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louisdotmp3 · 3 years

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bless my homeland

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Eddie wishes this grief hurt him more, that he could feel it ripping into his chest. It doesn’t feel like enough, it’s never good enough. He’d watched his wife die under his own hands, before his eyes, and he’d thought of her lying in a hospital bed eight years before. Her sweat-soaked hair plastered to her forehead and her rosy cheeks. He looks at her now and she is pristine, and she’s gone. Eddie lays a hand on her arm but it’s not her, and he feels sick. He’s not sure there can be something worse than this.

He’s failing her again, he thinks. He’s always been too numb, not expressive enough. He thinks that maybe there just isn’t enough space inside him to feel as much as people deserve and he’s never known how to fix that. And now Shannon is gone and it’s still no bigger. He’s consumed but finite, and he wonders how to make himself an infinity. He wonders if he could do it, if he collapsed in on himself. He thinks about Christopher and their trips to the observatory and wonders what it would be like, to explode in such a spectacular fashion. To have a final showing that he was here and he did everything he could. To transform into something that was only space.

Chris is playing in Abuela’s backyard. It’s sunny out, it’s always sunny out. The back door is open and the sounds of the neighborhood drift in: windchimes, dogs barking, distant chatter. None of it feels real. Even the warm breeze that wafts in feels manufactured. He was standing at Abuela’s kitchen sink, just watching his son. He thinks that this is what time travel is. Eddie is about to snatch him away from this moment forever, and they’ll never be able to get back to this life. Wildly he thinks of Chris graduating one day and a sob bursts out of him because he won’t have his mother there.

“Eddito,” Abuela says, and he can’t stand how sad she sounds. It makes him want to clench his fists hard enough to bleed.

“I just,” he gasps, “I can’t do it.”

She rubs his back as he takes gasping breaths and tries to calm down. He feels like he might never breathe normally again. He almost hopes for it. He stares at the water droplets clinging to the sides of the sink and wonders how to stay here in the moment forever because every moment after this seems too big.

“I’m going to - I’m going to go out there and ruin his life,” Eddie says with shuddering breaths.

“Breathe, Eddie, please,” she says and pulls him around to face her. She sets her hands on his shoulders and looks at him with sad eyes and he’s ten years old again, at his Abuelo’s funeral.

“How do you do it?” he asks. He means, he means all of it but he also means - how did she tell people? What did she say to his father, how long did it take her to screw up the courage? He can feel himself shaking, imagining what his father felt in that moment.

“You love him, and this is part of loving him,” she says. Eddie shakes his head because that can’t be true. He’s eight years old.

Later, he goes and sits in the sunshine with his son. Chris asks him what’s wrong.

“Christopher,” Eddie starts, and he can see it in his eyes, that he knows. Can see the free-falling limbo of knowing without knowing just because Eddie can’t keep it together even a little bit, even for his son.

“Dad,” and it’s the smallest voice and he sounds scared. Eddie still doesn’t know how the words he needs to say are going to make it out of his mouth but he has to say them, he can’t leave Christopher hanging mid-air like this.

“Chris, Mom was in an accident.” All Eddie can hear is his blood pounding in his head.

His son looks up at him with watery eyes and asks, “Is she okay?”

And Eddie has to do this. He has to just say it. And when he says it, it’ll be real. His stomach swoops.

“No, mijo, she died.” His voice breaks.

This is worse, he thinks. The way Christopher folds in on himself, it’s the worst moment of his life.

Pepa takes charge of calling their parents and sisters, and Abuela is a constant presence. She puts together Christopher’s meals and sits with Eddie. Later, he’s not sure what he was doing. He must have been doing something, but it’s all just a black hole. Buck comes over the next night and tells Abuela to go and get some rest, that he’s got it tonight. Eddie numbly watches as he hugs her and tells her how sorry he is, tells her that he’ll call her in the morning. He watches as Christopher appears and Buck gets on his knees to hug him, he watches them both cry. Buck stands and scoops Christopher up, carries him to the couch, and sits next to Eddie, tucking Christopher between them.

“Hey,” Buck says.

“Hi,” Eddie says, rather pathetically.

“Have you guys eaten dinner yet?” he asks.

Eddie shakes his head. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He can’t remember the last time he was hungry. Buck reaches across the couch and rubs a hand up and down his arm like he’s trying to warm him up.

“What do you think you can eat, Eds?”

Eddie shrugs.

“How about I make pancakes and we’ll go from there,” Buck suggests.

“Okay,” Eddie says. He feels like a ghost. Usually, anything Buck says pops so brightly into his world he can feel the force of it, and now the words go right through him.

Buck turns the TV on, puts a silly cooking competition show they’d been watching lately on, and goes to cook, telling them it’ll be twenty minutes. Eddie wraps his arm around Chris and he sniffles and it feels like his heart might burst. Shannon would never get to have this again. He bites the inside of his cheek to stop the gasping sobs from coming back and thinks that it’s stupid, it’s so stupid - that someone can leave their body like that. That someone’s life can end in the middle of a breath like that. That he can’t go back, that time is ferrying him so far from her already.

He thinks that this is the closest he’ll ever be to her again. That every moment more is the new closest. He tries to breathe, he tries to focus on the colors flickering across the screen, he tries to stop the pounding in his head, but he feels trapped in his body, held prisoner in this moment.

“Chris, do you want whipped cream on your pancakes?” Buck’s head pops in the room suddenly. Christopher sniffles again and nods. “Why don’t you go ahead and do it? I don’t think I’ll put enough.”

Not needing to be asked twice, Christopher switches places with Buck. Buck sits down so gingerly next to Eddie, and he hates it. He hates being treated like glass. He would rather shatter than do whatever this was, anyway. Buck places his hand on his arm and Eddie hardly feels it.

“Eddie,” he says, soft and low. “You have to breathe. C’mon, look at me.” Eddie does. Buck takes his hand and presses it to his chest with one hand, and wraps his other around the back of his neck. He feels Buck’s thumb stroke back and forth, and he feels Buck take slow, deliberate breaths. He breathes, because Buck wants him to.

He hears Christopher coming back into the room, and can’t help but make an embarrassing strangled noise when he hugs Eddie. Buck slowly rubs his back and sits with them for a few minutes until they all calm down a little.

“Alright, Diaz’s,” Buck says, “It’s time to eat, come on.” He herds them both into the kitchen and sits them down at the island. Buck pushes Christopher’s plate of chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream toward him and assembles Eddie’s, giving him two plain pancakes with butter and syrup. He places it in front of him and hands him a fork.

Eddie just looks at it.

“Just a few bites, man,” Buck says quietly. Eddie takes a bite. The way Buck has been looking at him he wasn’t sure if he was about to reach across the table and start cutting his food up into pieces.

“Mom loved chocolate chip pancakes,” Christopher says, and Eddie doesn’t know how he’s supposed to swallow past the lump in his throat, but he finally manages it. Buck is frozen, looking at him.

“Yeah, she did,” is all Eddie can say. He had burned more than one pancake for her. And now she would never have them again. He cut another piece of his food while Buck watched.

The morning of the funeral he asks Buck to get him a pack of cigarettes. Brand? is all he texts back. Eddie says he doesn’t care and to please meet him at the church early. Of course, is what he gets in response.

The thing about it is, Eddie’s not sure if he can handle seeing Shannon’s family. He hasn’t seen them in years, and her funeral that he’s planned seems like maybe the worst place in the world to see them again. Every single decision he’d made for her, for the funeral, had tugged at his gut. She’d wanted a divorce, would she even want him to be the one doing this?

