#not in dramatic breathless ways but rather on a peaceful and soft day. i think they've earned a quiet kind of love

[lookitseddie]

3 times darlin' almost said 'I love you', and the one time they finally did.

↳ Thank you so much to @penumbra-mayhem for beta reading this for me, you're the sweetest <33

Enjoy!

Tank almost thought they couldn't say it. That those words just happened to not be in their vocabulary, but they knew that wasn't true. They had said it before— when their parents used to tuck them in and tell them a bed-time story. They had said it when their family left for Washington without them.

So, why was it so hard now?

David's house was quiet, which was an eerie feeling in itself. His house was never quiet. Never empty. Either filled by the background noise of the television, or the soft chatter of pack members that seemed to always be there, but never this empty.

David's cleaning the kitchen again. He doesn't need to, he's done it three times already just today. He's keeping himself busy, Tank knows that, but they can't help but cringe at the fact that he's still wearing his suit, and it hasn't been five minutes since they came back.

"David, you should rest. The funeral was... tiring." To say the least.

David doesn't move, doesn't speak. They expect him to say something in that gruff voice that he's been using too often nowadays— The one that made him sound like Gabe— but he doesn't speak. Instead he lifts his head up, and Tank sees something they know will be burned into the back of their head forever.

"Shit-"

His eyes are glossy, red as can be. He blinks once and the tears come pouring. They don't even have the time to brace themselves before he collapses his entire weight onto them and his body is shaking with sobs. Somehow, they manage to lower the both of them to the ground softly.

They stayed there for... hours, maybe. Neither of them said a word the entire time. Tank wanted to, but they just couldn't shove out the words stuck in their throat like a clog— I love you.

This time they were sure. Their mouth had opened, and a noise was escaping just as his fangs sunk into the inner side of their thigh. Their flesh ripping open, their blood pouring out straight into his mouth, and him taking it all in like a starved man. They were so sure.

But, Quinn was out the door before they could make it through the sentence. The sound of the door shutting closed left them in pathetic silence while they held paper towels over where his mouth had just been. Their mind was too hazy— from blood loss and something else— and they were almost grateful. They didn't want to think.

They didn't want to think about what would've happened if they had seen it through. Would Quinn laugh? Would he brush them off? Worse of all— Would he say it back?

They didn't know. For better or for worse, they’d never find out.

Beeps and flickers of hospital equipment surrounded Tank as they sat stiffly in a plastic chair that was too small for them. Their eyes were heavy, fists clenched on their lap, as they stared at the unconscious person on the bed.

Quinn had crossed the line. Hurting them was one thing, but going for their friend? A low blow, even for him. Tank's heart was pattering with pure rage that had now replaced their initial horror. The idea of revenge stewed in their head, just about to boil over. While they knew the "sensible" thing to do was to stay here, keep their friend some company, their body itched to run out the door, and to put that fucker in the dirt where he belonged.

Maybe they should've stayed. Maybe they should've taken that unconscious hand in their own and whispered those three soft words like they wanted to. They should've waited for those eyes to open so they could repeat them to ears that could actually hear them, but they didn't.

They had a vampire to track down, afterall.

"You know that thing's almost as old as you, right?”

Sunday mornings were starting to become Darlin's favourite. They were always lazy, and for some reason, the house always felt more cozy and home-y on these days. They didn't know why that was, exactly, but then again, they didn't care.

"Yeah, and?"

Sam snuggled closer into their side while they tightened their arm around his shoulder. He could feel their heartbeat against his ear, and they could smell his shampoo. The needle in between Sam's fingers worked expertly over the rip on his red flannel— the thing was more stitches than cloth at this point.

Darlin' rolled their eyes at his playful response and didn't bother with challenging the southerner on the topic any further. They weren't one to talk anyways with their own jacket— blood stains and everything— hanging on the hook behind the front door. They both had a knack for giving old, battered things a home.

Instead, they buried their nose into his hair, and let their body relax into his. Their other hand snaked around his waist to pull Sam even closer until he was basically sitting in their lap.

"... I love you."

"I love you, too, Darlin'."

[hops-hunny]

Girls Like Her

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Black!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.7k

Request: N/A

Summary: In which Kyoya is smitten and not afraid to show it.

Warnings: None! Fluff.

A/N: this is so self indulgent and I don't even care I NEEDED some Kyoya with a black girl bc where's all the color in the ouran community??

Kyoya had a fine eye for spectacular things. Running the host club with Tamaki required it. He was always looking for something of interest that he knew the guest would like and that would bring in a nice bit of money as well. That's why he was mesmerized when he saw (Y/n). Sure, Kyoya had seen girls that were deemed "beautiful" by whatever measure of beauty the rest of his high class socialite peers thought. However, he had never put much thought into what he personally found beautiful but now thanks to her, he didn't need to.

Sure he had seen women with nice skin. It wasn't very uncommon. Going to school with girls whose parents made most people's yearly salary in a day meant they were well cared for. They took care of their skin with the finest of products, as did he. However her skin was unmatched. Nice hues of brown which glowed beautifully in the soft daylight of music room 3. Not a blemish or wrinkle in sight. Smooth and brown all over like a bewitching goddess. And sure other girls had hair. It was all a blur to him however, nothing he could point out or was anything but ordinary. All of it was the same straight hair in the same bland style. But hers however?

She wore some of the most elaborate styles he had ever seen. He didn't know the proper names for them at first but the more she visited the host club, the more he'd overhear her speak about them to the other guest. Box braids, goddess twist, faux locs. Each style suited and complimented her well. Anytime she'd change it up he'd observe it carefully, viewing every bump and turn on the art that was her hair. His favorite though was when she'd wear it naturally.

 God was it a sight. A large, picked to perfection afro atop her head like the crown a princess, no, a queen of her caliber should have. It reminded him of the clouds in the sky he'd see on a nice summer afternoon except far more eye catching and far more mesmerizing.

"Tamaki?" Kyoya questioned, looking up at his blonde friend. The last few of the guest had trickled out by now.

"Yes mommy dear?" He quipped, walking over to his raven haired friend.

"Is there a reason we don't see Lady (L/n) any time other than the host club? How come I've never seen her in any of our classes?" He asked, trying to ignore the stupid look Tamaki had on his face.

"Kyoya, are you in love?! Oh how amazing! I always knew this wo-"

"Forget it, this is a waste of time." He began to head to the door but stopped as Tamaki stopped his path.

"Wait! (L/N) as in (Y/n) (L/n) right? She's a year below us, that's why you probably never see her outside of class. We don't have any classes with her except lunch if you count that." Kyoya hummed at the man's words before walking to the door, opening it. 

"Thank you." He said, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

"No problem, dear friend."

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

Kyoya stood behind his podium, greeting guests as they came through. He offered each of them the same fake smile he'd give, confirming their host choice for the day. He never cared too much to remember faces, just the different things they'd enjoy and how he could make profit off of them. Well everyone except-

"Kyooo! What's up? How ya doin today?" She chirped, leaning close to him as she offered him a bright smile from behind her supple plump lips. He smiled down at her, a genuine one (not that he'd ever let anyone know that).

"Ah, lady (L/n). A pleasure to see you as always. Your usual I presume?" He said, searching for the twins' names as he went to check the mark.

"Actually I thought I'd switch things up today!"

"Really? Who will it be then?" Whoever it was would be so lucky to be graced with the girl's presence. Her smile grew wider at his question as she leaned even closer.

"You! You do host right? I haven't seen anyone come to you for some time." She mused, resting a brown hand on his arm. Normally he'd remove himself from anyone's touch but for her he didn't mind so much. He'd even go as far as to say he enjoyed it. "Any excuse to stare at that nice face of yours longer."

'The same could be said even more so about you, darling.' Is what he wanted to say but consumed by his own nerves he let them get the best of him. "Usually I find myself too busy to," he started, noticing her face drop, "However I can always make exceptions for ladies of such high beauty as yourself, princess." She smiled, heading over to the empty table that Kyoya rarely hosts at. She sat on the couch across from him, fiddling and moving around as usual. (Y/n) was an unusual energetic girl who found that she couldn't sit still for more than a few seconds, which was a trait that usually drove him up the wall but when it came to her he found it to be quite cute.

“You’re not going to eat or drink anything?” (Y/n) asked, shoving her mouth with the tiny tea cakes that sat on the silver cake stand. Kyoya let a soft smile take his face as he watched her. He always kept them hidden in the back because he knew they were her favorite and they were far more expensive than anything else they served. The cakes themselves were imported from France daily which was obviously a pretty penny but, he didn’t mind. The smile on her face made it worth the extra bit of cash.

“I’m not much of a fan of sugar, it’s bad for your skin.” he stated, looking down at the little black book in his hands. She hummed processing his words before wiping her mouth off with a napkin.

“Well what do you usually drink? I wanna have the same thing as you!”

“I’m a fan of earl grey served black. No sugar, no cream.” he said. She eyed him carefully before giggling. She leaned in close, looking into his dark eyes as he stared back.

“Yeah you seem to be quite the fan of,” she cleared her throat to hide a giggle. “Black things.” Kyoya set his cup down, choking on the liquid. (Y/n) sat back in her seat satisfied, laughing loudly as she threw her head back. A few of the guests stared at her with angry eyes, upset by her mild disturbance. But, she didn’t care. She never did. Once his choking died down, she sent him a wink. “I’m only messing with you, Kyo-chan! Lightin up will yeah? Anyways I’d like to have a cup of what you're drinking. It couldn’t be too bad, right?”

Wrong, she had been deeply wrong. Kyoya smiled in amusement as she sputtered out the tea, coughing dramatically. “Is it not to your liking, dear?” he asked in a sarcastically cheerful tone.

“Like hell it is! This shit is gross.” she began to pout, pushing the cup away from her. “I’d like my usual back please.” she said, looking up at him. He felt his face heat up slightly as he nodded his head, grabbing her cup before heading off with it. He searched the shelves carefully before finding her usual and preparing the way he knew she liked it. Too much sugar and too much cream. He chuckled at the thought, 'it suits her.'

(Y/n) smiled as he returned with her cup taking a sip as she let out a sigh of content. "As much as I'm enjoying my time with you today, my lady, I'm curious about your sudden shift. You always without a doubt choose the twins." He questioned, watching as she delicately set her cup down on the wooden table. He admired her presence. She was graceful but in a way he had never seen before, unique just like everything else about her.

"Do you want the real answer or the fake answer?" She questioned, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. Kyoya had a split second of a confused look before offering her another smile.

"Honestly is the best policy, my dear."

"Well- you see- ugh!" She huffed, slouching back in her seat. He couldn't help but find it adorable how the big ugly yellow dress swallowed her whole during that action. "I always wanna request for you Kyo-chan but you always seem so busy, so distant. I figured I'd let you have your own peace." She leaned forward on her hand as she rested her elbow on the table. "And besides, I've seen you reject to host much prettier girls so why would you host me?"

Kyoya's eyes widened at the (h/c) haired girls announcement. Prettier girls, than her? Too busy, for her? He chuckled some catching the girl's attention. Before she could ask him what was up he began to speak. "I don't mean to laugh in your face princess but I think you've got it twisted." He stood up, pulling the girl close to his chest. The other host watched with wide eyes and their mouths open at Kyoya's uncharacteristic behavior. "There are no prettier girls nor is there anyone I'd rather spend my time with," he tilted her head up bringing his face closer to hers, "Than you." (Y/n) stood there breathless at his words. Her eyes gleamed brightly at his confession.

"Are you busy this weekend?" She asked him faintly.

"Well, I'd have t-"

"Well now you're not. Take me on a date." His eyes widened at her forwardness before laughing softly. She did have a way of doing that, leading the way in any conversation no matter what the topic.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" He teased, pulling back from his hold to push his glasses up his nose. "Either way, alright dear. How could I say no to you?"

Tamaki watched from a far with a hand over his heart, genuine tears falling out of his eyes. In all his time he had known Kyoya, he had never seen him passionate about much of anything. To see his friend so sure of himself, so content in his emotions moved him. Thank god for the sun that had taken away Kyoya from his rainy days.

[kiribaku-queen]

Hi! Could you please do a Kuroo x reader please! He’s gone away on a work trip for a couple of weeks and he decides to come back early to surprise her? But when he gets home late at night he sees her in the bedroom with Kenma or Bokuto (someone he’s close with) hugging and they fall onto the bed? (Looks suss as fuck), but really the person was just comforting her because she was missing him and she was crying about it? Kuroo ends up coming to blows with the person being all like “how could you” and she has to step in and explain the whole situation? Basically angst with a fluffy ending?

If you aren’t comfortable doing it with a Haikyuu character maybe Todoroki and Midoriya or someone like that? Or maybe doing the MHA one as well as the Haikyuu one? Up to you I’m easy I’ll be happy with whatever you write hahaha fml

Surprise

Pairing: Kuroo x reader

Angst

Word count: 4.7K

A/N: Oof, it’s about time that I uploaded this one. I promise, the others are coming out! Slowly but surely! I was really excited to start this one though because the scenario was so easy to follow and see in my head. I’m sorry if you think the reader is annoying or too clingy. Reader is a sensitive soul in this one. I hope it’s angsty enough for you and I’d love to know your thoughts on this one, anon! Happy reading!

This isn’t what you wanted.

You didn’t like this one bit.

“It’s only 2 weeks,” your boyfriend tried to comfort you as you pouted in the corner.

“2 weeks too long,” you said angrily, arms crossed over your chest and with permanent frown that doesn’t look like it’s going to go away any time soon. Kuroo laughs at your reaction, looking absolutely adorable to him. He pinches your cheek in hopes that that will cheer you up, but obviously it doesn’t.

“Stop being so pouty,” he laughs and you just glare up at him.

“If you didn’t leave me, then I won’t be so pouty,” you jutted your bottom lip out to emphasize how much you’re going to dread the time away from him.

“You can survive without me for 2 weeks,” Kuroo’s pinch on your cheeks turns into a soft caress to the touch. You lean into his touch until you let his hand cover your face to allow you to take in his scent. It was comforting. The smell of him. The way he feels. Fuck, you were really going to miss him.

“I’ll miss you,” you whisper into the palm of his hands. Kuroo chuckles, picking you up so that you were sitting in his lap. He brings your face close to him so that your noses were touching but not quite your lips.

“You know I’ll miss you too,” Kuroo whispers against your lips that were ready to be kissed any second now.

Truth be told, 2 weeks was not a long time for some people. But for you, 2 weeks was going to feel a suffocating 2 months. Ever since you started dating your boyfriend, you were never really separated from each other. You met in college and spend all your time together, forgetting about your other friends. And then you found out that you both live in the same hometown so when you went home, you guys were still together so no need to worry about long distance. The longest you’ve been apart from each other was probably a weekend, at most. So it’s no surprise that you started to get attached. Unhealthy, you know. But who could blame you? You both loved being around each other so much that you never saw it as a problem. But because of that and with the situation you are facing now, you started feeling anxious about him leaving you by yourself.

You didn’t know what it was. Were you feeling this way because you think he was going to cheat on you? Was it the fear eating you up that he was going to find someone better? Or was it that he was going to have fun somewhere else while you were at home miserable? It could be a mixture of all of them, if you were being completely honest with yourself.

But you knew he had to go. It was work related, you can’t keep him from working. But the thought that he was still leaving you for a good amount of time was upsetting and a bit painful. Kuroo sensed that you weren’t going to lighten up ant time soon. So he cupped your cheeks and placed a light kiss on your lips.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he reassures you again but his comfort wasn’t enough to convince you to feel any better.

“How about this? When I come back, I’ll give you all the kisses to makeup for the time being away plus more if you want,” Kuroo tried to reason with you. And it was tempting.

“Why can’t I have it now?” you gave him puppy eyes plus the pout on your lips. He chuckles again and gives you one quick kiss.

“How was that? Will that last you for 2 weeks?” he asks and you shake your head.

“How about… this one?” and he pulls you in for a deeper kiss. But that still didn’t suffice.

“No? Okay, what about now?” and he kisses both sides of your cheeks.

“Or this one?” now he’s kissing your nose. Then your forehead. Then your chin. Your hands and your neck. Back to your lips multiple times.

“Are you getting sick of me yet?” he teases, the distance of each kiss getting shorter and shorter until both of your lips refuse to leave each other. Kuroo is hugging your waist tight and pulling you closer if that was even physically possible anymore. You could feel his muscles through his shirt and it was taking every inch of you to not further the contact. Both of you got lost in the few minutes you had left together, not wanting to break away first. But he had to go eventually. Kuroo breaks the kiss, leaning your foreheads together.

“I have to go,” he whispers, still breathless from your intimate moment. Anxiety rising in you again because the moment is finally here. Being the good boyfriend that he was, he takes your hand in his as you walk to the front door together. Suitcase in hand and yours in the other.

The front door opens and the tears are already spilling out. Kuroo’s eyes soften at the sight and pulls you in for the final hug before he leaves. You couldn’t look at him because if you did, you knew you couldn’t let him go. What you didn’t know though, is that as soon as he saw you cry, he was doing the same thing. But he had to hold it in for you.

“I’ll be back before you know it, I promise. I’ll call you every night so you can see this handsome face before you go to bed,” Kuroo tries lightening the mood with a joke but it was hard when he was getting choked up.

“Hm,” you hummed back, hugging him harder to imprint the feeling of his touch in your memory.

“I love you,” he says and kisses the top of your head. He was going to miss you just as much. But work was work. Right before he pulls away from your hug, you kiss him once more and this time you were in the lead.

“I love you too,” you tell him when you break the kiss. Your boyfriend smirks and smothers your face with small smooches. Goodness, you two really couldn’t get enough of each other. Kuroo would be with you even down to the last second.

Okay, now it’s really time that he had to go.

“If you need anything, you know you can call me. I love you. See you in 2 weeks, love,” Kuroo says his final final goodbyes. You nod your head and watch him walk down the hallway until you couldn’t see him anymore. He looks back and you’re still watching him, waving every time he looks across his shoulder. And then he was gone. For 2 weeks. What were you going to do now?

 You cried. That’s what you did. The second you closed the door, you broke down in front of the door. Call you dramatic but you couldn’t help but feel that way. You tried to distract yourself by working more, starting a new show, cooking more often, cleaning… but everything reminded you of him. God, it wasn’t like he was dying or breaking up with you. He was going to be back in the 2 weeks like he promised. But it was just making you miss him more. You just couldn’t wait until it was time for him to come home so you could feel at peace.

You cried every day the first week he was gone. Every phone call at night, Kuroo could see that. And he was beating himself up for it because he couldn’t do anything to help you. But you appreciated that he took time out of his night to give you an least an hour long phone call. You caught up about your day and comforting each other through the phone. It wasn’t much, but you’d take this any day than nothing at all.

Kuroo was good at keeping his promise the first week. He called you every night, no matter how tired he was. During the second week, he calls started getting shorter. And shorter. And shorter. Until he was only on call for a couple of minutes. He always used the excuse that he was busy or he had to be with his coworkers. Bullshit. You could tell that they were drinking. He wasn’t working at all. He just wanted to hang out with his coworkers. Who works at 10 o’clock at night after they just finished a whole shift?

Some phone calls were the same; just talking about how you miss each other. This call was different though. It was another quick phone call that night. He began talking about his day: what he did, what he ate, plans after work. You didn’t say much about your day because it was so uneventful without him there.

“Are you going out again?” you ask, your chin rested on your pillow as you facetimed your boyfriend.

“Mm,” he hummed back and he could see the disappointed, or rather, annoyed look on your face. “You know I can’t refuse them. They’re my superiors. If they say drink, I have to.” He tried to explain. Yeah, you knew that. You wished your culture wasn’t like that but there wasn’t anything to be done.

“Hey Kuroo! Ready to go?” you saw some of his coworkers barge in on your call. Kuroo happily smiles at them, giving each one a pound hug as a greeting. From what you could see on the screen, all his coworkers were male, so you guess that was a relief.

“Oh yeah. This is my girlfriend, (y/n),” Kuroo doesn’t fail to introduce you to his new friends. They all try to say hi to you. There was so many of them, that they had to take turns sharing the screen. You smile back, not saying much because now all of Kuroo’s attention was on his friends. You just watched as he interacted with them.

“Alright, boys! Who’s ready to party!?” you hear a woman in the background barge through the door behind the boys. All of Kuroo’s coworkers head towards the woman, forgetting that they were even talking to you. Kuroo, too, was looking in her direction. She came into view and holy mother of Jesus was she gorgeous. A business woman who knows how to dress herself to look elegant and classy yet sexy at the same time. All attention was on her now, like she was the life of the party. And that made you nervous.

Kuroo was with a big group of people. It wasn’t like he was just going drinking with her. But she was all you could think about. The single fact that she was present and was a part of that group didn’t sit well in your stomach. You didn’t want to think it, but you did. What if Kuroo starts to take a liking to her? What if he cheats on you? If she dances up on him, will he let her? Or would he be loyal and tell her that he has a girlfriend? Maybe all your fears will disappear when he introduces her to you. You were about to ask about her when Kuroo suddenly speaks up.

“Okay, babe. I gotta go. I love you, talk to you later,” Kuroo sends you a flying kiss.

“Oh, okay. By-” but before you could even finish what you were going to say, he cuts you off and now you were looking at a blank screen. You stared at your computer screen, appalled and shocked at what just happened. You continued to stare at the screen until it turned black, your reflection staring right back at you. Tears were welding in your eyes as you were overwhelmed with emotion at the moment.

You spend that night staring at your ceiling, silent tears streamed down your face. You missed him dearly, wanting nothing more than for him to be in bed with you and cuddle. But Kuroo clearly looked like he was having the time of his life. This was what you feared. He was having fun while you were at home feeling sorry for yourself.

You knew that he would never cheat on you. Deep down, you knew that. But a small voice in your mind was telling you dark lies, tricking you into believing that he was. These thoughts lingered for days. The thought of him and her together ate at you alive. You never felt so down in your life and it was at that moment that you needed him the most only for him to not be reachable. This feeling was unhealthy and you needed to do something about it. Talk about it. To somebody, anybody. And there was only one person who you could trust.

Picking up the phone and searching their name in a flash, you waited for your trusty friend to answer the phone. And as always, their voice always made you smile just a little bit.

“Hey, hey, hey! How’s my crybaby doing?” his booming voice teased you but you found it hard to take that lightly. “Too soon?” he asked after a long pause of silence. You hummed into the phone and began tearing up again. Why? Because he was right, you were a crybaby. And you were calling him because you wanted to cry and pour your heart out to him. He could hear your whimpering over the phone and his tone of voice instantly changed from teasing to concerned.

“Hey, hey, hey… are you okay?” he asks softly. You can’t see it but his thick brows were furrowed into a frown.

“No. Can… Can you come over? I really need somebody right now,” you asked, hoping that you weren’t going to be rejected. That would make you feel even worse. Luckily for you, Bokuto was already on his way.

“Be there in 30.”

You waited for Bokuto in your living room, practically shaking from anxiety. You met Bokuto through Kuroo. It was only a matter of time before you met your boyfriend’s best friend from high school. And then it was only natural that you two became really good friends. You went to him for everything. The gossip, the drama, the comfort, the hype, literally everything. Kuroo wasn’t one to gas you up in certain situations, but you could always count on Bokuto to. It was only natural for you to call him to come comfort you during hard times. Knowing who Bokuto was, he already has a plan to cheer you up already.

Three knocks sounded through the apartment. You shot up from your seat and rushed to open the door. Bokuto was standing there with groceries and wine in hand. He lifted both hands, showing up the items that he brought.

“Will this cheer you up?” he asks, giving you an uncertain smile. You nod your head and since his hands were already open for you, you just went in for a hug. Bokuto didn’t hesitate you hug you back even tighter, securing you in his arms. He wasn’t Kuroo, but a hug is what you really needed.

“Let’s cook you something up to eat and then we can drink our sorrows away. Sound like a plan?” Bokuto suggested.

“I really need that right now,” you say. Yeah, this is what you needed.

The night was spent eating a simple, yet delicious meal Bokuto managed to whip up real quick and pouring out your feelings to the man. Almost a whole bottle of wine was gone, it was sad that he didn’t bring another one. You felt like you were going to need it. Bokuto sat there, sipping on his wine, and listening to everything you had to say. He gave reactions and advice when necessary but was great at letting you say everything that was on your chest.

Laughs were shared here and there, but Bokuto did a great job at making your forget about why you ever were sad in the first place. Shit, if it was this easy to make you feel better, you would have asked for Bokuto’s help a long time ago.

“Bokuto, literally stop!” you laugh, slapping his hand away from you to prevent him from poking your side again.

“If you stop crying, I’ll stop!” he proposed and continued to poke you. You laughed even harder and ran away from him.

“I’m crying from laughter! Not because I’m sad!” you yelled, trying to escape from the mad man.

“Tears are still tears! GET RID OF THEM!” Bokuto yelled back, picking up speed which freaked you out. You ran into the bedroom but unfortunately, that slowed you down and you felt Bokuto’s arms wrap around your waist.

“Got’cha!” he said as he captured you. Both of you burst your stomachs from laughing but he wasn’t done with you just yet. “You ready?”

“For what?” you asked in between breaths.

“This!”

“NO BOKUTO, DON’T!” you squeal but it was too late. With a grunt, Bokuto lifts you in the air and when you land, your back in his arms but this time, he has one arm under your legs and one arm supporting your back like a princess. You wrap your arm around his neck in instinct so you don’t fall. But you didn’t think anything of it. Neither of you did. You both just burst into a laughing fit once again.

 Kuroo enjoyed the 2 weeks he was away for his business trip. Not only did he gain new experiences and make connections for future deals, but he also made a deeper connection with his coworkers. He’ll admit, the constant drinking and partying was getting old. He wasn’t in college anymore. He can’t stay up all night and drink until he passes out. He’d much rather be in bed sleeping with you wrapped in his arms. He could stay longer, after all, his company did pay for a few extra days after the convention to relax. But he didn’t want to relax. He wanted to get back to you as soon as possible. And that’s what he was going to do.

He thanked his boss for the hospitality, but he just wanted to go home now. It’s been too long and he missed you too much to stay. Also, the thought of you being alone and crying pained him to no end. There wasn’t a day, a single moment, that he didn’t think about you. So, with his boss’ permission, he went home a few days early. No he didn’t tell you. It was going to be a surprise. The thought of seeing your face when he’s come early, it’s already making him smile.

When he unlocks the door to your shared apartment, the first thing he sees are that the lights are open. Perfect, you were home. And he opened the door as softly as he could so that you couldn’t hear. For the surprise effect, of course.

Then he sees the dining table. Oh, you are already? That’s good. At least you weren’t skipping meals. Did you have someone over? Why were there two sets of plates? And wine? Kuroo took a closer look. One glass was definitely yours. You lip stains were all over it. So whose was the other one?

Then he hears laughter that breaks his heart. Your laugh. Mixed with another that was all too familiar. You. Him. Dinner. Wine? Laughing? And it was coming from the bedroom. The pieces were all coming together.

With a heavy heart, Kuroo walks closer to the noise coming from the bedroom. He couldn’t believe it. From down the hall, he could see clear as day. You were in Bokuto’s arms. The arms of his best friend. He was carrying you like how he imagined he would on your wedding day. You had the widest smile, like how he imagined you would when you find out that you would be pregnant with your first child together. Bokuto was making you laugh until your stomach hurt like how he wanted to, even when you guys grow old together. But now he felt like his world was crashing down on him. All those dreams and hopes he pictured for years was disintegrating right before his eyes. He wanted to cry out and go insane. But there was no time for that. Kuroo went up to the couple, seeing red.

Bokuto was laughing along with you. That is, until he saw Kuroo storming his direction and he didn’t look too happy. Panic and fear sets in and he quickly puts you down to face the danger coming to him.

“Look, Kuroo. It’s a misunderstanding,” Bokuto tried to stop him to explain but Kuroo wasn’t listening.

“You bastard,” Kuroo cursed through gritted teeth. He grabbed his best friend by the collar, landing a hard punch to the cheek. You gasped, never seeing Kuroo get so violent before. You covered your mouth in disbelief. But Kuroo disregards you. All of his attention was on the owl-eyed man beneath him. If you looked closely, you could see fume coming out of his ears.

“Kuroo, stop!” you scream, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him back. Kuroo rips his arm out of your grip and back on Bokuto’s collar.

“Kuroo Testsurou!” you tried screaming his name, but his is going through tunnel vision.

“You’re supposed to be my best friend. And you pull shit like this when I’m gone? Did you have fun? Was it worth shoving our friendship down the drain after all those years? How long as this been going on, huh? Days? Weeks? Years? Answer me, you asshole!” Kuroo screamed, letting the anger take over him. But Bokuto didn’t get a chance to answer because not only was none of what he was saying was true, but he his priority right now was to get out of his grip.

“KUROO TETSUROU!” You cried at the top of your lungs. It was so loud that you were sure your neighbors were going to give you a noise complaint. That’s when he lets go. Kuroo faces you rather aggressively, making you fear the man that you love.

“And you. You put on a good act,” he started.

“What?” you question, not knowing what he was saying or where he was going with that.

“Are you trying to be an actress? Because I believed every word that came out of your lying, cheating mouth,” he spat at you. Each word stung like someone was physically squeezing your heart until it burst. You didn’t know what he was saying. You start to shake and your vision blurred because of the unfallen tears filling in your eyes. You didn’t know where to look. All you knew was that you couldn’t look at your boyfriend. If he even was your boyfriend at this point.

“I was only gone for 2 weeks. Not even a full 2 weeks. Were you that lonely and in need of someone that you had to fuck my best friend?” he continued to falsely accuse you of something you couldn’t even fathom to do. You wanted to deny it so badly, so why wasn’t anything out of your mouth? You were so frozen in fear that nothing wanted to come out. Bokuto wasn’t having it though. He got up from the floor and it was his turn to grab his best friend by the collar.

“Do not speak to (y/n) like that. You’re not fucking listening. I’m telling you that this is all a misunderstanding!” Bokuto reasoned. But for some reason, Kuroo wasn’t having it.

“Misunderstanding… how is holding my girlfriend in your arms a misunderstanding? In what situation should you EVER hold my girlfriend like that?!” Kuroo started raising his voice, making you jump. You closed your eyes, still frozen in place, in hopes that that will calm you.

“If you calmed down, I can explain! Can’t you see that you’re scaring her?” Bokuto moved to show your shaking body. Upon seeing your current state, Kuroo realized that he fucked up. His anger got the better of him unlike ever before. After seeing his friend relax, Bokuto lets him go and backs away cautiously. If he was going to attack again, he would be prepared this time.

“(y/n), I’m sorry,” Kuroo softly whispered, going to grab your hand. But you flinched backwards, afraid of the man who was in front of you. He wasn’t Kuroo. He wasn’t your boyfriend. Your boyfriend would never act out like this. You look towards Boktuo, the only man you recognized in the room and begged with your eyes to come help you. Of course, he did. He stood in front of you, protecting you from the stranger in your apartment.

Kuroo’s eyes widen at your reaction. He messed up big time didn’t he? He looks down at his hand, in disbelief at his actions. What the hell got into him?

“(y/n),” Kuroo muttered your name to himself. All of a sudden, the palms of his hands were wet. Was he crying? He touched his cheek and it was soaked with tears. Oh, he was crying. How did he not notice?

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” Kuroo apologized, wiping more of his tears away that won’t stop falling. You peeked at the stranger from behind Bokuto’s broad shoulders. He was looking more and more like your boyfriend now.

“I missed you,” you managed to say with your throat all scratched up. Kuroo snaps his head up to make eye contact with you. You start to cry harder, but you needed to get out what you wanted to say. “I missed you so much, Kuroo. It was so hard without you here. I felt like I was all by myself in this world. And that you were having so much fun with your coworkers that you didn’t want to come home anymore. Or you would find another girl and realize that your girlfriend is a clingy nobody with no potential to succeed in life.” You sobbed and were surprised that you managed to get all that out in between sobs. It took you a while, but no one stopped you until you were all done.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that about yourself. I wouldn’t be with you if I knew you couldn’t be your own person. You are successful in your own ways and I’ll always support you in every way that I can. Baby, I missed you so much. I thought about you every day.” He confessed.

“Really?” Not believing his words.

“Really. Day in, day out. You were the only one on my mind. Even when I was working and doing those boring workshops, I always thought about you. I came home early to surprise you because I couldn’t spend another second without you by myside.” You sobbed even harder, covering your face with your hands.

“Kuroo!” you cried, running into his arms. The moment you entered his arms, he engulfed you in a tight hug. Fuck, he missed you. He dug his head in the crook of your neck, taking all of you in. Your scent, your voice, the way you felt in his arms, how your hairs tickled his noise. But he didn’t want to move away any time soon. Because this is what he longed for for 2 weeks. Eventually, you pull away to peck him on the lips.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered against your lips.

“I missed you more,” you say and he kisses you again.

“I love you.” And another kiss.

“And I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that again. Swear on my life,”

“Yeah, that was kind of scary,” you managed to tell a light joke that made Kuroo feel relieved.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” he apologizes again and pecks kisses all over your face. You waited 2 weeks for this moment. You grabbed his face and gave him a passionate kiss that he gladly returned back. You were both making out in your bedroom, but someone was still there. Bokuto clears his throat, letting you know that he was still here. Both of you jump in surprise and turn to the man.

“Can I join?” he asks, making you roll your eyes and Kuroo pushing him away.

“Get the fuck out of here, bird man!”

A/N: As always, I’d love to know your thoughts! 

[bangtan-dreamland]

all i wanna do (is grow old with you)

Pairing: ot7 x gn!reader (a drabble for each member)

Word Count: 3430

Warnings: no warnings needed! this is basically just feel good u.u

Rating: pg

Genre: fluff fluff fluff

Summary: a small collection of moments in the domestic bliss you and him held.

