Fall's End for nearly seven years, and her life has never taken a turn for the worst while living on her farm. She owned a few cows, chickens, pigs, and horses that she tends and cares for. Her large farmhouse has also been renovated to be Fall's Ends very own 'Bed & Breakfast'; getting the occasional tourist here and there, or sometimes it's a local needing a little change in scenery. Serah's main customer is Sharky Boshaw.

Sharky liked to cause a little trouble, otherwise, Hope County would be too quiet. Whenever Sharky was too drunk to go home, he always managed to walk to Serah's farm and keep her company while tending to him. Serah was also good friends with Kim and Nick Rye, the couple being her closest friends since she moved to Montana from New York. Serah wanted a change of scenery herself, and she always dreamed of owning her own farm and 'B&B'.

It was a warm morning when Serah woke up in the early hours on a Saturday. She groaned a bit, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and giving her muscles a good stretch before leaving the confines of her bed. Most of her farm chores were done the day before, so only a few small chores were left remaining. Serah planned to go to The Spread Eagle to visit Mary May, another good friend of hers from when she first moved to Fall's End and worked at the bar for four years.

As Serah was doing some dusting around the house with only having to hang out the laundry after, she was excited to get a move on and get it finished.

"C'mon, Serah, nearly done then we can have drinks to wash the stress away."

Serah couldn't wait to relax before Monday began; the only days she really lets loose is on the weekends with Mary May, and sometimes Sharky if he hasn't already been drinking and passed out somewhere. When the chores were done, Serah took a quick shower to freshen up and put on a cute white, lace sundress that had a deep neckline that flashed a bit of her cleavage and stopped just above her knees.

Serah parked her car in the parking lot before pushing through the bar doors, looking around at the few patrons already there just before 1 p.m. When she approached the bar, Mary May was quick to greet her.

"Hey, beautiful! Just finished all the chores on the farm, yeah?"

"You have no idea..." Serah gave a dramatic sigh of relief while Mary just laughed.

"Don't worry, sweetie! Maybe you could ask one of the boys to help you out around that big farm of yours. You probably need to hire some farmhands, otherwise, you're gonna get tired and grey from stress." Mary May was very motherly for someone who was only a few years older than Serah.

"You know I would if I had the money, Mary. I can't afford to hire farmhands while paying my bills, groceries, and animal feed. I'd either go broke or couldn't pay them enough to keep around." Serah shrugged before getting comfortable at the bar, trying to decide what drink she'd want to order first.

Serah ordered herself a Bourbon and Coke while conversing with Mary and a few other patrons, having the day pass slowly and having a good time. It wasn't until two in the afternoon that Serah thought about heading back to the ranch. She asked Mary if she could leave her truck in the parking lot, which Mary said yes and that she didn't need to ask, while Serah called Nick for a lift.

Serah didn't have to wait for Nick long; he came under less than 2 mins and picked her up.

"Hey there, Serah! You have a good time?" Nick asked while he headed towards the ranch.

"Oh yeah, I had a few drinks to help unwind. It's been a rough few days working, but I got everything done. Maybe I'll get a few new guests or Sharky might just crash at mine whenever he's too drunk to go home." Nick and Serah both laughed at the thought.

Nick and Serah had a sibling bond; Nick was like an older brother and Serah being younger. Serah met Nick when she turned 21 and had her first drink at the Spread Eagle, where she was introduced to Nick and Kim Rye, then five years later, she was basically another Rye in their eyes. She had a second family after losing both her parents to cancer when she was 19. Nick and Serah even got tattoos of each other's names that Nick claims 'Now you're a Rye! You're now my little sister'. The memory always brings tears of pride and joy to Serah's eyes.

Nick parked in front of Serah's ranch before hugging her tight.

"You know, you could always ask me to help you out if things are too much, sis."

"I know that Nick, but I couldn't possibly ask of that from you when Kim is this far along in her pregnancy. She'll need your help more than me. She could give birth next month or so." Serah tried to reason, but Nick just scoffed.

"Kimmie is a tough son of a bitch, every time I offer to help her, she tells me she can do it herself. Trust me, I have plenty of free time to help you out." Nick gave Serah a comforting squeeze on her shoulder before she hopped out of his car, waving him goodbye and watched him drive away.

With a sigh, Serah walked back into her home and started to plan out what to make for dinner. She heard the soft sound of her white cat, Alpine, purring away in his perch at the window sill, the sun coating him with warmth.

"Hey there, Alpine, did ya miss me?" Serah giggled as she walked by him, scratching behind his ear as she went.

*2 hours later*

Serah always had a habit of making large portions of food as if other people lived in the two-story house. She couldn't help it, Serah just created that much food so she wouldn't have to worry about making more the next day. She guessed that it was because she would have to cook for the guests when they stayed at her 'B&B' and she just can't help it. While she let the chicken and corn soup to simmer, she started to get Alpine's food ready because she knew he'd become needy soon.

"Alright, buddy, you'll be having some delicious prawns, your favorite!" Serah sang as Alpine came rushing over and meowing loudly at the smell of the prawns.

As Serah put the prawns into a small bowl and placed it on the floor near the kitchen island, she heard the sound of a slam and a muffled, angry voice followed by a calmer voice. Serah's curious mind got the better of her and snooped near the front window and peeked out through her translucent curtains to see what the commotion was. There was a black SUV parked on the side of the road, small amounts of smoke coming from the hood while three men stood around the front of the car. One of the men had red hair and beard with scars covering parts of his face and forearms; he was the one who was angry at the fact that their car must have broken down while the two other men stood around letting the redhead vent. One of the other men was dressed in very luxurious clothes and had many tattoos covering his arms and hands, and he also sported a beard. The other man had his hair in a bun, wore yellow-tinted glasses, and looked to be trying to calm the scarred man.

Serah was still in a daze by watching the men that she hadn't realized that the men had noticed her house, and one of them was making their way to her front door. The sudden sound of knocking on her door startled Serah out of her daze and she quietly made her way to the front door. When she made sure her little latch lock was in place, she opened the door slightly to greet the man with the tinted glasses and man-bun.

"Hello my child, my name is Joseph, and my brothers and I happen to be in a bit of a predicament. It seems our car has broken down and we don't know how to fix the issue, would you happen to know of anyone who knows mechanics?" The man said.

Serah blinked for a few seconds, registering what he had said.

"Oh!" You looked at your little wristwatch to see that the time was now 4:30 in the afternoon and that the closest mechanic store is at least 45 minutes away and closes at 5 o'clock. "Um, the closest mechanic is nearly an hour away, and they'll be closing soon, so you won't be able to see them until tomorrow."