But then he thinks about his vows and thinks that maybe this is the one time he can get it right. That if this is how they part, he can finally do his best for her.

When Buck arrives Eddie slips out with him, to sit on the grass behind the church. Buck hands him the cigarettes and a lighter. Eddie tilts the pack toward him and Buck takes one, too. Eddie lights them both and takes a long drag. When he coughs Buck pulls out a bottled water and hands it to him silently.

“Think of everything, don’t you?” He takes a drink and clears his throat. He takes another drag and feels the buzz start, closing his eyes. The breeze rustling the leaves of the trees feels real today, in that aching sad and sweet way. It’s a beautiful day.

“Have a couple packs of tissues, too,” Buck says, and grabs the water from him to take a drink.

“Thanks, Buck.”

It’s only ten in the morning but this whole day has felt like he’s been running in slow motion, too fast and too slow all at once. He tries to think about how much he was dreading everyone coming over to his place after the ceremony instead of the fact that his wife’s corpse was lying in a box fifty feet away.

They smoke in silence until Buck hums and says, “We’re gonna reek.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. He finishes his off and tucks the pack and lighter in his pocket.

“How’s Chris been today?” Buck asks.

Eddie shakes his head, “Okay. I know he isn’t, but…it’s hard to tell with him, sometimes.”

Buck puts his cigarette out and smiles a little, “Yeah, well, he gets that from you.” They linger there, for a minute. Eddie pulls at the grass and Buck sits with him.

Eddie sighs. “Okay.”

Buck follows him inside.

There’s too much food.

It’s everywhere, the fridge is bursting with it and Eddie can’t stomach anything. At the very least he feels a tug of pride that his parents get to see how he has a life here, that he has people that care. He needs the food gone, and he needs his parents gone, too. Rehashing the same old fights is familiar, at least, but it’s all he has the energy for. When they leave for their hotel in the evenings Eddie sinks onto the couch and doesn’t move for hours.

Chris lays with him, mostly, the two of them tucking themselves together under a blanket. They watch Disney movies and Food Network. Eddie scrolls through messages of his friends and family and acquaintances asking if he needs anything. He never knows what to say to those. Is he supposed to thank people or can he say that there’s not a single thing in the world that he needs right now that anyone could give him? He thinks probably not, so he doesn’t reply. He feels guilty about it.

Buck has been texting him photos. Of the sunrise one morning when he’d just gotten off work, of some purple flowers he’d seen on his run, of his feet as he waited for his coffee, of himself with a dramatic pouty face and a nasty scratch above his eyebrow. He reacts with hearts to all of them but the last, which he reacts to with an exclamation point. Later, he receives a two-minute voice note of how it happened and how he really wasn’t a cat person. Eddie smiled as he listened.

A week later, he gets a text from Bobby telling him to let him know if he needs any help with the paperwork, that he’s happy to do it if Eddie wants to give him the information. Eddie calls him and asks him if he'd really do that for him.

“Eddie, of course. I can come over next week and we can start sorting through it,” Bobby says.

He tries not to cry and fails because he’s so relieved to not have to figure everything out alone. The prospect had been just another thing pressing in on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Thank you, Bobby, really,” Eddie says.

“You’re very welcome. We’re all thinking of you, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie replies. If there was one thing that had been made clear in the past week, it was that Eddie had more family here than he’d realized.

The day his parents leave, he asks Buck to come over. Christopher is already in bed when he gets there after his shift, and Eddie offers to lend him some sweats and a t-shirt mostly so that he doesn’t have to ask him out loud to stay. Buck accepts.

Eddie leads him to his room and pulls some out for him, and turns his back so Buck can change.

“Your scratch looks better,” Eddie says with his back turned.

“Hm? Yeah, it wasn’t that big a deal,” Buck says.

“Of course, which is why you sent me a monologue about your daring rescue of a mean, ungrateful cat,” Eddie says, laughing.

Buck steps around in front of him and his eyes are so soft on Eddie. “Yeah, thought it would make you smile.”

“You were right.”

“Good.”

It’s quiet, and Eddie knows it’s his turn to say something. Buck just stands there, in the middle of Eddie’s room, waiting for him. He’s steady in a way that’s comforting.

“I think I might burn the couch,” Eddie says. Buck’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Burn the couch?”

“I’ve spent so much time there the past two weeks I think it might be permanently me-shaped,” he says. He’s joking, but he’s not. He’s been thinking about it for days.

“Burning something could be cathartic,” Buck says. And then, “So should I sleep here, instead?” He’s too good at reading between the lines that Eddie wants him to, it’s probably bad to rely on Buck reading his mind to get out of using his words. And maybe he would deal with that at some point, but not tonight. Tonight they turn out the lights and slide under Eddie’s covers together and Buck curls toward him in the dark. Eddie stares at the ceiling.

“It’s just lonely,” he admits. “I miss her.”

Buck grabs his hand and squeezes it. He leaves their hands clasped together, and eventually they fall asleep like that.

“What happens now?” he asks Abuela one day, a couple of weeks later. He’d gone back to work today, and he felt a little adrift in the normalcy of it, of sitting here in Abuela’s kitchen watching her prepare dinner. He says it apropos of nothing, and the way she considers him makes him so grateful that she knows him so well, that she knows exactly what he’s asking her without him having to stumble to get more words out.

“Now things get better,” she says simply, “You keep living your life.”

“That’s it? It just…over?”

“Eddito,” she crosses the kitchen to grasp his shoulders again. He always feels like a kid when she does it, and it’s no different this time. “Things are never over. People aren’t like stories, they don’t just end. They’re a part of you. I tell jokes Abuelo told me. You sound like her when you talk about music. You live and be happy that you were told a joke so stupid you remember it twenty years later,” she laughs and Eddie does, too.

“Things get better,” Eddie says. “Huh.”

Christopher pokes his head in the doorway to ask when dinner is going to be done. Eddie’s throat squeezes a little - those were her eyes, the way his eyebrow is tilted was hers. And Abuela is right, she’s here. The evidence is all over them both, she’s tied up in who they are in ways they’ll never untangle. So Eddie believes her. She’s right about that, so things really must get better.

#grief tw #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 #911 on fox #buddie #buddie fic #it is very much pre relationship but it's also there and important i think #em.fic

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bubblyhoney · 3 years

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win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x reader #sapnap x fem!reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap fic #sapnap oneshot #mcyt imagine #bubblyhoneyfics #mcyt x you

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shokami · 3 years

Text

I HATE ALL MEN...

pairing ; megumi fushiguro x reader

word count ; 2.8k

genre ; fluff to angst. established relationship!

warning(s) ; major character death (not descriptive). mentions of blood, injuries. minor spoilers to ep nineteen.

i hate all men, but when he loves me… i feel like i’m floating...

doubling over in laughter, you held your side as you let out several gasps of air. listening to the ridiculous spout of words between itadori and kugisaki, never failed to make you crack a wheeze or two.

your bubbly sounds echoing around the room quickly caught your boyfriend’s attention. those laughs were always capable of making him stop dead in his tracks, all so he could take a mental picture of that moment. your laughter slowly died down as you turned to look over your shoulder, finding fushiguro watching from afar. he looked at you with nothing but fondness in his gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

fushiguro swore that you were the sunshine in human form. that genuine smile, and intoxicating laugh— was exactly what he would expect the sun to appear as. those were also the very things that had made him fall for you so long ago. he never spoke about it, but he was glad that being surrounded by curses, and the constant negativity invading your life, never dulled your happiness. he didn’t know what he would do without such a beaming sunshine.