AN: dropping this here for no reason other than to say yes I am alive strong power thank you

»»————-　♡　————-««

playfights are something that you always have to be on watch for with seokjin, with how mischievous he is. and at this moment, washing your dog, you are ever more on guard. or maybe not, because while you continue on lathering your dog's dirty fur, you suddenly feel a blob of something wet on your head. your hair, to be specific. you can feel the soap slide down like a boat would fall down a waterfall, you flash a glare at seokjin, who's suddenly looking all too nervous, eyes blinking fast, but the smile on his lips giving him away as the guilty apprehender. 'it was the dog!' he cries out, and you almost lunge at him- while he jumps away from you. 

'seokjin! get back here!'

'i'm innocent!' 

'no you're not, that was the worst excuse i've ever heard!' 

you both end up running around the garden, soap trailing behind your figures and bubbles behind you, laughter ringing out in the air as you try, again and again, to catch him. it's almost infuriating how your lover uses his longer legs to keep a healthy distance between the two of you. when you finally corner him, you're both out of breath, and the water has made your clothes cling on too tight to your bodies, but you haven't grinned or smiled or laughed as hard in a while, and the mirroring look on your lover's face makes you think it's worth it.

'it was an accident,' he insists. 'the dog threw it, not me.'

you can't even refute the ridiculousness of that statement. oh wait. you can. 'jin, the dog doesn't even know how to throw the soap! and definitely not on my hair!'

a look of pure incredulity shows on his face, pout appearing and eyes blinking fast as if it will help give him credibility, the dork. 'well, that's what it wants you to think.' he concurs with a mockingly offended, quite overly dramatic tone, complete with a vivid shaking of the head. 'but i saw differently!'

'don't you believe your husband?'

you burst out laughing, all over again, for some reason you can't even explain, your heart sosososo full of love. 'god, why am i even in love with you?'

(the two of you do clean up the garden afterwards though, the plants and furniture drowned while you weren't looking- not to mention you have to give the dog a bath all over again, as it rolled around in the dirt while the two of you were busy playing tag. 

seokjin, for his part, is completely unrepentant. you should be stricter, but...

well. at least he made you cookies afterwards.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

it's an hour after three when yoongi comes home, tired, drowsy figure almost collapsing on the sofa as he yawns. he almost falls asleep when you flick the lights back on, watching with no small amount of glee and (some) frustration as the man startles, almost falling off said furniture.

'you really have got to stop staying up until it's almost daytime,' you chide him, walking over to tug him up and off of the sofa, sighing as you card fingers through his matted locks. he looks up at you with the poutiest expression ever, and you steel yourself to not give in with the sheer amount of cute that has congregated to make the person named min yoongi in your arms. instead you amble with him up the stairs, the two of you making for a pair of sleepy, exhausted lovebirds. you'll have to put in first floor  bedrooms when you look for a house together, this happens one too many times already.

when you reach your shared bedroom, you push him into the shower, the water already heated up, while you take out a pair of pajamas.

drying his hair, when the both of you are prone to nodding off, is a herculean chore. still, it's not as if you're okay with wet hair on your pillow, and you know that's an easy way to get sick the next day for him. 'you were in your studio again, weren't you?' you grumble, although you're pretty sure he's fallen asleep already and you're talking to no one. yoongi, for all that he is there to take care of others, is surprisingly receptive to affection when left without a choice. 'i had to,' he surprisingly says, stubborn, but with a sigh, his tone quiet but firm. 'inspiration struck'. and you can't even argue against that, knowing full well how a muse is to her artist. so instead you settle for drawing him close, close, close, muttering softly.

'maybe i should ask if they can add a bedroom to the studio.' you feel him smile against your skin, voice close enough to murmur in your ears. 

'you know i'll only ever get to really sleep when i'm beside you.' 

you scoff. 'you and i both know that's not true.'

warmth against your skin, an arm over yours, and a leg intertwined, soft hair tickling your cheeks, and you feel as if you could head off as it is, but no. he has the audacity to speak up again.

'you are my most melodious lullaby, the sweetest good morning, the link between my dreams and reality. if you aren't there when i sleep and when i awake, then how do i know you aren't just something i've been dreaming for? that you’re actually real, and right beside me?' he presses a kiss against your skin, and, god, that smooth ass jerk, you refuse to look at him at all.

(you both wake up late that morning, and you find you can't complain in the end anyway. even though he always ends up staying up far too late, at least, you know this, you and him will always be each other’s first view in the morning.

not a dream, indeed.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

'come on, love, dance with me!' you grin widely as you surprise hoseok, holding his hand captive in yours, the feather duster falling from his hands as you slide in front of him, tiptoeing to place a kiss on his cheeks. 

he splutters, 'i thought we were supposed to be cleaning,' he raises an eyebrow at you, but you only nuzzle your nose against his, clutching onto him with a pout. there is a standoff with the two of you ending up staring at each other with all the fondness you can feel inside you, one that you end up winning when he places a kiss on the crown of your head.

'dusting can wait,' you insist. 'we're both already filthy anyway!' he feels the laughter bubble up inside him, the helplessly fond smile he has reserved for you and you only showing. but you're not lying, the attic room has been a mess the whole day and one afternoon will not transform it instantly. which is why, rather, standing in the middle of the not-so-crowded-anymore room, the sunlight beaming down from the window and the radio playing out an old love song, you find yourself more inclined to drop what you're supposed to be doing, in favor of spending a few minutes to indulge. 

'your parents will get angry,' he points out, and you hum as you place your hand with his, his arm settling across your waist. this is far from what he normally dances, sharp moves and fluid spins becoming slow and sweet, the usual awe-inducing performance making way for intimacy in that private way, where the two of you are in your own world, closed off from the others. in this moment, you think that's not that far off from the truth. 

'they won't mind,' you shake your head. 'and we can just take a bath afterwards.' he leads you in a sort of glide, across the room, the melody turning and twirling you around, heart beating in both of your chests in a steady, steady rate, each in time with the music. and when he ends the dance, you in his arms, both of you slightly breathless, staring into each other's eyes, you find yourself wondering not for the first time if your lover is not warmth itself reincarnated, for how else can you explain away the feeling of being awash in sunlight, not a single part of you left untouched?

(what was supposed to take only a few days turns into a week and then some, but you can't feel regret for a single moment as the attic becomes filled up with memories you already cherish, a secret hideaway for the two of you.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

'namjoon, come sit down on the grass with me,' you call out, pout on your face as you beckon your lover to come on over. han river remains sparkling no matter whether daytime or nighttime, the waters reflecting the city's beauty, and you are not the only admirer. still, there is something to be said about the way your lover looks as he falls into his thoughts. the two of you made plans to have a picnic here in the park, as the setting sun made itself known across the sky, but it's less of a romantic escapade than it is a moment of peace, a brief respite in your hectic lives. 

'we should have brought a blanket,' he finally says, but you interlace your hand with his, your fingers with his own, tugging him down. he easily complies for all that he complains, and you don't think even he can deny how the grass feels under you. staring up at the dimming sky, blue and red bleeding into gold and purple, the stars beginning to peek through the curtains of night, you find yourself drifting away, the lull of the city dragging you to rest.

'what do you think of the multi-universe theory?' you hear him ask. namjoon is looking up at the sky, and there is a familiar expression on his face that tells you he is thinking about the secrets of the universe yet again, of the human nature and how each and everyone is connected. it's when he looks a little dazed, eyes focused on something beyond, a wistful tone in his voice, and he falls quiet, but when he speaks his thoughts there is always a 'what if?'. 'i wonder if we'd met in other universes too,' he says simply. 

you laugh, gently. 'kim namjoon, if you are saying that there is a universe in which i see you and fail to love you, then let me reassure you now.' he looks away, a pout barely surfacing on his face, and you turn towards him, hands clasped together and your hair spread below you, the two of you picture perfect. 'maybe that universe does exist. maybe in another space and time, i wouldn't have the blessing that i have here, to love you as freely, as much as i can. but this isn't that universe, and nothing will stop me from staying by your side.'

by the end of it, your head is turned away with embarrassment, unable to take what might be his reaction. when you hear him huff, quiet, you turn around. what greets you is namjoon, blushing. 'what would i do without you?' he smiles, soft and sheepish and loving, and you roll your eyes, even as you feel yourself become something not unlike putty in this man's hands, a wave of love crashing over the sandcastle that is you. 'let's hope we never find out.'

(you spend hours in that park, talking about everything and anything, and when you go home it must be close to midnight. not that you regret it, though, when the two of you clumsily almost topple over each other, collapsing on your sofa, together, while you order takeout for the nth time because you're both too tired to cook.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

you don't think much of it, stealing jimin's clothes is as normal, as easy as that for you. the two of you practically share the other's now, a constant mismatch between your closet as what is yours and what is his is blurred, the lines toed and crossed over every time that it's simply easier to count your closets as one being rather than two.

still, it makes for a messy, uncoordinated space, and it easily slips from your mind, or his, of the whereabouts of your belongings.

'babe,' you can hear the pout in his voice. 'did you see my hoodie?' 'which hoodie?' 'my favorite one!' 'which favorite one?' at this point you see his head pop out from the doorframe, prominent lips stuck out and eyes searching the room. 'it's the green one, the soft, huge, green hoodie. that one.'

you stifle a rising amount of chuckles as you eventually realize the location of the hoodie in question- on your body, as you stole it from his closet just this morning. you don't think you can be seen as guilty though, not when the hoodie itself seemed to be begging for someone to wear it. impossibly soft, impossibly huge and impossibly sweet-smelling from the laundry softener you used, it was easy to drown in it and comfortably doze off. 'sorry baby, i don't know where it went.' 'okay, but, babe, can you help me...'

you startle as you surprisingly feel the shadow of your lover on your body, handsome face so suddenly, so dangerously close to your own, even if upside down. 'yn, you had it all this time!' you chuckle at the whine in his voice, even as he leans forward to try and tug it off you. 'give it now,' he says, but you shake your head, giggling as jimin tries. 'raise your arms! i can't believe you made me run around looking for this,' he grumbles, but you cross your arms instead, sitting up, turning around to face him, preparing yourself for a fight. 

'no way, this is the softest hoodie in the house. i'm not giving it up.'

a moment of silence, and then- jimin attacks you, lunging forward to glomp you. you feel yourself become confused, when you feel his fingers around your sides, and you burst out into laughter, long and loud. 

'no, jimin!' 

'give it back!' 

'no way!' 

'then suffer under my wrath!'

(he only stops when tears actually appear at the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard, easily sprawling across your chest, the two of you on the floor and too tired to move. 'we can share,' you hum, choking as your lover narrows his eyes at you, before decidedly burrowing under your hoodie as well. with how big it is, and how not big both of you are, you surprisingly fit with him inside. it's too warm for two people inside, but as jimin lays his head comfortably across your chest, the thumping of your heart lulling him to rest, and he holds you in his arms, neither of you find you can argue against your positions.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

waking up with taehyung in the morning is an ordeal that never fails to make you smile. warmth pooling across the sheets, the warm breeze drafting in from the window, your lover's body wrapped around yours- there is a kind of holy in the way serene mornings like these are, quiet and golden, the world seemingly stopping for a moment, if only for the two of you.

it breaks your heart every time to have to shatter the illusion. 'taehyung', you whisper. there's not even a twitch in his movements, snoring quiet but steady as he continues off to slumber. you, however, can't get out of his hold, not without the man releasing you anyway- you would know, you've tried so many times before and it's always been a moot point. the only way to get out of taehyung's grip, is to wake him up into doing so. still, you find yourself soft and hesitant, every single time. 'taehyung,' you try again, a little louder this time. you shake him, and it takes you a solid minute or two for the man to actually make a sound, a low groan at the back of his throat. when he registers the situation at hand, though, your lover declines to release you, holding you captive with his embrace instead.

'stay in bed with me,' he almost whines, and you press your lips together to stop yourself from bursting into giggles.

'you know i can't do that,' you rebutt. 'i have work in an hour!' 

'but i can't sleep without you.'

'you big baby,' you fondly, exasperatedly call him out, and you see him briefly crack his eyes open, if only to look at you with a pout. 

you see him struggle whether or not to protest your words, before the sleepy takes over and he lazily agrees, pulling you closer in return. 'mhm, i'm your baby...' 

'taehyung...' 

'just a few more minutes, i swear,' he presses a light kiss on your forehead, and you know it's not just your imagination that you feel him smile against your skin, when you sigh loudly, relenting to his demands. 

'you're incorrigible,' you whine as you bury your head in his chest. 

'only because i love you.' 

you would call it a laugh if it weren't for the yawn that sneaks in at the end.

and just as easy as that do you both fall off back to sleep, your phone's alarm scaring the hell out of you half an hour later. it was practically a given that you'd end up falling back to sleep with him really, you could say it was a ritual at this point.

(you end up being late to work, as a matter of fact, but you can't even find it in yourself to be angry. after all, there is quite nothing like waking up together in the morning, especially with your lover.

he takes you out on a date to the amusement park that weekend too, so you suppose you can forgive him.)

»»————-　♡　————-««

'jungkook,' you muffle your laughter behind your hand, but there's no denying the bright grin on your face as you feel your lover's arms encircle your waist. bright and early, it's early enough into the morning that the sky is still caught between the hues of red and pink, like a rose slowly blooming from night's embrace. it's what makes your lover's apparent waking state a mystery, when you know how heavy your lover sleeps. there goes your plan to bring him breakfast in bed, huh? 

'what are you even doing?' you receive no reply, not one in words anyway, as you hear him mutter something unintelligible into your shoulders. his warmth against your back is addicting, especially in the chill of the morning air, but you're nothing if not determined, and if he's here to drag you back to bed, you're having none of it. 'if you're sleepy,' you start, turning around to hug him properly, jungkook's face nuzzling into your neck afterwards. 'you should go back to bed.' 'but you're not there with me,' you finally hear him say. 'just go back to cooking, i'll just stay here...'

'jungkook, i can't cook while you're wrapped around me!' you almost burst into laughter at that, what more at the earnest expression on your lover. 'why not?' he grumbles, a pout appearing on his face. you don't know whether to shake your head, or what- when your lover uses what he knows is his greatest weapon against you. 'don't give me that look,' you sigh, but your resolve crumbles quickly, and it's obvious that jungkook can see it as well.

'don't blame me if it turns out burnt,'  you finally sigh. you feel, rather than hear him chuckle briefly. 'i'm sure it will still be delicious.' 'you say that no matter what i cook,' you mutter under your breath and he stays quiet because you're right. instead, you finally feel him disentangle from your, rather reluctantly, before he gets his own apron and gloves. 'then i guess we should just cook together then,' he declares, bumping shoulders with you. 'can't mess it up then, can we?' he smirks, cocky and familiar, and you roll your eyes even as you feel yourself settle so easily by his side, the two of you finishing breakfast together.

(the food, amazingly enough, does not become burnt, and turns out well instead. of course, he did help you after all. still, sitting at the table, eating together, you smile easy, softly. how can you not? everything about this moment is perfect, and you wouldn't have any qualms about it lasting forever.

judging by the smile on jungkook's face, you aren't the only one to feel this way, too.)

[thedevillionaire]

Four Days, Mostly

A supernatural soap opera instalment. Cerberus and Kia, one of those domestic-couple moments kind of thing. Any questions, as always, please do ask me to explain myself! Thanks for spending some time in my ridiculous world. I heart you.

---

Kia feels like she’s practically been living in the Vampirism archives, when she hasn’t been on the mortal plane, that is. She’s sure the last four days have actually taken a week, such was the amount of things to do that had somehow been crammed into them, and she sighs quietly.

And she’s hardly seen her beloved for more than five minutes over those days; she’s not been the only one with scarcely a moment to take for herself. What with the disastrous destruction of the Lightning chambers and the resultant seemingly endless fallout from that pouring demand upon demand on Cerberus, they’ve barely crossed paths, let alone managed any quality time together. Any time at all, come to that.

But she’s been assured he’ll be home tonight, and a small smile crosses her face as she reaches the front door at last. She’ll be glad to get into the guaranteed warmth of the manor too – the windwhipped, winterchilled walk home has been…brisk, to say the least.

Whoa.

Warmth is one thing, inferno another. An intense, practically visible heatwave encompasses her the moment she crosses the threshold, and she closes the door behind her, removing her coat posthaste.

Well, he’s definitely home. She shakes her head, a faint smile on her face as she unlaces and removes her blouse and bodice also, untucking her chemise for good measure. Damn, it was hot. “Hon, think you could dial it back a bit to, I don’t know, something maybe a bit less…I don’t know, diabolic?” she calls out as she walks through the foyer into the loungeroom, where she expects to find him, but…apparently not. Hm, okay. She pulls her hair into a makeshift ponytail, twists it upon itself to hold it in place, wonders whether she should Mindsend him a greeting or just wander about the house until she finds him, when her attention is dramatically redirected by a sudden, powerful sneeze.

Ah. She smiles a little self-indulgently, turns. Answers that question.

With a Mindsent blessing, she continues down the hallway, making her way over to where Cerberus sits at the library desk, his face buried in a tissue…which, as she gets closer, she recognises as being far from the first time he’s done this today. “Oh, honey, you’re not well?”

More of an observation than a question – the tiredness apparent in her nonetheless stunning bonded’s eyes as he smiles at her somewhat wanly despite his clear pleasure at her return, not to mention the telltale hint of red to his nose, providing more than enough of an answer. He neither confirms nor denies it – not verbally, at any rate – and for now she chooses not to press.

Explains the extra heat, too.

With a soft sound of sympathy, Kia moves to stand behind him, placing a tender kiss on the top of his head and gently massaging his shoulders. “Hey there, you. How long’s it been since you took a break?”

Cerberus murmurs a quiet hum of pleasure, closing his eyes briefly and leaning back into her touch as Kia drapes her arms around him. “Gods, I’ve missed you, love.” He sniffles again, takes another tissue, wipes his nose, and looks up at her apologetically. “Sorry about all the damn sniffling. The week’s catching up to me a bit, I think.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Kia says, adding a Mindsent :Stop avoiding the question: with a quiet, slightly dark laugh. She moves to push some papers aside and sit on the desk, facing him, and leans forward to kiss him, softsensual, lingering. :I’ve missed you too.: She leans back again, looks at him in gently insistent challenge. “Your last break was…?”

“Nowhere near as beautiful as this one, I’m sure.” Another determined sniffle, and Cerberus presses the tissue underneath his nose as he regards Kia’s state of dishevelled semi-undress, a playful approval evident as he does so, and raises an eyebrow. “If you want to convince me to lower the temperature, darkling, I’m not sure *snf!* that this is the best way to go about it.”

“Okay, I know these four days have felt like forever but you do remember I’m happy to strip for you without being practically on fire, right?” Kia laughs. “Babe, it’s a sauna in here!” With a look of good-natured admonishment, she holds his gaze and smoothly slips out of her skirt, lets it fall to the floor, runs a tapered fingernail along the angular contours of his jawline, and purrs, almost a whisper, deliberately teasing, “What if I didn’t let you touch, though? Because, I mean…I’m just too…hot.”

Cerberus chuckles quietly, sardonically. “Harsh terms, love.” He accedes with a wave of his hand, the atmosphere settles to a more generally comfortable ambient heat, and he gives his nose another firm wipe before vaporising the tissue, making a small but unmissable sound of irritation as he does so.

“And how long has this been going on for?” Kia lightly traces a finger down the length of her bonded’s nose, gives him a brief yet knowing look as he takes a sharp breath in response, his expression crumbling to a mixture of mildly panicked betrayal and helplessness.

Cerberus turns from her rapidly, not enough time to claim a new tissue, and brings his elbow to his face in surrender. “Huh-AHSSCHuu! *SNF!*” Crushing a firm hand against his nose, he frowns at Kia in gentle reprimand, and shakes his head wryly. “Gods, love.” He sniffles again, wetly and repeatedly. “Pardon me.”

“Aw, sorry, sweetheart,” Kia, not particularly sorry at all, confirms a suspected sensitivity notably greater than usual and offers him a softsmiled semblance of penitence regardless. “Bless you.” She passes him a tissue, pauses a moment as he blows his nose, touches a hand to his forearm. “Seriously, though, hon – how are you doing?”

He sighs. “Ah, darkling, I’m alright.” Well aware she was unlikely to accept that, he continues without leaving her enough time to interject. “Mostly. It’s just that it’s all been…rather nonstop of late.” He sniffles strongly and wipes his nose again, which seems increasingly determined to not give him a moment’s peace. “Gods. Excuse me.” Clearing his throat, he refocuses. “This ridiculous weather we’ve been having doesn’t agree with me terribly well.” Another sniffle brings timely emphasis to his words, and he notes the dubious look in Kia’s eyes. “It’s just a slight chill, love. It’ll pass soon enough. And anyway—” He pushes the chair back from the desk, stands, curls a strong arm around Kia’s waist, toys with the strap of her chemise, his voice deep velvet and desire. "—my irresistible supervisor seems to believe I ought to take a break…and that is not a directive I can refuse.”

He tilts her head towards him, pulls her close, kisses her with an urgency his beloved cannot miss, an urgency she fully reciprocates. They’ve not been apart for this long since they first became a couple, almost three years ago now, and it feels like an aeon, it feels volcanic.

“Mmm…” Kia, still seated on the desk, wraps her legs around him and returns his kiss with rich promise, weaving a hand through his hair. :Babe, want to move this to th…:

Cerberus completes the teleport to the bedroom before Kia completes her Mindsend, and she laughs upon their arrival. “I’ll take that as a…” she begins but she’s interrupted again, Cerberus raising a finger and managing a hurried, breathless “Sorry, love, I’m g…” and turns from her mere seconds before he’s possessed by unstoppable need.

“Huh-HH… Huh-hhAHTSSCHhuu!”

Heavy, absolute, and not enough; he gives a brief shake of his head, blinks rapidly, moves to claim several tissues from the box on the bedside table in expectant preparation, inhaling deeply, entirely surrendered, and after a tremulous pause, on the edge, he gives over and sneezes again, powerful, ferocious.

“AAHHTSSCHHUU!” He sniffles fiercely and rubs his nose with determination, repeatedly, in an all-too-brief recovery he already knows is only temporary, his breath still catching and brow creased, and takes another series of tissues, his eyes watering. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu!”

Kia’s breath catches also, though differently. “Oh, bless y…”

“HAHH-TSSCHUU! Uhh…” The demanding strength behind the sneezes taking a level of energy he really doesn’t have, a soft groan escapes him as he pushes newly disordered ebony chaos from his eyes and glances upwards in silent entreaty but no respite is granted; he inhales in fragmented and escalating anticipatory need for release; desperate, encouraging. “Hh… h-hh… Hh-HH!” He buries his face in the tissues once more. “Huh-AAHTSSCHHuu!! Ah, gods.”

The last sneeze comes followed by an unexpected, searing sharp sting in the back of his throat and a wave of foggy disorientation, and his gaze snaps across to Kia in alarm, his previous belief that this was just a passing overreaction to exposure and stress categorically destroyed in one stark moment of recognition. “Fuck,” he mutters, scrubbing first the tissues then a rough hand under his nose. He touches a hand to his throat and swallows with difficulty. Fuck. “Pardon me. *SNFF!*”

She remembers to exhale. “Bless you, honey.”

Cerberus sighs heavily, murmurs, “Thanks, love,” and presses his index finger under his nose in a willfully firm refutation of any more of this nonsense, though he isn’t exactly full of confidence in that regard, and sniffles again. “Excuse me.” He blows his nose, another series of sniffles ensuing in short order, and takes a further few moments to gather himself before eventually looking over to his bonded, somewhat chagrined. He clears his throat. “I, um…think there’s a chance I may have lied to you about being alright.” The congestion now dulling his consonants tells a similar tale.

“Mostly alright.” Kia gives Cerberus a gentle smile. “Thought you might have.” She arranges herself amongst the bedsheets and lightly pats the space beside her in invitation. “Aw, sweetheart,” she says, noting his expression of faint confusion that she’d have had reason to doubt him, “I know you didn’t deliberately lie to me. It’s not your fault you’re a hopeless optimist.”

She laughs softly as faint confusion now combines with a flash of indignance. “How am I…” he begins, and this time it’s Kia’s turn to interrupt.

“It’s alright, babe, I actually love that in you. You just never think you might, you know, fail.” Blowing him a kiss, she adds a Mindsent :Not that this needs to count as a fail:, beckoning him to her with crooked finger. “Come here,” she insists in a satin whisper, fluidly removing her chemise as she does so.

Cerberus, suddenly and thoroughly spectacularly reminded of just how long four days can feel, takes up Kia’s invitation to join her on the bed, though with a measure of forced reluctance that he thinks perhaps, in good conscience, he should…probably have. His will to obey that conscience, however, is far from assured, despite the returning itch that he can do even less about, and he turns quickly to stifle another sneeze against his forearm. “HXTchu! Uhh…” It’s not enough and he hurries another apology, internally curses the manifestly ridiculous timing of it all, inhales deeply and sneezes again.

“hh-AHH… Ah-TSSCHHhuu! Ah, gods, sorry. *SNFF!*”

“Bless you,” Kia murmurs, surface nonchalant, heartbeat wild, and moves to unbutton his shirt.

His resolve already verging on the nonexistent, Cerberus tries not to think about how very much he’s missed his beautiful bonded, how very much he just wants to immerse in her company right now, and makes what he knows is likely a last-ditch effort. “I don’t want to get you sick, love. I’m not sure if I can…”

“You certainly feel like you can.” Kia gives him a sultry, wicked grin.

Cerberus chuckles quietly, curls his fingers through her hair, sniffles lightly. “Alright, well, I’m not sure that I should.”

“Oh…no, I think you’re pretty sure.” Kia presses herself against him, kissing him with exquisite, slow intimacy, removing his belt with deft touch as she does so, and Cerberus gives up his last tenuous hold on resistance, returning her kiss with incendiary passion, undeniable need.

Kia hums a languid sound of delectation. :That’s more like it.: With a soft, indulgent purr, she moves astride him and wraps her arms around his neck, murmuring in a gently teasing undertone, “And I thought for a second there you were actually going to deny me.”

Cerberus pulls her closer again in strong, warm embrace, desire for her eclipsing all else, and claims her mouth with his own as he takes her smoothly, deeply, deliciously, Mindsending with a rising heat suffusing every word, :What kind of self-control do you think I have?:

---

[izzabeean]

Chapter 4 : Bitter

SUMMARY

Oikawa tries to distract you upon finding out about your break-up and it does seem to be working but only for a moment...

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 2,146

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n :  I feel like things are picking up and I’m so excited for what this fic has in store! Apologies for the slow beginning, this truly is a slow burn. *NOTE: Kuri dorayaki is a traditional Japanese sweet, pancake-like bun with red bean paste and roasted chestnut filling.

masterlist

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Barely an hour goes by before Oikawa jumps at the chance to spend the day with you out and about in the city; it's not often he’s had the opportunity to, especially when you and Ushijima were together making most of your weekend's busy spending time with him. Of course, you were quite keen on spending the day inside, finding ways to forget the severe emptiness festering within, but Oikawa's excitement couldn't be ignored and with that, you agreed to spend the day out with him.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Oikawa's pestering, you wouldn’t have realized how much the fresh air fills you with ease a s you walk down the street listening to him babbling about his evening with Iwaizumi. Normally you are a very attentive listener, engrossed in his dramatic details, but today you found it very difficult to listen intently. Your attention shifted to the pairs of people passing by; some hand-in-hand, some giggling, and the sight makes sick to your stomach.

All these couples in love getting to spend time together. It’s so repulsive.

And you're bitter.

Bitter because you wish you had that. Bitter because you used to have that. Bitter because you miss Ushijima.

And because you miss him, you can't help but think back to when you first showed interest in each other. At that time, you and Ushijima had a weird friendship, actually, you weren’t really sure what it was as he only spoke to you at school. Topics didn’t stray far from assignments or classes, so it was very odd when he asked you to hang out one morning off of campus.  

“You didn’t have to wake me up so early,” you groan curled up in the passenger's seat of Ushijima’s car. Your eyes are heavy, as you press your forehead against the cold window examining the long outstretch of highway lit by the sky just moments before dawn breaks. Looking over to Ushijima you notice not a trace of fatigue that filters his eyes as they remain focused on the road ahead. 

“What is there to even do at 6 in the morning?” you yawn.

The sudden wake-up call was earlier than anticipated, you should’ve clarified that morning for you was 9 AM. But to Ushijima hammering his fist on your door was a more productive way to wake you up rather than a call or text. Truthfully, he found the results to be much more amusing and knew you could not ignore him.

“We had to in order to arrive on time,” he booms flatly, quickly casting a glance at you.

Your face contorts with irritation at the vague response and question if this is just a planned kidnapping. Maybe you were exaggerating a bit... Still, nothing else seemed reasonable.

“Well, will you at least tell me where we’re going?” you lash.

“We will be there soon,” he replies, calm and cool to your aggressive tone.

Crossing your arms in impatience, you scoff at his response then continue to look out of the window listening to the low murmur from the radio. 

It’s not much longer until Ushijima pulls into a gravel lot at the side of the road and parks. 

“We’re here,” he says getting out of the vehicle.

You tilt your head quizzically scanning your destination which is basically out in the mind of nowhere. Ushijima pops open the passenger door waiting for you to get out.

"Is this a joke?" you rasp.

"Just follow me," he says trying to hold back the irritation in his voice.

Unbuckling the seatbelt, you slide out of the vehicle and follow him, hopeful that there’s more to this deserted parking lot than just a dusty road. 

And there is because your eyes are met with a breathless view above the town. All at once, your doubts fade as the sun begins to rise at the atmosphere’s edge, drenching the houses and buildings in its golden glow. Everything feels so peaceful.

“This is beautiful,” you breathe, sincerely in awe of the picturesque sight. 

You are an idiot.

“Not gonna lie, I thought this was a kidnapping,” you joke.

Ushijima casts a confused glance at you, unable to understand what you were getting at. “I was told to take a girl I like to an intimate spot.”

A girl he likes? Oh.

Did he bring you here for advice? A hint of jealousy surfaces at the thought that Ushijima has his eyes set on someone else. And you wonder what his true intent was for bringing you here. 

“Maybe tell her where you’re going so she doesn’t get the wrong idea,” you tease.

“Tell who? You didn’t like the surprise?”

You blink. “Me?”

It never crossed your mind that you could be the one he likes. Obviously, he’s hot and every time he says your name your heart skips a beat, but you never thought anything of it.

“Yes.” 

Ushijima takes a step forward closing the distance between the two of you. His gaze is a lot warmer than usual evoking a strong pull at your heartstrings. You know your personality can be quite cold and temperamental, sometimes even hostile, but there was something more underlying your cheeky, sarcastic comments. Ushijima brought out a side to you that no one else really could.

A slight breeze picks up pushing your hair in your face, to which Ushjima leans in tucking the strand behind your ear. 

“Your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better,” he utters.

He’s close, the closest he's ever been, and you're hot. 

You stare at him wide-eyed soaking in the electric chemistry floating in the air. You think your heart might stop as his hand moves under your jaw to tilt your face up at him while the other touches the small of your back bringing you closer; his touch is warm and soft cascading tingles down your body. Then he leans in even closer to gently press a kiss on your lips.  

“Hey! Pay attention!” 

Oikawa’s yell snaps you out of the nostalgia bringing you back to your walk with him in the city. But your daze only causes you trouble because you spot a bike unwavering from its path heading towards you. Your brain screams, telling you to move or do something, but your body freezes in place--all you sense is fear. 

Suddenly, your arm is yanked from the side, and with a yelp, you’re pulled to safety. It was unlike you to be so out of it, but you didn’t realize how much Ushijima occupied your thoughts until that moment. 

A lump forms in your throat as the cyclist passes you and you could hear him mumbling under his breath how unobservant pedestrians can be. 

“That was close,” Oikawa jokes.

His words startle you as you come to the realization that Oikawa’s arms are wrapped around your body. You look up at him as he stares down at you with his shit-eating grin that says “I just saved your ass big time .” Your eyebrow twitches at his expression and pry yourself away from his grip.

“I’m not going to thank you!” you shout, angrily. 

“Wow, so cruel Y/N-chan,” he whines with a giggle.

His laugh is all-consuming as you feel overwhelmed with frustration. It’s just like Oikawa to make everything completely insufferable, now you weren’t going to hear the end of it, of how he saved you from getting hit by a bike. He always knew the right way to get under your skin.

“Y/N-chan,” Oikawa calls, pointing to a vendor on the corner of the street selling kuri dorayaki*. “Would you like one?” 

Swiftly, the sweet smell fills your nose and the scent reminds you of your childhood, strolling with your family under the gold and crimson trees while the earthy, caramel air nips at you through your clothing. 

But you’re hesitant to give in to his peace offering. 

You didn’t want to be bribed, but as the flavors continue to float through the air, you could hear your stomach start grumbling.

Before you had a chance to oppose, Oikawa takes his wallet out while walking up to the food stand to purchase a couple of treats; one for you and one for him. Upon returning, he hands it to you and motions to take a seat on a bench nearby.

“What do I owe you?” you ask.

Oikawa waves his hands in the air, “Nothing, it’s on me.

You pause. The city noise rang in your ears as the sun gleams down blanketing you in warmth. It almost feels strange, having him be so nice, after all, teasing each other has become so routine that the pressure to say something nice resides in your chest. You don’t know what’s overcome you, you normally never second guess what to say to Oikawa, but his kindness really stunned you.

As the steam rolls off causing your mouth to water in anticipation of the flavors, you sink your teeth into the delicious pancake-like bun. The taste of the sweet red bean and chestnut coats your mouth bringing a sense of warmth inside washing away the feelings of anger and frustration. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, under your breath licking your lips. 

Oikawa smiles in response, “Anything for you!” 

Just as you were about to take another bite, you pause peering at a familiar figure across the street-- the only figure you could recognize from a mile away.

Ushijima.

“Do you not like it?” Oikawa looks at you with an uncharacteristic flash of concern.

You don’t reply as you keep your eyes locked on your ex who is in front of a bakery you’ve walked past a million times, standing next to a girl you’ve never seen before. It’s almost unbearable as she wraps her arm around his looking in the window at all the decadent sweets on display. You are nearly consumed with agony at the sight but can’t stop looking while he turns to fix her hair for her.

Just like how he used to with you.