"That is quite alright. I also saw that this loving ranch was a 'Bed & Breakfast', would my brothers and I be able to seek refuge here for the night until one of us are ready to walk into town?" Joseph gestured to the two other men still standing by the SUV who were looking at them from afar.

"Oh, of course! And because of your circumstances, I won't charge you; I'd feel bad if I did. Save your money for when you get your car fixed." Serah gave him a warm smile, unlatching the lock on the door and opening it wide.

Joseph motioned for his brothers to come forth while he continued to talk to you.

"That is very kind of you, my dear. May I ask, what is your name? It's silly of me for not asking our host's name."

She then made way for the three men to enter her house and they huddled in the open space living room.

"My name's Serah, and I'll be your host. I've got some chicken and corn soup that's just settling and will be ready to serve. I also have spares bedrooms upstairs if you'll follow me!" Serah led the three men to the rooms and let them choose a room for themselves while also being introduced to the two men, John and Jacob.

Jacob was the eldest Seed brother while Joseph was the middle child, and John being the youngest. Jacob served in the army and was a hardened soldier; John used to be a lawyer while Joseph claims to be 'The Father'. He preached about the gifts of God and how God would occasionally speak to him or give him visions about 'the Collapse'. Serah was never really religious; she never cared for religion but never stopped anyone who did. She politely listened to Joseph talk about this 'Project at Eden's Gate' and how he and his brothers have come to Hope County to save as many people as he can before the collapse because that is what God has told him.

Serah started to serve the Seed brothers the soup when John spotted Alpine walk into the dining area.

"Oh, and who is this little guy?" John asked while petting the white feline.

"That's Alpine; he was a stray when I found him as a kitten. He was so small and malnourished, but he stole my heart the second I saw him. He's my little fur baby." Serah picked Alpine up into her arms and cuddled him for a bit.

The four of them ate, Joseph and Serah doing most of the talking, John contributing now and then while Jacob grunted in acknowledgment. Joseph talked more about Eden's Gate then asked where would be the best place to buy a property big enough to host sermons for him and his followers or 'children' as he called them. Serah answered as many of Joseph's questions but told them that they would have to see sheriff Whitehorse about getting a license to carry when John asked about that.

When dinner was over, Serah grabbed all the empty bowls and was prepping to wash them when John stopped her.

"Please, you've cooked and let us rest for the night for free, the least we could do is wash the dishes. Go and relax, dear."

Serah gave him a sweet smile, nodded, and thanked him before heading for the living room to read a book. Jacob seemed to already have worked out the TV remote, and he and Joseph were flicking through the channels. The sat in silence with only the noise of the dishes being washed in the kitchen to fill in as background noise. The rest of the evening went by with small talk and watching whatever is on TV before the Seed brothers and Serah bid goodnight to each other at around ten.

As Serah was about to enter her room, she was stopped by Joseph yet again.

"I'd like to thank you again, Serah. It seems God has led us to you, and to be blessed with your kindness and hospitality. Hopefully, in weeks to come, we'll see you again. Goodnight, dear." With that, Joseph went into his room, leaving Serah in the little hallway who was touched by his words.

As Serah did her nightly routine and hopped into bed, she had a nightmare of an explosion and the world on fire.

Thank you for reading this short chapter!

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starship-squidlet · 4 years ago

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Twelfth Night: Chapter 9, Ladies Dancing

Summary: ✨ S T A R W A R S ✨

Word count: 2,441

Disclaimer: Twelfth Night Preface

Tag list: @the-cowbi @prettyinlimegreenboots @fifty-for-the-racer @wormsiewithablog (ask to be added/removed)

A/N: Yes, I really did cry through 2 hours straight of Star Wars Episode IX Rise of Skywalker. Star Wars means a lot to me, okay? xD (I did wind up super dehydrated afterwards and had a headache for the whole next day as I tried to replace my fluids. It was a time.)

Previous chapter: Maids A-Milking

Next chapter: Lords A-Leaping

Elaine smacked her hands down on the top of Finch’s console—which she could barely see over—making him and Mush jump. “Finch! What are you doing Sunday after the show?”

“Uh… Driving home for Christmas?”

“We’re going to go see Star Wars if you want to come.”

“I can’t. I’m driving home.”

“Okay. Mush, do you want to come?”

“I’ve never seen a Star Wars movie, so I’m going to pass.”

“You’ve never seen a Star Wars movie?”

“No. And when people react like that, it makes me want to never watch any of them, just to make a point.”

Elaine narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “Whatever. Weirdo.”

Alan appeared behind her. “Who’s a weirdo?”

“Mush.”

“Definitely.”

“Thanks,” Mush glared at Alan as he wandered into the wagon house. “So, you guys are twins?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You don’t really look alike.”

“Yeah, we both look like Alden and our mom, but not much like each other somehow.”

“I definitely would have guessed that either you or Alden or the two of them were the twins, not you and Alan.”

“We get that a lot.”

“Do you guys have twin telepathy?”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “No. That’s not a real thing.” She stuck her hands in her apron pockets and rocked back on her heels. “So, do you want to make this your first Star Wars movie?”

“Absolutely not.”

She shrugged. “Fair enough. Hey, JoJo!” she turned and trotted along behind the other boy as he headed into the wagon house. “Do you want to go and see Star Wars with us?”

“Who’s us?” JoJo asked.

“Uh… Me, Alan, Alden, Will, Jack, Crutchie, Elmer, and I think Sarah and Davey?”

“Sounds fun! When are we going?”

“Sunday after the show? It’ll be kind of a long day, and it’ll be a push for me and Crutchie and Sarah to get there with laundry, but we should be able to make the last showing for the night.”

“Okay! I’ll be there.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Sunday was the last show day before Christmas. They had three full days off in a row for Christmas: the Monday that they normally had off, in addition to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. JD had finished his finals and Elaine drove him to the airport to fly home early on Sunday morning, meaning that the apartment would be quieter than normal when they got home that night, between everyone else’s exhaustion and his absence. The Sunday show felt like the longest show they’d done since the start of the run. Everyone was jittery, full of nerves and anticipation for the day off.

At intermission, Jack, Albert, Race, and Elaine were crammed into the little alcove that housed the washers and dryers, doing their best to ignore the sulfuric stench seeping out of the washers’ drain pipes.

“That is just… so bad,” Race pinched his nose and stepped away from the pipes.