“you know, i heard that staring isn’t polite.”

basking in your presence, and appearance caused megumi’s mind to momentarily drift off into an abyss of his own thoughts. so much so, that he hadn’t even noticed that you had approached him from across the training room.

“earth to megumi— hello?” you snapped your fingers in front of his face, rolling your eyes at the distant minded boy as his eyes suddenly snapped to yours “hi, yeah. there you are!”

“sorry, i was distracted.” fushiguro said simply, that same soft smile from earlier returning to his face.

to those who didn’t see him the way you did, or even to those who weren’t a part of your immediate friend group— no one saw fushiguro smile. ever. if you had to compare his daily facial expressions to someone, you’d probably say he reminded you of nanami. always straight faced, serious, and ready to get to the point. but his smile was never foreign to you.

despite the assumption to anyone else, a smile or laughter, or sense of joy from megumi was not a rare sight. in fact, it happened more and more than usual. his tormented soul began to lighten up, and feel free once more. some say it was because of you, but that wasn’t a credit you deserved to claim. not when itadori existed, and gave him the friends he deserved.

you were but a mere bonus in his life.

megumi was no stranger in displaying the fact that he fell for you based on your smile, and humor. he would tell you until he was blue in the face, but what he didn’t know was that the sight of that once rare grin is also what had you swooning in a matter of minutes.

leaning up towards his face, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek that quickly became the rosy color of the flowers outside in the garden. he was always so easily flustered, “distracted by what, hm?”

between you and megumi, neither one of you craved public displays of affection. you preferred keeping any acts of shared love just to yourselves, behind closed doors only accompanied by the soft glow of the moon.

that however, never stopped the occasional peck on the cheek, or subtle hand holding.

“what am i ever distracted by?”

“training? cursed techniques? shadow puppets?”

fushiguro snorted, “shadow puppets?”

several more giggles left your throat, sounding just the same as earlier, “yeah! you know, demon dogs… flying owl things—“

“divine dogs, and nue.” he interrupted.

“shadow puppets!”

“... shikigami.” megumi looked at you, quickly shaking his head at your antics and refusal to use his cursed techniques proper titles. “no, to all of those... i was distracted by you.”

you gasped loudly, drawing the attention of yuuji and nobara still standing across the room, “by me?! me oh my! not THE fushiguro megumi being distracted by little ‘ol me!”

yuuji and nobara bursted into a fit of laughter, enjoying the scrowl that crossed megumi’s face. though you loved him indefinitely, there was nothing more you enjoyed doing than bringing him embarrassment from your flare for dramatics.

“you’re worse than gojo, you know that?”

“worse than gojo how?” you jetted your bottom lip out, creating a fake pout.

“annoying. a nuisance. unnecessarily loud,” for what felt like the first time in your relationship, megumi took no care in sharing a moment of affection with you in the public eye as he leaned in to steal a kiss. “and a brat… but i suppose that’s why i love you.”

three words was all it took. three words and suddenly the world froze. you couldn’t see anything beyond megumi, you couldn’t hear your friends gasps’ in the background, and you struggled to exhale the breath stuck in your chest. love?

neither one of you knew love before each other, just like neither one of you dared to drop that damned four letter word until now… love terrified you. how could it not in this life? how could love not make you want to run in the opposite direction, fearing that the moment you loved— something would rip away that serenity.

“you… you love me?”

“i love you, y/n.”

another long pause.

your mind was racing, your heart beat felt like it would pulsate out of your chest at any given moment. why did the temperature skyrocket so suddenly? please don’t faint, you told yourself over and over.

surely, at this rate megumi thought he screwed everything up. did you not love him back? was the feeling not mutual? after months of being with one another, growing close, learning each other inside and out… did he read it all wrong?

“y/n, i’m sorr—“

“i love you too.”

that was the moment everything in this dark and gloomy world suddenly made sense. if you had nobody to love, what was the point of living?

megumi fushiguro may have seen you as the sun, and his never ending happiness… but he didn’t know that he was your reason for becoming that light. he would never understand the joy he brought to your dull world.

when he calls me pretty, i feel like somebody.

why is it always raining? you wondered.

to be fair, you didn’t hate the rain. you enjoyed it at times, and found peace in the sounds that came along with it; but it became a hassle when you’d have to travel across the jujutsu high campus. you cursed them for making the dorms such a distance from classes.

mentally preparing for the journey to your room, you tucked your books away into your bag to shield them from the downpour.

the onslaught of rain grew as you stepped out from the awning that protected you. an earthy smell wafted through your nostrils, filling your senses. the wetness against your skin was freezing, making goosebumps rise with each prick of the harsh rains. seconds ago you dreaded stepping out into the horrific weather, but now you stood perfectly still with your face tilted towards the sky enjoying the refreshingness.

all you could hear was the raging thunder up above, and it made you feel free. no sounds of other students could be heard, no screaming noises from the bustling city of tokyo, no ugly walling from cursed spirits. just the thunder, just your breathing, just the droplets of rain falling against the concrete and rooftops around you.

it was a beautiful moment.

which is why you dropped your bag, spread your arms as far as they could reach, and spun in the violent rainfall. the world slowed down for those few seconds.

“are you crazy?!”

your eyes snapped open as you turned to watch fushiguro rush towards you, an umbrella in hand.

“you’re going to get struck by lightning one of these days,” he picked up your bag and tossed it over his shoulder, before holding the umbrella over both of your bodies. “what the hell are you doing out here?”

smiling up at fushiguro, you stepped out from the umbrella once again with a laugh, “i’m enjoying the rain! enjoy it with me!”

you snatched the umbrella, quickly closing it and tossing it to the ground. letting all of your worries and fears fade away, you yearned to have one moment with megumi that wasn’t ripped away by the darkness of your world… one normal moment.

one normal moment where you were just kids playing in the freezing rain.

expecting him to look annoyed at your antics like usual, you were pleasantly surprised to find him matching your smile and looking at you with nothing but bliss.

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you love me,” you grinned.

“... and i love you.”

fushiguro stepped towards you, encasing his arms around your waist as he picked you up and spun you around in a circle. laughter filled the air, and you felt nothing but joy.

time froze as the two of you basked in your youth, enjoying only the company of one another and the rainstorm. it felt like an eternity before your feet met the ground once more. your hair and clothes were soaked, strands of your own hair felt plastered to your face as you giggled. megumi pushed those strands aside, and replaced them with smothering kisses.

“you look different when your hair is wet,” you told him as you pushed it all out of his eyes.

“and you look just as pretty as ever.”

ever since your relationship with megumi began, he’s slowly come further out of that shell that he placed himself in. seeing him be able to enjoy himself like this… it brought a new type of happiness.

kissing his nose quickly, you looked up at the sky as the rain finally lightened up, “you know, if i didn’t know any better i’d say i’m wearing off on you.”

“is that so?” megumi asked, picking up your bag again along with the umbrella.

“mhm! you’ve let loose more,” you huddled close to him underneath the safety of the umbrella for warmth, “finally taking back your youth.”

megumi chuckled, holding you close. “i guess i have my beautiful sun to thank for that, don’t i?”

even when we fade eventually to nothing...

everything was blurry. there was an ache spreading throughout your body, and it felt as if someone was landing a blow to your rib cage over and over again. there was barely any fight left in you, but you would continue to push forward until someone got to you. surely one of the teachers would find you soon, right? of course they would! gojo must’ve been on his way.

that’s what you thought.

it’s what you desperately wanted to believe, but as the time passed you began to think their fight had just begun. you knew what was happening back at the school, you were there when that special grade stepped out and attacked you and inumaki.

the problem was, everyone knew you weren’t strong enough to fight in that battle. inumaki knew. before you knew it, megumi’s divine dog was shoving you away as inumaki commanded you to run in the opposite direction. damn him.

you wanted to curse him for sending you away with the shikigami, but deep down you knew he was right. there were still lower level curses running around, and they needed to be dealt with… but you didn’t foresee coming face to face with mahito as he made his get away from jujutsu high.