Your gaze must have been burning because as he looks up in your direction. He pauses blankly staring; it’s the same look he’s always given you--stony and daunting--but it feels much more unsettling. And now you know, that he knows you’ve seen too much.

Your eyes dart back to Oikawa who’s traced your eye line to where you’ve been looking. You can tell he’s anticipating some sort of reaction, but all you do is look back to find Ushijima gone.

Your heart sinks.

Everything makes sense now.

“Isn’t that--” 

"Do you know her?" you cut Oikawa off quickly reverting to desperation. A sense of betrayal fills you as you study his face, noticing he looks like he wants to say something but is holding back.

"No," he scoffs, not sounding the slightest bit convincing. It's the kind of ‘no’ you give to someone you want to let down easy or you want to avoid telling the truth to. 

"Don't lie to me," you say, firmly.

Oikawa pauses.

The suspense feels like it could kill you as you watch the wheel in his head turn, trying to piece together the right thing to say. 

“Have you met the transfer student?” Oikawa softly asks. "I've seen her around campus but didn't realize…"

Transfer student? 

Your heart drops as the words echo in your head leaving the rest of Oikawa's explanation to fade in the background. 

“You’re joking,” you state plainly, unable to process the information and when Oikawa doesn't answer you know he's not. 

It wasn’t like Ushijima to leave you for someone else, not even the slightest sliver of you can believe it. He respected you and cared for you, was the one who initially made a move on you. How could that all just change, like a flick of a switch? Yet, it did and last night you were met with a Ushijima you didn’t know. He was cold and distant, unreadable to the point you were convinced he could be a stranger. But, of course, the evidence was right in front of you as to why. There was someone better.

Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do. You know immediately Ushijima doesn’t owe you an explanation because you weren’t together anymore.

"Let's go," you whisper, getting up from the bench turning to Oikawa.

“You know, you don’t have to deal with this alone,” Oikawa breathes, quietly

The sentiment is almost dumbfounding to the point your nerves start to jitter. Admitting your worries to Oikawa wasn’t going to do you any good. 

You can’t help but let out a nervous laugh to suppress your embarrassment.

“Thanks.”

And there it is again, that smile he knows it’s forced, but he doesn’t tell you. It’s not worth causing you more pain than you’ve already been in.

[wistfulcynic]

And Beginnings (Their Way By Moonlight, epilogue)

SUMMARY: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time Emma is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from Henry and anyone else who might  help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Killian have the ability to share their dreams, and are working together in secret to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from a new and dangerous foe.

Rating: M

(chapter 18 on tumblr)

AO3 

-

And Beginnings: 

The next morning found Henry and Killian in the bookstore, their heads together over a stack of papers on the desk by the register, their attention laser-focused. 

“How about this one?” suggested Henry. 

Killian frowned. “Too small.” 

“It’s got two bedrooms! How much space do you think we need?” 

“Well, er—” Killian forced himself not to scratch behind his ear. “—um, we might want more. Someday.” 

Henry stared at him. “What for?” 

Killian scrambled for something to distract him. “What do you think of this one, lad? It’s a handsome dwelling, aye?” 

“Hmmm.” Henry peered at the listing. “It’s kinda far away.” 

“This is Storybrooke, nothing is ever that far away.” 

“Yeah, fair. But this one’s like halfway into the forest. And you know you’d prefer to live near the water.” 

“Ideally I would, but you can’t have everything.” 

They were so engrossed in poring over the real estate listings that they didn’t hear the door opening, or the person who opened it approaching them until she spoke. 

“How about this one?” 

Killian and Henry started in unison and looked up, surprise on both their faces. On Killian’s it twisted immediately into apprehension, but on Henry’s it bloomed into delight. 

“Belle!” he cried, jumping to his feet and throwing his arms around her. “I didn’t get to talk to you yesterday. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Henry.” Belle smiled and hugged him back. “Glad the curse is broken.” 

“Are you sure?” Henry looked earnestly at her. “Now that you remember—well…” 

“That Rumple is gone.” Belle nodded, a look of wistful sadness in her eyes. “Yeah. But I remember other things too. Like how in the Enchanted Forest Neal wanted to try a dangerous spell to bring Rumple back, but I convinced him not to. Rumple died a hero and that’s how I want to remember him. I’ve made my peace with it.” 

“And what about now?” Killian asked hesitantly. “What will you do?” 

“Well.” Belle turned to him, shoulders thrown back and face hard. “I seem to remember you offered me a job. Is that still on the table?” 

Killian’s tense shoulders relaxed, just a fraction. “Aye, of course it is, if you still want it. But are you sure you don’t want to go back to the library?” 

Belle shook her head. “Little John actually wants to stay on as the librarian. He got really into it during the curse and… well, let’s just say he’s made the library his own. He says that as long as he doesn’t have to sleep inside anymore he’s okay with spending eight hours a day with his books.” She chuckled. “I didn’t want to take that from him. Besides—” Her expression turned defiant. “I happen to love this store. I want to work here.” 

Killian relaxed still further and offered her a hesitant smile. “I want that too, lass. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d need your help. This town won’t be needing perhaps quite so many books of magic anymore, but some lighter material would surely draw them in. I would greatly value your input on what to focus on for that.” 

Belle nodded. “Good, then we’re agreed. I can start right away.” She held out her hand and he shook it, holding on rather longer than necessary as he tried to find the words to express what he badly wanted her to understand. 

“Belle, I’m—” he realised he was still holding her hand and dropped it abruptly. “I’m sorry. For, er—” 

“Trying to kill me?” 

“Aye, that—” 

“Twice.” 

“Yes.” He could feel a hot flush spreading across his cheekbones. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, but please know that I am truly and deeply sorry for it.” 

“I don’t forgive you.”

Killian nodded, forcing an understanding smile even as his stomach sank in disappointment. “Of course, that’s—” 

“I don’t forgive you yet,” Belle amended. “But if you give me a raise and let me order the full complement of Georgette Heyer novels, well, I might consider it.” 

Killian’s mouth quirked in appreciation. She drove a hard bargain. “Twenty-five cents more an hour and would you consider Daphne du Maurier as an alterna—” 

“A dollar more and Georgette Heyer.” Belle crossed her arms firmly across her chest. 

“Fifty cents and Daphne du Maurier.” 

“Seventy-five cents and Daphne du Maurier, plus Georgette Heyer.” 

“Done.” 

They shook hands again and the smile Belle gave him was genuine. Killian felt the knot of guilty tension in his chest begin to loosen as he returned it. “I’ll go get the catalogs,” she said. “And—would you like a cup of tea?” 

“I’d love one.” 

As Belle retreated to the office upstairs, Henry turned to Killian with a frown. “That wasn’t a very good deal you struck,” he said. “You gave her the books she wanted and almost all the money.” 

“A good deal is one that brings you something of greater value than what you give up,” Killian replied. “And this one did precisely that.” 

“If you say so,” said Henry dubiously. “But hey, at least she found our house.” 

“She what?” 

Henry held up the listing Belle had indicated. “Look at it, it’s perfect.” 

Killian glanced at the small picture then did a double-take, snatched the paper from Henry’s hand and read it closely. “This is it, lad.” He put his hand on Henry’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “This is the one.” 

~

“Killian, where are we going?” Emma frowned as the truck turned a corner into a neighbourhood she couldn’t recall ever visiting before. She’d never really had a reason to, and she doubted Killian had either. 

“I told you.” 

“No, you said ‘It’s a surprise, love.’ Which is not helpful.” She scowled at him but he, infuriatingly, kept his eyes firmly on the road. 

“It is a surprise, though, and it would cease to be one if I told you what it was,” he pointed out, in that I-am-eminently-reasonable tone of voice that always seemed to get her dander up. 

“But why does it have to be a surprise,” she pressed, “why can’t—” 

“We’re here.” Killian interrupted loudly as he pulled the truck up to the curb.

Emma looked out the window. “Where?” There was nothing here but houses, and he’d parked in front of a tall, Victorian-style one painted a soft slate blue with white trim. A lovely house, in fact. But not one she recognised. 

Killian got out of the truck and hurried to her door, opening it with an exaggerated flourish that had her attempting to hide her grin behind a dramatic eye-roll, her irritation with him slipping away as though it had never been. 

“You’re so cheesy.” 

“Aye, love.” He offered her his arm and she threaded hers through it, letting him help her out of the truck. Arm in arm they walked through the gate in the white picket fence and up the steps onto the porch. 

Emma looked around, still confused. “Who lives here?” 

“Well, that is the question.” Killian removed a set of keys from his jacket pocket and unlocked the front door. “If you like it, perhaps we will.” 

He ushered a sputtering Emma through the door and stood back as she turned in a slow circle, taking in the high ceilings and hardwood floors, the tall windows with their view of the sea. 

“Well, love? What do you think?” 

“You really want to live here?” 

“Well, aye, if you do. We can’t stay in the apartment forever, it’s a squeeze a—” he was going to say ‘as it is,’ but stopped himself “—and a boy Henry’s age should really have his own room with actual walls. As should we.” 

“True.” 

“But if you don’t care for this house, there are others we could look at. I just—well, Henry and I—we thought you’d like this one.” 

“I do.” Emma turned to him, a bright smile on her lips and tears in her eyes. “I love it. It’s exactly the sort of house I—” she broke off with a small shake of her head. 

Killian drew her close, wiping her tears away with his thumb. “You what, love?” 

“The sort of house I dreamed of having when I was a kid,” she whispered. 

He  nodded. “Aye. It’s very different in style to the houses I knew as a lad, but in an odd way the feeling is the same. It’s what I wanted too. What we had, in part, before my mother died.” 

Emma snuggled against him with a little sigh, one arm squeezing tight around his waist as the hand of other came to rest lightly on her lower belly. Killian had always been skeptical of the notion of soulmates, and truthfully so was she. It seemed ridiculous, and so limiting, the idea that there was one person in all the universe and one person only that you were meant to be with. Yet the way she and Killian fit together, the similarities that bonded them and the differences that balanced them, and the sheer absurd improbability of the fact that they had even met—it was enough to challenge even the fiercest skepticism. 

But it didn’t matter. They had found each other, whatever the hows and the whys of it, and she knew that neither would ever again let the other go. This house was just the next step in the life they had fought so hard for, the one they deserved. The life she wanted so much and was no longer afraid to live. 

“Let’s do it,” she said. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Let’s buy the house. I love it. Let’s live here. I love you.” 

The smile that broke across his face was so full of happiness, her heart soared to see it. “I love you too,” he said, laughing as he scooped her up and twirled her around, kissing her breathless the moment he set her on her feet again. “I’ll call the realtor right now.”  

~

Two weeks later…

It was almost a normal morning in Storybrooke. The new normal, a post-curse normal, the normal of erstwhile fairy tale characters living quiet lives in a small town on the coast of Maine. Prince Charming kissed Snow White goodbye before setting out for another day as the town’s acting sheriff. Snow sat a moment longer at the dining table to finish reading her newspaper, satisfied to find that nothing remarkable had occurred overnight, then headed to the mayor’s office—which was now purged all traces of its previous occupant and no longer featured anything of any shade of green. On her way there she met Grumpy—still her favourite of the seven dwarves despite his penchant for shouting—and the Merry Men as they trouped into town from their camp in the woods. Robin Hood himself she knew would join them after he finished his breakfast at Granny’s Diner with the Evil Queen. 

The Evil Queen who was at that moment lingering over her own goodbye kiss with Robin under the arch at the diner’s entrance, a faint flush brightening her cheeks when they finally broke apart. She watched as he strode away to greet his Merry Men then turned down a different street, to make yet another attempt at reconciling with her sister. Arriving at the loft apartment she was doing her best to share, she found the Wicked Witch of the West—for who else could be the Evil Queen’s secret half-sister?—seated at the table poking viciously at a bowl of corn flakes with a spoon. 

On the other side of town Rumplestiltskin’s son dropped his own son off at school then took the long way back to the pawn shop, passing by the bookstore in time to glimpse Belle through the window as she flipped the sign to announce that they were OPEN.

So far, so very nearly normal. 

When Charming arrived at the sheriff’s station he sighed as he looked around the quiet space, rather depressed at the prospect of another solitary day and wondering if Emma might consider hiring a second deputy. 

Snow assured Grumpy that she would let Emma know right away about the ‘excessively barking’ dog and that everything the combined power of the mayor’s office and the sheriff’s might do to deal with the situation would be done.

 Belle hummed as she rearranged the bookshelves to accommodate the new Georgette Heyer novels that had arrived the day before, a satisfied smile teasing the corners of her mouth as she imagined Killian’s reaction to them. 

“Any word from our dear Saviour and her very obedient lap-pirate?” the Wicked Witch sneered as the Evil Queen took a seat next to her and poured herself a cup of tea from the still-warm pot. 

“No,” she replied calmly. “And I don’t expect one either. I don’t even think they took their phones with them.” 

Some hours later dawn broke over the horizon of a distant land, a tiny green island set in a shimmering sea. It broke softly at first, gentle, hazy sunlight that gilded the surface of the turquoise water and warmed the sand ground soft and fine over countless years by the very waves now lapping at its edges. It shone on the palm trees bent heavy with coconuts and swaying in the salty breeze and woke the birds that nestled among them, gaining strength and heat as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The bright beams of it danced playfully up a path of rough-hewn boards leading from the beach and onto the porch of a ramshackle hut, slipping in through a window whose shutter was flung wide to welcome it and alighting finally upon a bed.

It was a narrow bed by necessity; the hut boasted only one room and though its other furnishings were sparse—a wooden table and chairs in one corner and a woven hammock strung across the other—there was simply no space in it for undue extravagance. Yet the bed made a good show of luxury, wrapped as it was in smooth white sheets and piled with pillows, swathed in gauzy curtains of mosquito netting draped over its four tall posts, both for elegant effect and the comfort and peace of its two still slumbering occupants: Emma the Swan Princess, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, and her husband Killian Jones, better known to most as the pirate Captain Hook. 

They lay in a hopeless tangle of bare limbs and twisted sheets, twined around each other despite the muggy warmth of the early morning and the promise of heat to come. Should anyone happen to observe them, that person might remark on how impossible it seemed to achieve such a muddle, unless they had simply collapsed into it after a particularly energetic round of desert island sex, too worn out to unravel themselves before sleep overcame them. 

That person would not be mistaken. 

But there was no one to observe them, not for hundreds of miles—solitude being the primary appeal of honeymooning in an uninhabited place—and the truth of the matter was that they were making the very most of this rare circumstance and had barely put on clothes since their arrival on the island three days before. 

“Not sure why we even bothered to pack,” Emma had remarked the previous afternoon, and Killian had hummed his agreement against the sun-warmed skin of her thigh.

It was the sense of a day beginning that woke Killian as much as the dawn light did, but he knew that Emma would be sound asleep for a good few hours yet and so he made no move to rise. Instead, he lay still and just enjoyed the moment—the breeze and the birdsong, cool sheets and plump pillows and the softness of Emma’s skin, the scent of sunshine that still clung to it, the slight roughness left by dried saltwater in her hair. He dragged his nose across her cheek, breathing in deeply then out again on a soft sigh that ruffled the fine strands at her temple, a sigh of sheer contentment. Never before had he felt so relaxed, so peaceful or so happy.  

He was of course not foolish enough to believe that this happy could truly be ever after; it never really was, even in the fairy tales. There would still be struggle and conflict, challenges to face and disagreements over how to face them, bad moods and spats and tears and anger, sadness and even heartbreak. That was simply life, and life was something Killian Jones knew better than perhaps any other mortal in existence. For far too long he had known only the very worst of what that life could bring—bitter loss and hollow vengeance, loneliness and despair—and never believed he deserved anything better. Even now a part of him still struggled to grasp that what he had now was real, still waited for it all to be snatched away. Until Emma’s smile and the softness she reserved for him alone reassured him that this was his life and he did deserve it, the happiness of belonging and of family and of love. 

True love, the one fairy tale notion in which he wholeheartedly believed. 

Day broke fully as the sun crested the horizon and set out upon its arcing path across the sky. Killian ignored it. Even the scrupulously punctual naval officer that still dwelt within him blithely took no heed of the hours that passed as he drifted in and out of a gentle doze until finally Emma began to stir and stretch and mumble nonsense words as she slowly came awake. 

He nuzzled her nose with his and when her eyes fluttered open kissed her softly on the lips. She smiled into the kiss and twined her arms around his neck, her fingertips playing through his hair. 

“Morning,” she murmured when they broke apart. “I’m starving.” 

“Are you indeed,” he growled. “You do wear a man out, Swan, with your insatiable demands.” 

“Starving for food, I meant.”

“Mmm, are you sure about that?” 

The table in the corner began to shimmer faintly and food appeared on it, fresh pineapple and mango and rambutan, warm firi firi and cool iced coffee. By the magic of the local god—a friend of a friend of Ariel’s—the table, the hut, the island itself all had the power to sense the earnest wishes of those in residence there and grant them. 

“Yep,” said Emma, only a little smugly. “Pretty sure.” 

“It’s probably for the best,” observed Killian, sweeping the table with his own hungry gaze. “You just about wore me out last night.” 

“Breakfast first,” decreed Emma, “and then a swim. And then—” she let her fingertips dance down his chest and belly to drum a rhythmless beat on his lower abdomen. “—then we’ll see how worn out you actually are, old man.” 

~ 

It wasn’t until hours later, after they had eaten and been for a swim, as they were relaxing on the beach with the fierce rays of the tropical sun filtered through a shield of the island’s magic, that she told him. 

“So,” she said, attempting and wholly failing to appear casual. “Um.” 

Killian hid his smile. 

“Yes?” he asked, rolling over on his side to look at her. 

She sat up and curled her legs beneath her, her fingers tracing nervously through the sand. “I, ah, have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“Um.” 

He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing his face to remain impassive. “What is it, love?” 

“Uh.” Emma flushed, and not from the heat. “I, ah. I’m—” 

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and he nodded encouragingly. “You’re what?” he prompted, every muscle held tense in anticipation. 

“I’m, ah—” 

Come on, Swan, he urged her in his head. You can do it. 

She took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant,” she burst out, and he let his smile spread wide across his face, fuelled by the explosion of pure joy in his chest. Emma didn’t notice; now that the dam was broken words were flooding out of her. “I’m about six weeks along, so it must have happened really soon after I got my memories back. What with the curse and all I just forgot about getting my IUD replaced. I went to see Dr Whale, which, ugh, but he confirmed the pregnancy and when we get home we’ll have to go for a scan, I don’t know if you know but they do this thing with like… a thing—” 

“An ultrasound, aye.” He had been in this realm more than long enough to be aware of such things but Emma barrelled on, hardly hearing him. 

“—and Killian you will love this technology, it actually lets you see the baby and then they give you a picture to take home afterwards. I had one with Henry—I mean kind of, it was a lot, well, blurrier back then, and of course I—well, it was different with Henry.” She frowned, squirming slightly. “I feel so bad about that, and honestly I’m a bit worried about how he’ll react to a baby brother or sister, but I—I can’t help it, babe, I’m so excited for this baby and—hey!” 

Her stream of words dissolved into laughter as he took her by the wrist and tugged her down, rolling until she was sprawled on top of him. “I’m excited too, darling,” he said, brushing her sandy hair back from her face. “And Henry will be as well. It’s brilliant news.” 

Her eyes narrowed in a suspicious frown. “You don’t seem very surprised.” 

“Don’t I?”

“You already knew!” she cried accusingly, slapping him in the chest. 

His already foolish grin widened still further. “I suspected.” 

“How? How could you possibly?” 

Killian slid his fingers into the damp tangle of her hair, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Emma, I am intimately acquainted with every inch of your body, and I notice when it changes.” 

“Are you saying my boobs are bigger?” 

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Aye, among other things.”  

“Other things are bigger?” 

“No, other things have changed,” he soothed, stroking his wrist over the curve of her hip. “You’ve started taking naps in the afternoon and the smell of peanut butter makes you turn green. Your belly is softer. And you’re glowing.” 

She melted into his touch. “That’s just because I’m happy.” 

“Aye, love. Me too.” 

Emma sank her own fingers into his hair and kissed him, deep and intense with love. He gave a little moan in the back of his throat as he tightened his arms around her and she echoed it, rolling her hips against his hardening cock. 

“We’re too sandy,” she said against his lips. “I wish—” 

The air above them shimmered with magic and cool rain began to fall from the clear blue sky, straight and heavy as a shower. They laughed, scrambling to their feet and rinsing themselves off, lingering over the contours of each other’s skin until Emma deemed them sufficiently clean and grabbed his hand, pulling him back up the path and into the hut. 

They tumbled together onto the bed, rolling until she was atop him again, flushed and frantic as she writhed against him. “Killian, I—I want—” 

“Take it,” he growled. “Whatever you need. Your heart’s desire, Swan, that’s all I ever want to give you.” 

“You do,” she said, her hand on his cheek, her eyes intense on his. “You make me so happy, Killian. So happy.” 

“I love you,” he choked as she shifted her hips and took him inside her, grinding down hard and arching her back in that way he loved, taking him deep and squeezing him tight. “Emma—gods—I—” 

He gripped her thigh as she rode him, her head flung back so far the ends of her hair brushed his legs. She was glorious, his princess, his treasure, his love, and he needed her to come, now. 

“Please,” he gasped, pressing his stump against her clit. “Please, Emma—” 

She leaned forward, raking her nails across his chest and grinding herself against his wrist. “Harder,” she demanded as he felt her begin to flutter around him. “Harde-oh!” 

He flipped them over and thrust hard, deeper each time as she shuddered in release beneath him. He held out for as long as he could, determined to draw out her pleasure, until she grabbed him by the hair and kissed him and then with a choking groan he came deep within her. 

She held him until he caught his breath then followed when he rolled away, curling herself against his chest with a happy, sated sigh. Killian laid his hand flat against her belly, imagining his child in there beneath it, barely the size of a pea now but growing every day. He caught his breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the wonder of it all. It was one thing to suspect his wife was pregnant, quite another to hear it confirmed. Now it felt real.  

Emma placed her hand over his, twining their fingers together. “What are you thinking?” she asked. 

“Just thinking what our child will be like.” 

“Mmmm. Well, she’ll have dark hair.” 

“Or he’ll have blonde. Green eyes, of course.” 

“Oh of course. Or, you know, blue.” 

He chuckled. “Well that seems to have covered all available options.” 

“Do you care? What the baby looks like or if it’s a boy or a girl?” 

“Of course not. I love it so much already I won’t even mind if it looks like your father.” 

She sputtered, half indignant half amused, and he laughed and cuddled her closer. “Our child, Emma,” he said earnestly. “You and me in one person, a whole new person who will be us but also unique. It’s—I can’t even tell you how much I—” He shook his head helplessly, lost, for once, for words. 

She laid her hand on his cheek and leaned up to kiss him, softly and with complete understanding. 

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too.” 

~

…and another seven and a half months after that.

Emma began to groan before she even opened her eyes. Opening them felt like a chore anyway these days, much like getting out of bed, which was no longer something she could easily accomplish on her own. Instead she had to be hoisted—and yes, the word was hoisted despite Killian’s protests. If she got any bigger he would need actual slings and pulleys to extract her from the bed, she told him grumpily, scowling as he struggled not to laugh. 

She was still thrilled about the baby, beyond excited to meet their child, but she was seriously fucking fed up with being pregnant. 

Killian wanted her to take maternity leave, the one point on which he and her dad agreed one hundred percent, but as tempting as the idea was some mornings Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to spend weeks just sitting around at home or even in the bookstore with Killian, with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs. 

“You could read,” Killian had said the week before, during a family meal at Granny’s. 

“Or knit?” Snow suggested. 

“Knit? Mom, have you met me?” 

“You could do that criminal justice course online,” said David. “One of us really ought to.” Ought to be actually qualified to do our jobs, he meant, but Emma was skeptical that a Land Without Magic certificate course would be that useful in training them for the kinds of things they faced daily in Storybrooke. 

“I’m not sure it’s really worth the trouble unless there’s an official procedure for dealing with magic-less ex-witches,” she pointed out. 

Zelena was still a problem. She was on house arrest, living with Regina in her new place—the old one holding a few too many unpleasant memories of her life under the curse and the loft uncomfortably small for the two of them plus Robin and his son, who now spent most nights there. Regina was trying hard, even her loudest detractors had to admit, doing her best to build a relationship with her sister while also gradually making amends for her own actions as the Evil Queen. It wasn’t an easy path, for either of them, but Regina was showing what Emma felt was pretty impressive determination and with Robin firmly behind her was happier than she had ever been. 

But Zelena…Emma still wasn’t sure what to make of her. She still sneered and sniped at everyone she met, grumbled constantly and made herself generally unpleasant while refusing flat-out to explain anything about how her curse had worked or how she’d managed to get her hands on the subtle knife, or who the knife-bearer was she’d stolen it from. She had entirely eclipsed Regina as the most hated person in town, even according to Leroy. And yet. Three days earlier when Emma was doing paperwork at the station Regina had appeared with a wry expression on her face and a small gift bag in her hand. 

“What’s this?” Emma asked, nonplussed when Regina handed the bag to her. 

“You’d probably better look for yourself,” Regina replied. “I—don’t really know how to explain it.” 

Emma peeked inside the bag and her jaw dropped. Slowly she withdrew a yellow cotton baby onesie, just a standard one you could buy from any store, but it had been embroidered all over with tiny white swans and silver hooks, clearly by hand. 

“Um,” she said. “Regina, I don’t—” 

“Oh, it’s not from me,” Regina drawled. “It’s from Zelena. It seems she’s taken up embroidery.” 

“Oh.” Emma gaped at the onesie, completely at a loss. It was strangely beautiful, and maybe it was just her crazy pregnancy hormones at work but she was genuinely touched by the gesture. “Thank you. Tell her I said thank you.” 

“She’s trying, you know,” said Regina. “It may not seem like it but she is.” 

“I know.” 

“And we didn’t know if you were having a shower or anything, so…” 

“Oh. Yeah. I’m not. I mean, Mom wants me to have one, but I just—” she shrugged. Parties weren’t really her thing, especially ones that seemed to involve ‘cakes’ made of diapers like the ones Snow kept trying to show her on Pinterest. 

Regina nodded. “I understand.” 

“Honestly, though, this is incredible.” Emma ran her thumb over one of the hooks, marvelling at how its elegant curve matched that of the swans’ necks. “I really am grateful, and please tell Zelena I said so.” 

Regina smiled. “I will.” 

So Zelena was a problem Emma wasn’t quite comfortable leaving in other people’s hands, and lacking anything she really wanted to do to fill her time she had determined to keep working and save her leave for when the baby was actually here. But no maternity leave meant she still had to go to work, and that meant getting out of bed. Hence the groaning. 

She felt Killian shift behind her a second before his warm hand slid over her hip, gripping it gently as he began to massage her lower back with his thumb and wrist. “Morning, love,” he said. “What aches today?”

“Everything,” grumbled Emma. “That feels so good though, don’t stop.” 

“Ah,” he teased. “How fondly I recall the days when you used to say that to me in rather different circumstances.” 

“Which is how I ended up like this,” she retorted, though his sleep-roughened voice made her skin tingle. “A back massage is really the least you can do.” 

He leaned closer and nuzzled her neck as his thumb soothed a particularly sore knot near her spine. “Anything you require, my love, as you know,” he said. 

“I know.” She sighed and stretched her legs as far as they could go, pointing her toes and arching her back. “Could you do my shoulders next?” 

“Of course.” 

Twenty minutes later she was marginally less achy and more relaxed, sitting up in bed sipping the coffee Killian had made for her and trying to pretend there was caffeine in it. He was cooking breakfast now, bacon from the mouthwatering smell of it, and in another few minutes he’d be back to hoist her out of bed and help her down the steep stairs, but for now she could sit and relax and—

“Da-ad!” Henry shouted from his bedroom down the hall. “Have you seen my Star Wars t-shirt?” 

“Which Star Wars t-shirt, exactly?” Killian called from the kitchen. “You own at least five.” 

Emma sighed, a short, irritated huff through her nose. How many times did she have to tell them not to shout across the house? 

“The blue one with the silver letters,” Henry yelled in reply. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen that one for a while.” 

“It’s not in my dresser, or in my closet, or—” 

“Have you checked under your bed?” Killian’s voice was much closer now and she could hear his footsteps on the stairs.

She could almost hear Henry’s eye roll. “Why would it be—oh. Found it!” 

“Do not put that on if it’s been buried under your bed for the gods only know how long.” Killian had arrived at Henry’s door but their conversation was still perfectly audible from all the way down the hall. Emma wondered if it was wrong to hope the baby was a girl so she’d have some respite from men in her house. 

“But I want to wear it today!” Henry whined. 

“Well, you can’t. Wear a different one, you’ve plenty to choose from.” 

“I want this one!” 

“Then you should have checked it was clean last night and not ten minutes before you have to leave for school. Now give it to me, and I’ll put it in the laundry. You can wear it tomorrow.” 

There was a long pause and Emma held her breath as she waited to hear Henry’s reply. Some day, she knew, Killian’s pirate captain voice would lose its battle for dominance with Henry’s teenage hormones, but apparently today was not that day. 

“Fine,” Henry grumbled. “I’ll wear the black one.” 

“No one will know the difference, I’m sure.” Killian didn’t even attempt to hide the amusement in his tone. 

“I will,” Henry retorted. 

A moment later Killian appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, the t-shirt draped over his shoulder. “Ready to get up, love?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” Emma drained the rest of her coffee and set the cup on the bedside table, then held out her hands. Killian grasped them firmly with his hand and prosthetic and balanced her as she struggled to her feet, wrapping his arms comfortingly around her when she was finally upright. She sighed against his shoulder—the one not occupied by a teenage boy’s dirty t-shirt—and leaned heavily into the comfort of his embrace. 

“I hate this,” she whined. 

“I know, love,” he said soothingly, rubbing gentle circles on her belly. “Only a month to go.” 

“I remember when that seemed like a short time.” 

“I wish you’d start your leave now,” he tried, for the hundredth or possibly millionth time. “You could sleep in—” 

“Killian, we’ve been over this.” 

“—I could reduce my hours at the bookstore. We could finish up the baby’s room and I could rub your feet—” 

“You do that anyway.” 

“I could do it for longer.” 

It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t tempting. She knew how badly he wanted her not to overtax herself, that he was worried about her taking unnecessary risks at work—despite the fact that she worked with her father who was if anything more overprotective than Killian. But still… “No. I’m not ready yet,” she said firmly. “I can’t sit at home doing nothing for that long. Once the baby comes I’ll take the leave, I promise, but until then—” 

“Two weeks before your due date,” he wheedled. 

“That’s still too long.” 

“One week then. Indulge me, Swan, you know I can’t help worrying about you.” 

Emma sighed. “All right, a week before.” She almost took the words back when she caught the triumphant glint in his eye and realised she’d been had.  

She gave an annoyed huff and he laughed. 

“Pirate,” she hissed. 

“Yo ho ho, my love.” 

~

When she got to the station David was already there, sipping a cup of coffee that looked delightfully caffeinated. Emma whimpered longingly at it, but he gave her his very finest stern dad look and handed her another steaming mug. 

“Regular?” she said hopefully. 

“Decaf.” 

“I hate you.” 

“I love you. And my unborn grandchild.” 

He followed her into her office, hovering behind her as she slowly lowered herself into her chair. His overprotectiveness was seriously annoying but also she kind of loved it. It was just such a dad thing to do. She leaned back in her chair, resting her feet on the stack of books beneath her desk with a relieved sigh.

“Speaking of the unborn, how’s Mom doing?” she asked, sipping the coffee. Nowhere near as good as Killian’s but still not bad. For decaf. 

“Good,” said David, grinning happily. “She was up at five this morning cleaning the kitchen. She says she’s got more energy than she knows what to do with.” Snow was nearing the end of her first trimester, still in the ‘glowing’ stage. Emma reminded herself that it was unhealthy to hate both her parents. 

“She could shoot some in my direction,” she grumbled. 

“I’m sure she would if she could,” said David sympathetically. “You know, if you wanted to start your leave—”  

“I don’t.” She glared at him over the rim of her cup and deliberately changed the subject. “Anything going on this morning I should know about?” 

David’s expression said plainly that he didn’t consider the subject changed in the slightest and they had a short, silent battle of wills before he answered her question. “Leroy up to his old tricks, but otherwise no reports.” 

“Good,” said Emma, settling deeper into her chair. “That’s good. Let’s hope it stays that way. I could use a quiet one.” 

The phone began to ring, ominously she thought, right as she finished speaking. Emma let her eyes fall shut, just for a moment, then braced herself and picked up the receiver. 

“Sheriff Jones. Yes. I—what? Whoa, wait, back up. Did you say an ice wall?” She widened her eyes at David, who nodded and grabbed his jacket. “Okay. We’ll be right there.” 

-

@thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @katie-dub​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @teamhook​​ @stahlop​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​ @thejollyroger-writer​​ @jennjenn615​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @lfh1226-linda​​ @winterbaby89​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​

[iamthegaysmurf]

18. walking home, for the soft™ prompts :)

36.  giggling during sex

—–

Well, well, well.  If it isn’t two months later, and I finally finished this last remaining set of prompts.  I have no excuse for myself.  Only apologies to @tinygay-haught and this anon, who have been waiting for this prompt fill for way too long.

I am so very sorry.  :(

The good news is, my Angst-O-Meter apparently had enough time to reset, so your angst scale is set to zero for this one.  It is 100% soft and gooey fluff.  

((And also some, uh…  other stuff…  *clears throat*  Let’s just say that this one is definitely not suitable for being read in the workplace setting.  So, uh…  Have fun with that.))

ANYWAY…….  

I really am sorry it took so long, but I hope you’re still able to enjoy it anyway.

—–

Set during the nineteen-week time jump between the end of S2 and the beginning of S3.  (On the 8th of September, to be exact.)

—–

“I can’t believe we already have snow by my birthday.”

“One of the perks of living in Canada.”

Technically, Nicole will admit that getting this much snow so early in September is a little out of the ordinary, even by Canadian standards.  But she doesn’t really care.  She still considers it a perk, anyway.  She’s always felt like the first snow of the year seemed to hold some sort of magic.  