“I think,” said Albert, leaning forward to fruitlessly peer down the pipe, “that part of the drain must sit too high or at the wrong angle to drain properly, and that means that water just sits there without draining and just, like… stagnates.”

“You’d think with how much we run the washers it would flush it out, though,” Elaine grumbled. She was fiddling with the tiny bulb in the bite-light around her neck, trying to adjust its position so she could see better when using it.

Albert shrugged and leaned back, waving his hand in front of his face as if it would do something about the stink in the air. “I don’t know. That’s just my guess.”

Elaine shrugged, dropping her bite-light to adjust the dress laid out on one of the dryers for quick-change purposes.

“Hey, Finch!” Jack called, stopping him in his tracks. “Are you coming with us tonight?”

“I can’t,” Finch groaned. “I have to be home by seven tonight for family Christmas stuff.”

“Aw, are you sure?” Elaine leaned around Jack to peer at Finch.

“Yes,” Finch sighed. “If I’m late, my mom might actually kill me.” He glared at her. “I told you this the other day.”

“Did you? Probably.” Elaine sighed.

“I’m going to try and go see it Christmas Day,” he said. “But no spoilers before then!”

“Yeah, I’m going with my brothers tomorrow,” said Albert.

“Race, are you going tonight?” Finch asked.

“Nah,” Race shrugged. “I don’t care enough about Star Wars to brave the theatre on a weekend evening right before Christmas, which also happens to be the weekend directly after the movie opening.”

“That’s pretty valid,” Elaine admitted. “I wouldn’t for anything less than Star Wars.”

Race took a half-step away. “Star Wars isn’t worth it”—

“You get back here and say that to my face, Race Higgins,” Elaine snapped. She started to move towards him, but he danced away and Albert and Jack both reached out to stop her—Jack with an arm around her shoulders, Albert by grabbing the side of her apron.

“Them’s fightin’ words with Elaine,” Albert laughed.

“You bet they are,” Elaine grumbled. She jerked backwards and turned away to sneeze into her elbow, both of the boys taking a step away from her on each sneeze. “Ugh,” she groaned. She blew her nose and put hand sanitizer on, then went back to fiddling with her bite-light.

“Well, none of you better spoil it for me,” said Finch.

Elaine held her hands up. “Spoiler ban until at least after Christmas. Probably longer, depending on how many people see it over the break.”

“Good,” Finch nodded. “I guess, since I can’t go to Star Wars tonight, I’ll take a bad joke.”

Elaine’s face lit up. “Really? Okay, hang on, let me think of a good one. Um… What’s big and grey and can’t fly?”

“I don’t know. A whale?”

“No. Well, technically, yes, also true, but the answer I was looking for was ‘parking lot’.”

“Why the fuck would I have guessed parking lot?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the answer to the question,” she shrugged. “Have a good show!” She slipped out from between Jack and Albert, lifting her bite-light to her mouth as she stepped backstage. Seconds later, they heard spluttering, and she returned, face twisted into a grimace. “I got hand sanitizer on my bite-light…”

.*.*.*.*.*.

“I can’t believe you’re all going to the movies tonight.”

Elaine, Sarah, and Crutchie traded glances, then grinned up at Medda from where they were seated on the wagon house floor, waiting for the laundry to be finished. They had changed out of their uniforms, into far more comfortable street clothes, while waiting, and had already clocked out upstairs so they wouldn’t have to go back up in the crunch of time they had to get to the theater. “Medda, come on; it’s Star Wars,” Elaine laughed. “I personally won’t make it more than a few more days without seeing it. I’ll explode.”

Crutchie laughed. “That’s a definite possibility here.”

Medda shook her head, grinning. “That’s commitment.”

“The wash is almost done, and then we’ll be out of your hair, Medda,” Sarah said. “We already clocked out; we just need to hang up the shirts and tights and we’ll be gone.”

“We thought we timed it better to when the wash would be done,” Elaine sighed.

Before anyone could say anything further, there was a buzz and a chime from the direction of the washers. Elaine and Sarah leapt to their feet and Sarah darted towards the washers while Elaine helped Crutchie to his feet. Medda laughed to herself and headed off, shaking her head, to turn off the lights on the stage and in the house. By the time Crutchie was up and heading towards the z-racks and drying rack on the carpet, Sarah had pulled everything out of the washer and dumped the load into a basket. She shoved it to Elaine as the second washer began to chime; Elaine took the full basket over to Crutchie and the racks while Sarah filled the second, and they got to work.

Soon enough, all of the dress shirts had been hung on the z-racks, while all tights, fishnet stockings, dance briefs and undershorts, show bras, socks, and the brightly-colored elf leotards and undershirts were draped over the drying rack. The men’s undershirts went back into a washbasket and were tossed into a dryer with the sweat towels. Elaine powered on the washer while Sarah ran onto the stage to call to Medda that they were leaving, and then they were scurrying down the outside stairs, into the parking lot, and piling into Elaine’s car.

“Everyone buckled?” Elaine asked, not waiting for an answer as she shifted the gears and started driving.

“Wait!” Sarah giggled, clicking her seat belt into place.

“Elaine, have I never been in your backseat before?” Crutchie asked, pulling a beanie baby spider with giant, sparkly eyes out of the pouch on the back of Elaine’s seat.

“Uh, probably not,” she said. “We usually stick you in the front.”

“Ah, sorry!” said Sarah.

“No, it’s okay!” Crutchie said. “You get motion sickness. I don’t.” He reached into the seat pouch again, this time producing a large plastic box full of half-melted crayons. “Elaine, I have some serious questions about some of the stuff you have back here.”

“Wait, what did you find?”

“Melted crayons? Which kind of explains why it usually smells like crayons in here, actually…”

“Oh, I forgot about those. A lot of that stuff is leftover from the babysitting and nannying jobs I did back in Boston.”

“Like this spider?”

“Oh, no. He’s my friend. Give him here.” She reached her hand back, and Crutchie put the spider in it. Elaine set him on the recessed part of her dashboard behind her steering wheel, in front of the gas gauge. “Well, that makes it a little hard to see how much gas I have, but that’s okay.”

Crutchie and Sarah laughed. “You know you’re crazy, right?” Crutchie teased.

“All the best people are,” Elaine sang out as she pulled into the theatre parking lot. “Wow, it’s busier than I was expecting.”

“I hope we can still get tickets,” said Sarah.

“Alan said he and Jack and Davey got tickets for us already,” said Elaine. “He texted me before we left. They wanted to make sure we’d be able to get in.”

“Oh, good,” Sarah grinned.