“your friends left you all alone? what a shame.” he spoke with a bubbly laugh, watching the blood trickle down from your hairline.

you wanted to speak, you wanted to charge at him and rip him to shreds for everything he’s done. yet, all you could do was cry out in agony as you fell to your knees. every part of your body felt like it would combust into flames at any given second, you weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the sickening warmth of your blood soaking through your clothes. your eyes became heavier, struggling to focus on the laughing maniac in front of you.

the shikigami shielded you from mahito, a deep growl emitting from its body as it took a stance to protect you. the divine creature had one job, and it was to protect you when he was not with megumi; but you couldn’t stand by and watch another one of his shikigami be destroyed. not for your sake.

“return to megumi.” you reach out, your fingertips barely ghosting over it’s fur.

with a sad whine, the divine dog gave you one last look before disappearing from the air. he was safe, and that is all that mattered. he could protect megumi now, and be far away from the monster you faced.

“that demon dog could’ve been your only chance of survival, y/n!” mahito laughed again, causing you to grimace at the sound.

“divine. dog. you scum,” you made no move to try and stand, nor defend yourself. the wounds in your chest, and side were fatal and crippling. there was nothing left for you to do, other than to accept your fate.

as a jujutsu sorcerer, you are taught to live without regret. to live without fear of death. to accept it, when your time comes… but you were terrified.

what kind of cruel life was this?

this was why you did not want to love fushiguro… because every sweet thing, has a bitter end.

you couldn’t remember when your eyes had closed, or when all of the pain in your body seemed to go numb. all you knew is that when you awoke, mahito was gone. you were face to face with gojo as he carried you away from the scene.

your teacher noticed your eyes drifting open almost immediately. for the first time, you saw him look concerned. he wasn’t smiling, or laughing like usual— he looked like he was in as much pain as you felt.

“gojo…” you coughed, blood quickly filled your lungs and nearly made you collapse at the loss of breath.

“save your energy, yn.”

your eyes slowly shut once more, the willpower to survive was fleeting, “tell him… tell him i love him?”

in a whisper that you barely caught, gojo tried his best to scold you for your shitty goodbye, “you’re not going to die, you’re staying here.”

“protect him, satoru… protect them all.”

they say that when you die, you experience a flashback of your entire life in seconds. that was the worst lie you had ever heard. aside from finally escaping the pain, all you saw was a blinding flash of white and the memory of the very last kiss you ever shared with megumi…

… you will always be my favorite form of loving.

weeks after your funeral, megumi visited your grave every single day. each day, a new flower was brought from the garden of jujutsu high. the garden where he grew the nerve to ask you to be his girlfriend, the garden where you kissed for the very first time, said your first i love you, and danced in the rain as if your youth depended on it.

an array of flowers built up around your grave, and you all swore that before you knew it? megumi and nobara would have their own garden to tend to around you.

you hoped they would, and that it would bring them joy… just as you once had.

staring down at where you laid in the ground, megumi placed down the head of a single lotus flower on the front of your tombstone.

ETERNAL SUN Y/N L/N.

friend. family. student. lover.

cherished by many, adored by all.

in life, or in death, you would always be the eternal sunlight to megumi fushiguro. no matter the consequences to your spirit, you vowed to never leave his side and to always protect him and your friends.

a loyal guardian from the other side. their guide.

your spirit smiled, glancing from megumi’s tear streaked face to the sight of the moon as you placed a hand on his shoulder. being a part of the supernatural world now, fushiguro could sense your presence.

“the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” megumi mumbled to your grave, the rain pouring down around the umbrella you once shared together.

you whispered to the wind, “i can die happy…”

authors note ; this was so fun to write. this is the first thing i’ve written that’s over 1k words and posted. if megumi is ooc, mind your business </3 i’m trying to learn him as a character xoxo

reblogs are appreciated!!

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clusterfuck-misc · 3 years

Text

𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

Sub Sniper Mask x GN Dom Reader

Not my most favorite work I’ve ever written, but school’s been kicking my ass.

Yeah, he’s daddy. But he can also be baby.

Contains: Fingering, a bit of degrading

ARCHIVED POST. @clusterfuck-dom IS MY NEW BLOG.

PLEASE DO NOT SEND REQUESTS ON THIS BLOG.

If you were being honest, you had no idea what lead to this.

But here you were now; Sniper Mask straddling your lap. Belt undone and pants pulled down to his mid-thigh. Shaky gloved hands clutching on to your shoulders like it’s for dear life. A beautiful rosy color tainting his marked up neck. Quiet whimpers and moans coming through his mask.

Oh. And your fingers scissoring his entrance.

There was that, too.

Whatever the case was that got you in this situation, you were fucking enjoying it. And something told you that he was as well; his hard and weeping cock was kind of a big indicator on that. His thighs were trembling and his hole clenched around your two fingers. This caused you to scissor into his warm hole harder, making him release a choked gasp.

“Well look at that,” you thoughtfully hummed. “I didn’t realize the Sniper Mask was a giant slut.”

The masked man on your lap only let out a strangled whimper at your words. Though you couldn’t see his expression, you knew exactly what was going on beneath the smiling porcelain. Eyes screwed shut, lips parted and slightly wetted, and face flushed a brilliant red. The very thought of this sight made you want to rip his mask off — stare at his humiliated and lustful face, and making it contort into pleasure as you hit his prostate — but you refrained. Something about the mask made it even better.

Your unoccupied hand snuck under his button-up, running up and down his sides. You held back a pleased growl as the masked sniper shivered under your touch. He readjusted his grip on your shoulders and looked to the side, avoiding your sultry eyes. This caused you to quirk a brow.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Your hand travelled further up his side. “Embarrassed?”

Holding back a small moan, he seemed to hesitate on his answer. “N… No,” he finally said, voice low and shaky. “Just uninterested.”

A chortle left your lips. “We’ll see about that.”

It was then that you added a third finger. Sniper Mask let out a surprised gasp that quickly turned into a strangled moan. His head lulled back and his thighs tightened around your hips. Swear dribbled down his neck as his member leaked more precum from the red tip. You bit the inside of your cheek and smirked at the sight.

It was amazing, really. Getting the “smooth and alluring” Sniper Mask to moan just from 3 fingers seemed to be a joke, but there you were; doing just that. A surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Far from an unwelcome one, in fact. You welcomed it with open arms… and the possibilities that came with it.

“God, what a pathetic sight,” you tutted, fingers moving against his walls. “I add another finger and suddenly you’re the biggest whore I’ve ever met.”

He seemed to want to say something, but your fingers suddenly started hitting his prostate. It wasn’t a moan that left his lips; it was a cry. A scream, even. Loud pants and whines followed, making a knot of pleasure form in your stomach. You continued to attack the same spot, massaging his prostate and milking his lewd keens from him.

“How pitiful,” you growl in his ear. The masked man on your lap managed to shudder as you licked the shell of his ear. It caused you to chuckle. “So, so pitiful.”

The only response you got was more cries of pleasure (god, won’t he use his fucking words already?). Sniper Mask even began to rock his hips a bit, backing up against your fingers and steadying himself with the iron grip he had on your shoulders. “Y… Y/N…” he managed to cry out. “Y/N!!”

Then, arching his back, he came.

It was only about ten minutes of you fingering him and he already came.