And now that she lives in Purgatory…  

Well.  You never know.  

Maybe it actually is magical.

“Ugh.  It is not a perk,” Waverly whines, shivering a little when they leave Shorty’s behind and step out into the crisp night air.  

Nicole instinctively lifts her arm, allowing Waverly to snuggle underneath it as they begin to walk along the deserted sidewalk.  It may be the first snow of the season, but it’s certainly making an entrance, acting like it has something to prove.  It hasn’t let up since it started yesterday morning, and there are places where the drifts are already halfway up the buildings.

The municipal workers have done their best to try and keep up with it, but truth be told, none of the departments were quite prepared for such dramatic weather to hit seemingly out of nowhere.  With everyone in leaf-raking mode, they were still busy making sure the various burning ordinances were plainly marked around town.

Needless to say, there are several roads and sidewalks that haven’t been plowed and salted yet.  Nicole makes a mental note to start working on a more advanced action plan so that they’re better prepared before the next time.

But in the meantime, she closes her eyes and listens to the untouched snow crunching under her boots and tries to fight the giddiness that creeps into her chest with every step she takes.

“Most definitely a perk,” she says with a grin, leaning down to kiss the tip of Waverly’s nose, barely visible beneath the giant scarf she has wrapped around her neck.

“Give me a hot summer afternoon any day over this,” Waverly grumbles, kicking out at a snowdrift that’s settled against one of the buildings they’re walking past.  It explodes in a cloud of soft white powder, glinting in the streetlight like a wintery glitterbomb.  

Nicole can’t help but giggle as it blows back in their faces, something warm spiking through her ribs when Waverly looks up at her, nose crinkled and freshly fallen flakes caught in her long lashes.  She loses the ability to take another step for a moment as she stands there watching Waverly, the silvery moonlightcatching the flakes in her hair and her lashes and the soft wool of her coat, making her glow with an almost ethereal light, as though she just stepped straight out of heaven, halo and all.

“What?” Waverly finally asks, tilting her head slightly.

“Nothing,” Nicole mumbles, shaking herself out of her stupor.  “You only like the summertime because ninety percent of your wardrobe is made up of crop tops and miniskirts,” she jokes as they begin walking again.

“Are you complaining?” Waverly asks, raising an eyebrow that tells Nicole she’d better be careful when choosing her next words.

“N-no…” she stutters, the red in her cheeks having nothing to do with the sharp cold in the air.

“Mmhmm.”  Wavelry smirks and nudges Nicole in the ribs with her elbow.  “Why do you like the snow so much, anyway?  It’s so cold.”  She shivers again, for good measure.

“It’s not about being cold,” Nicole laughs, bundling Waverly a little closer into her side.  “Though, that certainly doesn’t hurt.”  

Waverly swats at her again, but Nicole just catches her hand and uses it to twirl her around before pulling her back in.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Nicole says, closing her eyes and turning her face up into the falling snow while she thinks.  “I guess it’s like…”  She looks back down at Waverly again.  “Like a clean slate.  Sort of a fresh start.”  

Confusion knits Waverly’s brow as she waits for Nicole to continue.

“When there’s a fresh snow on the ground, still untouched by animals and footprints and salt trucks, everything just seems so…  pure and white.”  She shrugs one shoulder, a little embarrassed, but Waverly is listening intently, so she tries to keep explaining.  “Everything is so… muted.  And it’s like…  It’s like the world is standing still.  Like there’s no monsters or curses or shitty childhoods.  Just… everything is calm and peaceful, and for just that one moment, the world is a better place.”

Nicole is about to ask if that makes any kind of sense, but before she can get a word out, Waverly grabs her by the scarf and drags her down into a heated kiss.  It lasts long enough that they end up against the nearby wall, Nicole’s hands flat on the bricks with Waverly bracketed between her arms, clutching tightly at the lapels of Nicole’s navy blue peacoat to keep her close.

Nicole finally pulls away, her chest heaving, thick puffs of white smoke curling up around her face like some kind of ice dragon.

“What was that for?” she asks, breathless.

“Just for being you,” Waverly whispers back, struggling a bit with her own breath.

Nicole leans in and kisses her again, both of them lost in their own little world as the snow falls silently around them, completely forgetting that Nicole is pinning Waverly to a brick wall right out on the main street.  

That is, until a voice rings out from a few blocks down, echoing through the empty night.

“Can’t you horndogs even wait ‘til you get home?”

They jump apart, like a couple of teenagers who just got caught by a teacher while making out behind the gym, both of them stuttering in unison.

“It’s not what it–”

“We were just–”

“Yeah, I know what you were just…” Wynonna cuts them off, cackling.  Her words are slurred, but her tone is playful rather than harsh, clearly drawing enjoyment from their discomfort.

“Okay, Earp.  That’s enough,” another, deeper voice joins hers.  “Let’s leave them alone now,” Dolls says, stepping out through the doorway of the saloon.  

“Awww…” Wynonna pouts, sticking her bottom lip out like a petulant child.  “But it’s so fun to watch ‘em squirm!”

“I know.”  Dolls smirks and looks up at Nicole with a wink.  Her blush deepens, and she wonders if there is actual steam rising off of her face in the cold night air.  “But it’s time to get you home now.”

He begins trying to herd her toward his massive SUV, parked across the street, but she twirls away out of his reach and starts heading down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, stomping her feet through the deep snow like a kid pretending to be an abominable snowman.

“Earp.  What. Are you doing.”  Dolls lets out an exasperated sigh and trudges after her.

“I’m walkin’ home!” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the goddamn world.  “Flatfoot over there can’t arrest me for DUI if I’m not drivin’ anything!”

“No, but I could still get you for public intoxication!” Nicole calls after her with a grin, finally finding her voice again.

Waverly laughs brightly, watching Dolls try to wrangle Wynonna while she continues to weave and totter just out of his reach.  She rests her head against Nicole’s shoulder and slips her hand into Nicole’s.  It’s more like a paw than a hand, really.  A giant woolen paw.  Nicole has wondered many times how Waverly is able to pick up or hold anything with her hands inside those ridiculously huge woolen mittens.

Dolls eventually catches Wynonna, wrapping his thick arms around her middle and trapping her arms against her waist.  He lifts her entirely off the ground frombehind and starts hauling her toward the cab of his vehicle, while she kicks her legs and curses at him through intermittent bouts of giggles.

“Happy Birthday, Little Earp,” he calls back over his shoulder once he has her safely inside, and then climbs up into the driver’s seat next to her.  Waverly raises one of her woolen paws and waves as he pulls the door shut.

He pulls away, his powerful four-wheel drive churning through the ice and snow of the unplowed street with no trouble at all, and the two of them stand there and watch until the red of the taillights finally fades in the distance.

“So,” Nicole breathes, turning to face Waverly.  There’s a smile on her face that lights up the entire street.  “Where were we, Miss Earp?”

“I believe you were taking me home, Officer Haught.”  Waverly waggles her eyebrows playfully and begins tugging Nicole forward again.

“It is pretty cold out here,” Nicole says, her feet remaining planted.  “I think Coop is on dispatch tonight.  Do you want me to call him and have him send one of the boys to come and give us a ride?”

Waverly stops pulling on Nicole’s arm and seems to consider this.

“As nice as the party for my birthday was that you and Wynonna insisted on planning…”  Waverly pauses for a moment, and Nicole notices a shadow of something pass over her face.  But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and Waverly is focused on Nicole again.  “I think I’d rather just enjoy the peace andquiet with you after all of that, instead of dealing with Lonnie right now.”

“You sure?” Nicole asks, running her hands up and down Waverly’s arms, trying to make sure she’s warm enough.

“As long as you don’t mind walking me home.”  Waverly smiles up at her and loops her arm through Nicole’s.  “And if you promise to be my bonus blanket when we get there.”

Home.

Nicole knows that the homestead will always be Waverly’s true home.  As it should be, considering the protection the ammolite bedrock provides.  Nicolehas been spending more and more time at the homestead, and there’s even been some recent talk – most surprisingly from Wynonna – of Nicole moving some of her things over there after what happened with Widow Mercedes at her house just over three months ago.

But every time Waverly casually refers to Nicole’s place as home, whether she realizes she’s doing it or not, Nicole can’t help the warmth that spreads through her limbs.  

Waverly considers it her space, too.

She thinks of me as home.

Nicole shakes her head when she realizes Waverly is staring at her with an amused look on her face.  She must have been zoning out for a few seconds, and failed to respond to Waverly’s question.  Her cheeks burn, and she feels the falling snowflakes melt against them as they fall.

“I’ll be your bonus blanket any time you want.”

I’ll be your bonus blanket for the rest of our lives.

Waverly beams and squeezes her arm, and together, they start off down the street again.

“So, you’re twenty-two now.  How do you feel?  Any different?” Nicole asks as they walk down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, kicking at piles of snow as they go and ignoring the cold, focusing instead on the warmth that they draw from each other.

“Not really,” Waverly snorts, shrugging.  

She’s quiet for a few minutes after that, and Nicole can tell that she’s contemplating something, so she gives her the time to work through it, just continuing to hold on to her arm like a steadfast escort.

“It’s weird,” Waverly says, apropos of nothing.  

“What is?” Nicole asks, curious to see where this will go.

“Last year, I was just a girl working in a bar, obsessed with a curse that may or may not have been the figment of a six-year-old’s imagination.  My family was dead, my sister was gone, Shorty and Curtis – and Gus, of course – were the closest thing to family I had left.  I was stuck in a loop of living the same routine day in and day out, dating a boy-man, and wondering if anyone would ever truly see me.”

Nicole stops and turns to face Waverly, her gloved hand coming up to cup Waverly’s cheek gently.

“And now?”

Waverly leans into Nicole’s touch and huffs out a short laugh.

“A year ago, I was blowing out a candle on a cupcake that I made for myself, up in my apartment above the bar.  Alone.”  She reaches out and bats absentmindedly at the end of Nicole’s scarf with her mitten-paw.  “But tonight, I had a birthday party – the first real one I’ve ever had in my entire life – and everyone came.”

Nicole strokes her cheek and waits for her to continue.

“Shorty and Curtis may be gone, and Gus may be away with Alice, but now I have a new family.  Jeremy and Dolls and Doc.  Wynonna is back home, and we’re a team, and we’re the kind of sisters I always used to dream about being when I was little.”

Waverly’s paws climb up the front of Nicole’s coat and over her shoulders, until they’re draped behind her neck.

“And you,” Waverly says, tugging Nicole down until she can reach her face.  “Now I have you, and I never want to be without you again.”

Nicole sinks forward into the kiss that Waverly pulls her into, but her mind spirals off in a thousand different directions.  She knows Waverly isn’t ready to say theactual words yet, but she’s also smart enough to know what these words mean.  Waverly is telling Nicole that she loves her in the only way she knows how to right now, and Nicole will never get tired of hearing it.

“I may not know what I am…” Waverly whispers, ducking her head a little when she pulls out of the kiss.  She swallows hard a couple of times and then finally looks back up at Nicole.  “But I think I finally know who I am.  And that’s thanks to you and Wynonna.”  

Her expression goes softer, and Nicole melts a little at the earnest look in her eyes.

“So, even though we’ve had to deal with a bunch of shit-tickets and…  and a bunch of other crappy stuff…”  A bit of sheepishness creeps into her voice,but she ignores it and pushes up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Nicole’scheek.  “I think it’s still been a pretty fudging good year.”

Nicole can’t contain herself any longer.  She sweeps Waverly up into her arms and twirls her around, kissing the snowflakes off of her nose and cheeks andeyelashes.

“I think it’s been a pretty fudging good year, too,” she says, setting Waverly down carefully and then kissing her properly.  It lingers, turning into something deeper and more urgent, until they both pull away, panting in the cold air.

“Nicole,” Waverly whispers, hot against her ear, still a little breathless.  “Take me home.”

“As you wish,” she whispers back, and Waverly’s eyes shine.  Nicole never gets tired of seeing this kind of reaction any time she quotes Waverly’s favorite movie.

The final few blocks to Nicole’s house pass by in a haze of longing looks and roaming hands and stolen kisses that have no trouble warding off the winter chill.  The falling snow continues to blanket the ground around them, and Nicole feels a little bit like one of those picturesque happy couples destined to live an eternity inside the happiest moment of their lives, captured inside the safety of a snow globe’s protective bubble forever.  

Waverly waits impatiently behind her as Nicole fumbles with the keys at her front door.  Her hands are cold, but her insides are burning, and there are too many sensations at once for her to keep her fingers steady.  She pauses and takes a deep breath before tugging her gloves off and trying again without their bulkiness adding to the difficulty.

Just as the key turns in the lock and she’s about to push the door open, something thumps against the back of her head, exploding in a cloud of white powder around her face.  Less than a second later, clumps of slushy snow begin to slip beneath her collar, slithering down the bare skin of her back.  She yelps and wiggles clumsily, trying to get it out, but it’s no use; the ice is trapped underseveral layers of clothing, and Nicole has no choice but to tough it out.

The giggles coming from behind her cause her to spin around on her heel, but before she can even take a single step, another snowball hits her right in the chest, splattering flecks of snow across her cheeks and nose.  She squints through the flakes caught in her eyelashes and spots Waverly, doubled over with laughter, about ten feet away, in the middle of her front yard.

Leaping off the front porch, Nicole skips over the steps entirely and lands in the knee-deep snow beneath, weighing her options in the moment.  She could easily retaliate by scooping up handfuls of snow and hurling it back at her girlfriend, but then her eyes land on the snowdrift that’s piled up around the nearby tree – several feet deep and only a few steps away from where Waverly now stands.

Waverly immediately freezes, her eyes going wide and her lips parting with an audible gasp.  

A deer caught in the headlights.

Prey.

A positively wicked grin curls Nicole’s lips as she begins to stalk forward, and Waverly throws up her bare hands in exaggerated surrender.  She must have shed her woolen paws in favor of packing a more perfect snowball.

Nicole continues to advance, and Waverly stumbles backward a couple of steps, the quiet of the night broken by a shrill litany of no, no, please, no muffling out through her bunched up scarf.

But it’s too late.  Her fate is already sealed.

Nicole lunges forward, and Waverly doesn’t even come close to dodging in time.  She wraps her arms around Waverly’s body, giant puffy coat and all, and then gravity seems to shift, tipping them both sideways as they topple into the mountain of powder with a soft squelch.

It’s almost drowned out by the squeals and peals of laughter.

Almost.

Waverly twists and bucks, but Nicole allows the length of her body to work to her advantage, keeping Waverly pinned easily despite the amount of snow she’s flinging about with her flailing arms.  

She can feel the cold soaking in through her jeans, and her gloveless hands are numb, but Nicole doesn’t care, because Waverly Earp is beneath her and her laughter sounds like angels singing and she can see her entire future reflected back at her in those gleaming hazel eyes.

Overcome with a swell of emotion, Nicole dips her head and finds Waverly’s lips, cold and wet and eager to meld with hers.  Waverly’s squirming stills, and her flailing arms come to rest around Nicole’s neck, desperately pulling her in closer.

Nicole gets so lost in the kiss – and all of the thoughts racing through her head that involve far fewer layers of clothing between them – that when Waverly arches up against her, Nicole willingly allows her to flip them over in the soft bank of snow.  Waverly continues to kiss her for a few moments, deliberately grinding down against her hip, but then the next thing Nicole knows, two giant handfuls of snow have been scooped up over her face and Waverly’s weight hasdisappeared.

She sputters for a second, spitting out mouthfuls of snow, and wipes at her face as she hears Waverly’s boots thumping across the wooden planks of the front porch before disappearing into the house, her giggles still echoing in the night.

Big, fat flakes continue to fall overhead, coming to rest on her peacoat and her scarf and her jeans that are soaked through.  Nicole watches them gather for a few moments, thinking about everything that has happened since the last time she experienced a “first snow of the year.”  Before learning about the Curse.  Before finding herself a new family.  Before she had Waverly.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and Nicole doesn’t know how she ever thought she was alive without all of these things in her life – both the good and the bad.

She wouldn’t give it up for all of the normal in the world.

Once she feels like she’s given Waverly a big enough head start, Nicole pulls herself up out of the snow and begins making her way into the house, unsure of what she might find there.

To her delight, she’s greeted by a trail that starts with snow-packed boots that were discarded on the rug by the door and continues all the way up the stairs, one article of clothing at a time.

Nicole grins and pulls off her own boots after making sure the door is locked and the keys are safely on the hook that hangs next to the coatrack.

Two can play at this game.

By the time she makes it to the top of the stairs, she’s lost her coat and scarf and hat and sweater and socks along the way.  She reaches the door to her bedroom wearing only her damp jeans and bra, and she’s about to stroll inside with a swagger in her hips and a quip on her tongue, but what she finds waiting for her steals the breath right out of her lungs instead.

Waverly is completely naked.

Sprawled out on her bed, propped up on her elbow with her head resting in one of her hands and the other hand trailing up and down her hip and thigh, her fingers dancing over the goosebumps left in the wake of the light touch.

Completely naked.

Nicole can’t do anything but stare.

“Finally decided to join me?” Waverly practically purrs.  Her voice is low and warm and filled with the promise of so many things to come.

When Nicole remains frozen in place, her mouth hanging open dumbly, Waverly chuckles softly and rolls off of her elbow, sprawling more fully across the rest of the bed.  With fire in her eyes and a deliberate motion, she crooks a finger at Nicole, summoning her to the bed like some kind of siren’s song.

The spinning gears in Nicole’s brain finally catch and click into place, sending it whirring into overdrive.  She hastily unhooks her bra and yanks it down her arms, not paying attention to where it lands.  Her jeans prove to be more of a challenge, still soaked from the snow and clinging to her damp skin.  It’s all she can do to keep her balance as she struggles to peel them down her legs until she can eventually kick them the rest of the way off.

Finally bare, a shiver works its way out through her limbs and all the way down to her numb fingertips.  It could be the chill in her bones working its way out as her clammy skin tries to catch up to the soft warmth of the room around her, though Nicole thinks it’s far more likely the result of the smoldering look being leveled in her direction.

But the reason isn’t important because the only thing that matters right now is Waverly.  

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

Muscles pulled taut with anticipation, rippling slightly beneath smooth bronze skin.  Wavy hair cascading around her shoulders and across her chest, rising and falling rapidly, her breasts swaying with each breath, nipples tight and standing proud.  Spread open before her, glistening with need, desire hanging thickly in the air between them. 

Truly a vision to behold.

Nicole tries to say so, but her mouth is so dry, the words stick in her throat.  She licks her lips and tries again, but her tongue is too thick and too clumsy and the words trip over it on the way out, falling from her mouth in a jumble.

Before Nicole can remember how to take another step closer to the bed, Waverly’s hands begin to roam over her own body.

“Well, if you’re just gonna stand there and watch all night…” she trails off with a smirk as her fingertips dance lower and lower down her abdomen.  She gasps softly when they finally dip into slick folds, and Nicole feels so lightheaded she actually stumbles forward to steady herself against the footboard.  

This time when Waverly invites her to join in, Nicole’s limbs remember how to move on their own, and she crawls up the bed until she’s hovering over Waverly on her hands and knees.  Just as she dips her head to find Waverly’s lips, Waverly lets her hands slide up Nicole’s ribs toward her breasts.

Nicole immediately yelps and jumps backward, unfortunately forgetting just how close to the edge of the bed they were to begin with.  The world is suspended for a brief moment in which Nicole suddenly understands what the coyote must feel like when he holds up his sign that says “$#!+” – she half expects to hear a smug *meep meep* coming from Waverly – followed by a loud thump as she hits the ground in a heap of tangled up limbs.

“Oh, my god!  Are you okay?”  Waverly scrambles to the edge of the bed, peering down at Nicole with wide eyes and a creased brow.

One of Nicole’s feet is still up on the mattress and the other leg is folded awkwardly, half under her body and half under the bed.  There’s an arm thrown up over her head, covering part of her face, and the other is bent at the elbow where she tried to break her fall.

“Nicole…?” Waverly calls again.

Nicole groans in response, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead of looking at Waverly.  

“What the hell, Nicole…” Waverly demands, now that she knows Nicole is okay.

“Your hands,” Nicole groans again, still staring at the ceiling, dramatic and forlorn.  “Are so cold.”

The silence stretches out long enough that Nicole begins to wonder if she’d actually answered out loud, or if it had only been in her head.  Swallowing down her pride, she risks a glance in Waverly’s direction.

Waverly is gaping at her almost comically.  She looks down at her hands where they’re curled around the edge of the bed, her fingers still glowing red after handling the snow without her mitten-paws on, and then back at Nicole.

Their eyes are locked as the seconds tick away, and then the tension abruptly and definitively breaks when Waverly snorts so loudly that Nicole actually jumps a little.  The embarrassment of her predicament slowly ebbs as mirth begins to dance in Waverly’s eyes, the amusement contagious.  

Before long, they’re both overcome with a fit of giggles so strong that Waverly has to flop over onto her back in order to breathe.  Nicole tries to untangle herself, but with her foot still up by Waverly’s head, it’s not exactly the easiest of tasks.  Especially while she’s laughing so hard that there are actual tears in her eyes.

Waverly eventually takes pity on her, helping Nicole ease her leg down from the bed without it getting caught on her other knee.  They’re both still hiccupping with giggles, despite Waverly making a comment about mourning the loss of the view Nicole had inadvertently gifted her with.  That makes Nicole’s face burn, the heat radiating out to the tips of her ears and down her neck where it blooms across her bare chest.

Nicole finally pushes herself up off of the floor, crawling over to the bed on her knees and grabbing Waverly’s radiant face in her hands.  She pulls Waverly forward until she can swallow her laughter directly from her lips.  They both continue to giggle for a few seconds, but they quickly settle into the kiss until it becomes something more, Nicole’s hands beginning to drift down from Waverly’s cheeks to play across the warm skin of her shoulders and her back and her hips.  Waverly twitches and jerks and eventually pulls away from the kiss with a squeak.

“Your hands aren’t exactly hot and fresh out of the oven either, Officer,” Waverly pouts when Nicole raises an eyebrow.

She laughs and kisses her again, and this time when Waverly pulls away, it’s to whisper hotly in Nicole’s ear.

“How about if I help you warm your fingers up?”

Nicole swallows hard and nods, rising to her feet so she can crawl back onto the bed and drape herself over Waverly’s naked form, but Waverly stops her with a hand to chest.  Nicole pauses, frowning with confusion, but Waverly just shakes her head and scoots over before directing Nicole to lie down next to her.

“Like this,” she whispers and then climbs on top, straddling Nicole’s hips with her own.

“Anything you want, baby,” Nicole breathes, her temperature instantly rising as Waverly takes her hand and raises it to her chest, directing it down between her breasts and over her stomach and past the line of her hipbones.  She never takes her eyes off of Waverly’s face as she guides Nicole’s hand further down, hissing slightly as Nicole’s cold fingers finally make contact with wet warmth.

Nicole would normally take her time.  Tease a little and work Waverly up, building to the moment when she finally gives in to Waverly’s desperate pleas.  But Waverly clearly knows what she wants tonight, and Nicole would never deny her that, so when Waverly pulls at the back of her hand, Nicole doesn’t hesitate to bury two fingers deep inside of the scorching heat that’s so ready for her.

Waverly’s head falls back, moaning Nicole’s name into the suddenly warm room, and it echoes in Nicole’s chest before settling someplace a little lower.

Time nearly stops, slowing down until it can be measured in their heartbeats.

Three heartbeats.  Waverly opens her eyes, looking down to meet Nicole’s, and the amount of pure want she finds there makes Nicole’s head spin.

Eight heartbeats.  The arch of Waverly’s spine eases as she loses her grip on Nicole’s hand and leans forward, her own hands falling to Nicole’s hips to steady herself.

Twelve heartbeats.  Nicole flexes her fingers inside Waverly, testing, and watches as her breath trips and stutters, her fingers digging deeper into Nicole’s hips.

Fifteen heartbeats. Waverly knows exactly what she wants, and she’s ready to take it.

Waverly gasps Nicole’s name again – a plea, a prayer, a promise – and the spell is broken, the world rushing in around them as time catches back up to their overwhelming need.  Waverly begins to roll her hips, setting a greedy, deliberate pace, and Nicole curls her fingers against the walls that clench around them, matching her timing with Waverly’s movements.

Planting her feet against the mattress, Nicole uses the extra leverage to add the strength of her hips behind every thrust, long, deep, determined strokes that cause Waverly to shudder and gasp, her rhythm briefly faltering until they fall back into sync again.  The need in Waverly’s eyes smolders, and Nicole can feel it burning through her, every place that their bodies touch.

Her arms begin to shake with the exertion of holding herself up, and Waverly eventually falls forward until she’s hovering just above Nicole, her elbows bracketing Nicole’s head around the pillow.  The pace never slows, but the change in angle causes her to cry out, her clit dragging roughly across Nicole’s palm now as Nicole’s fingers reach new depths with every thrust.

She moans her pleasure loudly, directly into Nicole’s mouth, and Nicole thinks it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted.  She can tell Waverly is getting close by the way her movements are becoming more and more erratic, the desperation sharp on her tongue.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads in Nicole’s ear, breathless.  Before Nicole can assure that she’ll never stop, Waverly lifts her head just enough to look Nicole in the eye, her hair falling around them, forming a curtain between the two of them and the rest of the world.  “Don’t stop fucking me, Nicole,” she pants.

Waverly very rarely swears, especially like that, but something has lit a fire inside her tonight, and Nicole is more than happy to let the flames consume heruntil she’s nothing more than ashes at Waverly’s feet.

“I won’t,” she promises when Waverly’s eyes continue to bore into hers.  

As if to prove her dedication to the task at hand, the fingers of Nicole’s free hand dig into the flexing muscles of Waverly’s ass.  With every buck of her hips, her fingers push into Waverly with more and more force, and she uses the tighter grip to help pull Waverly down against each thrust with increased strength.  Waverly wails her approval, followed by a hissed yesss and so close.

Nicole’s wrist aches and the muscles in her thighs and ass burn from pushing up off of the mattress so rapidly for so long, but none of that registers right now.  The only thing Nicole can focus on is Waverly.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

The way Waverly’s breath is hot and ragged against her ear and her cheek and her lips.  The way Waverly’s eyes are bright and lustful and wild.  The way Waverly’s breasts drag against her own with every bounce.  

The way Waverly’s walls ripple and flutter around her fingers, and the way Waverly’s hips jerk out of rhythm every time she curls them forward at the apex of a stroke.

This is it.

On the next thrust, Waverly’s entire body seizes up, clenching down around Nicole so tightly that she’s forced to leave her fingers buried deep for the time being.  Her eyes are squeezed shut and her face contorted in concentration, almost giving off the appearance of pain, but Nicole knows better.

She counts the silent heartbeats she feels pounding against her fingertips, and then Waverly’s eyes snap open, her jaw going slack as a violent tremor wracks her entire body.  Her hips begin to stutter again, and Nicole makes sure to press harder with her palm, applying extra pressure directly to Waverly’s throbbing clit.

A strangled sort of whine builds in the back of Waverly’s throat, until eventually, variations of Nicole’s name fall from her lips in a series of sobs and sighs as she shudders and shakes her way through her powerful orgasm.  Nicole continues towork her through it until the trembling subsides, and Waverly collapsesforward, mumbling strings of nonsense against Nicole’s chest.

Nicole draws lazy shapes on Waverly’s back while she catches her breath again, and then playfully flexes the fingers still buried deep, causing Waverly to jerk and swat at her shoulder with a groan.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Nicole asks, grinning happily when Waverly finally tilts her head to look up at her, cheek still pressed to her chest, just over her racing heart.

“Last time I checked,” Waverly says, deliberately squeezing down around Nicole’s fingers, “it was you.”  Nicole huffs out a laugh, surprised –and delighted – by Waverly’s boldness.  “At least your fingers aren’t cold anymore,” Waverly adds, waggling her eyebrows.

Nicole rolls her eyes with a snort as she carefully withdraws, easing Waverly through the loss and kissing her nose to chase away the pout that follows.  She wipes her hand on the blanket before bringing it up to cup Waverly’s cheek and draw her in for a proper kiss.

Waverly sinks into it immediately, and Nicole can taste the desire, still thick and heavy on her tongue.  She’s quickly reminded that her own body is still tense and sensitive, muscles twitching under Waverly’s fingertips as they begin to roam – down her side, over her hip, and back up again.

“Waverly…” Nicole mumbles, voice broken, as Waverly’s lips trail away from her mouth and down her throat.  Her tongue traces random patterns against Nicole’s heated skin, along her sternum and across her breast, until it eventually swirls around a tight nipple.  Nicole’s hips buck involuntarily, despite the fact that Waverly is still straddling them, pinning them to the bed.

“Easy, baby,” Waverly coos, smirking up at her before taking the nipple back into her mouth again.  Her hands continue to dance over the exposed planes of Nicole’s abdomen and ribs and pelvis, but where her touch may have been meant to soothe, instead it leaves a molten trail in its wake.

Shifting above her, Waverly settles between Nicole’s legs rather than straddling them, and Nicole can instantly feel her arousal hot and wet against Waverly’s stomach.  She moans loudly as the slick friction ramps her up even further, her pulse thundering wildly between her thighs.  She wonders if Waverly can actually feel it against the toned muscles she’s rolling against Nicole’s heat as her kisses begin to trail lower and lower.

“Wave…” she groans out, her brow furrowing.  “Waverly…  Baby, wait…”  Nicole pushes up on her elbows as Waverly’s tongue dips briefly into her navel and then continues its descent.  

She looks down, trying to force her hazy eyes to focus, but that proves to be a mistake when she finds Waverly nestled further between her legs, peering up at her from beneath her lashes as her mouth hovers dangerously close to Nicole’s folds, spread open and swollen with her need.

Nicole’s brain short-circuits, completely derailing the train of thought she was trying to follow.

With a devious grin, Waverly drops her head to place a single, chaste kiss right on the tip of Nicole’s aching clit, never once breaking eye contact in the process.

“Baby…” Nicole whimpers, her entire body trembling with desperation for release.  “You don’t have to do that.  Let– let me take care of you,” she manages, her voice thin and strained.  “Tonight is supposed to be all about you.”

“This is about me, baby.”  The smirk spreads wider across her face as she continues to look Nicole in the eye.  “It’s my birthday.  And this…” she drags her tongue, broad and thick, in a deliberate stroke from Nicole’s entrance all the way up to her clit, collecting as much arousal as she can along the way, “…is the present that I want.”

Nicole chokes on her own tongue.

She fists the sheets in a death-grip to keep from pushing herself up into Waverly’s face.

Jesus fucking Christ, Haught.  Show some goddamned restraint.

Swallowing thickly, Nicole searches Waverly’s eyes for a moment.  When she’s met with nothing but burning desire, determined and hungry, she nods once and then squeezes her eyes shut tight and lets her head fall back against the pillow.  

Before she can even draw a full breath, the warmth of Waverly’s lips and tongue envelopes her, and this time she can’t stop herself from pushing further into Waverly’s mouth.  She feels Waverly snake an arm up over her hips, holding her down against the mattress while Waverly licks and sucks her way into oblivion.

They’re always enthusiastic about doing this for each other, but tonight, it’s as though Waverly is starving and Nicole is the only thing that can sustain her.  She tries to focus on the movements of Waverly’s tongue, flicking at her clit and pushing inside her and dragging along the length in between, but the sensations are too overwhelming and everything narrows to one single thought.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

She must be calling her name out loud, because the hand that’s not holding her hips down reaches up and pries her fingers loose from the sheets, lacing their fingers together instead, offering an anchor to the here and now.

I’m here, it says.

I’ve got you, it tells her.

You can let go with me, it promises.

Nicole squeezes Waverly’s hand in response, grateful that they’re so in tune with each other that Waverly always knows what she needs and when she needs it.  Because she sure as shit can’t ask for it right now.  Not with the things Waverly’s mouth is doing to her at the moment.

The muscles in her thighs and abdomen, and even across her shoulders, begin to quiver and quake as the fire in her belly threatens to spill over.

“I’m–” Nicole stutters, struggling to suck air into her burning lungs.  “I’m gonna–”

Waverly squeezes Nicole’s hand tighter and focuses the point of her tongue directly over Nicole’s clit, indicating that is exactly what she wants to happen.

Nicole’s head sinks deeper into the pillow, her back arching high off the bed, stiff and curved and displaying her breasts beautifully for Waverly’s pleasure as she works to push Nicole the rest of the way over the ledge.  

She remains suspended there, a marionette of her own making, while Waverly expertly manipulates the wires, easily bending Nicole to her will.  Waverly continues to tug at them, stretching and pulling until the wires eventually snap, and Nicole tumbles back to the bed, a trembling mess wrought with incoherent babbling.

Her hunger seems to fade into something a little more tender, and Waverly eases Nicole through her aftershocks, never once letting go of her hand.  When Nicole finally remembers how to breathe again, her body heavy and still, she feels Waverly pressing soft kisses along the insides of her thighs and across the dip in her pelvis.

“Wave…” she rasps, hoarse, as she reaches out with her free hand to gently touch the top of Waverly’s head.  She strokes her fingers through the loose strands of hair and urges Waverly up.  “C’mere,” she mumbles.

Waverly wipes at her mouth and chin haphazardly with the back of her hand and then crawls up the length of Nicole’s body, settling on top of her and tucking a flyaway lock behind Nicole’s ear with a pleased grin.

Nicole knows she should be sated and satisfied after the ecstasy Waverly just put her through, but there’s something about seeing Waverly gazing down at her like this – with flushed skin and glistening lips – that leaves Nicole’s blood still boiling just beneath the surface.

When she tastes herself on Waverly’s kiss, the slow simmer hits a flashpoint, flaring up until it overtakes her.  

She flips them over in the blink of an eye, her body easily covering Waverly’s smaller frame beneath her, carefully slotting one of her thighs between Waverly’s, and making sure that one of Waverly’s also rests precariously between her own.

“Tell me you want this,” she murmurs against Waverly’s lips, rocking down into her with purpose.  It doesn’t matter how deep in the throes of her own lust she is, the sexiest thing Nicole will ever experience is still Waverly’s consent.