Elaine parked the car and they all clambered out, heading for the theatre building. Inside, they found Alan, Alden, Will, Davey, Les, and Jack all waiting for them. JoJo and Elmer arrived just after them, and joined the group as Alan was talking:

“So, we weren’t able to get all of the seats together,” he said. “Most of us are in the third row. Jack and Davey said they’d take a pair of seats that’s a little further back, and then there’s another single seat a few down from the rest of us, but we’re going to try and just get the people in between us to swap for that one.”

“Okay,” Elaine nodded, accepting the ticket Alan handed her.

“Can I sit at the end of the row?” asked Crutchie. “It’s easier to get in and out, and I don’t want to have to walk past a bunch of people with my crutch.”

“Oh, yeah, Jack said you’d probably want that one, so I saved this ticket for you,” said Alden, passing the slip of paper to him.

“Okay, does everyone have a ticket?” Alan said. “Great. Let’s go. The movie starts in five minutes.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

When they all filed out of the theatre, Les and Alden in particular were chattering excitedly to each other, but the others were all talking over each other as well. The only one silent was, surprisingly, Elaine, who stood quietly tucked up against Will’s side, under his arm, eyes and nose red and cheeks tear-stained.

“You okay, Laine?” Jack teased.

“Shut up,” she sniffled.

Will laughed and rubbed her arm. “She got a little emotional during the movie.”

“‘A little’?” Alan repeated, laughing. “She cried for two hours straight through.”

“Wait, you could hear that?” Elaine gasped, mortified. “I thought I was being quiet!”

“You were quiet, just not… that quiet,” Crutchie laughed.

“Oh no…” she groaned.

“Why were you crying?” Jack asked.

“Leia,” Elaine sighed. “Look, Carrie Fisher was my idol as a kid. She’s the only celebrity whose death has made me cry”—

“Also for several hours,” Alan interjected.

—“and seeing her on the screen again was just… I mean, episode eight was bad enough, but this one was just… you know. Hard to watch, but in a good way. And the ending of a series, especially one that has meant so much to me as Star Wars has, is always an emotional time to me, so.” She shrugged.

“She also cried after the last Hobbit movie,” said Alan.

“And rewatching Return of the King,” said Alden.

“The last Jurassic World movie,” said Will. “Although that one wasn’t the last of the trilogy.”

“No, but it was traumatic,” said Elaine. “All the dinosaurs dying, and then the ones they rescued almost dying? Awful.”

“Don’t forget Detective Pikachu!” Alan piped up. “We went to see it for our birthday this year, and she cried the whole way home.”

“Can we not talk about how easily I cry please?” Elaine laughed. “Anyways, the reason I was crying then wasn’t so much about Detective Pikachu—even though that movie did make me weirdly emotional—I had a lot of things on my mind and the movie just kind of pushed me over the edge.”

“That’s valid,” Crutchie shrugged.

“Moving on,” said Jack, “who’s driving home with me?”

“You can either take Alan, Alden, Will, and Crutchie straight home, or take Davey, Sarah, and Les to the theatre to get Davey’s car,” said Elaine. “I’ll take whoever you don’t.”

“You should probably take the Jacobses,” said Jack, ignoring the twinge of reluctance in his stomach. “Your car is smaller. Don’t want to cram too many people into it.”

“Yeah, sitting in your back seat when it’s full is not fun,” Alden laughed.

“Okay, that’s fair; it is pretty tight back there,” Elaine agreed. “Let’s go, then. Davey, you’ll want to sit behind me; more leg room.”

“‘Cause she’s so short she has to sit inside of the steering wheel to reach it!” Alan called after them.

“Shut up!” Elaine yelled back.

“Make me!” Alan retorted, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, wait; you can’t! Your legs are too short. You’d never catch me!” He took off running towards Jack’s van in the distance.

“I hate it when he’s right,” Elaine grumbled.

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lifeinahole27 · 5 years ago

Text

CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 2/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (much later in the story)

Content Warnings: Maybe some language in this chapter but nothing more.

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: I have crawled out of my deathbed long enough to post this. Thank you to everyone who has read so far, and I hope your enjoyment continues with this next installment! xo

Chapter 1 |

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 2: Meet Me in the Morning

October 5: Saturday

Emma Swan doesn’t care about routines. She does most things at the same time each day, but that’s only because she wakes up, takes a shower, gets ready, and goes to work at the same time. Every day.

On the weekends, she’s a mess. She’s not entirely ashamed to admit there are some weekends she doesn’t even bother showering. She’s a single woman living alone so she’s the only one who has to deal with it.

It was by chance that, a little more than a month ago, she decided to walk to work early and saw Killian Jones for the first time. She’s been walking the same route for so long but she had never seen him before, more than likely because he seems to like to get to work early and she prefers to run in at the last second before she’d be considered late.

That first time was a fluke – she told David she would come in a little early to help haul records out of storage and there was this newcomer standing at the corner she crosses in order to get to Main Street. Storybrooke doesn’t get a lot of tourists, and of course she’d heard rumors that there was someone new, but to see him in person was a jolt of excitement.

He was reading something on his phone and looked like he was going to walk straight into the street. She had hustled to get to the corner sooner to stop him in case a car was coming (unlikely with how early it was and in this town) but he stopped, as if his shoes had suddenly stuck him to the spot. Without looking, he pushed the button for the crosswalk and kept on reading. Emma realized that this was something he had ingrained into him so deeply that he even knew where to stop because of muscle memory. Pretty impressive for a guy who’d only lived here a handful of weeks.

Despite being unconsciously aware of his surroundings, he didn’t seem to even notice her following him at a distance, so she lurked in her own way until she got to Granny’s, watching with interest as he took the left at the post office and went on his way.

Curious to see if he would repeat this chain of events, Emma showed up early again the next day just in time to see him walking up, but it was all wrong. He wasn’t reading, so he wasn’t lost in whatever was on his phone, and instead of just blindly stopping and pushing the button, his eyes met hers and he stumbled just the tiniest bit during the approach.

Suddenly, Emma kind of liked the idea of showing up every day around the same time to see if any of the above happened again – would be he lost in technology or would his steps falter again?

And both events did happen, but every time he’d get close to the corner, he’d look up and around, oftentimes catching the moment she was just approaching the crosswalk. Six weeks straight, every Monday through Friday, they walk together.

But last Monday he didn’t show up. She waited a couple minutes, but he still didn’t show. So she did what any sane person would do and went about her business. On a whim, she got two coffees at Granny’s and proceeded to stand outside for an extra ten minutes, not even sure he would pass by. Maybe he didn’t have to go to work. Maybe while she was getting the coffee, he went speeding past. Maybe he was dead in a ditch somewhere. She didn’t even know him but she was tempted to set out a search party for the man who always walks to work looking like a GQ model.