His once painfully red member became flaccid again. His head lulled to the side as heavy pants came from underneath his mask. His grip even loosened and you were afraid he was going to fall off of your lap. To prevent that from happening, you wrapped your arms around his torso, bringing him close. You allowed him to rest his head on the crook of your neck as you tutted at the cum that covered your shirt. “You left quite the mess, darling,” you sighed.

For the umpteenth time, he didn’t respond.

Another sigh left your lips. “You need to learn how to use your words, you know.”

Again, he didn’t respond.

Except, this time, you got the odd feeling he didn’t on purpose.

Oh.

I see.

You let your hands trail down his sides while humming. “Well… guess I gotta make you use your words.”

Needless to say, that prompted a response out of him.

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curlynerd · 3 years

Text

What He Wants

Happy gift posting day for @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! My gift recipient is @bipridedean! She requested a Destiel, canon-adjacent fic, so here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 2.6K Rating: G Summary: 5 times Dean said "I do" and 1 time he didn’t. Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Destiel wedding

Also read it on AO3!

The first time it happens Sam is the only one to hear it. They’re alone in the bunker, surrounded by months and months of tireless research. But finally, finally, Dean thinks they’ve discovered how to get into the Empty.

Dean wants to push through the night and get a portal up and running as soon as possible. Sam insists they both go to bed, pleading with Dean that he won’t be able to concentrate on the spellwork to maintain it without at least a few hours of sleep.

Dean spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. This time tomorrow, he could have Cas back. This time tomorrow he can--Dean is almost afraid to think it, afraid that giving form to what he wants will somehow curse it and stop it from ever coming true. After all, the thing he wanted most before this was for Cas to love him back, and that didn’t exactly end rosy.

Still, as Dean finally closes his eyes, he allows himself a small, private wish. He hopes this will be the last time he falls asleep alone.

The next morning, they’re both expecting some sort of bump in the road, some rare ingredient or some missing incantation that will set them back even longer, keep Dean from seeing Cas again for God knows how long. But fortune is on their side, and Sam executes the spell flawlessly.

Dean is armed to the teeth with every weapon and protection spell they could collect on short notice. His plan for finding Cas and dragging him back home sits clearly at the front of his mind. His heart pounds in his ears, fast but steady and strong.

“You know, if this doesn’t work, you could get stuck there. I might not be able to open a new portal.” Sam looks at the pulsating mass of black that serves as the portal to the Empty. Worry is etched deeply into his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?”

Dean thinks of Cas’ face, the way he had smiled as he said he loved him. He thinks of how he was so close to having the one thing he really wanted. How Cas had wanted the same.

There’s no peace in loneliness.

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, his jaw set, his eyes determined. He’s ready to get his angel back. “Yeah. I do.”

The second time it happens, it takes Cas by surprise. It’s been a week since Dean heroically pulled the love of his life from the Empty...and also since Dean lost all remaining courage. He choked. His unspoken response to Cas’ confession is a taut tension wire between them, keeping them inches apart, words suffocating in their tightly sealed mouths, both terrified to say anything and risk breaking something that can’t be mended.

Dean hates himself for it. It’s cowardice is what it is. It’s a lifetime of desperately fighting against the things that make him vulnerable. Against wanting things. Against believing anyone could love him. Even with Cas’ confession still crystal clear in his memories, Dean doubts.

He is deep into those self-deprecating thoughts when he finds Cas in the garage, struggling to figure out how to change a flat tire on his truck from a Youtube video.

“Cas? What’re you doing?”

Cas startles and immediately hunches his shoulders in guilt. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. “Dean.” He looks down at the lug wrench in his hand, and Dean can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to concoct a cover story before he shrugs and gives up the truth. “I was trying to fix the truck.”

“You need to go somewhere? Cuz I can just drive you.” Dean’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. Cas wouldn’t need to sneak around for a little errand.

Cas shakes his head and confirms Dean’s fears. “I wanted to have it ready. In case I needed to leave.”

“Leave?” Dean repeats, and his blood goes cold.

Cas deflates a little, resigned and sad. “I assume I’ll need to soon.”

“You can’t leave!” ‘Tell him!’ screams in Dean’s mind, but he can’t. He can’t. What if he’s wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him like that? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all anymore? What if Dean screwed it up by staying silent and Cas realized he deserves to be with someone who can provide a simple answer to “I love you?” What if--

“I don’t want to,” Cas says softly. The pain is evident in his eyes as they flicker to his truck, like he expects to need to book it out of here at any moment. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here after--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he amends.

“Cas, this is your home, same as me and Sam.” Cas doesn’t look so convinced. “C’mon man, you really think we don’t want you around?” Dean leans against the side of Cas’ truck to ground himself. “Cas, I want you here.” ‘I want more than that,’ he thinks, and it would be so easy to say what he really needs to say, but he can’t. He fights viciously with his own self-esteem, ripping at it, begging it to let him say more. “Please don’t leave,” he says, small and helpless, and it’s like moving a mountain to say that much.

Cas’ expression softens into longing. His hand clenches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to Dean, but he smiles a soft, incredulous smile. “I can stay? You really mean it?”

Dean swallows thickly. A hundred words crowd his throat, fighting to get out, but his own fears win this round and keep them down. Instead all he can manage is a choked, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The third time it happens, it takes them both by surprise. They’d gone on a hunt, just the two of them while Sam was visiting Eileen, and everything had gone sideways. What they thought was just a troublemaking demon turned out to be an extremely powerful witch, one with more than enough experience in Enochian magic to put Cas in serious danger. And of course Cas was reckless in his desire to protect Dean, and only managed to avoid getting killed by quick thinking and, to be honest, a helluva lot of luck.

The fight left Cas injured, and Dean pissed. “What the hell were you thinking!” he scolds at the end of a cold, silent drive back to the bunker.

“I did what I needed,” Cas shoots back with a steely glare.

“No, you didn’t need to go rushing in like that!” Dean’s worry leeches out as anger, the fear of losing Cas yet again clouding his reasoning that Dean himself would have died without Cas’ quick action. “You could have gotten a lot more hurt!”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Cas yells back, and it’s the note of hysterical bitterness darkening his words that makes Dean snap and say what he’s been hiding for far too long.

“Because I love you, you stubborn ass!”

The words freeze in the air between them, sharp and strong, wedging themself right where Dean’s anger was just a moment ago.

“You...love me?” Cas asks, his voice small, his eyes big.

And like that, Dean’s fears seem so foolish. Cas loves him. Cas died because just admitting he loves him was the happiest moment of his life. Cas has already done the hardest, scariest part for him. Dean doesn’t even have to fear Cas not feeling the same.

Silently, Dean takes a single step forward. Cas is frozen on the spot, staring at him like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He takes another step, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug Cas into an embrace.

“Of course,” Dean breathes. He holds Cas close, tucking his chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight, like he never wants to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go. Cas is slower to react, but when his arms finally wind around Dean, he breathes out a soft, sobbing gasp and clings to Dean. Dean turns his head to bury his nose in Cas’ hair. “Of course I do.”

The fourth time it happens, Cas doesn’t even hear it. Cas found out about a nearby crafts fair, and all it took was one particularly soulful look from those big blue eyes of his, and Dean was driving them a full hour and a half away to look at homemade pottery and local honey and overpriced tacky mesh wreaths and pretending that the entire atmosphere of the place wasn’t giving him hives.

Cas is having a blast. Dean is carrying bags and lurking in the shadiest spots he can find away from the summer heat while Cas browses. Cas is having an animated conversation about beekeeping with a honey merchant when Dean ducks into a large tent filled with the kind of flowy, bedazzled, polyester shirts he thinks of as “PTA Chic” because they also happen to have a large fan blowing.