“Yes,” Waverly groans, sucking Nicole’s bottom lip between her teeth.  “I want it. I want you.”

Nicole slides her hands up Waverly’s arms until their fingers lock together, and then she raises them above Waverly’s head, pinning them in place against the bed.  Waverly gasps and arches up against Nicole, squeezing her hands tighter, but doesn’t make a move to fight against being held down by her lover.

“Okay?” Nicole checks again, sucking on the spot just beneath Waverly’s ear.

“God, Nicole.”  She rolls her own hips up to meet Nicole’s.  “Please.”

Dropping any remaining pretense of teasing, Nicole begins to grind against Waverly in earnest.  The sound Waverly makes in response echoes against the roof of Nicole’s mouth, and she swallows it down, chasing after the source with her tongue.  Waverly lifts her thigh just enough to match Nicole’s pace with her own hips, and soon, they’re both chasing after their pleasure in a mess of slick heat and muscle.

It doesn’t take long until they’re dangerously close, both of them high on lust and need and pure, unadulterated want.  Nicole breaks the kiss to lick and nibble her way along Waverly’s jawline, and Waverly pants encouragement in her ear, a breathless string of don’t stop and oh, fuck and just like that.

Nicole’s grip on Waverly’s hands tightens as their crescendo builds, and Waverly squeezes back, walking the same razor’s edge.

“Are you…?” Nicole grunts, knowing she won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

“Yesss,” Waverly hisses, her eyes screwed shut.  “Keep going.  I’m–   I’m–”

Waverly spreads her wings and leaps off of the cliff they’ve been barreling toward, pulling Nicole over with her at the last minute.  It’s more like smoldering embers rather than the consuming flames from before, but it’s still every bit as intense, knowing that they’re sharing it this time.  

Nicole releases Waverly’s hands, sliding her arms under Waverly’s shoulders instead, and Waverly’s arms immediately move to wrap around Nicole, clutching desperately at her back.  They ride out the waves together, holding each other close and sighing soft affections into the warm spaces between them, until all that’s left is sated bodies and muted breaths and two hearts beating in time as one.

“Nicole…” Waverly eventually whispers after several long minutes of silence broken only by their rhythmic breathing.  

When she doesn’t follow it up with anything after a few seconds, Nicole raises her head from where it’s been resting in the crook of Waverly’s neck.  Waverly’s eyes are bright, brimming with unsaid words, but the fear creeping in around the edges doesn’t allow them to spill over.  

Not yet.  

But that’s okay.  

She knows it will happen when Waverly is ready.  

And until then?  

Well.  

Nicole certainly isn’t going anywhere.

“I know, baby,” Nicole whispers back, wrestling one of her hands free from underneath Waverly and bringing it up to stroke her cheek gently.  “It’s okay. I know.”

Waverly searches Nicole’s face earnestly for a moment and then breathes out a quiet sigh of relief, nodding once and then tipping her chin up toward Nicole as her eyes flutter shut.  Nicole doesn’t hesitate to cover Waverly’s lips with her own, and Waverly kisses her like a lazy Sunday morning, soft and slow and unhurried.

The kiss finally breaks, and Nicole rests her forehead against Waverly’s, lost in the feeling of their bodies still pressed together, limbs entangled and hearts entwined.  

It startles her enough that she actually flinches when Waverly starts giggling out of nowhere a few minutes later.

“What?” she asks, frowning down at Waverly, confused.  “What’s wrong?”

“Happy.  Birthday.  To.  ME.”  She waggles her eyebrows dramatically.

Nicole snorts, amused by Waverly’s brazen smugness.

“You’re insufferable, Waverly Earp.”  Waverly’s giddy mood is infectious, and Nicole can’t help but catch a case of the giggles right along with her.

Waverly pinches at Nicole’s side, and Nicole rolls off of her in a huff, flopping over onto her back and swatting at Waverly’s hands.  The playful wrestling continues until Waverly yawns widely, swallowing up her laughter.

“C’mon, birthday girl,” Nicole chuckles.  “Let’s get cleaned up and tuck you into bed.”

She grumbles and pouts, but crawls to the edge of the bed and takes the hand that Nicole holds out to help her to her feet.  She stumbles into Nicole’s arms, where she fits like she was made to belong there, and they stay that way for a few minutes, Nicole swaying them gently and stroking her fingers through Waverly’s hair.

“You can go first,” she finally says with a kiss to the top of Waverly’s head, and then shoos her off toward the bathroom door on the other side of the bedroom.

Waverly only closes the door part of the way, and Nicole can hear her humming something softly while she stands at the sink.  It’s too muffled for Nicole to pick out the individual notes, but it makes her smile just the same as she rummages through the closet until she finds a clean set of flannel sheets.

The evidence of their love is painted all over the bed, and Nicole’s cheeks redden as she strips the old sheets off to replace them with the new ones.  The room smells like sex and happiness and the future, and it kindles something warm inside her chest that winds up past her ribs and through her spine and settles around her heart.

She hears the toilet flushing just as she’s gathering up all of the clothing from the floor to deposit in the nearby hamper, and soon Waverly emerges, still naked and still gorgeous in the soft lamplight infusing the room.  Nicole’s heart stuttersdespite itself, and Waverly smirks as she saunters over to take Nicole’s facein her hands and kiss her senseless.

“Wow…” Nicole breathes.  Her lips and tongue tingle from the minty toothpaste Waverly had just used.

“Youuur tuuurn,” Waverly sing-songs, pulling Nicole out of her stupor.  She takes the bundle of sheets and clothes out of Nicole’s arms and pushes her toward the bathroom.

Nicole handles her business quickly, moving through her nightly routine on auto-pilot, and when she returns, Waverly is flitting around the room, blowing out the candles she had apparently let burn for a few minutes, filling the room with a warm lavender and vanilla scent.

“I think there’s still a pair of your pajamas in the top drawer of the dresser,” Nicole says, handing Waverly a scrunchie so she can try and tame the wild mane that’s definitely screaming Sex Hair right now.  “If not, you can wear something of mine,” she adds with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“No need,” Waverly says airily, waving a dismissive hand after pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail.  “I’ve already got my birthday suit on.”  She grins over her shoulder and crawls into bed defiantly, stretching her exhausted muscles like a cat before curling up on the fresh, warm flannel sheets.

Nicole nearly chokes at the blatant display.

“W-won’t y-you…” she stutters.  She blinks a couple of times and clears herthroat and tries again.  “Won’t you be cold?”

“You’re the only bonus blanket I need,” Waverly says softly, patting the space in the bed next to her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole murmurs, scrambling over to the edge of the bed.  She clicks the lamp off and slips in behind Waverly, reaching down to pull the covers up around them, tucking them carefully under Waverly’s chin.

Waverly immediately settles back into her with adorable little grunting noises until she’s situated just right to be Nicole’s little spoon.  Nicole wraps herself around the warm body pressed tightly against her front, her arm moving protectively over Waverly’s waist.  Waverly immediately laces their fingers together, pulling their hands up to rest securely against her chest.

Silence settles over them like an extra blanket, and Nicole watches the snow still falling against the window, enormous flakes almost glowing with the silvery light of the moon behind them.  

For just this one night, they’ve been free of the burdens weighing all of them down like shackles.  No sorrow over missing Alice.  No betrayal over Rosita turning on them at the last minute.  No anxiety over the lack of leads on Bulshar’s whereabouts.  They can worry about all of that again tomorrow, but tonight, there had only been room for family and joy and love.

She thinks again of the power a first snowfall holds; the fresh start and the childlike wonder and the promise of hope.

It truly is magic.

Just as the lassitude of sleep is about to overtake her, Nicole ghosts her lips across Waverly’s bare shoulder.

“I love you, Waverly Earp,” she whispers into the night.

She’s not expecting a response, Waverly’s breathing having already evened out into a slow, steady rhythm.  When one comes, it’s mumbled so softly Nicole has to strain her ears just to make it out.

“Best birthday ever.”

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Lucille Fur, Culture Icon || Shattered Glass

[A paid Commission gifted to @lesbian-brainstorm]

And once the water starts to rise And Heaven's out of sight She'll want the Devil on her team...

Perceptor laughed gently, crystal glass in her hand held by the tips of too-long golden nails like gilded razors as Brainstorm rolled her eyes and nudged the fellow madame scientist.

“You’re being watched, dear.”

Perceptor glanced over her bare shoulder to see a shock of red over unhidden dark circles and too bright blue eyes.

A smile.

“Let them watch. I always love a good chase.”

The whispers started slowly, and then all once- the grandiose figure of the Mad Mod Medic herself, the Autobot CMO Extraordinaire, the first surgeon in their medical history to have a 700% fatality rate during a field training exercise, the Personal Doctor of mighty Optimus Prime and the Grandest of Betrayers as she stole away on this ship with the rest of them.

[“My retirement.”, she’d called it in a smooth honeywhiskey purr, sipping a neat bourbon with hands worn by ages of scrubbing away blood and gore, “A little... Vacation. Stir the old synapses, kickstart the nerves and all that.”]

Perceptor sipped something just strong enough to relax her, noting the flickering flakes of gold hovering within it before the smell of cigarsmoke and sanitizer hovered almost too close.

“Fancy seeing a pretty little thing like you here.”, purred the CMO’s husky voice gently in Perceptor’s ear as Brainstorm threw her hands up dramatically before ghosting away from them, “Have you decided to become a pretty little butterfly for my collection?”

“Come now, Ratchet-”, cooed Perceptor with a coy giggle, “Half the fun is the rush to catch me and you know it.”

“Can’t blame me for trying- you look delightful when you’re spread out for me-”

A giggle interrupts the medic, and a peculiar flash of something in Perceptor’s eye makes goosebumps rise under Ratchet’s silken sleeves.

“Interesting- Drift said much the same...”

Shoulders shaking with titillating little giggle and Perceptor sashayed away, to the darker areas of this obnoxious “post-war peace talk” they had become embroiled in. Ratchet’s eyebrows tilted down, immediately enraged at the idea of her preferred ‘darling’ being in someone else’s arms- before she paused, and smiled almost sharkishly.

“I see.”

The pair of them lived for the chase after all. Sly glances at each other with just this side of too much distance to keep watch on the way they orbited each other- Ratchet acquiesced, she had been too.... Forward, to be sure; why, what is the fun, making such things known so soon in the night?

The circles they both ran in would cross paths, it was only a matter of time after all- Xaaron, in his self-absorbed foolishness and a hand hovering over Perceptor’s lower back as he sneered the introductions, as is customary.

Xaaron, scoffing in shock and distaste as he was brushed aside by the CMO only to watch Ratchet catch Perceptor’s ring-decorated hand in her own and bring the knuckles to chapped lips laced in bourbon and silvergilded words.

“Charmed to meet you again, Madame Macabre.”

“Likewise, Medical Officer Ratchet, sir.”

“How obscene.”, hissed Xaaron, crossing his arms but quailing under the frigid glare he received from Ratchet.

“Be quiet, desk jockey, or I’ll be taking those vocal cords and stashing them in a jam jar.”, was the flat threat, delivered in a fully audible tone and sending ripples of snickering out like the waves made by a pebble dropped in a pond.

Ratchet returned her gaze to Perceptor, gently pulling at the hand in her grip, “Now, dearest deathdealer- why not forgo the stuffy lawthumper and come along with me? Surely I can be... more interesting company.”

Perceptor’s cheeks brightened, even under her scarring, and she coyly turned away from the medic’s wicked and thin-lipped smile as a thick lock of hellfire red slid free of the doctor’s impeccably kept style to hang over one blue eye.

“I daresay I’ll take you up on the offer, Doctor.”, cooed the scientist turned sniper turned back again, “Medics always have the most trustworthy reccomendations, after all.”

Ratchet couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her, an arm sliding around Perceptor’s waist in an act of gently lewd gallantry as the medical officer led the scientist away- the sound of a too-pristine doctor’s coat mixing with the quiet hiss of silk over scarred skin in a barely audible symphony.

And along they went; slinking through the crowd and talking low between themselves as Ratchet’s hand went from Perceptor’s waist to the swell of a hip with a teasing squeeze of the firm figure to make the sniper chuckle from the ticklish sensation- and Perceptor moved closer and hooked a finger in Ratchet’s coat pocket before whispering, “Lead the way, love.”

Ratchet’s hab hadn’t changed much except location- still dressed in the low colors and tones of their old quarters from days gone by and ages long forgotten; a few art pieces hung on the walls, furniture draped in satin or leather and the lights frosted and kept low and dim enough to worry a lesser mortal.

Perceptor strode in, all black and violet silk and low slung seams and once more glanced over a bare shoulder; feeling the way Ratchet’s eyes traced over the line of the sniper’s spine.

“And may I ask why you’re standing on parade, darling?”, said Perceptor, sly and coy and temptation at its finest, “Now that you’ve lured the damselfly into the web, act fast- we only ever last the day~”

“Oho, I quite vividly remember you lasting far beyond a single day, sugar.”, laughed Ratchet as the door chimed a note to signal it locking from the inside. Perceptor shivered as she heard the sound of a doctor’s coat being tossed aside, the hiss of a silk tie being untied. 

And then Ratchet’s voice was at Perceptor’s ear again.

“Comparing me to Drift, really. How could you, sweetheart- my poor ol’ pride...”

“I can hear the Vaporex in your voice.”

“Mm, you always did like it when I dropped those med school pretenses, as you called them.”

Perceptor leaned back, feeling Ratchet’s unbuttoned shirt folded closed against her own back and huffed- she wanted skin on skin, already tired of being teased and then something slipped around her wrists.

Perceptor cursed softly, having forgotten the slyness of her partner in their games of cat-and-mouse and looking down to see a dark silk tie looped around wrists.

Ratchet chuckled low, dark and dangerous and hungry, “Someone got a little sure of herself.

“I suppose I’m out of practice with you, Ratchet.”, said Perceptor easily, shifting her shoulders so that the contact between their bodies helped the silk dress she wore slide free and fall to catch at bent elbows. Ratchet hissed a breath, and Perceptor smiled.

“Come now love- you know open back gowns look terrible when I wear something under them.”, said Perceptor airily as Ratchet’s rough lips pressed against a bare but scarred shoulder, “And I know you don’t have the patience to unwrap me tonight.”

“...You make a lovely point. But oh, such an attitude you’ve gotten on you! I’ve half a mind to take you over my knee~”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, now.”

Perceptor yelped softly as she was turned and nudged back to drop in a heap of silk and shown skin onto a couch that no doubt cost more than some of her modifications. Ratchet laughed, a wicked and hungry sound and Perceptor’s face flushed even as she grinned with eye alight.

Her hands moved to drape back over the edge of the back of the couch, tie dangling from where it secured her wrists with a slipknot- and her heeled shoes clicked softly as her legs opened to welcome Ratchet to stand between them.

“How lewd, Ratchet-”, murmured Perceptor, her skin already feeling too warm as the CMO knelt down, “Tossing me upon the couch with intent to flip back my skirts? Goodness gracious, whatever will the rest of them think?”

“Worried over your honor, dear?”, teased Ratchet as she indeed pushed Perceptor’s gown skirt up over smooth legs before humming in appreciation, “Apparently not, if this lace-and-lovely is the norm for you.”

Perceptor wriggled with a mischievous grin as Ratchet’s work-roughened hands worked over soft skin, “Oh, no- that was just a special treat for you.”

“I love how your mind works, Percy.”

The sound of silk being torn, and Perceptor yelping “RATCHET!”

The medic rolled her too-blue eyes as the torn gown fell open, sliced through with a scalpel the woman had pulled from who knew where but set up a side table, “You look better in gold and red anyway, love- You know I’ll find you something nicer to replace it with.”

A huff, “Sometimes I do wonder if you just want me wearing ‘your’ colors, Doctor.”

“You caught me.”

Perceptor opened her mouth to make a witty retort but Ratchet was pressing warm kisses to a scar dotted stomach and already the sniper was rocking her hips in a demand for heavier petting. She felt a brief touch of teeth and then the lace she wore over hips was caught and being pulled away while Ratchet’s hands were still digging knowing fingertips into muscles made tense from walking in too-high heels.

Ratchet’s lips once again went back to leaving behind bruising kisses like old rose petals over Perceptor’s thighs as a hand left the sniper’s soft figure; hooking a finger in the lingerie eased away by teeth to tug it further down.

A wriggle and a squirm and Perceptor laughed as it was swiftly removed from around ankles still trapped in the straps of heeled shoes and tossed aside to be forgotten.

“Going to have me kick off my shoes and prepare for a party?”, sassed Perceptor, hoping her voice didn’t come off as too breathless to save the charm of her witty remark.

“Mm... I much rather the idea of you bare aside from those cheeky heels of yours...”, purred Ratchet, moving to grip Perceptor’s hips and tug her closer- glancing from side to side as the snipers heeled shoes moved to rest against the medic’s back.

“Oh, you ARE feeling naughty tonight, aren’t you.”, cooed Perceptor, “I like it.”

“I know.”

Perceptor wanted to comment on the smug tone of those two words but Ratchet had other ideas- ideas that involved nipping gently at dark kissmarks and trailing the contact lower and lower as Perceptor pulled at the trailing end of the tie cinching her wrists together.

“O-oh m-MY!”

Ratchet grunted quietly, feeling the heels dig into her back through the too-well-kept shirt she wore before a quick movement of her shoulders let it begin to slide from her frame; her hands left Perceptor for only a moment to pull it away and let it fall in a puddle of high-end fabric and shiny buttons on the floor before her tongue flicked out over a swollen clit and made Perceptor shriek at the Devil’s pitch as her back arched.

“So sensitive....”, purred Ratchet, nuzzling into Perceptor’s thigh as the sniper panted already, “Someone’s pet mercenary must not be able to last long enough.”

“Hmph!”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Lucky for you, sweetheart, the Doctor’s in.”

A giggle through the blush, “Oh, you are AWFU-u-ngh!!!”

One of Ratchet’s hands slid away from Perceptor’s to-perfect hips to slide one finger slowly, carefully, between slick lips as the sniper groaned weakly; her body clenching down on the digit only for her to shudder as Ratchet curled the finger with a smile.

“We’ll take it slow, just for fun.”

“Y-You TEASE!”

“You know it.”, murmured Ratchet against Perceptor’s thigh before one finger became two, before a silver tongue came once more into play and the CMO played her partner’s synapses like an orchestral piano- every touch and tease pulling forth clarion sharps and fulls as Perceptor writhed and arched and drummed her heels against Ratchet’s now mostly bare back.

Ratchet gave a dirty hum of enjoyment, pausing in her ministrations only to lick her bitten lips clean before setting back to it with a gusto- an amused noise escaping her when Perceptor’s thighs suddenly snapped shut around her head and made her vision swim a little from the force.

The sniper’s hips rocked out of time and tempo as she whimpered and wailed Ratchet’s name, pleading for her not to stop, to never stop untilt he sniper’s legs shook and dropped open again, slipping from Ratchet’s shoulders as the heeled shoes tilted and turned from the Perceptor’s toes trying to curl while encased in patent leather.

Ratchet’s hand was sticky and saturated to the wrist, and she hadn’t bothered to count the times Perceptor’s shrieking had peaked and broken in succession but hearing the rapid two-time tattoo of the sniper whispering “Please!” in delicious desperation made the CMO’s eyes darken as she smiled from where she knelt.

She withdrew her hand, giving a gentle kiss to Perceptor’s stomach even as the sniper howled in angry desire before Ratchet loomed over her, grinning her manic grin and her blue eyes alight like glaciers over the moonrise.

“So much for only a day, darling?”, she cooed, leaning down enough for Perceptor’s still bound wrists to hook around her neck. She laughed, easily working her hands under Perceptor’s slim frame and hoisting her up into a bridal carry.

A hungry kiss between the pair of them as they retreated from the front room to the berthroom- leaving behind a hapahazardly piled dress shirt and a bit of barely there lace.

Before the berthroom door fully closed, a torn silk gown was tossed through the door way to flutter down tot he floor; followed by the door clicking shut and Perceptor’s high and wavering voice sounding out once again as Ratchet easily kept her on a knifeblade edge.

[dunkshotdreaming]

Sugar

Pairing: Jaemin x reader

Genre: tooth rotting fluff; the classic best friends to lovers trope

Word Count: 1,584

Warnings: rated c for cheesy. (also there is like one cuss word, that’s it)

✎ A/N: Was influenced by my first ever blurb over on @hourly-dreaming + Jaemin's self professed sugar eating habit. Probably lame and cliché as hell. Self indulgent, sorry not sorry. (Did try to keep it entirely gender neutral though👍🏻)

You've just finished your nightly routine as you crawl into your sleeping bag, excited that your best friend Jaemin is staying over. As you both have some time off for the summer anyway, Jaemin pretends to be feeling "too lonely" to stay home alone while his parents are off on some business trip, the perfect setup that gave way to your week-long sleepover.

"Scoot over, I'm not going to bite," Jaemin states, impatiently dragging your sleeping bag closer to his. In all honesty, you both could have slept on the bed or couch just fine, but there was just something nostalgic about busting out your bags like this, something about making blanket forts and having pillow fights and staying up watching cartoons together, just like the good old days.

He laughs softly at the way you sleepily hug your teddy bear close to your chest, a sight he never grew tired of. As he leans over to speak to you, the gentle scent of brown sugar permeates his senses, and suddenly, Jaemin is reminded of the precious sugar cubes he's forgotten back at home.

"You smell sweet," he mentions offhandedly, distracted by how soft and beautiful you look in the dim glow of the night light you'd plugged in earlier.

After a beat, you nod to yourself before responding, "Must be my new sugar scrub."

"And here I thought it was just because you were a snack," Jaemin retorts, his eyes turning up into a nearly crescent shape at the way you cover your mouth, a poor attempt at stifling your laughter. He almost hated to admit it, but clichés were clichés for a reason; after all, it had to be something that happened often enough in the first place, right?

It had been earlier in the year when he'd noticed his feelings for you might not be exactly platonic, but he decided he'd rather stay quiet than risk losing you, the best friend he cherished more than anyone else in this world. But everyone slips up sometimes, and tonight, as he lays by your side, the part of his heart that wishes it could be like this every night decides it's high time it takes control.

The wave of feelings he's hit with successfully manage switch off his brain for long enough that he doesn't realize he's caressing your cheek until your eyes shoot open, eyeing him curiously. Jaemin had always been affectionate, and you were no exception to his ways, however... things felt different. There was tension in the room, a thick atmosphere created of unsaid words and pent-up emotion.

You'd swear Jaemin was staring at your lips, but there was no way that was possible, you're convinced it isn't. Your best friend you'd been hopelessly pining over actually returning the feelings? ...Yeah, right. This wasn't a Hallmark movie.

"Would you mind if I tasted your scrub?" The words are out of his mouth before he can reel them back in, hand freezing on your cheek, still not withdrawing from its position as his heart falters.

"Tasted? Uh, well... it's in the bathroom, if you wanna-" your words are cut short as he cautiously places his lips on yours, merely a brief touch before he pulls away. Stuck in a stupor, you have to blink yourself back to reality. A quick pinch to your cheek confirms that you're wide awake, hissing at the pain as you eye Jaemin with furrowed brows.

The boy in question rolls onto his back, covering his eyes with one arm as the other lays between your bodies on the floor. "Ah shit, it wasn't supposed to go like this... I messed up. To think after so long, I ruin our friendship because I couldn't keep my feelings for you in check." He scoffs, furious with himself... yet he can't find it in him to wish it had never happened, having been able to satisfy his curiosity for your lips at long last. "I totally understand if you're mad at me, or if you wanna kick me out, or-" This time, Jaemin is the one who gets cut off, the softest press of your finger to his lips as you then envelop his free hand in both of your own, your plush bear forgotten with the wind.

"Are you telling me that we're both so cliché... that we fell for our best friend and chose to suffer in silence because... we couldn't bear the thought of splitting apart?" Your breathless confession makes him go cross-eyed for a moment, his arm leaning against his forehead now, all the while processing your words carefully, until his eyes land back on your face.

"That we both?.." is all he can manage to mumble out. "Wait, you like me too?" his voice cracks towards the end, the lilt in his otherwise rumbling voice making the two of you giggle like school children.

"And here I was worried it was painfully obvious... you really are so oblivious, Jaemin."

"You didn't notice either though!" he shoots back, almost as defensive as it was reflexive.

"Touché," is all you can offer in return. He looks over at you, at the way you're nervously chewing your lip because the smile threatening to break out would simply burst your cheeks. Decidedly, he brings his arm away from your face before returning it to where it had previously rested, cupping your cheek to force himself into your line of sight once again.

The dull thrumming of blood in his ears is all he can hear, senses heightened due to the surge of adrenaline. "Can I try again, for real this time?" he seems more confident this time, but still wary of potentially scaring you off, the skittishness making it hard to read your true emotions. Much to his relief, you lean in, a quiet sign of approval as you fear your voice may betray your deceptively calm expression.

There's no hesitation from there on out, and Jaemin kisses you the way you thought was only possible in fairytales. If it wasn't midnight, you'd swear the birds would be chirping at your windowsill, ready to help you get dressed for the day ahead. His pillowy lips press against your own heavily, but the he moves them against the skin of your lips is the complete opposite, gentle warmth spreading our from your chest. Not wanting to overdo it on the first kiss (of many more, he hopes), he draws away from you, chest heaving as he takes ragged breaths; moreso due to the overwhelming emotions blossoming in his bosom, truth be told.

A silent question lingers as he looks at you expectantly, wondering how you felt in the aftermath. "Much better the second time around," you say with a smile before it turns lopsided, "though you kinda hit my eye with your nose." Much to his chagrin, Jaemin's hopes of a picturesque first kiss with you shatter before his very eyes, only to realize that if it didn't bother you much, then why should he let it get to him?

"Would you do me the honor," he lifts both of your hands in his, lifting them towards his lips to place a peck on the back of each, "and go out with me? Anywhere you want to go tomorrow, it's on me."

"Kinda backwards, isn't this? First you stay over, then you kiss me, and then you ask me out?" you tease, taking pleasure in the sight of a pouty Jaemin scrunching his nose at you. "But yes, I will do you the honor and grace you with my presence. If and only if," you pause for dramatic effect.

"If?" the boy hangs on to your every word as his heart hammers in his chest, still in disbelief that you would actually be his to cherish and shower with love, even moreso now than ever.

"If you promise not to eat my sugar, scrub."

"Did you just-" he scoffs at your unbearably lame pun, groaning as he rolls his eyes. "Is it too late to un-ask you out now?" he raises a single brow in question, laughing at the mock hurt on your features.

"Guess someone isn't getting a good night kiss," you send a jab his way before facing away from him, collecting your bear in your arms as you try to quiet the rabbiting of your heartbeat enough to get a few hours of sleep.

A hand on your waist calls your attention as Jaemin comically scoots from within his sleeping bag, not unlike a caterpillar's movements, until he's hugging you from behind now, breath fanning over your hair as he sighs.

"I lost my teddy bear... can I sleep here with you instead?"

"Is it too late to un-agree to go out with you?" you parrot his earlier jest.

His next words aim for your heart and strike with dart-like precision, "You're stuck with me for good now, sorry sugar." Now, you could pretend your heart didn't just somersault from beneath your ribcage, but you'd be lying through your teeth if you did.

The rays of early morning sun cast stripes of golden light across your sleeping forms, bundled up in your own bags yet all curled up together. As your parents awake and go to check up on you two, they decide the peaceful sight before them is simply too precious to disturb. Turning to face the other, one of your parents quietly whispers, "I told you they were a thing! You owe me twenty."

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 12: The Painting

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Awakening Ball is in full swing and the party mood is infectious. But Nadya's natural curiosity isn't always a good thing.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Luckily the orchestra waits to start playing dancing music until she’s two glasses of champagne in and suitably bubbly enough to join.

Adrian offers his hand and promises not to resent her for her two left feet. It’s pretty much the same sweeping classical waltz in every period drama ever but when she starts to lose what little grace she has Adrian picks up the slack — literally. He picks her up off her feet and carries the weight of them both. Lucky for Nadya the skirts on her dress make it impossible for anyone to notice.

Not like anyone would notice her hovering off the floor, anyway. Not when her pining eyes catch sight of Kamilah dancing with a Duchess of some sort in the middle of the crowd.

“I’m sorry.” Adrian whispers in her ear. It only helps because he means it. Because he squeezes her waist a little tighter and does a flashy thing that raises her up in the air with a whoop of joy.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she’s not lying to Adrian but rather to herself and he knows it, “I’m used to the whole ‘one-sided affection’ thing.”

They part with a bow and curtsy, have to weave together with held hands as guests switch partners and move into a new beat and tempo.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“All part of the finite package.” Because yes, being surrounded by vampires both new and old (and the humans too, but she doesn’t know many of them now does she?) has her thinking about things like that. Who wouldn’t?

Before he can counter with his usual Adrian-brand of optimism Nadya catches sight of familiar faces by a fountain of red wine — or she hopes it’s red wine. God she hopes it’s red wine. She waves eagerly and drags Adrian over to socialize.

Brandon chokes on his sip as he takes in her dress. “Well well! Look what the cat dragged in — and this time sans yoga pants. Bless, I’m so proud.”

In the middle of shaking Greer’s hand Adrian falters. Frowns slightly and already has his arm up to push Nadya back. Like there’s nothing more threatening around them than a gay man with an opinion. “I — what are you implying?”

“Relax Adrian. He’s making a joke about last night.”

“Down, boy-o,” Greer joins in on the teasing, “not that the guard dog routine isn’t mad sexy. We’re just glad to see our girl made it to the actual event.”

Nadya huffs. “I wasn’t that drunk.” The couple exchange an eye roll and even she has a hard time resisting the sass of their combined stare. “Okay, okay! So I was… kinda hammered.”

“Well I’ll give them that one. You originally passed out in Kamilah’s bed.”

It’s something everyone but Nadya seems to find extremely funny. Namely because she doesn’t remember that but she can still hear the voice she’d hallucinated clear as day. It makes her hesitate and think twice about taking a glassful of the fountain’s spoils.

At least her friends are getting along. At least she has friends.

Not long after Brandon waves over a younger woman and introduces her as his twin sister and their vampire connection, Megan. Age difference aside Nadya can definitely see the resemblance but can’t help herself when she feels a little sorry for Brandon’s fate. For the faded freckles on his cheeks and the lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

Megan and Adrian trade comments on vampire life over the last two decades — he offers her and Brandon and Greer a place to stay in New York should they ever need it. There’s a strangely somber air in how the trio thanks him — like a sigh of relief connects them all body and mind.

Greer manages to coax one more drink into her the same way he coaxes her out onto the dance floor. Everything shines with flickering candlelight and the collected jewels and precious metals from all of human history. It’s wonderful, it’s beautiful, it’s magical.

And everyone — every single person — is filled with the same kind of joy and carefree abandon. For a little bit there’s no Feral outbreak in the heart of the city, there’s no fearing for her life or missing her old apartment and missing best friend.

There’s nothing else in the entire world but this Ball, the people attending it, and the memories made.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this!” Nadya announces; uses the spins she’s getting in the head to carry her momentum away from Greer to where Megan is ready to trade partners as well. The music has taken a turn for the boisterous — some Celtic ballad accompanied by an impromptu song from a group of rugged-dressed Highlander attendees.

She reaches out — her fingertips brush the other vampire’s — then the dizziness overtakes her and Nadya feels like she’s hurtling through the sky in freefall.

Comes back to herself to find the decor that was on the other side of the room now much closer. And Kamilah’s hands hold her against the rushing wave in her head.

She wants to laugh — wants to share in the joy of the moment with the one person she wants to make smile more than anything else in the world — but like always Kamilah just leaves her breathless, gasping as they move through the weaving dancers effortlessly.

“Perhaps you’ve had a tad too much wine.” Kamilah admonishes without heat behind her words.

“I’m perfectly sobe — ack!” The word morphs into a desperate cry as Kamilah’s grip slackens. Feigns like she’s going to let Nadya go when she definitely doesn’t have the ability to stand on her own two feet right now. She clings on so hard she can feel every woven fiber of her red dress.

“You were saying?”

“Humans get dizzy, Kamilah. It’s a real thing.”

“Ah, yes. How forgetful of me.”

If you ruin this moment I’ll never forgive you, Nadya thinks to herself — actually takes her own advice for once and just loses all thought and worry in the way Kamilah sweeps her along the floor to the beat. Where their skirts clash like fire and ice but never so much that she can’t feel the solid presence of the woman holding her steady.

When the dance ends a gathering in the middle of the floor all comes together to take hands. Kamilah pulls them away; out into the conversational talkers and wallflowers. It’s eerie how the vampire simply watches Nadya catch her breath — a beauty she’s still foreign to.

“Drink.”

Nadya looks up to see Kamilah holding a glass out to her. She can feel the coolness of the water sliding down her throat, serving as a reminder of just how flustered she actually is.

She remembers at the last second to not wipe her mouth with the back of her arm. Manages a fluttering smile. “T-Thanks.”

Electricity zips through her body then — Kamilah’s touch lifting her chin towards the crystal chandeliers overhead. It reminds her of only a few hours ago in a way her body never got to recover from. A thousand candles lit in her belly all at the same time. Luckily she has the dance to mask her reaction.

All just so the woman can wipe a stray drop of water from the corner of her mouth.

Conversation, girl, come on! She could ask Kamilah any number of things. Familiar faces, balls gone by, even the last time she danced to something so jovial. But there’s a big stone wall between her thoughts and her mouth and it makes Nadya’s heart sink.

“I…”

It takes her a moment to realize — when she no longer feels Kamilah’s touch — that she was the one who pulled away.

“Yes, Nadya? Something to say?”

Shallow, almost panicked breaths… all it would take is a simple step forward…

“I need some air.”

With her skirts gathered in both hands Nadya turns and practically runs in the other direction.

Distantly the clock strikes midnight.

The Ball had opened up to the rest of the castle and surrounding grounds sometime in the middle of her dancing. It was like there was nowhere she could be alone — no place she could feel safe. Surrounded by strangers and knowing that there were enemies among them paired with the churning emotions that couldn’t make sense of her body has Nadya on the brink of breaking down.