With that in mind, she’d started texting David asking how out of line it would be to create a missing persons report for someone who was, by her calculations, twenty minutes late.

“Who do you think is missing?” he’d texted back, clearly humoring her.

But that brought up a whole new set of problems because sure, she knew his name. How could she explain to David that she wanted to check up on someone she’d never even had a conversation with? And how could she do it without making David incredibly suspicious of Killian Jones?

When she looked up, Killian was there, looking just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. She had a moment of mild panic, locking and shoving her phone in her pocket without responding to her brother. She grabbed the coffees and started to just leave, but she noticed he didn’t have his to-go mug in hand and remembered why she ordered two on impulse.

So she officially met Killian that day, embarrassingly asking for his name even though she already knew it, and their daily interactions subtly changed again. She ponders this over a late breakfast the day after their bar run-in, marveling at the fact that she didn’t drink that much, that she’s not nursing a hangover with greasy food and a whole pot of coffee. Instead, she settles on the couch with a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and stares at the TV screen as she tries to decide which Netflix show to go for first.

Halfway through the first show, though, her thoughts keep drifting to the way Killian’s lips felt on the back of her hand. It’s occurred to her that she’s in trouble because he’s already gotten closer than she’s let most men in the last few years. She all but swore off relationships after the last one, but there’s something magnetic about Killian that keeps drawing her back. There’s a kinship, maybe. She sees it in his eyes some mornings - just a flash of something she can’t quite name but that lives inside her as well.

Knowing this is where dangerous thoughts lead, she finishes her cereal and eyes the visible messes in her apartment. Maybe some cleaning will help wipe the thoughts of getting those lips on hers from her brain. She starts with the overflowing sink.

By the end of the weekend, her apartment is spotless but her mind is more restless than it’s been in ages.

It doesn’t help that David calls her Sunday evening, making sure to emphasize that Killian seems like a nice guy. She’s just gathering the last of her laundry to tackle while dinner is still in the oven, so she hauls the hamper down to the basement of her building while David pries into her personal life.

“Yeah, he does,” Emma replies nonchalantly. “Do you want me to bring breakfast to the station tomorrow?” If she tries to change the subject, no one can really blame her for it.

“No need. It’s muffin Monday. But back to the guy that suddenly showed up after you were just texting me about putting out a missing person report on someone?”

“Geez, David. Way to be subtle,” she huffs as she finishes stuffing the clothes in the washer, starting the cycle before walking back to her apartment and pacing a circuit as the conversation continues. “So, was it Killian? How long have you been seeing him?”

“I’m not seeing him,” she defends, even though David’s tone is less stern and more overly-cautious-about-who-dates-his-sister. “We just sort of walk together for a bit in the mornings. I got worried when he showed up late one day. The guy is like an advertisement for punctuality.”

David hums a response, not sounding convinced. “And spending time alone with him last night? How does that figure into all this?”

With an exasperated sigh, Emma stops walking around her living room and drops onto the edge of the couch. “It just means that I have a new friend or something. That’s all. Nothing more than that.”

“Uh huh. So make sure the Save-the-Dates have ‘David was right’ written somewhere on them, okay?”

“Oh, would you look at the time? Dinner’s burning. Gotta go!”

This is one of those moments she sincerely misses phones with cords because it’s not nearly as satisfying to click the lock button to end the call and toss her phone on the coffee table as it would’ve been to slam down the receiver. She leaves it there for the rest of the night until it’s time to plug it in before bed, letting it represent all the truths she isn’t ready to face yet.

Killian is just on his way to becoming one of her friends. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing more than that, either.

-x- October 7: Monday

On Monday, Emma follows her own version of her morning routine and gets to the corner just as Killian is pushing the button for the crosswalk. She’s exhausted from a night of intermittent sleep, but can’t resist returning the gesture when Killian smiles and waves when he sees her.

“Good morning, Swan,” he greets, his cheery demeanor trying its best to rub off on her but failing miserably.

“It’s certainly morning,” Emma grumbles, wanting to reach out and grab the stainless steel mug from his hand and chug until she can function again.

“Well, that’s certainly a Monday mood if I’ve ever heard one. Not enough sleep last night?”

She shakes her head instead of responding, not really sure how to explain that he’s the reason without it sounding like either flattery or an insult. Truly, it was her own internal fuck-ups that kept her awake, and the fear that Killian Jones might be someone she wants to think about more often. This all floats through her brain on a lazy river of thought, and meanwhile, the light changes and Killian ushers her across the street and maneuvers her up the path to Granny’s before she can even register that she’s moved at all.

But instead of that being the end of their daily interactions, Killian is still walking beside her, opening the door for her when they walk up the few steps to the entrance, and somehow herding her without touching her all the way to the proprietress.

“Granny, I do believe our good deputy here is suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Might you have something strong enough to knock out her Monday?”

“You’re consorting with this one, now?” Granny asks her, confusion popping up one gray eyebrow above her spectacles.

“I wouldn’t say consorting, as such, but we’ve become acquainted,” Killian says when she still can’t seem to find her words.

“Americano,” Emma finally spits out. “Make that a double.” Her brain is trying so hard to catch up to everything but somehow hearing Killian describe them as not-quite-consorting is the comforting wake-up she needed.

“There she is!” Killian’s exuberant tone jolts her a little bit, but she snorts a little and shakes her head.

“I’m good now, Jones. Thanks.”

“No worries, love. Happy to help.”

She remembers hearing the endearment the first time, that split-second instinct she had to correct him and tell him she was nothing to him at all, before she realized she’s been called the same by Robin and Will on more occasions than she can count.

Killian waits with her until the coffee is in her hands and walks the short length down to where they have to split in opposite directions to go to their places of employment. Emma tries not to linger once they get to that point, not wanting to hold him up from getting to work on time.

“Until tomorrow, then?” he asks, a gentle hint to the words. There’s something in his expression that speaks volumes more than his voice does, though.

“Until tomorrow, Jones.” She gives him a sly smile when she does it, lifting her coffee in thanks like he did the morning they officially met.

At lunch time, she’s feeling a little more like herself thanks to the coffee, but her energy is flagging and she realizes she never even ate breakfast, either. Just a granola bar she had in her desk from who knows when.

“I’m gonna walk down to Granny’s and get some lunch. What do you want?”