“Lookin’ for something in particular, sugar?” The tent owner saunters over to Dean, her Southern accent thick and her top scandalously low. She’s stunningly pretty, and Dean’s eyes and smile light up out of a lifetime of habit. She responds in kind, dragging her eyes down, then back up Dean’s body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lookin’ for more than clothes.”

Dean chuckles and flashes her his best charming, but chagrined smile. He feels a little guilty for leading her on, and he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Oh sweetheart, if I were single, I’d gladly take you up on that offer, but I’ve already got my special someone.” Dean nods to the honey booth next door.

Her eyes trail over to where Dean gestured, and for a split second her brow furrows in confusion before she laughs just a little, more incredulous than cruel. “You really want someone like that over me?”

Dean looks over at Cas. And, yeah, Dean gets the question. He’s a grown-ass man wearing cargo shorts, carrying a canvas bag with the most obnoxious sunglasses-wearing beach ball Dean has ever seen, and his hair looks like it's been electrocuted. Dean grins, feeling a rush of fondness for his dorky, criminally unfashionable angel.

“Yeah,” he says softly, without an ounce of hesitation. There’s no one else in the world for him but Cas. “Yeah, I do.”

The fifth time Dean says it, Cas is the only other person around for miles. He drags Cas out of bed bright and early one Saturday, forcing him into the car before he’s even fully finished his coffee. Cas allows it, only because he can tell Dean is positively vibrating with nervous energy. Dean brushes off all of his prying questions during the long drive until they finally arrive at a small, peaceful meadow in the middle of nowhere.

He’s packed a lunch, because ostensibly this outing is meant to be a picnic, even though Cas is suspicious on that fact alone. Dean never picnics. It doesn’t really matter though, because Dean is too nervous to even consider eating.

“So why are we really here?” Cas asks after a few minutes of nibbling at his chips. Dean’s sandwich lays untouched on the blanket.

Dean steels his nerve and takes a deep breath. “Do you know where this is?” he asks, fighting the jittery bouncing of his heartbeat to keep his voice steady.

Cas nods. “This is where I returned when Jack resurrected me.” He looks around, smiling down at the flowers surrounding the two of them. The windmill behind him creaks softly in the wind.

“And where I spread your ashes.” Dean’s fidgeting fingers find a frayed edge on the blanket, and he starts picking at it.

Cas nods again and remains silent, patiently waiting for Dean to find the rest of his words.

“And it’s…” Dean pulls a thread out of the blanket and lets it fly away in the wind. “This is where I realized I love you. I’m an idiot who didn’t even realize how much I loved you until after you were gone.”

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean’s knee, warm and reassuring. Dean continues, “At the time I’d thought, ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to live without him.’ Which was stupid because you were already dead. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

Cas squeezes his knee. His eyes are gentle. “We’re both okay now.”

Dean’s heart warms. “Yeah. We are. But you know I...That feeling’s never gone away. You and me? I want us to be forever.” Dean reaches into his pocket. There’s no small velvet box, no shimmering diamonds, just a thick band of practical silver he found at a pawn shop. He looks down at the ring with a tender smile. “Man, never in a million years did I think I’d ever be doing this,” he marvels, and when he looks up, Cas’ eyes are wide with surprise.

“Dean?” His normally steady voice wavers.

Dean reaches for Cas’ face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. He holds up the ring. “What do you say, Cas? Wanna go legit about this?”

Cas’ expression is impossibly soft, eyes overflowing with love and devotion. He swallows thickly around a lump in his throat and takes the ring from Dean. He slides it onto his finger and stares at it like it’s his own personal miracle.

“You’re serious, Dean? You really want to get married?”

Dean smiles as he leans in close. Just before he kisses his new fiance, he whispers, “Of course I do.”

The sun is setting, casting long shadows down the sand. The shifting winds coming from the sea carry a chill, making the little crowd gathered around them draw their jackets close and huddle together, but the smiles on their faces are nothing but warm. There’s no altar. No stage. No decorations. Just Cas and Dean, standing in front of the ocean, wearing their favorite flannels and jeans, two bright yellow black-eyed susans pinned to their shirts--stolen right out of someone’s garden on their way to the beach.

They didn’t even bother trying to put out chairs for the ceremony, not knowing how many of their friends and family would be able to make the long drive to see Dean get hitched to his angel, but in the end it’s a good thing, because damn near everyone came, and they need to crowd in close to hear them over the wind.

It’s completely and utterly perfect.

Dean grins, unable to take his eyes off Cas while Donna, the only member of his overly-emotional family he trusts not to bawl her eyes out through the ceremony, finishes the last of their vows.

“Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your, well, not so lawfully wedded husband?”

There’s a twitter of laughter from the crowd. Cas smiles a sweet, crooked smile and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I do.” His voice is soft, meant for Dean’s ears only, because Dean is the only one his promise matters to.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, FBI’s Most Wanted, thrice dead criminal, and the terribly generous gentleman who will surely be covering our drinks on this celebratory evening, take Castiel to be your husband?”

Dean looks at Cas. Even in the dim light of the setting sun, his eyes are impossibly blue. His smile is so warm Dean knows he’ll never feel cold again, so long as he can see it every day. Dean beams back and proclaims loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear, “Oh hell yes!”

#userstarry #starrynightdeancas gift exchange #bipridedean #tuserari #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #destiel wedding #deancas wedding #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #katie writes things

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blue-bird-kny · 4 years

Note

For Thirsty Thursday can I ask for edging with Shinobu? I understand if you can’t do it. I really love your writings!

dk if its because I don’t get enough of her (seriously if you have fics PLEASE send them over) or if its because she’s one of my top characters, but my little Bi heart soars every time I get a request for her. This is probably my favorite thing I’ve written so far so please enjoy~Amanda

Warning: NSFW, Fem!reader, edging, restraints,

( 1.1k+ words)

This all started as a fun game of teasing, Shinobu swearing that no matter what you did, you wouldn’t be able to bring her to her knees, get her to the point of being a trembling mess. “You're too soft for that hunny” she laughed. Well who was laughing now?

Shinobu’s hands were tied securely to the bedpost, her hair tousled haphazardly around her flushed face. “Ahhh!” Shinobu shouted, desperate to finally reach her climax. You held the vibrating silicone stick to her clit, her legs twitching, literally chasing her sweet release. “Times up” you called again to Shinobu’s horror, her petty whines of protest filling the room; It felt like you’d been at this for a few, tortuous hours. A string of Shinobu’s arousal followed the toy as you popped it into your mouth, “I really thought you’d make it that time” you spoke around the object, “hmm you always taste so sweet.”

Shinobu’s thoughts were in a frenzy, when she offered to let you try after her stupid comment earlier, she didn’t think you’d be this successful. “That was what? Number 4? 5?” you questioned innocently, or at least as innocently as one could with a vibrator balanced against their lips. “Six” Shinobu corrected breathlessly; you both were fully aware that if she really wanted to, Shinobu could rip herself out of her confines, but that would ruin the fun. That would also mean that Shinobu would admit defeat and there was no way she was ready to give in. “Six? Aww I’m sure your poor kitty is tired” you straddled her stomach, caressing her face in mock sympathy. Shinobu flipped her bangs from in front of her face, sitting up as much as she could with a defiant smirk plastered against her plump lips, “ You sound a little too cocky for someone who’s as wet as I am, you haven’t even been touched”. A pout took over your features as you looked away embarrassed, the feel of your sticky juices lathering Shinobu’s stomach.