The night air does more than beckon her forward. It screams at her, demands she find peace out there where it could be most dangerous. It’s not rational but still she follows — away from the crowds and their pleasant evenings in directions only her feet can understand.

When she comes to it’s in a haze of muddled thoughts in a varietal English she can’t quite catch. Finds her hands grasping onto the metal rungs of a bridge overlooking a dim pond. Through the barest moonlight hiding behind clouds overhead she can see koi flit this way and that; too deep down to stir the surface where fallen flower petals hang abandoned.

A hand rubs soft circles along her exposed back — voice crooning in her ear deep and dark like a cello.

“There there… are you coming back now?”

Nadya snaps back to herself all at once, feels her heart lurch in her chest. The voice chuckles and the hand pulls back.

“Indeed you are. This is where you are told to breathe, yes? In through the mouth, out through the nose… no, that isn’t right.”

Isseya leans back against the same railing; the trails of her dress trying desperately to catch on the faint night breeze.

Or — maybe it isn’t Isseya. Not with the strange kindness in her eyes and the way her lips hold no withheld scorn. It’s definitely like she’s looking at a twin — or a mirror image reflected back in every way. Definitely not the viper from the ballroom… right?

The vampire taps her olive nose; reminds Nadya to breathe in so deep it burns and only when she feels like her lungs are going to burst through her corset does she let it all out.

“Very good,” praises her companion.

She expects Isseya to try and begin a conversation, but instead the woman just… watches her breathe. She seems almost fixated, fascinated by it. Eyes raking down to see her compressed midriff rise and fall. She mimics Nadya twice before seemingly becoming bored with the act. Watches passively instead with an unblinking stillness.

When she has to take in less and less to ground herself is when Isseya speaks again.

“May I ask what that was?”

“What —” Nadya takes in one last gulp of air, “— what was what?”

She’s not trying to deny it; not like it’s the first time she’s ever had a panic attack so strong she blacked out a bit. But the look on Isseya’s face surprises her.

“You’re… I mean — you’re immortal and you’ve never had a panic attack?”

The vampire gives a “ha” of surprise.

“From what would I panic?”

“Uh… stakes, garlic, the sun?”

“No.”

Nothing like staring eternal life in the face and feeling immensely inadequate. But the woman contradicts even her thoughts — still looking at her with what almost feels like awe.

“Such violent reactions to fear I’m not unaccustomed to. But you caused your own fear, did you not? Beautiful…”

Only Nadya doesn’t find it very beautiful at all. When Isseya reaches out as if to touch her again she steps back — manages to keep her footing despite the curve of the bridge. She doesn’t even want to think about the holy hellfire that would rain down on her for ruining a Lacroix dress with pond water.

“Please don’t touch me.”

“Forgive me, mortal child.”

“Nadya,” she corrects, “my name is Nadya.”

“Nadya, then. A beautiful name for a beautiful creature. I told Valdas, you know, that you must be a sign sent for us.”

She says it so calmly. Maybe it’s meant to be that way — meant to entice her to know more. It works.

“I don’t understand.”

Hands braced on the railing and face turned away; Nadya doesn’t have to see her to hear the way her voice wavers.

“‘Nadya’ is a name which means hope. Something which my partner and I have lost more and more of with each passing year. You expect the continual passing of years when you Turn, you know. You accept the hunger. Say farewell to the warmth of a sunrise. I even reconciled the knowledge that everyone I would ever know would rot in the ground beneath my feet. But… no one tells you the little things you lose along the way.”

It’s more emotion than she’s ever seen from a vampire — a thought she’s almost angry at herself for having if it didn’t feel so true. Every word Isseya says is heavy with time. They weigh her down and down, deeper and deeper until she wonders how she’s not looking down at the woman from the center of the planet.

She doesn’t know what to say — there’s nothing to say. She’s mortal—finite, dreadfully finite—and doesn’t even have the ability to comprehend what Isseya must be feeling.

And as an extremely empathetic person that’s not something she’s used to. It makes her fumble half-words; noises that definitely aren’t language.

Yet when she finally isn’t burning with shame enough to look at Isseya again she finds the vampire offering her a smile. A weary, dreary thing… but sometimes the thought behind a gesture is more important than the gesture itself.

“Take your time.”

So she does. Actually thinks about what she wants to say before she says it. Makes her wonder briefly what life would be like if she did that more often.

Finally, “Whatever you lost doesn’t sound little at all.”

“No, I suppose he wasn’t.” replies Isseya; makes Nadya go flush with surprise.

“Can I ask who…?”

“His name was Cynbel.”

“Oh. And he was…?”

“My lover, but that is not unlike saying the night sky is only what we see with our eyes.”

Nadya isn’t there to judge anyone. Still, she’s surprised. Hadn’t the other man — Valdas, that was his name — called her his ‘Priestess?’

“Did you, uhm,” she bites her lip, “I mean did you meet Valdas pretty soon after losing him?”

Not a second passes; Nadya almost misses Isseya’s expression change — darken, deepen.

“I forget not everyone is aware of our story, sometimes. Most hear us, our title — Trinity — and simply know. There was a time the word was banned in polite conversation lest it bring down the mood of a party or cause wistful waifs to wilt.

“I’ve forgotten now who coined the name. Cynbel might know… he was quite proud of it. He always cared about titles, you see. Not that it wasn’t apt. The three of us were always together; see one and the other two were not far behind. You know the saying ‘bad things come in threes?’ Probably derived from us.”

That’s when Nadya catches on, gives an “ooooh” of understanding.

“You, Valdas, and Cynbel. You were —”

“We three have a love that may very well burn longer than the stars above us. He used to say that. Loved us hard enough to make us believe it. When he passed it truly felt like the heavens would crumble down without all three of us to hold them up.”

She doesn’t ask what happened though the question burns through her against the cold night air. Maybe it’s something Kamilah can answer — she seems to know them enough. Though that reminds Nadya of their meeting and Adrian — and whatever happened last night.

“I’m sorry for your loss. For both of your losses.”

“Keep your grief. It’s all hollow in the end. We will always be in mourning; every second of every night we must live without him. Because indeed; we must live even if he is no longer with us.

That is the blood oath to which my god and I are bound.”

And doesn’t that make things take a turn for the weird. Makes Nadya have to school herself carefully even if Isseya can hear the change in her heartbeat. Who wouldn’t hear something like that and find it ominous, though? Like a seer’s omen.

Before she can make up some kind sympathy to offer Isseya reaches out — strokes the tip of her nail along the curve of Nadya’s jawline. Yes, it’s totally the night and my bare shoulders making me shiver, she tells herself, totally not whatever weird, semi-erotica is going on here…

“Apologize.”

Nadya blinks out of her stupor. “What?”

“Apologize, I said,” there’s a brief sting, she hardly even notices, but when Isseya pulls back her hand there’s a bead of blood on her fingertip, “for failing to placate me with your undesired grief.”

That’s more than enough. Only when she tries to move away there’s a hand wrapped around her throat that squeezes; takes the words right out of her mouth quite literally.

She didn’t even see the vampiress move. Not a blur or a flash of fang. She simply wasn’t and then she was. And everything in her eyes says Nadya is right to be terrified.

“Go on,” squeezing harder, bringing them so close she can smell Isseya’s honeysuckle breath, “apologize.”

Nadya fumbles around the words; moves her mouth with increasing frantic desperation when no sound, no air, not even a fleck of spittle wants to come out. I’m sorry — I’m sorry!

A tear rolls down her cheek, tickles the edge of her chin and makes her keen in a whimper as Isseya leans forward and flicks the tip of her tongue to catch it. When she pulls back that familiar red stare lurks in the woman’s eyes.

She lets go. Nadya fumbles, falls hard on her backside on the bridge with both hands around her neck like she’s trying to make sure all her skin is still there. She watches up in horror as Isseya licks her lips in satisfaction.

“Your apology is accepted… even if it was pitiful. I expect better from you next time.”

Next time isn’t so much spoken as felt like a breeze; the vampire gone between rapid and pounding beats of her heart. With all her dress it takes Nadya several attempts to collect herself, to scramble up and wipe away her tears and dash in a mad rush towards the castle.

Adrian, she needs to find Adrian.

Marcel’s a generous host — happy not only to help her find Adrian but to escort her around the castle himself. He’s a sweet boy, really, even if he’s old enough to be her great-great-great-many-greats grandfather. Somehow he’s managed to keep his childish sensibilities about him all these centuries.

It dissolves her fear a little. Makes it easier for Nadya to brush off his concern when he points out she keeps rubbing her neck. “I think I made a few mosquitoes pretty happy,” she jokes and all is well again.

He’s not upstairs in the apartment — “He mentioned he lost his key, I think?” — and they might be getting a little off-track when Marcel stops them in the conservatory to show her his collection of night-blooming flowers among what appears to be a cigar-and-whiskey party.

Then he snaps and there’s an invisible lightbulb over his head. Marcel grabs Nadya’s hand and takes off at full youthful speed down a staircase.

“Where are we going?!”

“I know where he is!”

Adrian’s favorite room in the castle is, apparently, the library. Only Marcel doesn’t give Nadya a chance to process her fear of the place before dragging her along inside.

The doors are open, velvet rope cast aside, and they aren’t the only ones milling about. It’s not just a library but an entire museum inside; she barely has time to glance at various glass cases and pedestals while Marcel’s hunt comes to a close.

She doesn’t mean to upset them both in the way she hurtles herself at Adrian, knocking him off balance for a brief moment before his arms come around her. Nadya’s grown used to not caring about the lack of body heat — the solid presence of Adrian is enough to calm her racing heart.

Marcel, however, notices.

“Mademoiselle Nadya… comment ça va?”

Even as her lingering fear subsides the look Nadya flashes up to Adrian tells him all he needs to know.

“I think she just got overwhelmed,” he tells Marcel, whose distress grows. He grabs Nadya’s hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles.

“I hate to know someone was unhappy at one of my parties…” He laments. It’s enough for the part of her so used to pleasing others to force on a smile and extricate herself from her friend to offer the little lord a tight hug.

“I’m having a wonderful time,” she says truthfully, “but Adrian’s right. Not knowing anyone just sort of got to me.”

“How can I ever make it up to you?”

“There’s nothing to make up!”

She holds him at arms’ length and together they smile. Like a miracle she watches his cheeriness return.

“Promettez-vous?”

Hopefully she’s understanding him from context. “I promise.”

She hates lying, even if it was necessary. When Marcel scampers off at the voice of someone he recognizes her smile falls away. Turns to Adrian with tears welling up in her eyes again.

He reaches and pulls Nadya into a tight hug. Kisses the top of her head and rubs his solid hands over her shivering shoulders. “What happened?”

The cliffnotes version makes her sound a little batty. When she struggles to continue, shuffling from foot to foot, Adrian silently coaxes them to continue his stroll through the library’s many objects on display. He’s gotten to know her habits really well, hasn’t he.

“So one minute she’s comforting me — and I guess vice versa — and then the next…” Nadya finishes by showing him the soft bruises on her neck; each in the perfect indent of Isseya’s fingertips. She’s just lucky the other woman hadn’t drawn blood, maybe.

Adrian’s scowl slackens; he pulls them into an alcove away from the immediate sight of others. Before Nadya can even ask what he’s doing Adrian’s fangs flash through his teeth and he pricks the pad of his right thumb.

“Who—wha—oi!” His arm around her keeps Nadya from moving away; he reaches out and smears the welling droplets of blood on her neck like that’s just something that totally happens every day for them. “Gross. Adrian — this is definitely not in my contract.”

Yes it makes him grin, and when he lets her go Nadya catches her reflection in a nearby silver shield. The dark smear of blood remains but the purpling bruises fade right before her eyes. “Oh.”

“Not only is it the least I can offer,” and the handkerchief he offers from his tailcoat breast pocket isn’t something she turns down, “but if Kamilah were to see that —”

She should have expected this. “Better to keep the peace.”

Adrian doesn’t say yes or no to it, but essentially — yes.

“I just don’t get why she changed so suddenly.” She also doesn’t get why Adrian apparently slept with her and Valdas, but that part she leaves out.

They resume walking together while Adrian thinks of a suitable answer.

“She told you about the Trinity, right?”

“That there’s supposed to be three but now it’s just her and the other guy?”

“Well, yes — that. But also why they are named — why they’re important enough to have a title like that.”

Together they leave the library stacks behind and venture through a smaller door into what appears to be a portrait hall. None of the paintings contain solo figures — but they all contain the same sort of classical beauty one would expect to find in world-renowned museums. She tries to place some of the faces — either to the guests she’s seen or what she remembers from her History gen-ed — but doesn’t linger on it.

“The Trinity are an incredibly old trio of vampires. Some would say the oldest around… but that’s not entirely the case.” Nadya wants to ask why he felt the need to play his own Devil’s advocate; instead chooses to let him continue as her eyes sweep over every frozen expression staring down at them.

“No one really knows when they were Turned. Kamilah told me once that they had centuries under their belts while she was still mortal.”

“Scary old vampires, got it. What’s the point?”

“Their age is the point, Nadya. Age is extremely important in what little universal culture we all share. It’s something deeper than just giving your elders respect. It proves an incredible strength, knowledge, in some cases a vast accumulation of wealth… and the cunning to have survived this long without getting killed. And trust me — there were plenty of chances for that to happen.

“The Trinity have always been. Like… how humans look at the pyramids or the Colosseum. And sure they’ve been under the radar for a while but even I remember a time when the very mention of them as a unit meant there was something awful coming on the horizon.”

Nadya stops them in front of a portrait of three. These faces she recognizes — two of them, anyway. The clothing is stiff; the subjects stiffer.

Isseya’s hair is longer but the way tendrils of black hang in her face makes Nadya remember the events of the garden with a shiver. She sits with grace, one hand resting on the lap of her ivory dress and the other lazily reaching upwards to clasp that of Valdas’ where he stands behind her. What the toga was hiding the pressed Victorian suit he’s immortalized in reveals. Somehow the artist managed to capture the almost predatory potential of power hidden in his cut figure.

The face she doesn’t know has taken a knee on the opposite side of Isseya’s chair. His fingers rest over hers just barely entwined. His face is young, strong. Blond hair pulled back in a tie that hangs over his shoulder is an almost feminine way.

Underneath the polished golden frame sits a plaque: ‘The Montes Estate,’ it reads, and below it the date 1876.

“Valdas, Isseya, and…”

“Cynbel.” Nadya finishes for him; draws a look of surprise from Adrian.

“Is that his name? I never knew.”

“Isseya told me. She really misses him.” Even if she’s missing a few screws.

“They both do. And I guess I get it. To be with the same person — the same people — for thousands of years. Only to lose one…”

As his voice trails off Nadya looks up. He, too, looks like the painting in his own way. He’ll look like this forever. Hopefully not as sad; not as weighed down by the way he tries to carry the world on his shoulders… but the same Adrian that stands at her side will probably stand over her grave.

Yikes. Morbid, much?

“I’m sorry.” He takes her hand and squeezes. “Because there’s nothing I can do.”

Nadya’s heart sinks. “About how she attacked me, you mean.”

“Yes. The Ball is a time of peace and, generally, everyone upholds to the rules. Except —”

“The rules don’t apply to the Trinity.” She guesses, but doesn’t get a gold star for being right. She’s not mad at him — not even disappointed. To be honest she hadn’t needed him to do something about it so much as just… be there.

And that is something Nadya knows he will always do. He’ll always be there.

They continue down the line of paintings. Nadya helps Adrian keep his mind off of what he considers his failure by asking him about the people, places, the moment in time that helps bring life to the canvas.

“Marcel’s in this one!” She gestures to one behind them where Marcel — younger of course but he doesn’t look it — in decorative and splendid golden armor. “He didn’t actually go to battle, right?”

“No, it was made for the portrait.” There’s a distant, misty look in Adrian’s eyes as he fixates on the taller figure behind their friend.

Nadya peers to read the plaque. “‘Monsieur Marcellus Claude Philippe Lafayette’ — what a mouthful — ‘and General Banner Westbrook VI.’ Banner… I’ve heard that name before.”

“The library was named in his honor. Marcel took his death hard. They… never really saw eye-to-eye, but it’s that same concept of spending lifetimes with the same person.”

But when she looks up to comfort him Nadya’s surprised to find him staring at the end of the room; at something mounted on the wall but hidden by shadow.

Adrian’s hand closes tighter on hers — takes Nadya a moment to realize he might not be aware of it. Tighter, tighter, until it’s pretty much impossible for her not to wince.

“Adrian. A—Adrian, you’re hurting me. Hey!”

A snap in his face pulls him out of whatever memory he’s trapped in. Makes him pliant as she pulls their hands apart. The redness fades quickly but there’s a lingering ache in her wrist that Nadya rubs slowly.

“I — I’m so sorry. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. What about you?”

Before he can say anything Nadya steps around; makes her way to the last frame with her skirts in her hands. “Nadya — wait —” Adrian calls behind her. It doesn’t make her stop.

Only one painting hangs on the back wall. It’s also the only piece with one subject.

The man stands in grace, one foot forward; everything about his stance exuding not only confidence but command. Dark brown hair falls over his face and shoulders in perfect waves — the kind that would take hours to get these days. The artist captured details Nadya didn’t even consider possible; hairs at the crown of his forehead and pores in his perfect skin. Each individual chain link upon his conqueror’s armor.

She’s beholden with wonderment at the beauty of the man until the background comes to her attention. Feels her stomach churn when she sees the full moon behind his head actually appearing to pour moonlight down the canvas. Finds her trembling fingers covering a strangled sound she doesn’t immediately recognize as hers at the sight of faceless, naked corpses in a pile beneath the dais he prostrates upon.

Adrian’s hands come to weigh on her shoulders solemnly. Nadya tries to make the image go away; closes her eyes but it’s burned into the back of her eyelids like a brand. She wants to tear it to pieces, wants to shred the fibers strand by strand…

But somehow she just knows that even if the entire castle went up in flames this painting would remain untouched. Perfectly sanguine until the end of time.

“You know what’s really stupid?” asks Nadya wetly; takes Adrian’s handkerchief to dab at the tears at the corners of her eyes.

The painting’s presence draws Adrian to a whisper. “What’s that?”

She turns and tucks the cloth back into Adrian’s breast pocket. Brushes her hair out of her eyes with a sigh.

“I spent so much time on this stupid makeup and I keep crying.”

Adrian’s first reaction is poising himself to strike; ready to do what he can to make her feel better. It’s so wonderful and the image behind her is so awful that Nadya’s clashing emotions manage the only thing that makes sense: laughter.

Adrian first witnesses her, confused, before he offers his own little chuckle. It’s hollow and forced; when he thinks she isn’t looking she sees his gaze flicker to the monstrosity behind her and grow cold.

Wordlessly they leave the portrait room, then the library. Adrian offers a few polite waves to people unknown to Nadya; mentions something about getting back to the ballroom in enough time to see some performance.

She’s not really paying attention — no matter how hard she tries his words just grow fuzzy like television static. But that’s preferable to the voices echoing between her ears she tries desperately to pretend don’t exist.

“Rise, my Beloved Soldier. Rise and know your King has witnessed your loyalty to Him.”

“Thank you, my King. I am humbled.”

“My Beloved Soldier… my Beloved Adrian.”

Nadya’s at least mostly-percent sure that Kamilah has better things to think about than her tiny mortal self. Tells herself that when they find her back in the ballroom and Kamilah seems to be actively choosing to look everywhere but at her.

Until she notices the smallest smudge in Nadya’s makeup. Then Kamilah is on her, chilly hands cupping her cheeks and turning her head this way and that to examine her state.

“What. happened.” It takes Nadya a second to realize the growl is directed not at her but at Adrian. He silently shakes his head and offers a gentle touch to pry his companion off of her.

Still Kamilah persists; locks her eyes onto Nadya’s and when she speaks it’s soft yet somehow powerful enough to chase the unwanted voices from her mind.

“Are you unharmed?”

Nadya gives a shuddering exhale and nods. “Yeah, Kamilah. I’m fine. I — listen, about earlier —”

“Later.” Kamilah cuts her off curtly. Like she’s been replaced by a doppelgänger. It leaves Nadya feeling like an accessory as the vampires turn to confide in one another.

“Where have you been? You were the one who arranged this during the Ball — you couldn’t even bother to show up on time?”

Before Adrian can defend himself a figure starts towards them from the middle of a crowd. He may be dressed like every picture Nadya’s ever seen of Henry VIII but there’s no mistaking that greasy grin.

Lester claps a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. Squeezes until his knuckles are white and Nadya flinches out of sympathy.

“There you are, Raines my boy,” he practically sneers, “and here we were worried you had better things to do.”

Kamilah says nothing. Adrian pries Lester’s hand from his person.

“I was occupied elsewhere.”

None of them miss how Lester’s eyes travel to Nadya; look her up and down and linger on her chest. She’s starting to consider that his typical form of greeting.

The other vampire snorts. “I bet you were. But you were the one who wanted to ruin a good party with Council business, so let’s get it over with shall we?”

Lester waves two fingers — draws their attention to the others approaching.

Vega’s black suit and red tie somehow don’t do anything for his charming smile but it’s the sight of the Baron’s curled upper lip that sends a whip of panic through Nadya. Make her take a step closer to Kamilah out of some subconscious need to hide behind her dress.

Beside them strides sex on legs; thick waves of hair cascading down her shoulders and the sheer material of her dress catching the lights just enough to see the lingerie beneath.

If anyone’s wing-tip eyeliner could actually stab a man it would be hers: Priya Lacroix.

“I had to turn down a Bulge Magazine sandwich for this shit,” the designer snaps, “so let’s get it the fuck over with before I lose my appetite.”

The Baron fixates on Nadya with a growl.

“Funny. You look just like a cunt I locked up.”

She is so over crying tonight.

“Yeah, well, go screw yourself.”

“Me~ow!” Priya pushes the Baron aside carelessly, ignores the glare he shoots her way, and pulls Nadya out from behind Kamilah to appraise her properly.

“I know I complained about having to make you something at the last minute Adrian… but I take it back. She looks positively yummy.”

Before Priya can even show her fangs she’s moved aside. Kamilah takes the initiative this time to protect Nadya on her own. If she plans on arguing the thought is dashed the moment Priya looks into the older vampire’s eyes. Doesn’t stop her from giving a petulant huff.

“Whatever…”

Vega, however, ignores Nadya’s presence entirely.

“The point stands. We ought to take advantage of this opportunity to discuss certain Council matters.”

“Must it be now?” Adrian asks tersely. The look on Vega’s face says it all. “Fine. But not here.”

Vega agrees. “I’ve already cleared out a parlor for us. Come along.”

Just as Adrian shakes off his fellow Council member’s grasp there’s a scream somewhere at the far end of the ballroom. Loud enough to cause a distraction and awful enough that the Council gathered actually looks towards the commotion.

The orchestra stops mid-chord as a chorus of cries and noises of distress begin to sound. The dance floor empties in the blink of an eye as the dancing vampires rush away from something.

“Stay here.” Kamilah hisses. She and Adrian push the others aside in an attempt to help. Against her wishes Nadya slips out of the uncomfortable presence of the other vampires and around the crowd to edge closer.

A young woman lies, collapsed and prone, in the middle of the floor. She’s seizing; convulses on her stomach. The foul smell of rot fills the fragrant air.

Then the face twitches around and Nadya recognizes her in horror.

“Megan!”

At the same time that Nadya pushes her way forward two familiar faces break away from the crowd opposite. Brandon fumbles and skids on his knees to his twin’s side while Greer kneels behind him, mortified.

Nadya’s skirts billow around her as she ignores Adrian’s distant cry of “Nadya, no!” and brushes Megan’s hair away from her clammy features.

Her skin is greying; veins growing black under Brandon’s touch.

“Meg—Meggie what’s wrong? What’s happening?” He hauls his sister’s head into his lap. That’s when Nadya catches sight of a violent bite mark on her shoulder. It oozes puss and black ichor. Megan tries and fails to respond when she starts foaming at the mouth.

Greer looks around with wild eyes.

“Help! Is someone gonna fuckin’ help her?! What the fuck!”

Nadya fumbles in a panic. Doesn’t know what to do, ends up looking to where Adrian and Kamilah are keeping a very purposeful distance.

“Help her!” She surprises herself by screaming. Adrian moves to step forward but Kamilah jerks him back almost violently.

“Don’t you dare.” The woman seethes — and Nadya grows feverish with panic when she watches Kamilah look upon Megan and Brandon with an expression foreign to her face.

“Kamilah —”

“Adrian Raines, I forbid it.”

“What?!” Brandon tries to hold Megan’s head still, tries to hold her jaw open as her fangs grow and warp before his eyes, “Why won’t you help?!”

Adrian stays put but reaches out; beckons Nadya away.

“Nadya, please. Please get over here.”

“No! Not until you help her!” I can’t believe I’m seeing this.

“She’s beyond help now!” shouts Kamilah. She draws the attention of the entire Ball — takes a deep breath and steels herself to push down an emotion Nadya didn’t think she was capable of.

Fear.

“Nadya — for Christ’s sakes.” He grabs her in a blur and Nadya finds herself wrapped in his arms.

All around vampires and mortals stand and resign themselves to witness as Megan’s seizures increase. As her skin grows dark and chalky and Greer yanks back Brandon when he fails to hold her down.

“What’s happening?” Nadya gasps. Adrian clutches her tighter and his words flood ice through her veins.

“She’s Turning Feral.”

[cha-lii]

a good day

Read on Ao3

Diego watched Klaus as he flopped down on the bed next to Vanya, who looked at the boy - 'boy', how can we be boys again? - as though he had grown a second head. And Diego's heart kind of broke at that. At the fact that Vanya had been so poorly treated, had been so shunned all her life, and by them nonetheless, that even a casual show of affection, of comfort in each others' company, could be so surprising to her. It wasn't right. None of it - how they had acted, how he had acted - had been right. It was something that they had to fix, this time around. Something that they would fix.

But that was for later. For now, there was Klaus. And that voice in the back of Diego's head that had been nagging him incessantly for the two weeks since Five had brought them back to their childhood.

 You just saved my life, man!

 Yeah, I did... take credit for it. In fact, the real hero - is Ben.

 the real hero

"Whaddya say, Diego?" He jolted and looked up from the knife he was twirling in his hands. Klaus was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. Vanya met his gaze only for a second before looking away, and Diego felt that heavy pang of guilt again. "Diego?"

"Uh, I wasn't listening. What do I say about what?" Klaus rolled his eyes and shifted until he was sitting cross-legged.

"We're going out, we three, and I was asking if you wanted waffles or donuts?" Diego frowned, and saw Vanya bite her lip, but Klaus just continued looking at him, bright and oblivious.

"Klaus," he began tiredly, "you know we can't just walk out of here anymore. The old bastard will lose it if we try again." It was perhaps the biggest drawback, in their collective opinion, of being back here. Their sudden return to childhood also meant a return to Reginald Hargreeves and his merciless regime. No coming and going as they pleased, no staying up after nine o'clock, no eating in between meals. Even after Diego had left it had never really occurred to him just how much of a prison this house had been for them, with Reginald as their warden.

Klaus only snorted derisively.

"Oh, come on, Diego," he turned to Vanya, and raised an eyebrow at her similar look of hesitance. "I used to sneak out all the time. All the time!"

"Yeah, and how many times did da- Reginald catch you?"

"Not that many!" Klaus said, placing an offended hand on his chest. "Only about... three out of five times."

"Still too many," Vanya muttered, and Diego felt his lips twitch.

"And only when I was too out of it to be sneaky. But that won't happen now," he grabbed one of Vanya's hands and clasped it between his own, smiling widely and sincerely at the two of them, "because I am - drumroll - sober! Have been for weeks." Vanya slowly began to curl her fingers around Klaus' when she realised he wasn't going to let go any time soon. He noticed, and his grin stretched impossibly wider. "So, to return to the original question; waffles or donuts?" Diego shook his head and opened his mouth to retort, then Klaus added, "Plus if we do get caught and ol' daddy does get mad, isn't that just more fun?" and Diego paused a bit at that.

Ah, yes, one of the perks: another go at teenage rebellion.

"I - I don't think I should go," Vanya said, looking at her and Klaus' joined hands sullenly. "I'm not as 'sneaky' as the two of you. If I go you'll definitely get caught. You two just go without me."

"Don't be stupid, Vanya," Diego said before he could stop himself. He winced as she curled in on herself, and softened his tone a bit at Klaus' glare. "We aren't going to just leave you behind." She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and hope and disbelief, and he added softly, "Not anymore."

"So," Klaus said loudly, looking at them both with raised eyebrows. They looked back at him blankly, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Waffles? Or donuts?"

"Donuts," Vanya said.

"Waffles," Diego said at the same time. They looked at each other, then turned to Klaus. He smiled.

"Donuts it is."

They were seated in a booth at the donut shop a half-hour later, Klaus swinging his legs and humming inanely, glaring at something over Diego's shoulder every now and then, but otherwise content. Vanya, on the other hand... well, she surprised Diego. He had expected her to be a bundle of nerves, to be all but vibrating with worry. But no. She was vibrating with excitement. Pure, raw excitement. It was the most positive emotion Diego had seen from her since they'd gotten back, and he found himself smiling at her across the table.

"Well," Klaus said, clapping his hands. "Shall I go order?"

"No!" Vanya said, grabbing his arm. They both looked at her with wide eyes, and she blushed as she hastily removed her hand and returned it to her lap. "I, uh, I'll do it. I want to. I never - I never really came here that often, as a kid. I just - I want to." Klaus smiled at her, his eyes sad and heavy with the same shame Diego felt tugging at his chest. He stood to let her out, handed her a handful of coins, and shuffled to the end of the bench when he sat again. Vanya started towards the counter, then turned back to them.

"Um, what do you guys want?"

"I'll just have powdered," Diego smiled at her again, and was pleased when he got a rather hesitant one in return.

"Surprise me, dear sister," Klaus said, his elbow resting on the table and his cheek pillowed in his palm. Vanya looked a bit nervous at that, but nodded and went to the counter anyway. Diego recognised the woman behind the counter, younger now than she had been when he'd questioned her, and his heart ached as he thought of Eudora.

"...away," Diego turned to Klaus, who was angrily swatting the empty space next to him. "No - no, just go away, god dammit. Go-"

"Klaus? Klaus!" He turned to Diego, still swatting, and tried to smile.

"No worries, Diego dear, just some noisy little fella getting on my god damn nerves - go away!"

"Hey," Diego glared at the empty space, trying not to feel like an idiot. "Clear off, let us have our donuts in peace. Go bother someone else, asshole." Klaus' actions slowed, and then ceased, and Diego watched as his eyes trailed from the bench back to somewhere over Diego's shoulder. Klaus frowned heavily for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, finally," he muttered, "some peace and quiet."

"Do they do that often?"

"Hm?"

"The ghosts. Do they - bother you often? Yell at you, that kind of stuff?" Klaus shrugged, and started pulling a loose thread on his blazer sleeve. Diego frowned at the familiar old nervous habit.

"Not - well, I mean, yeah. A bit. Now that I'm sober. Come to think of it," he looked up at Diego thoughtfully, "you've never done that before." Diego blinked.

"Done what?"

"Y'know, spoken to them. Or even acknowledged them. Usually you guys would all just look at me as if I was crazy." He said it lightly, and laughed a little afterwards, but Diego felt that guilt creeping back with his words.

"W-well, that's-"

"Okay, okay, here," Vanya reappeared beside them, three plates balanced precariously in her hands, and Diego and Klaus hastily took their's from her hands. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, and slumped down next to Klaus, who was loudly and dramatically praising her choices of raspberry jelly for him, and chocolate for herself. She was blushing at the praise, looking every bit the thirteen year old that she had been reverted into, and Diego felt his guilt fade. In its place came the warm contentedness that he felt any time Vanya managed to feel relaxed and comfortable in their presence - when she laughed openly at one of Klaus' jokes, when she held Ben's hand to help him feel alive again, when he caught her napping with Allison. It was slow going, and it was tentative, but they were getting there.

And it felt good. One look at Klaus' face told Diego that he was feeling the same, and without another word they all dug into their forbidden donuts.

They stayed until the late evening, eating as many donuts as Klaus' meager stash of money could get them. They snuck back into the house through one of the windows in a downstairs corridor. Diego watched, vaguely impressed, as Klaus expertly shimmied it open, the rusty hinges making next to no sound at all, and held it open for him and Vanya to clamber through. Then he jumped through himself, landing lightly on his feet, and eased the window shut again. He caught Diego's arm as he started off down the corridor.

"Not that way," he whispered, eyes bright with mischief and delight. "Dad's study is down that way. We go round the other way, past Pogo's room. He's usually asleep at this time." He slipped his hand down Diego's arm until it was grasping his, and the only thing stopping Diego from shaking him off was the soft smile on Vanya's face when Klaus did the same with her. They set off down the corridor, pausing by Pogo's door to make sure that he truly was asleep before creeping past. They climbed the stairs quickly, carefully avoiding the ones Klaus warned them creaked. By the time they made it back to Klaus' room Vanya was breathless with laughter, and Klaus had a grin on his face that Diego could only describe as proud, and he himself was feeling... warm. Content.

This was just a taste of what their first childhood should have been like - and only the beginning of what their second one was going to be.

"Oh," Vanya gasped, placing one hand on her midriff and still holding Klaus' in the other, "that was fun..."

"It most certainly was, dear sister," Klaus said smugly, and he pulled her over to sit in the same spots they had been in before they left. Diego moved to sit on the floor by the door again, but then decided to push his luck that little bit further, and went to sit on Vanya's empty side. She turned to him, and smiled shyly. And when she held out her free hand, he took it without hesitation. Her smile widened, and he gave her one in return. When they turned back to Klaus, they found him looking at them with the air of a proud mother watching her child's first steps.

"Klaus, you were incredible!" Vanya said, her voice still breathy with excitement. "You know this place inside-out!" He puffed out his chest and raised his chin.