“Usual burger and fries?” David sounds as drained as she feels thanks to the stacks of files he’s been working on all morning, so she makes up her own mind to bring back more coffee to save them both from the ancient pot they still keep in the corner for some reason.

There’s something a lot more enticing than caffeine waiting in the diner, however, since she spots Killian in one of the booths almost as soon as she enters. He’s elbow deep in a stack of pages, oblivious to the world around him as it all bustles along. Instead, she has a suspicion that whatever he’s reading is where he lives now.

She wars with herself over whether or not to disturb him when he looks so engrossed, but it also looks like he hasn’t stopped in a while if his half-eaten lunch is anything to go by. With a quick stop by the counter, Emma places her to-go order and asks for a refill on Killian’s drink.

There’s a knowing arch to Granny’s eyebrow as she hands over the coffee and Emma pretends not to notice it, instead telling the older woman to let her know when her order is all ready.

“Careful, Jones. You look like you’re about to blow a fuse,” Emma says as she reaches the table, leaning casually against the other side of the booth after setting his drink in the last clean space. Even with the blatant approach, Emma can still tell she’s surprised him by the way he jumps a little in his seat. It takes a moment for him to speak, his eyes never leaving the page.

“I have to concentrate a little harder when there are beautiful women standing beside my temporary work space,” comes his response as he marks his spot on the page he’s working through. It’s then that he looks up at her, his eyes shining with humor but also the truth of his words. She knows it; she has a thing about people and lies. So of course she blushes, averting her eyes to scan around his mess of a table.

“I figured you were more of a neat, orderly pile kind of person,” she says with a gesture to the table. “I mean, you just seem the type.”

If he notices her weird tone of embarrassment, he ignores it. “You’re not wrong. I’ve just been so lost in the stories here that I’ve let the chaos take over a little bit. Thankfully, everything is numbered, or else I’d be in trouble.” “Why read here? Don’t you have an office with that fancy publishing company?”

“I do. It’s a very small, very modest office that I probably sit in more often than my home. But it also has other people who don’t like to respect my closed door in the afternoons. Namely, of course, Will Scarlet.”

She chuckles at that, not entirely surprised that he would choose to escape instead of trying to deal with Will. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

“And you? What brings you in? You look far more alert than you did this morning, by the way.”

“Thanks, I think? I’m here for lunch and coffee. We’re just getting started trying to get the old reports all transfered to our digital format. I love him, but David primarily uses the single fingers typing method that’s popular with dads and I couldn’t stand the sound of it anymore.”

“Emma!” They both jolt at the calling of her name, looking over to see Granny holding the bag with her order inside.

“Speaking of which, sounds like I’m up. I guess I should leave you to it, then. Wouldn’t want to add to your distractions list.”

“For the record, Swan, you’re always welcome to interrupt my work without ending up on my naughty list.” There’s just something about the way he says the line that Emma thinks is 99.9% totally innocent, but the very use of the word “naughty” has her 100% sure he could take it in a very dirty direction if given the chance. The most shocking part is that she kinda wants to walk right into it. “And thanks for the refresher on the coffee.”

“Don’t fry your brain,” she comments before pushing away from the booth and collecting her lunch. With reluctance, she walks out the door instead of going back to the damn booth and taking up more of his time.

-x- October 11: Friday & October 18: Friday

The rest of the work week passes quickly, with greetings to Killian in the mornings, steady work in the afternoons, and dinner spent alone in the evenings. With each new day, her conversations with Killian got a little longer, more drawn-out, and she was finding out so much more about him.

By that Friday, they’ve talked about work, and bickered about the best toppings to go on waffles, what their sweet tooth go-to is. And then, again, their habits change a little bit more.

“Are you going out tonight?” she asks, not even sure what prompted her to say anything. She wasn’t initially planning on heading to the bar after her shift, but their morning topic of pet ownership is apparently enough that it makes her want to talk to him more.

“Maybe,” he tells her. He means “yes” if his expression is anything to go on.

“Maybe isn’t yes, Jones.”

“It’s not a no, either,” he tells her, reaching up to push her hair off her shoulder with his hook. With that same smug expression on his face, he waves goodbye and leaves her outside Granny’s to get her coffee. One of these days she’s just going to steal his as retribution for saying that Pop-Tarts are not a suitable breakfast.

He does make an appearance that night, sitting between herself and Snow after he wanders in with Will. She can already tell that he’s worming his way into Snow��s heart, and while that will ultimately make her life more complicated when the other woman starts pressuring her to date him, at least she’ll have her sister’s approval.

He doesn’t stay long, claiming at one point that he could very well fall asleep on his walk back home. Emma is this tempted to ask if he wants her to walk with him, but he bumps her shoulder companionably and says he’ll see her on Monday before he rises from the table and walks to the bar to pay his tab.

She keeps her eyes peeled on her own walk home to make sure he isn’t asleep somewhere along the route, just to be safe, and that’s damning enough on its own to indicate how she feels about him.

The next Friday, she’s lost in thought picking up dinner from Granny’s when the voice of Will Scarlet intrudes her personal space.

“Get your boyfriend to go out with us tonight. He’s refusing to leave his office,” he says bluntly, sliding up next to Emma at the counter. She’s thrown for a second by the word ‘boyfriend’ and stares at him for a moment before she realizes Will’s talking about Killian.

“Killian’s not my boyfriend,” she says, trying not to sound too bristly.

“Well, not with that bloody attitude he’s not,” Will says, grin still in place.

“Go away.”

“I will as soon as I’ve got food for that prickly bastard I work with.”

“Why’s he prickly?”

“He’s been locked away in that bloody office all week. Never left the room except for toilet breaks today. Propped a chair in front of the door so I couldn’t get in to try to make him break for lunch.”

“Doesn’t his door have a lock?”

“Do you really think a locked door can keep me out?”

It’s none of her business, not really, but she’s still a little concerned about that much work.

“C’mon, Lady Sheriff. I figure if anyone is going to get him to cut back a little bit and take a night to recharge, it’ll be the woman he fancies.”

There are so many things for her to unpack in that sentence.

“I’m the deputy,” she corrects almost absently because the rest of her brain and a thumping portion of her heart are still stuck on the idea that Killian fancies her - the very British way for Will to say that he like likes her. Has he said that out loud to Will? Does he talk about her?

“I don’t have his number or anything. It’s not like I can just text him and tell him what to do.”

“Okay then, you can take him the dinner I was planning on dropping off and use your womanly charms to get him away from that bloody computer screen for a night.”