“Brats don’t get to come” you tried intimidating- that was her favorite nickname for you- “Eh? Is that true? But I’m always so good to you” she continued carelessly, “Just yesterday I-” the sound of the little machine whirring to life cut off her sentence, you turned it on to about half way. You both watched with bated breaths as you brought the pulsating toy against her perky nipple. “Ah-hmph” you swallowed the noise, pressing the toy against her bud. “You talk too much” you huffed, diving back into her hungry cavern, your tongues fighting frantically while you switched between each breasts. Even with your endless stimulation, you knew that this wasn’t enough to get her off, but it was enough to get her painfully close. You took your time exploring her mouth with your tongue, one hand holding your hovering frame while the other stayed tucked between your pressed chest, casually changing the setting of the vibrator with each switch, but never to its fullest voltage. You leisurely swivel your hips in small circles, using her waist as a source of friction, inciting small mewls to fill the air between you two.

You ended your make-out session after sometime, her breast a beautiful tender pink, “Aren’t you a nasty, trembling mess” you purred. Shinobu winced as your hand reached back, swabbing a long strip of nectar only to rummage between your own thighs, bringing the two sauces between your puffy lips. It was all too much; between the sight of you sucking your combined juices, the ever present pressure of your gushing cunt grinding against her, and the ache of her own mound, Shinobu was just about ready to do anything.

“Please”

The poor girl uttered the word in defeat, barely audible over your exaggerated licking. “Huh?”. A rosy warmth spread along her cheeks as she turned away bashfully, “please let me cum” she repeated a little louder. A wide smile graced your features, you leaned forward, afraid that you would never be able to see such an adorably vulnerable expression on your girlfriend's face again. A moment passed before Shinobu moved, raising her face mere centimeters from yours, “Please fuck my dripping pussy” she begged. That’s it, that fucked out, wrecked expression was what you were working so hard for.

“Only because you asked so nicely” you teased, eagerly shuffling down her figure, face to face with her drenched heat; Finally, the main event. You held the thick vibrator, coating it in her natural lubricant before easing the toy in inch by inch. Shinobu groaned in pain, her glistening hole happily accepting the stretch. “Look at that, you took the whole thing in so easily”. You tugged at her clit first, smooching the sore bundle lovingly, before fucking it with your tongue. You switch the vibrator onto its highest setting as you thrust in and out of her throbbing pussy. She cried out loudly in pleasure, her fist clenched tightly in her palm causing little crescent moons to mold the skin, pulling roughly at the cotton binds.

Shinobu came harder than she ever had, the force of her climax causing her to tear through her restraints with a loud crack. Her hips snapped against your face as she rode off her high, the toy buzzing against her g-spot. Shinobu was tremoring from the aftershocks when you pulled the toy from inside her, cum leaking out onto the sheets. “Gorgeous” you marveled at the creamy mess.

“What are you doing?” Shinobu asked, finally regaining her breath. You adjusted yourself back on her waist, sitting on your knees. “Did you really forget about me? I thought you should get a front row seat while I fuck myself since you’ve been so good for me” you moaned softly, the toy was still colored in Shinobu’s cum when you lodged in inside you tight hole. Shinobu smiled fondly; you never failed to amaze her. Your whines grew higher in pitch with each stroke, the powerful vibrations shocked you to your core. Your eyes shut as you cried, fucking yourself onto the vibrator, your juices squlching delicously. With a view so sinful, Shinobu couldn’t help herself as her manicured finger freely roamed your tense muscles, sliding her way to your perfectly pink nub, playing with the small bundle. Your eyes screwed shut, your mouth agape whining loudly in ecstasy, you were sure that all the other girls in the estate could hear your deafening screams. Your body stuttered as you came, your cum puddling on Shinobu’s porcelain skin, dripping down the sides. Your hazy gaze fell on Shinobu’s amused one, the both of your busting out laughing. “Lets go shower, we’re sticky” you called affectionately, leading your spent bodies to your private bath.

After a long, warm bath and changing the filthy bedspread, You snuggled close to Shinobu, the both of you sporting matching pajamas (it was totally Shinobu’s idea). “I won” you taunt with a grin, staring into her brilliant lavender eyes. She shared her famous close mouth smile down at your, her nails lazily tracing random patterns into your bare arm. “Technically you didn’t have me on my knees” she retorted. “Babe!”

#kny x reader #kny #kny smut #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer smut #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu x fem! reader #shinobu x fem!reader smut #Shinobu smut

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inloveoknutzy · 4 years

Text

Blue Eyes

this was my secret santa gift to subito-fulget. thank you @jacklighting for organising the secret santa in the discord chat!! it was so much fun to do

this is some coops pining and fluff - credit as always for coops goes to @lumosinlove 🥰 happy holidays

this can also be found on my ao3 along with my other longer fics <3

Perfect, absolutely perfect. Remus thought as the team all stood on the side of a dark road, the bus having just broken down. They were making good time, on their way to the fourth game of the season, but they just had to choose the hotel furthest away from the airport. Fortunately, they were all dressed for warmth but that didn’t stop a cold chill running down Remus’ spine as he shuffled on the spot, arms wrapped around himself. They were waiting on a replacement bus, van, anything to get them anywhere, but given the forecasted snowstorm, they weren’t having much luck.

Logan stood next to Dumo, their heads knocked together as they talked quietly, while Finn was in a similar state to Remus, looking around as he rubbed his arms, sucking in a breath. “We should all huddle for warmth,” Finn suggested, and Leo was the first to nod quickly, shuffling over and leaning into Finn.

Others joined the group, while Remus glanced over at Sirius who stood alone, looking down. Remus would have given anything to know what he was thinking right then, eyes casted downward, black curls sticking out of the cap he was wearing (that really should’ve been a beanie), wet from where the snow had formed to water. He watched as a puff of air blew out of his mouth, visible from how cold it was; Remus found himself struck with an unexplainable desire to be in that breath’s path. Being close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, enveloping and dizzying him. Maybe he would crack a joke and Sirius would laugh, eyes bright and grin wide. Maybe then he’d shake his head fondly and lean in close enough for their lips to touch-

“Earth to Loops,” Coach called, bringing him out of his thoughts. He hummed in acknowledgement as Coach waved his phone, “rescue bus will be here any minute.”

Remus nodded, then tried rubbing his hands together in hopes of warming them up, but it was to no avail. He was bloody freezing. He walked over and playfully shouldered Sirius, who seemed lost in his head. “You alright?”

It was when Sirius turned to face him that Remus realised how close they were standing, their faces even closer. Sirius looked into his eyes and Remus was captivated, unable to look anywhere else. He asked again, slower this time, “you okay, Cap?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah…” Sirius said quietly, turning to look back down at the ground. It felt like that one word didn’t even scratch the surface of the vastness of Sirius’ thoughts, but Remus didn’t dare press further. If only.

Remus nodded and looked ahead, forlornly at the poor broken down bus, most likely going to be many feet under snow by the morning. Being stood next to Sirius, starting the world’s most awkward and stilted conversation in the history of conversations, Remus was very much envious of the bus. Many feet under snow seemed like a better alternative to the silence that stretched between the two, thicker than the fluffy whiteness beneath them.

“And you?” Remus blinked, turning again to catch Sirius’ blue eyes once more. “How are you?” Sirius asked.

“Blue.”

Oh god.

“Blue?” Sirius pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. Remus was thankful for the excuse of the cold weather for his rosy cheeks, though something told him Sirius was already aware of the things he did to him.