"Well, of course," he said, puffing out his chest and raising his chin. "If there's one thing, at least, that I'm good at, it's breaking the rules-"

"Shut up." They both snapped their gazes to Diego, and it took him a moment to realise it was him that had spoken. It took him a moment longer to figure out why he had, then he remembered what had been bothering him for weeks. "That's not 'all you're good at', you idiot. Don't say shit like that." Klaus blinked at him, looking genuinely taken aback.

"Well, by golly, dear brother. Have you been taking something? You're awfully friendly, this evening-"

"I'm serious, Klaus," Diego said, trying to keep the usual bite out of his tone. "We're all trying to be better, not just with Vanya, but with each other, too. But you have to be better with yourself, as well." Klaus' grin was sliding, and his eyes were getting that strange shadowed look that Diego had grown horribly familiar with over the past few weeks.

"I'm serious, too, Diego," he said quietly, all trace of humour gone. "I mean, this is the longest I've been sober since I was, what, twelve? I didn't exactly spend my life building any skills, or anything."

"We're all fucked up, Klaus, in different ways. Doesn't mean you're useless, or - or weak, or whatever the hell you think."

He looked at Klaus, and at Vanya. At perhaps the two siblings that they had failed the most. "Whatever we made you think." Vanya sniffed, and squeezed Diego's hand.

"He's right, Klaus," she said, eyes shining as she caught his gaze and held it. "I - I don't really remember much from the - the concert, but - I do remember Ben. How you managed to-"

"But that wasn't me," Klaus interrupted, looking between the two of them incredulously, as though expecting to find a hidden joke. "That was Ben, you said it yourself. I didn't-"

"It was you, Klaus," Diego insisted. "It was your power. And - and it was your sobriety, too. I mean, I still don't know what made you suddenly decide to get sober-" and he still couldn't bring himself to ask, not when it made Klaus flinch and his face go pale and his eyes fill with tears, as it did now "- but I could tell how hard it was for you. You did it, alone because we were all too stuck up our own asses to help you, and you saved us." Klaus was shaking his head, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Where is all of this coming from?" He whispered hoarsely, mouth agape.

"It's like Diego said," Vanya said, "we're all trying to be better. No more putting each other down, or ignoring each other, or lying to each other. No more hurting each other." She pulled their hands up to her chest, clasped over her heart, and looked at them with such sincere love, even after everything they had done to her, that Diego wondered, not for the first time, how they could ever have been so cruel to her in the first place. "And that means no more hurting ourselves, either. Right?"

"Right," Diego nodded. They both stared at Klaus until he, too, nodded shakily.

"Y-yeah, right." They smiled at each other, rather shakily, and rather tearily, but with more happiness and love than they had all felt in a long time.

"Well, that was downright adorable."

Diego absolutely did not scream. Klaus did, and Vanya jumped so sharply that the whole room trembled. They all spun around to see Five lounging in the doorway, watching them with that infuriating smirk of his that had somehow only gotten more sassy in the forty-five years he had been gone.

"Jesus fuck," Klaus hissed, releasing his grip on Diego to press his hand against his chest. "Why do you always insist on sneaking up on us, old man?" Five snorted.

"I did not 'sneak up on you'. I didn't even jump here, I just walked in the door. Not my fault you guys were too invested in your little heart-to-heart to hear me." He looked at Diego, and his smirk widened. Diego felt his cheeks darken and quickly stood, still glaring at Five.

"Whatever," he muttered, as he made to storm out. He was just passing Five at the door when Klaus called his name. He turned and found him smiling again, looking at him with so much love and gratitude that Diego felt as though his chest might burst.

"Thank you," was all Klaus said. Diego smiled at him, and saw Vanya do the same, and they all looked at each other for a few moments, still slightly giddy from the night's events. Then Diego caught sight of Five's face, and face burning, turned and left.

He slammed his bedroom door closed, and lay down on the bed. He smiled.

It had been a good day.

[monikafilefan]

A Merry Little Christmas Now

For the secret Santa exchange I wrote some Mulder Scully love for @kyouryokusenshi prompts. The fluff is real and their baby is damn adorable. Tagging a few peeps who weren't in it so you can feel the love too. @mldrgrl @skullsmuldon @peacenik0 @pickingoutchinapatterns @softnow @scully-eats-sushi @storybycorey @allyinthekeyofx @

Mulder quietly hums as he hovers, standing at her bassinet to contently gaze at the little bundle of soft alabaster and auburn fluff. An exquisite mingling of a dash of Mulder and an abundance of Scully. He tries to keep his exuberance to a minimum, but most of the time he’s just bursting with glee and is unable hide his delighted smile every time he greets his new baby girl.

His predisposition for insomnia throughout the years still plagues him. Yet, Scully is used to it and nowadays, he finds himself grateful for the many years of practiced functionality on lack of sleep. Instead of filling the late night hours with thoughts of conspiracies, paranormal happenings, or relying on Scully’s familiar breathing to soothe his thoughts, he now trusts in their little miracle to fill his mind with much more important things in life.

Things like watching the rise and fall of her fully satisfied belly as she sleeps with a small smile touching her mouth. Things like the feel of her tiny fist squeezing his pinky as she listens to his voice gently singing her to sleep. Things like the little coos and gurgling noises she makes when she’s alert and shining those wide cobalt eyes at his rather embarrassing baby talk that Scully teases at him for using. But Mulder’s favorite thing in life right now, is lying in bed with Scully curling into him with his arms wrapped around her, watching her stroke the pink, rounded cheeks of their daughter as she nurses contently at her mother’s breast.

Mulder’s eyes mist over and smiles as she stirs, her dark brows creasing, her plump little rosebud lips puckering her dramatic cupids bow, and he can’t help but run the back of his finger down the curves of her smooth face every single time she does that.

“Mulder?” Scully croaks from the bed with heavy lids while propping herself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong?”

He reluctantly moves away from their dreaming little one and shakes his head with a blush coloring his face. “Nothing, Scully.”

He slides under the covers and wraps one supportive arm and one long leg around her curling body as she snuggles in deep, feeling her hands roam up his waist and around his neck. Mulder’s favorite nighttime Scully-ritual comes next when he feels her face press into his chest and breathes in his blended scent of deodorant and aftershave.

“Memorizing her again?” He chuckles at her repetition of his own words said to her from the day she was born.

“Mm, I do every night. Can’t help myself,” he admits while his eyes fall shut.

Scully sighs, relaxing into his warmth. “I know,” she tells him with pride lacing her voice. “I do it, too.”

Mulder nods because he already knows she does with his mastering of their unspoken bond. He plays with the ends of her shoulder length hair while they just hold each other in the dark and listen to the snow softly hitting the trees near the window.

“It’s snowing,” he murmurs with his nose buried in her hair. “On Christmas eve. It’s perfect.”

Scully nods along his chest agreeing with him, yet conflicted between her feelings of happiness and worry, so she pulls him even closer. “Almost perfect, Mulder.”

“Yeah.” And he knows, knows exactly what and whom she is thinking about on a night like this. He doesn’t need to say anything to comfort her because the ache she feels won’t be soothed by his words, but what Mulder knows that Scully does not, is that one of those sorrowful aches will be forever healed on this holiday. He grabs her hand that’s languidly massaging his neck, laces her fingers with his and presses kiss after kiss along the back. “Talk to me, Scully.”

“I’m worried about Jackson—getting desperate to see him again,” she says after a few minutes of quiet contemplation. “From the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep, I’m thinking about him. It’s like there’s no escape, no matter how hard I work to tell myself he’s capable, no matter how much I try to rely on the few images he’s sent me, I still worry. And I miss him, and I—” her breath catches. She knows that Mulder will wait patiently for her to speak all night if he has to as he presses her hand harder against his mouth.  “I…miss her too, Mulder. I miss Mom, and wish she were here to see us now. All of us.”

Her admission is punctuated with the feeling of warm tears seeping into his shirt. She silently wonders when discussing their son had become an easier task than the discourse of her mother. Scully had no idea she could feel this way. Had no idea she would feel the anguish of loss at her mother’s absence so keenly that she questions if it will ever stop hurting. And she’s known all along, that she does not bare the consistent dull ache within her chest alone.

Scully is not one to shed a tear lightly nor admit to needing anyone without a little coaxing, yet she and Mulder both know that certain subjects such as wanting their teenage son and missing Margaret Scully, bring forth her raw emotions like a freight train. Much like right now. And the only person she has, and will ever want comfort from, is her Mulder.

“Oh, love, I know you do, because I miss her, too,” he divulges, his voice cracking as he tries to hold back just how much. He hears her sigh deeply and recognizes that sound clearly as gratitude for his comfort. “Sleep, Scully it’s almost midnight,” he soothes her skin beneath his palms. “Besides, little lady will be demanding to eat in a few hours and I have a feeling Christmas day will be full of excitement.”

Scoffing while teetering on the verge of sleep, she says, “Mulder, you have me wondering what kind of Christmas you’re planning here. But to be honest, I’m too tired to worry about that right now. Just as long as you’re with me…”

Mulder smiles at her ability to pass out on him in the middle of a sentence at least four times a week. “Always. Love you, Scully,” he whispers and lets sleep finally claim him, too.

—

A soft familiar humming brought Scully’s attention to the side of the bed. At first, she thinks Mulder has gotten out of bed to gaze at their daughter again as her hazy vision tries to focus on the slender figure standing in the corner holding the baby. Blinking rapidly now, she moves to sit up but looks down as she feels Mulder’s arm still draping heavily over her side.

Confused, Scully whips her head around to confirm what her mind is already screaming: that there’s a stranger in the bedroom cradling their newborn.

She scrambles to her feet and frantically fumbles to grab her and Mulder’s shared black framed glasses from the nightstand and shoves them onto her face. Just as she’s about to reach for her gun in the top drawer and yell for Mulder, an iridescent shimmer of light illuminates around the unknown silhouette and in an instant, Scully’s stomach plummets while her heart soars in her chest.

“Mom?” Standing in the corner just feet from her, is her mother gently swaying her granddaughter, looking adoringly at the precious cargo nestled within her arms. “Oh, my God...Mom,” she gasps with her hand hovering over her gaping mouth.

Frozen and utterly overcome with emotion, she trembles, hardly able to register the need to breathe let alone grasp the fact that she’s witnessing what many would deem a fantastical impossibility. “Are you real?”

Breathless, she begins to panic, knowing that this just could not be happening. The conflicting urge to both, fight the would-be alien shape shifter to the death, and rush over to pull her mother into a bone crushing hug and never let go is painfully acute. Yet as soon as that jarring thought enters her mind, an overwhelming warmth of comfort drapes over her like a blanket, instantaneously calming her. She feels surrounded by her mother’s presence, safe. It’s exactly the way Scully had always felt while under her reassuring touch.

And any fear for her daughter’s well-being, has vanished completely.

Scully watches in awe with tears lining her eyes as her mother brushes one slender finger across both supple cheeks and down the slope of her sleeping child’s nose.

“Katherine Margaret,” Maggie breathes, beaming with pride. “She’s beautiful, Dana. Just like William.” Hearing her voice and seeing her face nearly shatters Scully’s already fractured heart. God, I’ve missed you, Scully thinks while she smiles and studies how her mother’s peaceful hazel eyes flick over to Mulder asleep in the bed. Staring deep into Scully’s tearful gaze for the first time now, she can feel Maggie’s strength fill her own soul. “You’re blessed, honey, in more ways than one. So don’t squander the opportunity to enjoy life’s blessings by being afraid, Dana Katherine,” Maggie explains with endless love and wisdom shining in her expression. “Don’t let your fear of the past affect your presence of the future.”

Scully’s eyes snap open and she jolts straight up in bed, disoriented and gasping in the dark. Squinting at the clock that reads 4:40am, she quickly searches the bedroom from corner to corner while her heart pounds and sees nothing but Mulder laying prone next to her with his mouth hanging open. “Kate!” she cries, tearing the covers back with tears in her eyes, emotional, her hand clasping her mouth.

With her heart in her throat and her stomach in knots, Scully approaches the bassinet on shaky legs and sighs in relief when she sees Katherine peacefully sleeping on her back with her arms stretching out above her thick fuzzy-haired head.

Letting out a loud, trembling sigh as her adrenaline rushes, Scully grips the edge of the baby’s bed to try and regain her composure.

“Scully? Mulder sits up and takes in her hunched back, taut muscles and labored breathing while he swiftly climbs out of bed. “Scully! What happened?”

Scully hears Mulder’s worrisome voice but before she can respond, the distinct familiar scent of White Musk perfume billows around her. And when Scully slides her hands under Kate’s relaxed body and tucks her little head under her chin, that same scent—one that she’s smelled so often throughout her life—strongly radiates off of her velvety skin. “Oh, Mom. Thank you,” Scully breathes, not attempting to hold back hot tears of joy from spilling onto Kate’s swaddling.

Alarmed, Mulder reaches out and lays a calming hand along her arm. Scully startles and he notices the slick lines of her tears wetting her face. “Hey, what’s wrong? And wait...what did you say?”

She shakes her head and sucks in a lung full of air while swiping at her cheeks. “Mom, it was her—she was here in our room, rocking Kate!” Feeling nothing short of excitement now flowing through her veins, Scully grabs onto Mulders hand, lacing her fingers in his while their eyes lock with intensity. “It was like she was really right there in front of me and could hear her voice. I can still smell her.” She furrows her brow, pleading for him to understand how tangible her mother felt to her. “It was so real, Mulder, it was her—Mom was in this room holding her granddaughter.”

Mulder feels her racing heart through her pulse point at her wrist and with the look in her eye, he can tell she’s 100 percent lucid—that this experience she’s just had, is very real to her.

Even more than that, he believes her because, yes, he too can feel Margaret’s presence as clearly has Scully’s beating heart. “Shh...I believe you, Scully, I believe you.”

That’s the only thing she needs to hear right now to solidify what she already knows in her soul; that—much like how her father had—her mother’s apparition had just said one last hello and one final goodbye.

Scully nods and closes her eyes as the comforting warmth she’d felt minutes ago engulfs her once again. But this time when she opens them, all she sees is Mulder hugging her and Kate within his large soothing embrace.

This is what Mom wanted to tell me, she thought. Her mother had just reassured her that she, Mulder, Jackson, and Katherine are a family and are finally safe to live like one. That it’s okay to accept that this is what it feels like to freely enjoy a family without the daily threats of their children’s safety looming in the background of their everyday life.

Her mother, her counselor in crises of the heart, has gifted Scully an unexpected yet silently yearned for last piece of advice; to not let old fear dictate her ability to wholly embrace her renewed role as Mother to both of her children.

“I hadn’t realized just how deeply I’ve missed and needed my mom until I laid eyes on her in my dream,” she explains with Kate’s steady breath tickling at her neck. Not only is the heavy weight of her guilt and angst of the past which was gradually crushing her gone, but she suddenly found the ability to verbally express herself much easier now. “And from now on, I feel like everytime my heart surges with love for her, It will be like a little piece of her grandma is right here loving her with us.”

“Just like with her grandson,” Mulder adds, tucking sleep mussed hair behind her ears. “Maybe you finally exposing what you’ve been needing by opening your heart and reaching out for her, was enough to bring her spirit to you. I think you needed that reassurance and support more than you understood, but she had known. And maybe for Margaret, she had one last act of love she needed to give—to meet her granddaughter and grant you a priceless Christmas wish from Mother to Daughter.”

“God, you know exactly what to say to me, Mulder, and I love you for it.” Scully kisses the hollow of his neck, melting into him as his comforting words thrum through her. With Kate sighing happily between them, it prompts her to voice what fills the rest of her already exposed heart. “You being here every step of the way…just being the man I fell in love with decades ago and embracing being the Father you’ve always hoped that you’d be, has reminded me of how blessed I really am,” she confesses, pouring out her thoughts fluidly now. “I think that’s what Mom meant for me to understand. What she wants me to always remember; that we’re still us, Mulder, you and me. Partners forever.”

Mulder inhales sharply as Scully looks at him, chin in his hand, her eyes and soul laid bare before him, and he smiles while a thousand images of them steadily falling in love over case files in a basement office comes to the forefront in his mind. Scully had told him not long ago that she wanted to remember exactly how it all was, but Mulder’s never forgotten any of it. “Since day one. And baby makes...four,” he jests, yet he knows his seriousness in matters of the heart swirl within his moss green depths.

“Yes,” Scully nods, never breaking eye contact and rubs her palm slowly up his chest. She feels his heartbeat thudding at a gallop where she’s touching him and coyly smirks, delighted that she still has that effect on him after all this time.

Mulder covers his hand over Scully’s that supports their daughter along her front while leaning down. His lips cover hers softly, his tongue parting her lips and delving deeply into her mouth, and when he slides one large hand up under her satin pajama shirt with only one motivation in mind, Scully can’t suppress the deep moan that escapes and vibrates into his mouth. As their lips dance along in an euphoric way that never gets old, the bundle between them squirms and kicks underneath their hands cradling her back.

Mulder smiles along Scully’s purpose driven lips and she reluctantly pulls away to look into Kate’s wide open eyes. “Perfect timing, little one.” Sighing in disappointment as her lips tingle with loss, she glances back at Mulder who’s adjusting his excitement through his flannel pants while he grabs a burp rag and lays it over her shoulder. “That kind of kiss is exactly why you exist.” Kate whimpers and cries out in hunger as she works her clenched fist into her mouth.

Chuckling, Mulder guides Scully toward the bed, hand at the small of her back, and gestures to the door. “Since we’re already up, I’ll just head downstairs, brew some decaf and light a fire while you feed her.” She nods to him as she watches Kate latch onto her breast eagerly and begins to smooth down her abundantly fluffed russet hair. Hair that’s rapidly growing right along with her lithe little frame.

And his heart swells, just a little bit more.

—

After making his way downstairs and flipping on the coffee maker, Mulder quickly lights and stokes the fire within the hearth, watching as the flames engulf the logs. He had left the massive tree standing tall in the corner of their living room lit with the multi-colored lights flickering before bed for whenever they awoke this morning, knowing full well Scully would rise to a surprise worthy of holiday cheer.

Right after Scully had went to bed last night, he’d taken a hidden bag out of his desk and placed a little Christmas spirit in the perfect spot on his way up the stairs to join her. Looking up at it now after the eventful morning they have already had, he knows the extra effort made on Scully’s favorite holiday will be more than welcomed.

Hearing her footfalls above him, Mulder turns his XM radio on and flicks it from the usual Doctor Talk channel to Holiday Traditions just as she makes her way down the stairway.

“Mistletoe, Mulder?” she asks, raising a brow and adjusting the over ten pounds of baby off her shoulder. “You know you don’t need a reason to kiss me, right?”

“Considering our 25 years of history together, and how our tongues were just roaming around each other’s mouths upstairs, no, I realize that I don’t.” He smiles warmly while running his bedroom eyes along her body, and she knows her pink cheeks are evident even in the dim glow of the fire and tree lights. “Although, any excuse is a good excuse to thoroughly kiss the love of my life. And if the little hemiparasitic plant gives me one, then I have no problem utilizing its power in the persuasion of romance.”

Scully blushes ferociously. It seems utterly ridiculous to her that he could still make her cheeks flush and her heart race. Yet, the thrill of Mulder is still as intense as it was the moment she had first stepped foot into that basement office.

He moves into her and watches her slowly drag her pink tongue across her bottom lip, anticipating. Sliding one hand up her spine, splaying his long fingers between the blades of her shoulders and another through her crimson hair to cradle her lolling head. Mulder groans with expectation in the reclaiming of her mouth.

Scully can’t help but respond in kind as she raises on tiptoe to greet him halfway. Their lips firmly meet and she presses herself against him as much as possible with a baby laid across her arm. Her fingertips run along his warm skin up the front of his shirt to caress his around rib cage. Their mouths dance along one another, sensually sucking and teasing each lip, eliciting a satisfied moan from them both.

Mulder hesitantly breaks contact when he feels a tiny foot kick at his side. “Hey now, none of that,” he coos. He kisses the crown of Kate’s head and breathes in her pronounced scent of baby lotion, Scully, and an undercurrent of a new yet oddly familiar smell he can’t quite distinguish.

Scully looks around their living room as Mulder starts fawning over Kate’s new candy cane Christmas sleeper, and a wistful smile spreads across her face, marveling at the sight before her.

Vivid memories of her mom and dad happily watching on while sipping hot cocoa as she and Melissa ornately decorated the tree and mantle with care; warming her feet by the fire as they all listened and sang along to classic Christmas songs together; the rare moments of sharing joy and feeling loved by her whole family under the twinkling lights flashes before her eyes.

Immediately, Scully is struck with how absolutely grateful she feels that she’s in love with the only man who knows her well enough to let her experience those same wonderful things and more.

Clearing her tightening throat, she announces, “her belly’s full and she’s probably ready to get back to sleep now that I’ve changed her.” Scully pads her way to the couch and sinks in with a sigh. “This is beautiful, Mulder.”

“Remind you of Christmastime with your family?”

She huffs out a laugh at his uncanny way of reading her mind. “I am with my family,” she says simply, watching his expression beam from the corner of her eye.

He hums and lowers down next to her, kicking his feet up on the end table next to medical journals and sunflower seeds. Then, he carefully moves a sleepy Kate down to their laps and wraps an arm around Scully’s shoulder. They sit in a comfortable silence that they’ve mastered naturally in their skilled art of body language years ago, just listening to the music as they watch their newborn’s eyes grow heavy once again.

Their love glows brighter than the twinkling lights from floor to ceiling covering the massive Douglas fir. Even as Scully snuggles their barely eight week old blessing tighter into them, the awe of her still illuminates as greatly as the moment she was placed, warm, red, and screaming, upon Scully’s chest.

“This is the best gift I could’ve ever received,” she whispers over their miracle and stretches to kiss his cheek.

Mulder smiles through sudden watery eyes, never looking away from the long lashed angel donning his pouty bottom lip as she dreams atop their thighs and cradled hands. “Yeah, Kate’s pretty perfect, Scully. We did good,” he grins and holds back any stray tears from falling.

Scully moves her free hand to cup his scruffy jaw and urges her husband to meet her gaze. “We did. But I was talking about you, Mulder,” her voice wavers with her tender touch caressing along the contours of his face.

The adoration she feels for him only seems to have magnified after her upstairs spiritual encounter. An idea of such she’d never thought possible—to love Fox Mulder more than she ever had is unfathomable to her, yet she absolutely does.

Her words touch him deeply, wholly. And with his daughter and his wife wrapped securely in his embrace, he remembers—recalls those intense feelings of eternal unconditional love that he felt for so brief of time with his son held within his arms on that fateful night he’d become a Father.  

They share a knowing smile, and together, let their rare tears of joy fall, freely. Staring into her gleaming pools of blue, Mulder sniffs and nods his head toward the tree. “Well, you might change your mind when you see what’s in that envelope hidden in the branches.”

Mulder knows what’s in it and from whom it came. He knows what the faithful promises written inside will mean to her. And in just a few short hours when Scully answers a knock at the door, she will be gifted yet again with the presence of their son.

Scully tilts her head and arches a brow in suspicion. “I hope it isn’t an invitation to solve another Christmas haunting. You know, for old times sake?” She rolls her eyes as he feigns a pout.

“Nope. Not this time. Besides, it sounds like you’ve had one of your own already tonight.” Scully just smiles and elbows his thigh with her arm that curves around Kate. “But I what I can tell you, is that you’ll definitely enjoy this Christmas surprise much more than playing mind games and exposing our loneliness and codependency in a haunted mansion.”

“I already do.” She chuckles and lays her head on the swell of his chest, relishing in the soothing sounds of his breathing blendling with Kate’s. She slides her hand down his jaw and over his beating heart where he covers his hand with hers.

The holiday music drifts through the living room, barely louder than the crackling fire. And as a fitting song plays, Scully nuzzles her face into his old grey shirt. “Now this is how I like my Mulder.”

He smirks with his head resting along the back of the couch. “Like?”

“Love, Mulder. Always love.” And now, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas, now,” Mulder sings, suddenly realizing that it’s actually possible that a God he hasn’t believed in since he was twelve, hadn’t really turned his back on him after all. Maybe all their struggles in life were worth it in the end because it lead them to this; a happy future as parents together.

His heart feels impossibly full as he thinks about what’s to come in their ensuing years spent in this unremarkable house. And Mulder has a feeling that from now on, Christmas will be a day he can finally look forward to celebrating with his own family that he made with the love of his life.

Feeling the familiarity of his mind drifting off in thought beneath her, she kisses his chest and sighs as her eyes flutter shut. “Mm…merry Christmas, Mulder.”

“Merry Christmas, Scully.”

As the snow falls through the window beneath the lambent moonlight and blankets the unremarkable house in white, a long lost son finally finds his way home.

And as for Mulder and Scully, they experience Christmas miracles of their own creation. Letting go of past pain, opening their hearts, and expressing their love without fear, were the only things they have ever truly needed to do in order to come full circle; to never give up on a miracle. One in which they are blessed to witness with the family they made together every moment for the rest of their lives.

----------

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 37

read chapter one

read on ao3

Alec wakes up with the sun in his eyes. Scrunching his face, he turns his head, burying it in his pillow.

He feels an arm thrown around his waist, a comforting weight, and a warm wall at his back. Humming a little, Alec can’t stop the smile from coming over his face. He’s glad that there’s no one around to see him because he can just imagine his expression right now.

Last night comes flooding back and with it, a dozen little aches. Carefully, Alec turns around, making sure not to jostle Magnus’s arm too much. With the sun at his back, he can see his boyfriend in the morning light and he smiles a little at the sight.

Magnus’s hair is a bird’s nest, his brow furrowed in sleep. He looks unimaginably soft and Alec’s heart aches at the man in front of him. Remembering last night, Alec spends long minutes reconciling the past few months that have led to this.

He’s known Magnus for such a short time but he means so much. Alec can’t imagine never running into him at the diner, never knowing his laugh or the adorable way he gets lost in a lecture or how he looks with sunlight streaming through sheer curtains.

This has never been Alec’s to have-- he’s never allowed himself to fall for someone so quickly, so completely. Or maybe, Alec thinks as he feels the sun warm his back, he’d just never found someone he wanted to know so well.

Half of him can’t believe what he’d done last night. He’s never ignored Lydia’s calls, especially when there was a looming scandal. He knows that there’ll be hell to pay later on but at the time, Alec couldn’t imagine letting anyone else into the bubble of warmth he’d found himself in. The outside world could wait just a few more hours, he’d reckoned.

Now that he’s not so preoccupied, now that his thoughts aren’t completely focused on Magnus, Alec is surprised yet relieved to find that he feels the same.

There’s still the tiniest part of him that wonders how this all plays out. He’s only known Magnus for a few months, really a blink of an eye, and there’s always a chance that this will end badly, that he’ll wish he hadn’t thrown caution to the wind so cavalierly.

But for the most part, Alec’s content. More than content, really. He’s happy. He feels peace wash over him in a calming wave and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so still. His life is heavier than most assume, always so harried. He's always rushing onto the next great thing, the next phase of his career, and there's never room to just be. But in this moment, wrapped in sheets that smell like Magnus and a storm brewing outside the loft, Alec feels light enough to float.

He recalls the words that almost spilled from him last night and his mouth tilts upward. He knows it’s too soon. But by God, he thinks, if this isn’t love then he doesn’t know what is.

There’s time for that later, he decides. If Alec has his way about it, then there will be ages and ages for him to work up the courage and timing to tell Magnus how he feels. All in due time.

Shuffling forward, Alec throws a leg over Magnus’s and sighs a little, relaxing. He doesn’t know what time it is but he wants to soak this up for as long as he’s allowed before the outside world comes knocking and Alec has to leave. He hasn’t told Magnus about his plans and he doesn’t want to deal with it, in any case, not yet.

Just a few more minutes, he thinks, and feels sleep start dragging him back down before lips touch his forehead in the softest of kisses.

Magnus’s arm tightens around his waist as he rasps, “Were you watching me sleep, Alexander?”

His tone is amused, voice hoarse from sleep and Alec grins. “And if I was?”

“Then, I’d tell you to take a picture,” Magnus laughs. “It’ll last longer.”

Drawing back, Alec raises his head to meet Magnus’s sleepy gaze. “That wouldn’t be weird at all,” Alec replies dryly. “Not only watching you sleep but taking a picture, too? You’d be filing a restraining order before I could press the shutter.”

Laughing again, Magnus just says, “As long as it’s you, darling, I wouldn’t mind.”

Alec feels warmth fill his veins at the response but before he can say anything else, Magnus closes the distance between them. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss. It’s a lovely way to start the day and Alec hopes that this is far from the last time he’ll ever wake to this. Already, he’s addicted to it, to the way it makes his heart hurt just a little at the raw affection.

“Morning,” he murmurs when they pull apart.

“Good morning, my darling.”

The two of them stare at each other for a long moment. Distantly, Alec’s glad that there’s nothing uncomfortable about the quiet. There’s no place he’d rather be than right here next to Magnus and as his eyes study his boyfriend, Alec knows Magnus feels the same.

It’s nice. Different and something that he’s still getting used to, but Alec’s trusted his gut as long as he can remember and he can’t help but think that this is just the beginning.

Wryly, he realizes that he’s thought that about every first he’s shared with Magnus but it still rings true and he wonders if he’ll always feel like this, like there’s so much potential just waiting to be tapped.

Sweeping his hand down Alec’s back, Magnus asks, “How’d you sleep?”

His eyes have fallen shut and his voice is languid. He looks comfortable and at ease in a way that Alec finds irresistible.

“Like a damned baby,” Alec replies. “I wonder why,” he teases and shivers a little as Magnus’s hand drops down to the curve of his ass.

Humming, Magnus innocently offers, “Maybe it was the sheets. They’re Egyptian cotton, you know.”

Alec snorts. “Or maybe it was who I was with,” he says softly.

At that, Magnus’s eyes open and Alec’s breath catches as they catch the light. Turning golden, they’re full of everything he’s ever wanted.

He brings a hand up, sweeping his thumb over the corner of Magnus's eyes. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

Kissing Magnus feels at once like comfort and lightning. It doesn’t get old and Alec lets himself sink into the feeling, into the heat that licks up his spine as Magnus’s mouth opens for him.

They kiss lazily, content at the slow pace that’s like honey dripping through his veins. They’d fallen asleep after the last round of sex last night and hadn’t felt the need to throw on clothes. Moving closer, Alec feels Magnus against him in all the right places and hums into the kiss.

Breaking apart for air, the two of them grin at each other. Rolling onto his back, Magnus hides a yawn behind his hand.

“Looks like someone tired you out last night,” Alec says cheekily and Magnus mockingly glares at him.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Raising onto one elbow, Alec arches a brow as he asks, “Oh?”

Narrowing his eyes, Magnus runs a hand over Alec’s chest, down his arm. “I take my beauty sleep very seriously, I’ll have you know. It takes one hell of a temptation to make me sacrifice it.”

Alec lets himself be pulled down as Magnus murmurs against his lips, “You’re worth it though, darling.”

The next kiss has a bite to it that has Alec moaning as Magnus arches into him. He’s just getting into it when Magnus abruptly pulls back and slides out from under him until he’s sitting up, throwing his legs over the bed to set his feet on the floor.

Falling onto the bed, Alec groans and buries his head in Magnus’s pillow. Smelling the shampoo they’d used last night only slightly mollifies him.

The sheets pool around Magnus’s waist as he stretches his arms over head. Turning his head, Alec watches as the light plays over taut muscles, over the long line of Magnus’s back.

Jesus Christ, he thinks dizzily. How lucky he is to be able to witness such a sight.

“Why’d you stop,” Alec asks and tries to ignore the whining note in his voice. Alec loved morning sex-- even if he didn’t get much of it-- and things had been looking very promising before Magnus pulled back.

Looking over his shoulder, Magnus’s eyes are laughing as he replies, “You might be cute enough to ruin my sleep schedule but I refuse to let you mess with my morning routine.”

Intrigued, Alec reaches a hand out and runs it over Magnus’s back, fascinated as he feels muscles flex under him. “And what’s your morning routine?”

Standing, Magnus bends over and grabs the pair of underwear he’d discarded last night. Stepping into them, he looks at Alec and says, “I spend half an hour every morning practicing yoga on my balcony when the weather permits.”

Sparing a quick glance at the clock, Magnus continues, “Luckily, we woke up before my alarm and I don’t have to be on campus for a few hours. I have a feeling you’re going to add time to my routine,” he finishes dryly.

“Hey,” Alec exclaims. “Don’t blame me if I’m just too irresistible.” Throwing a hand over his eyes, he dramatically says, “I could do yoga if I had you for a teacher.”

He feels the bed dip before Magnus straddles him, pulling his arm away from his face. He peers down at Alec with a contemplative expression. “I do believe that I offered to show you some moves a while ago, didn’t I?”

Sweeping his hands over Magnus’s thighs, Alec looks up at him. “Seriously? I’m probably really terrible at it,” he admits.

Magnus leans over until he can cage Alec in. Looking down, he grins a little and Alec’s briefly terrified.

“I’m sure I can show you the basics,” Magnus says, voice low. His eyes wander over Alec, lingering on his chest, sweeping over his abs. “I do love a willing student.”

“Consider me all yours, then,” Alec replies, breathless.

Like the magic words have been uttered, Magnus is suddenly standing beside the bed, tilting his head towards the living room. “I’ll meet you on the balcony,” he says as he takes a step towards the door.

His gaze runs over Alec as he takes another step. “I do hope you put something on though, darling, or this lesson might be over before it starts.”

With that, he turns and leaves without a backwards glance. Heaving out a sigh, Alec turns boneless against the sheets as he stares up at the ceiling and wonders what he’s just gotten himself into.

Reaching for the phone he’d tossed on the nightstand last night, he sees the usual notifications and a text message from both Luke and Jace that makes him laugh even as he rolls his eyes.

Izzy told me you were going to fight for your man. Good luck bro!!

Alec, I hope you know better than to pay attention the media. Let me know if you need anything.

Not wanting to throw a bigger wrench into Magnus’s routine, Alec scrubs his hands over his face, tossing his phone onto the sheets and heads to the bathroom quickly, slipping into a pair of sweats Magnus had given him yesterday.