Emma snorts at the idea of trying to use any kind of womanly charms, since she hasn’t used those since she was helping chase bail skips back in her early twenties. She doesn’t think Will has the same ideas as she does when she hears those words, and thank goodness for that.

In the end, when the food is ready to go, Emma takes the bag from Will. “Fine. But only because he’s probably so sick of your face that he’d just as soon starve than open that door for you again.”

Will is clearly torn between celebrating that his plan has worked and being an ass about her reasoning, but Belle walks in and diverts his attention, so Emma starts edging towards the door with the two bags of food in hand.

“You know where the building is, yeah?”

“I do.”

“Turn to the left past reception and it’s down the second hall to the right.”

It’s almost pointless that Will gave her the directions, since there’s only one office in the whole building that seems to be lit up. The rest of the place is deserted, but his door is propped open and she’s about to knock, but takes a moment instead to appreciate how intense Killian looks while he’s working.

He’s chewing on his lip, eyes scanning his computer screen with fervor. He’s wearing glasses, which she’s never seen before, and even though she’s been standing here for at least thirty seconds, he still hasn’t seemed to notice she’s there with how deep he’s in the story. With a shifting of bags, she lightly knocks on the doorframe to catch his attention.

“If you’ve come to get me out of this office, you’ll have to try harder than by bringing me food.”

“Even if it’s really good food?” Emma asks. “I see you unblocked the door.”

Killian’s head snaps up so fast that she’s sure he’s given himself whiplash.

As such, his voice is breathless when he says her last name, as if she’s a mere mirage standing in his doorway and he is a man dying of thirst. With the expression on his face, she’s pretty sure that’s not far from the truth.

“You’re not Will.”

“And thank god for that,” Emma says, finally entering his office and presenting him with the bag of food marked with his name on it.

“Ah, but he sent you,” Killian retorts as he accepts the bag. He sees the second bag in Emma’s hand. “Do you have time? Would you like to eat, as well?”

She hesitates for a moment, thinking about how all she was going to do was drop off the food and go, maybe remind him to drink water or something, but he looks like he could use the company of someone other than the fictional characters in front of him. “Sure,” she finally says, moving the chair in front of his desk closer so she can place her own food on the surface.

As they each eat their dinners, Killian tells her more about the project he’s been assigned.

“It’s a relatively short book compared to the other projects I’ve worked on, but because of how much is riding on this one thing, I feel like I’m hyper-obsessing over every detail. I read the whole thing that day you saw me at the diner, and I’m still in the first chapter making edits and comments because I keep wondering if it’s the right call or not. I meet the author in a couple weeks and I want to have more than three pages marked up before that day.”

“You need to stop psyching yourself out so much,” Emma concludes as she pops another onion ring in her mouth. “And you definitely need to ease up on the time in the office. How long ago did everyone leave today?”

“Most cut out by three on Fridays.”

“So you’ve just been here for three hours working by yourself in a dark office building? With the front door unlocked?”

“It’s Storybrooke, love. Who’s going to even want to come here?”

“You have a point, I guess.” She wipes her hands with a napkin, shoving her trash back in the bag and crumpling it up. “But still, you should consider going out with everyone tonight. Or at least going home and drinking a lot of water and thinking about self-care.”

“Will you be included in this everyone?” He sounds a little quiet, a little unsure, a little nervous when he asks.

The woman he fancies, marches back through her head and Emma’s heart flutters a little. “Yeah,” she says, with no intentions of teasing him or leading him on. She gives a little shrug, smirking along with it. “Besides, it’s… also my birthday. Just so you know.”

“Today?” His full attention is on her, now, even forgetting about the fry that was halfway to his mouth.

“Tuesday, but since it’s a weekday, we’re celebrating tonight.” The wheels are turning behind those tired eyes and she knows she almost has him. “You can tell me about how you finished this chapter when you get to the bar tonight.”

“Maybe,” he says, but there are cracks in the facade he’s trying to hold onto.

“Maybe isn’t yes, Jones.” Last Friday comes back to mind, and she thinks this may just be the start of a routine or something now if he keeps this up.

“It’s not a no either, Swan,” he says with a smile that she’s beginning to recognize as the same she gets on her face when she thinks about him. She is so screwed.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, standing from her chair and flippantly tossing the trash from her dinner into the wastebasket by his desk. “See you later.” She winks when she says it, and his responding smile gives away that he’ll definitely be there.

-x- October 18: Friday

Fifteen minutes after Emma gets to the bar, she finally orders her drink. She knows Killian will show, but it’s a matter of how much longer. The drink has barely been in front of her for thirty seconds when she hears the door open and close again. She doesn’t even flinch when he appears by her elbow and orders his usual.

With a casual glance, she sees that he’s still in his suit and tie. He looks a little ruffled from the long day, but even at what she’s sure is a rough state, he still looks like she’d like to kiss him. That thought isn’t new, but the intensity of it is.

“What a surprise to see you, Jones.” She takes a sip of her drink before she looks at him again.

He’s shaking his head, looking like he’s trying not to smile but she gets to watch the grin fully bloom as he fails to keep a straight face. He glances around the empty tables where everyone usually congregates. “Where is everyone?”

“Well, I told Will that you wouldn’t go out unless we went to Aesop’s Tables. So I assume that’s where he is. And David and Snow had plans tonight.”

“Trying to get me alone, Swan?”

“I figured you could use a night to decompress without Will challenging you to a chugging contest.”

“You’re a savior, you know that?”

“I’ve been called that once or twice,” she admits, grabbing her drink and standing from the barstool. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Yeah. Decompress. I have darts. You have a long week to put behind you. We both have good, strong drinks. Let’s go.”

He still looks baffled by the whole thing, and Emma’s not really sure why she’s so intent on trying to get him to loosen up, besides the fact that he’s one of the most put-together people she’s ever met and to see him a little disheveled is… kinda nice. She turns him and nudges him towards the other end of the bar where the dartboards are set up.

“Oh!” Killian stops in his tracks in front of her for a second and turns around. “What about your birthday?”

“What about it?”

“You said you were supposed to celebrate tonight.”

Emma fights with the smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, I did.”

“You didn’t have plans,” he says, the words tinted with a bit of confusion, but it’s definitely a statement.

“Nope,” she says, popping the last consonant. “C’mon. Tell me about your book thing.” She gets him moving again with a gentle jab to the middle of his chest.

And he does. As soon as they settle into a rhythm at the boards, Killian goes through the general premise of the twist on fairy tales. His arms are constantly moving as he talks, something that Emma finds fascinating. The impressive part is how he can do that and still throw without really concentrating. Sometimes, however, that doesn’t mean the throw is good.