He comes out into the living room and looks toward the French doors only to freeze. Magnus had already started and Alec couldn’t name the position to save his life but it was definitely filling his head with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

Maybe this won’t be so bad, he thinks.

Padding out, it’s remarkably warm for so early in the morning. The humidity isn’t quite as suffocating as it will be later on and it’s actually quite pleasant.

Magnus hears him approach and straightens as he regards Alec critically.

“What,” Alec asks defensively.

“Just wondering what you’re capable of,” Magnus replies absently before he moves closer.

The next hour is one of the best and worst of Alec’s life. Magnus shows him several positions that make his muscles scream in protest and he can’t help but roll his eyes every time Magnus just chirpily replies, “I’m only showing you beginner’s yoga, Alexander.”

Sweat is pouring down his back and he’s breathless while Magnus makes minute adjustments to his posture, looking cool as a cucumber. He has a second mat that he rolls out next to Alec’s and they go through a dozen poses at a snail’s pace that still seems a little too fast to Alec.

“This is Downward-Facing Dog,” Magnus says, voice a little muffled as he’s not looking at Alec.

“I know,” Alec says curtly, and hopes that Magnus doesn’t see just how much his arms are shaking.

He hears Magnus straighten and then there are hands on him, smoothing over his back to straighten it out.

Magnus cops a feel, and Alec huffs out a laugh as he surreptitiously adjusts his stance. “Not helping, babe.”

“Well, you can’t blame a man, Alexander. Not when he’s so close to a body like yours.”

Alec barks out a laugh and tries to ignore how winded he sounds when he replies, “Are you kidding me? I feel like a newborn deer and you look like you just rolled off the cover of a Yogi Magazine.”

Sighing, Magnus urges Alec to standing with an expression that Alec refuses to classify as pitying. “I’ve been practicing yoga most of my life, Alexander. I’ve been teaching it for ten years. You’re incredibly fit but yoga works muscles that most people don’t even know they have. For a beginner, you’re not the worst student I’ve ever had,” he ends with a grin, throwing a wink to Alec when he looks up, offended.

They move into tree pose, facing each other and Alec keeps balance with gritted teeth. “How did you get into yoga, anyway,” he asks, hoping a distraction will keep him from crying at holding the position for however long Magnus demands.

He sees Magnus’s expression fall before he clears his throat. Alec does his best to look encouraging as he feels sweat drip down the side of his face.

Taking a deep breath, Magnus cautiously explains, “As you know, my mother died when I was very young. I barely remember her. However, she was a yogi and after she passed, my father-- Asmodeus taught me. It was his way of remembering her and it was a bonding experience for us. We went to a class every Saturday morning and as I grew older, I learned to enjoy yoga as more than just a way to remember my mother. I like the way it clears my head and makes me slow down and it’s a hell of an exercise.”

Magnus finishes rather abruptly and looks at Alec as though he’s concerned about his reaction. Dropping from the tree pose, Alec steps closer and takes Magnus’s face in his hands, kissing him gently on the mouth.

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he says softly. “Thank you for sharing.”

Magnus’s gaze warms and he kisses the corner of Alec’s mouth. “Thank you for being someone that I wanted to tell. I’ve never shared that with anyone else, you know.”

After that, their focus is shot to hell and they spend a while messing around. Magnus shows Alec some more advanced moves and Alec learns a few more poses that are barely concealed excuses for Magnus to feel him up.

He’s on the ground, Magnus on his knees between his legs to ostensibly correct his form, both of them laughing, when they hear insistent knocking on the front door.

Curious, they look at each other before dread washes over Alec. Paparazzi.

Magnus must have the same thoughts because his face falls, eyes closing and shoulders slumping, defeat washing over him.

“Fuck,” Alec swears. Sitting up, he wraps a hand around Magnus’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Opening his eyes, Magnus shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Alexander. This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Still,” Alec insists. “They have no right to intrude on your privacy like this.”

They both stand and make their way to the door. Alec makes it there first, ready to unleash hell, when he looks through the peephole only to do a double take.

“Shit.”

He ignores Magnus’s curious expression as he unlocks the door and throws it open, only to immediately get out of the way when Lydia storms in.

“I don’t care what the hell you’ve been doing but I can’t believe you had the audacity to ignore me,” she fumes, turning on her heel when she gets to the edge of the foyer.

Alec rubs a hand along the back of his neck, skin flushing. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Lydia just looks at him incredulous. “Sorry? That’s all you have to say? We spend all day yesterday planning damage control and we agree that you’ll call me in an hour to tell me to go forward with the press releases and then you don’t? And then you reject my goddamn phone calls? What the hell, Alec?”

Wincing, Alec clears his throat as he glances at Magnus. “Before we get into that, why don’t I make introductions. Lydia, this is Magnus, my boyfriend,” he offers with a stupid, little grin. He nods in Lydia’s direction. “Magnus, this is my manager, Lydia.”

Looking remarkably composed for being caught in his underwear, Magnus extends a hand and smiles. “Good morning, my dear.”

Lydia, for her part, looks unsure as she slowly reaches out to shake Magnus’s hand. “Good morning.”

Taking a step back, she studies them both and Alec suddenly wishes that he’d looked in the mirror this morning. He can only imagine what he looks like.

“I suppose a congratulations are in order,” she says dryly.

Clearing his throat, Alec just says, “As you can see, we worked things out.”

“Yes, I see that.”

Lydia’s focus shifts to Magnus and Alec will give his boyfriend points-- he looks patently unconcerned when Alec knows for a fact that men have been known to shrivel under her sharp gaze.

“So, you’re the boyfriend.”

Arching a brow, Magnus looks bemusedly at Alec as he replies, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Lydia crosses her arms over her chest before she relents with a sigh, gaze warming. “It’s nice to meet you, Magnus.” She nods at Alec. “This one couldn’t get anything done yesterday, he was so focused on you. Anyone who can make Alec lose focus must be a hell of a man.”

At that, Magnus smiles, ducking his head. “The feeling is mutual, dear, I assure you.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she drawls.

Clapping her hands together once, Lydia points a stern finger in Alec’s direction. “Don’t think that this gets you off the hook.” Her voice softens as she replies, “But I am glad that everything worked out.”

Turning to Magnus, Lydia says, “I can’t wait to get to know you better but I’m afraid that this isn’t a social call.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Alec says and takes the slap on his shoulder with grace.

“I’ve had calls from dozens of news outlets and everyone wants to be the first to get an exclusive. I need to know how you want to play this.”

Humming, Alec shares a look with Magnus, hooking an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

“What do you want to do, babe,” he asks. “Lydia and I drafted a few press releases but I refused to release anything until I’d talked to you.”

“What do the drafts say?”

Lydia opens her bag and pulls out a folder, holding a sheaf of papers out to Magnus.

Magnus takes them and reads through the few pages, frowning in thought. Finally, he nods.

“These work,” he says slowly. “They confirm our relationship without giving undue details away.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to force you to do anything. I am completely okay with whatever you want to do.”

Magnus sends a chastising look in Alec’s direction. “I think it’s a bit too late to keep tight-lipped, don’t you? A bit like closing the barn door too late and all that.”

His gaze drops to Alec’s mouth as he murmurs, “I told you last night that you’ve got me and I meant it. I think it’s time we dealt with things, darling.”

“Together,” Alec says softly.

“Together,” Magnus echoes.

With a last searing look, Alec turns to address Lydia. “Let’s go with draft one. That gives the least detail away, just confirms that Magnus and I are in a relationship and have been friends for a little while. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great. Would have sounded even better last night, but what can you do,” Lydia mutters as she unlocks her cell phone.

Laughing, Alec just shakes his head before a thought occurs to him. “Do I have permission to post?”

Lydia looks up with an arched brow. “Since when have you needed my permission for that? Don’t think I didn’t notice your cryptic tweets the past few weeks.”

Alec shrugs. “Just wanted to stay on your good side.”

Lydia chuckles a little as her thumbs fly over the screen. “Whatever,” she says under her breath.

“Anything else I need to know? You interrupted a nice morning.”

Rolling her eyes, Lydia absently replies, “Just don’t forget that you have a flight at 10pm tonight and we’re good, Lightwood.”

He feels Magnus tense beside him and grimaces. “Then, I guess I’ll see you this afternoon?”

Nodding, Lydia spends a few last seconds composing an email before she looks up with a bright smile. “We have that meeting with Institute and they’re expecting good news. Tell me we have good news, Alec.”

Resolutely not looking at Magnus, Alec just says, “We have great news and I’m hoping by the time I see you that it’ll change into amazing news.”

“Great.”

Nodding once, Lydia pats them both on the shoulder and leaves without another word, leaving the loft quiet in her wake.

“How did she even find me,” Magnus asks as he looks at the closed door.

“She has her ways,” is all Alec can say and Magnus doesn’t push.

“I’m sorry she just barged in here,” he says after a few seconds.

Blowing out a breath, Magnus moves until he’s standing in front of Alec. “At least I’ve finally met the woman that keeps everything running smoothly.”

Laughing a little, Alec wraps his arms around Magnus’s waist. “I’d be lost without her," he says gravely.

Magnus lays his hands on Alec’s chest, nails scratching softly at the hair there before he catches Alec’s eyes. “So, you’re going somewhere tonight?”

Wincing, Alec nods. “I was going to tell you last night but, well, things happened and it didn’t seem appropriate. I planned to let you know before I left this morning,” he admits.

Humming, Magnus looks thoughtful. “How long will you be gone?”

“A week or so. I’m hitting a few other countries, too.”

“And it’s all going to be press about us?”

Hedging, Alec debates but finally admits, “I might be releasing new music pretty soon.”

Magnus’s eyes widen before he grins, hugging Alec tightly for a moment. When he pulls back, his eyes are shining.

“That’s wonderful, Alexander! I’m happy to hear that you’re not plagued by writer’s block anymore.”

Smiling wide enough to hurt, Alec says, “I don’t know what happened, but my sessions have been really productive the past few weeks. I have a meeting with my label this afternoon for a progress report and I’m hoping to have a single ready to premiere.”

“I’m so proud of you, Alec,” Magnus says softly. “I know when we first met that you were really worried about your career, but it looks like everything’s resolved itself?”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees lowly. “Something must have just changed.”

He’s not quite ready to tell Magnus exactly what’s changed-- he’s still worried about coming across as too strong and surely telling one’s very recent boyfriend that he’s the reason for the career change would be startling, to say the least-- and so he just smiles and pulls Magnus in for a kiss that starts deep and makes desire curl low in his gut.

They break apart a moment later, both smiling too much for the kiss to continue and Alec rests his head against Magnus’s forehead, focusing on his breathing.

“Do you have work soon,” he asks, voice just above a whisper.

Magnus’s tone is apologetic as he replies, “Unfortunately, my darling, I do. But I do believe I have time for a shower.”

Alec opens his eyes to see Magnus looking at him, invitation in his eyes.

“As long as you don’t blame me when you have to sprint to campus.”

Laughing, Magnus pulls him in for a smacking kiss on the mouth. “Something tells me that it’d be worth it.”

Magnus takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom. They’re stripping out of their clothes when a thought occurs to Alec.

“Are you sure you’re okay to teach, babe?” His voice is cautious as he continues, “I don’t want to overstep, but the press have almost certainly found out where you work. You might be walking into a minefield at Columbia.”

He sees Magnus grimace before he admits, “I might have taken yesterday off. I saw a magazine cover as I was walking to my office-- that's how I found out-- and an intrepid reporter called my office line in the morning. I decided to cancel classes and lick my wounds here all day before you showed up.”

Alec opens his mouth but before he can, he’s silenced with a warning look. “Everyone’s entitled to an off day, darling.” Magnus takes a bracing breath. “However, I thought a lot yesterday and I can’t hide forever-- I don’t want to hide forever.”

He gestures between the two of them. “This, us, isn’t going away and I would much prefer to face the music than keep hiding.”

“Is your position okay?”

Waving that away, Magnus turns toward the shower to turn the water on. “I’m the Chair of the History Department, Alexander, not to mention tenured. I’ll be just fine. Book sales next year might even be better than imagined,” he says under his breath, rueful.

Deciding that the water’s warm enough, he steps into the shower and Alec follows in the next second. Magnus is standing under the spray, head tilted up, when Alec wraps arms around him from behind.

He kisses the side of Magnus’s neck before moving his mouth to his ear. His voice is a hoarse murmur as he says, “I just want to make sure that you know what you’re getting yourself into, Magnus. This life isn’t easy and I can’t shield you from it, not as much as I’d like. I don’t want this to blow up in your face.”

Turning in Alec’s hold, Magnus wraps an arm around his shoulder as the other hand goes to his cheek, sweeping over the stubble that’s grown through the night.

“This is our moment, Alexander. This is when we face the wolves at the door. You make me happy and nothing will change that-- least of all some damned reporters who just want their next meal ticket. I’m older than I was that first time and I’m stronger. They won’t get the best of us, darling. I won’t let them.”

Alec listens intently at Magnus’s response and takes a shuddering breath. The press have always been the boogeyman in this relationship of theirs. Alec doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling guilt for bringing them to Magnus’s door but he can’t keep clinging onto them. Smiling, Alec feels something in him crack open before the tension leaves him.

He needs to trust Magnus-- trust in this thing they’re building, brick by brick, and trust in the man who’s never been anything but everything.

“Okay, then,” he says, voice sure. “We’re doing this.”

Magnus nods once. “We’re doing this,” he echoes and the words barely leave him before Alec’s kissing him to within an inch of his life.

Something about this kiss feels deeper, more intense. It’s finally sinking in that Magnus isn’t running in the other direction. Last night wasn’t a fluke, a last ditch effort.

It was the beginning that Alec was hoping for and all he can do now is surrender to the feelings that seem to sweep over him.

Their shower runs absurdly long and it’s almost an hour later before they’re dressing-- with Alec throwing on the clothes he’d arrived at Magnus’s in last night.

In the kitchen, they’re enjoying a cup of coffee when Magnus looks at him, something teasing in his gaze.

“What,” Alec asks, amused and fond and a dozen other emotions besides, all of them light enough to float.

“You did ask Lydia about posting on social media, didn’t you?”

Realizing where Magnus is going with this, Alec grins.

He can’t help himself from searching his boyfriend’s eyes though and he realizes when he sees nothing but calm certainly in that beautiful gaze.

“I did,” he says slowly and reaches for his phone that hovering in the red.

Magnus watches him, eyes shining, and brings his mug up to his mouth for a quick sip. Without warning, Alec brings the camera up and snaps a picture.

Laughingly protesting, Magnus reaches for Alec. The two of them look at the picture and Alec feels something settle into place at the sight of Magnus looking at him over his coffee with laughing eyes.

“On our terms,” he murmurs and Magnus nods before kissing Alec’s temple.

“Let’s do this.”

With that last agreement, Alec debates for a second on a caption before he’s posting the picture to Instagram and Twitter.

Magnus and him finish their coffee as they read through his notifications. Laughing, he sees that Izzy and, surprisingly, Raphael are among the first to like it, both deciding to leave comments that Alec and Magnus read with raised brows.

Those are definitely going to add gasoline onto an already roaring fire.

It’s about time, Alec! I’m so happy for the two of you!

Dios mio, it’s about time you two got your head out of your asses and let the public know.

They read through comments and while there are some negative ones-- which Alec tries to hide from Magnus to no avail-- most are, perhaps surprisingly, overwhelmingly positive.

“Oh, look at this one,” Magnus says idly. “Bagell warns you that I’m just a dastardly professor using you to gain early access to your next album.”

Alec laughs as Magnus turns to him with an arch look. “That is a huge advantage, isn’t it,” he marvels in faux surprise, hope in his tone.

Shaking his head, Alec just says, “Not a chance, babe. Artistic temperament and all that-- no one listens to my albums early except the production team and my label.”

“Not even Jace or Isabelle?”

“Especially Izzy or Jace,” Alec says dryly. “I like things to be a surprise.”

“We’ll see about that,” Magnus says in a low voice and Alec already knows that he’ll be letting him listen to Feel Something before its official release.

No reason to tell him that, though, Alec figures and pulls his boyfriend close for a lingering kiss. “Nice try,” he whispers into the space between their mouths.

“I do try,” Magnus replies demurely and Alec laughs a little as they trade chaste kisses.

Before long, it’s time for Magnus to head to campus and Alec has a full slate.

They stand from the counter, but neither one is quite ready to move away.

“So, I won’t see you for a little while?”

Alec studies Magnus’s face for a silent moment before softly replying, “I’m afraid not, babe. Lydia was lucky enough to score some spots on a few popular radio and talk shows and I’m doing a few small gigs. I need to be visible right now, as much as I just want to stay here with you.”

Magnus’s mouth quirks up. “You charmer, you,” he murmurs and sighs, resting his head against Alec’s neck, nosing along the marks he’d made the night before.

“It’s just a week and then I’ll be back in the city and all yours,” Alec says. There’s a part of him that hates to leave Magnus but it’s been a couple months since his tour ended and he’s started feeling the familiar itch between his shoulders.

Alec loves performing and doesn’t think anything could make him stop. While he’ll be leaving behind more than he ever has before, he can’t deny that he’s excited to do press and perform. It’s his lifeblood and he can only hope that this small taste of Alec’s career-- a test run before a real tour-- doesn’t make Magnus run for the hills.

Thoughts fracturing as Magnus pulls back, Alec’s relieved to see his boyfriend looking only a little disappointed. “What are the chances I’ll get a phone call sometime during this very busy week of yours?”

“I’d say pretty good,” Alec replies with a grin and the world’s fondness in his eyes.

The two of them relax in the quiet of Magnus’s apartment. Alec imprints this moment onto his memory and lets himself take a deep breath.

Sooner than he’d like, the two of them are leaving the loft. Thankfully, the press haven’t found Magnus’s apartment yet and they head their separate ways with a grin and a lingering gaze that’s warm as honey.

Alec walks towards his recording studio and takes out his phone. He opens Instagram and walks distractedly through the constant thrum of people, gaze glued to the picture he’d posted of Magnus with a simple caption that felt like the shot of a starting gun.

Together.

[celestialholz]

Qcard 222? Pleeeeeeeeeease? :D

Happy to oblige, dear anon - thank you for the prompt! I apologise for this taking me a little bit - I’m trying to organise moving house, which is an absolute ordeal!

Welcome to 1600 words of feels for your patience, my friend, and the deliberate misdirection of what you’d probably expect from this prompt. I thoroughly enjoyed creating this, and hope you love reading it just as much! =)

22. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Prompt list here: http://celestialwarzone.tumblr.com/post/179662102941/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you

It was blissfully quiet in Picard’s quarters; soft breath was all thatcut through the air, the sleeping Captain’s mind at utter ease. By his side, Q’slips curled into a silent smile; it was majestic to watch this ineffable humanat peace, his diplomacy, quick wit and brilliant intelligence switched off byhis own biology. Jean-Luc Picard soared above his species, courageous enough tobegin affairs with gods, stubborn enough to keep such matters private from hiscrew, and far too delightful to watch in their afterglow.

He wasn’t welcome after hours, he knew – “I wouldn’t want you to getthe wrong impression, Q,” he’d murmured several weeks earlier, everthe diplomat. Too late, dearest, Q had acknowledged, onlyslightly bitter – the man was far too enthralling to ever be truly irritatedby, and he was vastly too enamoured to maintain the illusion of being so. Itwas an arrangement of convenience, a way in which to satiate the entity’sconstant desire to play god upon his vessel. It didn’t mean anything – well,not to one of them, at least.

Made something ofa rod for your own back there, didn’t you? His subconsciousdrawled. A billion lifetimes of cosmic awareness, and you still thought thatengaging in intercourse with a transient mortal you’re in love with was amagnificent idea. And you mock theirstupidity.

Q sighed wearily, in desperate need of a distraction from his personalself-deprecation; quietly, he slipped into the dreams of his lover, knowingthat whilst it was invasive, Jean-Luc would hold no great qualms with the act.

Picard was relaxed, sun beating down upon his handsome features from aworn sun lounger that perched upon the hill above his family’s vineyard. Qglanced down at him in fond amusement, vexed.

“Honestly, Johnny – who dreams of being asleep?”

The Frenchman’s eyes wrenched open within his own mind, startled.

“Q?” He demanded in bewilderment. “What on earth – is thistelepathy? Am I still asleep? What are you doing here?!”

“Yes, yes, being intrigued,” the deity replied softly, smirking. “Doyou want me to leave?”

The ‘get out’ lingered on Picard’s tongue for a long moment,before he gave a sigh of relent.

“As long as you don’t intend to be irritating, and I get the requiredrest, then no.” He shoved his spine into the back of the lounger, calming. Hismind hummed with disapproval, accepting nevertheless, and Q basked in itstangible glow; the sun held real warmth in the mysticism of the mental space,the experience as true to its beholder as the actual world would have been.

“I shall be a paragon of virtue, my dear,” the entity assured himmildly, conjuring a recliner of his own and easing into it.

“First time for everything,” Picard drawled, unconvinced.

Q gave a silent grin, summoning a frosted glass of iced tea to sip;they basked in silence for a little while, simply enjoying the ambience of aFrench summer, the god fully absorbed in the tantalising, indistinct psyche ofhis companion. It was a marvel, the resonant peace he’d managed to acquire justbeing beside him – any real period of inactivity had always had Q itching todiscover something new, to create havoc, yet he was entirely content to existquietly beside this enigma of a human.

Missionaccomplished, he noted miserably. Sleeping with me haseradicated my desire to entertain your precious crew.

“You hated this place,” he murmured, more to hush his damning owndamning assessment. “Why would you return to it in dreams, when the universe isyour oyster? You are as omnipotent as I am, here.”

Picard’s lips pursed pensively, smile fading as quickly as it hadarisen.

“Saudade,” he murmured. “Something lost, which can never bereclaimed – in this instance, a time when things weren’t always perfect, butfar simpler.”

Oh, I remember,Q mused inwardly, only his mastery of telepathy keeping his thoughts personalin his lover’s domain. I only wish I’d recall well enough to abandon you –but, then, I never was one for self-preservation. Too dramatic, you see.

“Mm,” he muttered noncommittally, simply to fill the void.

Picard rose a surprised brow at the lack of quirky reply, gauging thesituation for a moment.

“I doubt my need for relaxation this evening stems from anything that Ishould be overly concerned about.”

“No?” Q summoned a cushion for the back of his head, placing it in afluid movement as he tried to appear as though he didn’t hang permanently offthe man’s every word.

“I think not. I’m sure the individual that I have appealed to is on thesame page as I am.”

Q turned onto his side to stare, following the line of cryptic thoughtwith equal vagueness.

“Well, hopefully. I could check, if you like? It would hardly be beyondme.”

“No, no, it will be quite alright, I’m certain.” Picard’s gaze returnedto the ambling vineyards. “I just don’t understand, you see, becausethey knew the whole time. I was never anything other than upfront.”

Something very similar to foreboding crept up Q’s spine.

“Perhaps they do know,” he murmured, “though, of course, knowing doesn’tmake something personally applicable.”

“Doesn’t agreement?”

“Potentially. That rather depends on who we’re discussing, doesn’t it?”

Picard’s eyes wrenched back to his, their irritation clear.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, when you think I don’t notice.” Hiswords were little more than a whisper, though they held the sharpness ofmidwinter. “Like I’m comprised of, of… stardust, of the finest jewels… asthough I’m something – wonderful.”

Q gave a bark of a bitter chuckle, gaze taut, his tea cast aside with aswipe of his hand.

“You mortals are so obtuse,” he murmured, deliberately glancing away,the vines before him blurring just slightly. “You spend so much of your livesdealing with the physical, the tangible to your limited senses, that you forgethow much more there is, that there are things far beyond your comprehension.You’re human, Jean-Luc – oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, calcium, a handfulmore; seventy percent water, five foot nine, French… really quite dull, by yourpeople’s standards, though highly intelligent, and rather handsome to boot. Youlive an average life, on an average vessel, in a largely uninteresting timeperiod – by rights, you shouldn’t fascinate anyone, much less a god.”

He conjured a holographic star system, a miniature Captain floating atits heart, a bright smile gracing his lips. The real thing watched, entranced,unwilling to give away a damned thing.

“But we’re all more than the sum of our parts, aren’t we dear?” His ownsmile was tired as he regarded the hologram. “You’re brilliantly clever, morethan willing to stand up someone so beyond your capacity it’s laughable… yourise above the morons you exist beside. A diplomat, a man of honour, wisdom,passion… you are wonderful. You match me word-for-word, never bore me, alwaysprove a challenge – and you care, on whatever level it may be. You askme how my day’s been when I don’t even have a concept of linear time, how theContinuum’s doing. No one does that, you know. I’m acquainted with billions,Jean-Luc, and none of them mean a damned thing in comparison. Innumerate stars,planets, phenomena, people, timescales, and it all reduces to you.”

The tiny cosmos retracted to nothingness in Q’s palm, leaving the simulatedCaptain alone, still regarding his magician as though he was the world. Picardstared, breathless, his relaxing dream quite forgotten.

“My point is, you’re the tiniest pinprick of existence – you aren’t anewly formed sun, an unexplored M-class system, the first inklings of a highlyadvanced race upon an untouched world… physically, you’re worthless.”

He smiled morosely, trembling fingers causing his illusion to flicker;his eyes finally deigned to meet his lover’s, burning with emotion.

“But by the Continuum, and all we are, you are the universe tome.”

Picard choked back tears, visibly compromised.

“I…” He swallowed quietly, struggling to regain his usually impeccablecomposure. “This was never meant to – I told you – ”

“Oh, I know.” Q shook his head just slightly, the lament clear. “If ithelps, it isn’t your fault, Jean-Luc. You really were perfectly upfront.”

He paused, essence threatening to shatter, gaze drilling into the human’s.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” Picard murmured immediately, understanding that the offer wasn’tunique to his dream, “but I need… time, Q. Perhaps the concept of the cosmoshasn’t only narrowed for you, my friend.”

A thrill shot through the god’s spirit, and he barely suppressed abeam, instead settling for a soft smile – gods only knew he didn’t wish toappear smug.

“Alright.” He breathed softly, delight curling through his spirit. “Igenuinely didn’t think –”

“Nor me, but apparently you’ve somehow wormed your way in,” Picardadmitted dryly, warm expression belying his caustic tone. “I’m… willing toconsider the notion, Q, but that’s all I can offer as yet. There will be rules,of course –”

“Naturally.” The sarcasm held no bite whatsoever, distant starsexhausting their chemical supply under his joy. “It is you, after all.”

Their gazes drifted to the vineyard, both comfortably silent for a longmoment even as the question itched at Q’s mind.

“So, Captain, how long do you think –?”

“Q,” Picard interrupted coolly, “shut up. I’m trying tosleep.”

He leaned back against the lounger and closed his eyes, his loverlaughing softly.

“There isn’t anyone else in this universe I’d stay quiet for, you know.”

An eyelid partly opened, its look humbled – the cynical, desperatelyhopeful part of Q could almost call it tender.

“I’m glad.”

By mutual agreement, they reached out a hand, lacing them together,grins identical as they simply basked in the ambience of rural France, and thecontentment of being united.

[maculategiraffe]

won’t you meet me at the gates to the garden

Little snippet: Nora and the gang, at the Castle, Halloween night. ~1500 words, and a lot of that is quotes from The Canterville Ghost. 

Happy Halloween, my darlings.

They can’t celebrate Halloween the way she remembers it, back in Sanctuary Hills, or before that, when she was a kid.  Dressing up in fancy store-bought costumes, based on TV and movie and radio superheroes: Grognak, the Silver Shroud, Mistress of Mystery.  Nora remembers going as a cat, a cowgirl, a witch, a hippie in thrift-store bell-bottom jeans and a peace sign painted on her cheek.  More nervous than excited, holding out a pillowcase or a pail for a neighbor to drop something into.  

She didn’t like how you weren’t supposed to say please.  Trick or treat, as if you might do something bad to people who didn’t placate you with candy.  She didn’t like that idea as a kid.  Still doesn’t.

Now Shaun’s the only kid around of trick-or-treating age, and he’s not the type to enjoy filling a sack with sugary treats at others’ expense, anyway.  He’d rather run around distributing any available treats to his brothers and sisters, and the other settlers at the Castle.

He’s enough like Nora that he doesn’t much like the idea of disguises, either.  Monsters are too real, these days, to take pleasure in the dressing-up of someone dear and familiar as someone, or something, less so.  

And the dead are-- well, Nora doesn't believe in ghosts, not that way, not seasonally.  If Nate can be here with her, and if there isn't a good reason why he shouldn't be, then he's here a lot more often than once a year.  

(She hopes he isn't.  She hopes he's with Shaun-- their first Shaun-- in heaven.  He believed in heaven, completely.  She's about fifty-fifty.  But if there is one, Nate's definitely there, and she can't imagine whoever's in charge wouldn't let him have his son with him.)

This time of year, she thinks more about the war, the bombs falling.  Ghosts, kind of, but not the fun, spooky kind.

But this year they’ve carved jack-o-lanterns, out of gourds and winter melons, scooping out the seeds to roast with a little salt and a little oil, carving cheerful, jagged-toothed moon faces and setting candles inside.  She was just going to show Shaun how, but then everyone else wanted to join in too.  After tonight-- after a night of bright faces all over the courtyard, grinning and spilling light-- she'll gather the gourds and melons and cook them, so the meat of them doesn't go to waste.  

It's Dee's turn to read aloud tonight, and he’s picked Oscar Wilde's "The Canterville Ghost.”  He’s reading outside instead of in the library, so they can all enjoy the jack-o-lanterns, for the little time they last.  The night's cool, but not cold; her kids curl against each other, for warmth and for love.  Shaun sits in her lap. Hancock's arm rests on her shoulders.  A real lantern, not a jack-o- one, lights the page, and Dee's face, in that spooky, atmospheric campfire way.  Dee has such a great voice for reading.  It's low and gravelly and dramatic as he reads,

"Right in front of him he saw, in the wan moonlight, an old man of terrible aspect. His eyes were as red burning coals; long grey hair fell over his shoulders in matted coils; his garments, which were of antique cut, were soiled and ragged, and from his wrists and ankles hung heavy manacles and rusty gyves.

"'My dear sir,' said Mr. Otis"-- Dee's voice switches registers, turns prim and nasal, so that everyone's laughing even before he goes on-- "'I really must insist on your oiling those chains, and have brought you for that purpose a small bottle of Tammany Rising Sun Lubricator. It is said to be completely efficacious upon one application, and there are several testimonials to that effect on the wrapper. I shall leave it here for you by the bedroom candles, and will be happy to supply you with more, should you require it.'"

Dee switches back to the dramatic voice to continue, "For a moment the Canterville ghost stood quite motionless in natural indignation; then, dashing the bottle violently upon the polished floor, he fled down the corridor, uttering hollow groans, and emitting a ghastly green light. Just, however, as he reached the top of the great oak staircase, a door was flung open, two little white-robed figures appeared, and a large pillow whizzed past his head! There was evidently no time to be lost, so, hastily adopting the Fourth dimension of Space as a means of escape, he vanished through the wainscoting, leaned up against a moonbeam to recover his breath, and began to try and realize his position. Never, in a brilliant and uninterrupted career of three hundred years, had he been so grossly insulted."

Shaun is having a fit of the giggles in her lap, struggling to breathe.  Everyone's laughing, as Dee keeps reading, about the family that just refuses to be scared.

"He laughed his most horrible laugh," Dee reads, "till the old vaulted roof rang and rang again, but hardly had the fearful echo died away when a door opened, and Mrs. Otis came out in a light blue dressing-gown. 'I am afraid you are far from well,' she said, 'and have brought you a bottle of Doctor Dobell's tincture. If it is indigestion, you will find it a most excellent remedy.''

"Oh my God," says Victoria, laughing.  "It's Mom!"

Even Dee cracks up at that, and loses his place for a second.  Nora laughs, breathless with happiness, with her family around her, in the darkness that makes the flickering golden light so incredibly lovely.

The story takes a sadder, sweeter turn towards the end, when the daughter of the family befriends the ghost.  Dee's voice goes soft, gentle, when he does her voice: 

"'I am so sorry for you,' she said, 'but my brothers are going back to Eton to-morrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy you.'

"'It is absurd asking me to behave myself,' he answered, looking round in astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him, 'quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for existing.'

"'It is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very wicked.'"

"That sounds like Emily," says Michael, and everyone laughs again, and the story stays funny for a bit, until Dee's voice, his gruff rusty ghost-voice, changes:

"Far away beyond the pine-woods, there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.

"Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

"'You mean the Garden of Death,' she whispered.

"'Yes, death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of death's house, for love is always with you, and love is stronger than death is.'"

Nora's eyes are stinging, now.  It's Dee's voice, the tenderness and the pain in it, the yearning.  

He reads on, and little Virginia bravely helps the wicked old ghost be laid to rest, and everyone lives-- or dies-- happily ever after, and everyone is quiet for a bit.  Shaun's asleep, slumped on Nora's arm and chest.

Nora's heart is full, overflowing.  He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.

Max says, "Good stuff.  Good pick, Dee."

Dee shuts the book, as everyone murmurs agreement, and says, "Thanks.  I thought, you know-- I kinda forgot about all that heavy stuff, there at the end."

Cog says, "It was funny.  It was good."

"Thank you, Dee," says Danse gravely.  

Dee waves them off.  "Yeah, OK.  Bedtime.  For people that sleep.  Look, 2.0's already out."

The night rustles and creaks with everyone's rising, flashes as they move through light and dark.  

Nora stays still the longest, Shaun breathing in her lap.  Wondering, or imagining.

She isn’t afraid.  If they're here, the beloved dead, called by her longing, or by the thinness of the veil tonight, then they belong here, just outside this circle, making the dark gentle for the living.

And if they're not-- 

(Emily’s voice, remembered: Sleep is a sweetness, so I hear it said.)

Someday she'll be with them, wherever they are.

But no hurry.

"Here, ma'am," says Michael, reaching down.  "I'll carry Shaun to bed."

She shifts, lifts her smallest son towards her tallest, feels her husband's hand on her back, as Michael lifts Shaun's sleepy weight from her, as she begins to rise.