“I haven’t played in a while,” he confesses after his first dart ends up on the floor and the second ends up embedded in the light cover above the board.

“Mmmhmm. Keep telling yourself that’s the reason,” Emma teases, collecting the darts and hitting three numbers she needs.

The game progresses with ease, however, and they keep up a steady conversation with the music buffering them from the other patrons and conversations. Round 1 ends up going to Emma.

“He still has one detail I wouldn’t have written if it were my book,” he tells her when they’re deep in round two.

“Oh?”

“There’s the ever-present failsafe: True Love’s Kiss.”

“And why wouldn’t you have written that into the stories?”

“Because if these are twisted tales, why should that be the save-all? Case in point, what if it were a curse instead of the fixer?”

“What do you mean?” She takes her throw, but it’s a bad shot. She’s officially more interested in what he’s saying so her game is going to shit.

“Bear with me a moment. In most stories, that kiss is the thing that fixes everything, breaks the curse, completes someone, etc. etc.”

She nods as she takes a sip of her drink which is slowly becoming more water than alcohol from the ice melting. It’s clear he’s on a roll, both in telling the story and with the darts. With the first throw, he hits the triple 20.

“So if I were to meet and kiss my true love, in Henry’s version, I would live happily ever after. But if I were the one twisting the fairy tales, my true love would turn into a hand. The thing that would literally complete me, so to speak.” The second dart hits the outer ring of single 19, leaving him with one more dart and only needing the double bullseye to win the game.

“Then I’d just be this poor, lonely bastard with a reminder of this great love I was owed and instead have a hand to carry around at all times.” The dart goes flying, sinking into the middle of the board with ease. He spins, his look of disbelief fighting with the full-blown smile taking over his face. All Emma can do is laugh.

“One hell of an ending, Jones,” she says, not sure if she’s talking about the game or the curse. “But for the record, I hope you don’t think that a missing limb makes you any less whole.”

He’s at the dartboard collecting the darts when she says it, and he leaves two of them on the board as he comes back to the table they’re set up at. She’s surprised the words even came out of her mouth, unsure of where the need to tell him that came from.

“I did once, after it first happened. I was young and suddenly down one hand, discharged from the Navy because of it, and had no direction.”

“How did you find your way again?”

It’s so close to home. She thinks about being 18 and alone in Tallahassee, trying to find any way she could to make money to get back to David and Storybrooke without breaking down and asking him for money.

“Mostly with the help of my brother, Liam. He kept me moving forward when I wanted to slide down the hill.”

“That’s one of the perks of having a brother,” Emma says, clearing her throat and taking a sip from her drink.

“It certainly is,” he replies. Sensing the shift in tone, Killian offers to refresh their drinks.

“Sure. But light on the vodka in this one.”

While he’s getting the drinks, she shakes off the memories. Maybe she should share with him that they have more in common than a route to work, but she also thinks that can be saved for another time. Because although they still haven’t exchanged numbers or full back-stories, she feels like this is all much bigger than a morning routine, now.

They throw for best out of five. In the end, Killian is the victor of their mini-tournament.

“Re-beginner’s luck,” Killian tells her as they settle their tabs and wish Jefferson a goodnight.

When they step outside, they start a slow, meandering walk back towards their homes. The October wind picks up, whipping her hair around her face and forcing her to zip her jacket up all the way. Without meaning to, Emma ends up huddled against Killian’s side, trying to escape the bitter wind. Somehow in the mix, she also ends up holding onto his arm, enjoying the way the fabric of his suit jacket feels beneath her fingertips. There’s a little smile on his face when she glances up at him, and when his eyes meet hers she can’t help but notice the way a quiet affection shines through.

They don’t talk much, mostly about the nothings that get lost in the mundane details of their day, like how she’ll start driving the Bug again soon when it gets colder. At this, Killian seems to deflate a little, and she realizes that it’ll bring an end to their walks down the street until the weather warms up again.

“But that’s not for another couple weeks,” she says, trying to make up for the fact that yeah, eventually she won’t be up for frigid commutes to the station in the snow. It’s not until she glances around that she realizes they’ve walked all the way back to her apartment complex. “Oh. This is me,” she says, pointing with her free hand up at the modest building. “I didn’t mean to make you walk this far out of your way.”

“I’m always happy to escort Storybrooke’s finest,” he mentions. “And thank you for getting me to relax tonight. I’d probably still be in that bloody office if it weren’t for you.”

“Or be three sheets to the wind thanks to Will.”

“Again, you’ve saved me in multiple ways today, Swan.”

“And yet, this was my birthday celebration and you got me no gift.”

With a glint in his eyes, Killian sways just the tiniest bit closer. “Only one gift I’ve got to offer,” he says, his index finger going from nervously rubbing a spot behind his ear to tapping his lips twice, the smile that overtakes those lips knowing and teasing and everything she’s wanted to kiss since he touched her hand that first time.

“Please,” Emma says, her voice dipping low. “You couldn’t handle it.” Even so, she’s moving closer without really meaning to, magnetically pulled towards his body in ways she can’t even explain.

“Perhaps you’re the one that couldn’t handle it,” he retorts, holding eye contact with her the whole time.

It’s a challenge. And she doesn’t like backing down from a challenge.

Her eyes shift between his for a second more, and then she’s hauling him towards her by the lapels on his suit jacket. Their mouths connect, both anticipating, both going for it like there’s a prize for who wrecks the other more. Back and forth they go with who leads and who takes, coming up for air twice in the process, until they’re both breathing heavily and she has to hold onto him to steady herself for an extra second.

“That was…” he mutters, his voice low.

They sway closer one more time and Emma’s pretty sure he’s going to kiss her again, but suddenly, the flight instinct takes over. She can’t like him. Can’t let him in. With barely a glance up, she decides to ruin the only good thing she’s had going for a while.

“A one time thing. Goodnight, Killian.” She says it with pain in her voice as she gently untangles herself from his embrace. It takes a lot of effort to command her own fingers to let go of his coat lapels and start walking away.

She doesn’t turn back, doesn’t want to see the look on his face that she knows is the same one on hers. Because they only walk together for part of their daily commutes. Nothing more. More is what leaves her in the middle of the night. More is what falls for her and dies in her arms. More is a lying, cheating asshole.

The door to the building closes firmly behind her, cutting off “more” before it even begins.

-x-

Chapter 3

#cs ff #cs ff au #captain swan ff #csrt #sarah writes ff

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