“Um- yeah. No- I just meant-uh-” Remus stumbled over his words, frustrated that Sirius always flustered him. If he wasn’t rendered speechless by his lack of a filter, then he certainly was after the corners of Sirius’ mouth turned up into a smile, eyes crinkling slightly. Remus felt compelled to poke the little dimples in his cheeks but chose instead to keep his hands in his pockets.

“You just meant…” Sirius prompted, smile growing wider. Remus couldn’t find any words, entranced by the sweet expression on the man’s face. Sirius huffed a laugh, and after a moment of silence, said very gently, “you know, I quite like your eyes too.”

Oh. Oh my. Remus had no idea what to say to that, taken aback completely. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but was interrupted by the loud beep beep of a bus as it pulled into the road beside them, everyone cheering.

“I-um. I guess I’ll see you later then?” Sirius asked as they walked over to the bus. He didn’t break eye contact with Remus, who in turn was struggling to maintain Sirius’ unwavering gaze.

Remus nodded, “yeah I’ll see you ar-ah!” He slipped, legs swinging out in front of him. He screwed his eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never came. No, instead, he fell into the very strong arms of one Sirius Black, who looked down at him seemingly very amused about the whole situation.

Remus looked up at him, eyes wide. He racked his brain, begged it to come up with some kind of response to the most embarrassing predicament he could find himself in. But naturally, all he could think of to say was,

“Oh.”

Great. So smart. Just a brilliant response.

Remus would have been more embarrassed about his reply, or lack thereof, had it not been for the way Sirius’ face lit up, hand instinctively gripping a little tighter on his arm.

“Have a nice trip?” he quipped, and Remus rolled his eyes as he was brought back up on his feet.

“Thanks,” he said, and Sirius just nodded, still smiling. He made his way to the open door of the bus, where everyone else was already piled in. There were two rows of seats, facing each other. Everyone had taken up the rest of the seats, bar for two.

“After you.” Remus offered, and Sirius grinned, nodding his thanks. Though, he paused when he climbed in, turning back to face Remus. He held out his hand for Remus to take, then pulled him up into the bus.

Remus, still thrown off balance from the trip just moments ago, tumbled into the seat beside Sirius, one leg on top of his lap. He yelped and removed his leg, eyes determinedly looking down when Dumo raised an eyebrow at the pair of them.

“I’d settle in, it’s gonna be a long ride.” The driver called from the front seat, much to the chagrin of Remus. He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive this journey.

Pretty much everyone else on the bus seemed to be varying degrees of tired. The one commonality lay that they were all on the verge of, if not already, falling asleep.

Remus bounced his legs up and down, trying his best to keep warm, but next to him, Sirius sighed and put a hand on Remus’ knee, with a quiet mumble of, “stop that.”

“Shit sorry.” Remus apologised, but when Sirius turned to look at him, he didn’t seem annoyed. In fact he seemed more solemn. Contemplative. He felt exposed, under Sirius’ gaze, like he just ripped Remus’ chest apart and pulled out his beating heart. It’s his, anyway.

Neither of them looked away from each other, in fear of losing whatever moment this was. Pulling them. Reeling in, drawn closer and closer and closer- a bump in the road broke whatever silent conversation they were having, leaving both parties to look away.

Sirius let his head fall back against the wall behind them, closing his eyes. Remus wished he could relax right now but it was proving to be very difficult given Sirius’ hand was still resting on his knee. The ever-so-casual touch bleeding into his skin. He wanted to be surrounded by that feeling, be surrounded by Sirius. Not suffocating or claustrophobic, just there. Present. It felt like so much of Remus’ life was spent clinging so desperately onto things he knew he needed to let go of.

He didn’t want to let go of this.

Something told Remus he wouldn’t have to.

If only he could express how he felt. All of the words were on the tip of his tongue, on his lips, and in his head, stood at the edge of a cliff waiting for Sirius to join him. The wind was cold and biting on his skin, looking down at the never-ending blue beneath this cliff. Crashing waves and dark rocks. Just jump. Do it. It’s scary but he wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else. And that thought is scary in and of itself.

Just jump.

Into the blue.

Sirius was asleep now. Remus was convinced he was the only one awake on the bus. He was about to pull out his phone when he felt a warmth on his shoulder, something tickling at his neck. He frowned and craned his head, gasping a little when he saw a head of black hair resting on his shoulder.

He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t want this moment to end. But he was conscious that Sirius’ neck was going to kill after this. And technically, it was his responsibility as the team’s PT to eliminate any unnecessary pain or cramps. He turned very carefully, slowly, sliding a hand underneath Sirius’ head, cradling it almost. He really should have thought this through, though, because he now had no clue what he was supposed to do, Sirius’ head resting in his hands.

He did what any sane person would do in his situation, and lowered his head all the way into his lap, Sirius, half-asleep, bringing his legs up underneath him and shifting around, turning his body to curl up slightly, cheek now resting on Remus’ thigh.

This certainly was going to be a long ride.

Remus thought he might as well try and get some sleep.

*****

“We’re here, boys.” Remus heard, and blinked his eyes open, looking around at everyone in a similar state to him, groggily rubbing their faces and standing up. He looked down at Sirius who was still asleep on his lap. Unsure how to go about waking him up, Remus’ hands hovered over his face.

He gently brushed the hair away to reveal Sirius’ face, so calm and peaceful asleep. He felt bad interrupting it, but everyone else was off the bus now.

“Sirius.”

He sighed, and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking slightly. “Sirius,” he said louder, and was greeted with only a hum.

He shook him more, and Sirius jumped up suddenly, hair flat on one side, cap half fallen off his head. His eyes met Remus’.

“You fell-”

“Sorry I-”

They both laughed, and Sirius gestured for him to continue, “I-uh. You fell asleep. I didn’t want you to get a cramp in your neck.”

“Oh!” Sirius stood up, holding his hand out for Remus to take again, “thanks.”

“No problem.” Remus nodded, and they both made their way to the entrance of the little motel. He felt envious of Sirius, being able to brush off something like falling asleep on someone like he did. Maybe it just didn’t mean that much to him.

Remus took notice of the small building, and it was evident they weren’t going to make their way to their originally booked hotel. He just hoped this would do.

Coach was talking to the receptionist, while Remus walked to stand beside Dumo, who shot him a knowing look. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” he hummed, but his expression still didn’t let up.

“What?” Remus asked again, bordering on a whine.

“You and the Captain are getting very close, non?”

Remus blushed, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me.”

He was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a hand on his arm. He turned and saw Sirius, smiling sheepishly.

“Hi-”

“Hey.”

“So um, there’s not many rooms left… everyone’s doubling up or in some cases tripling up. I said I’d bunk with you if that’s cool?”

Remus’ mouth went dry. Why did he pick him? Of all the people? He could only nod, and Sirius smiled brightly back at him, “great! We’re in room 54.”

“O-okay.”

Dumo snorted beside him, and Remus whacked his arm. “I’m gonna head up to the room now…” Sirius said, and Remus nodded again.

“Sure I’ll join you,” he gave Dumo a warning look as he grabbed his bags, walking down the hall with Sirius.

“There’s only one key.” Sirius explained, “I- you can have it if you want.”

“Oh that’s fine you can keep hold of it.”

Sirius huffed a laugh, looking down. Remus wanted to hear that laugh on a loop. It felt like recently Sirius had been so tense and stressed. It was refreshing seeing him so happy. “No I- I don’t trust myself.”

The statement hung between the two of them. As if he were standing in the middle of a tightrope, unable to decide whether he should turn around and head back or carry on walking forward, balancing. It felt like Sirius just said everything and nothing at all. The simultaneous weight of insinuation and emptiness of such a throwaway comment leaving Remus unsure of where he stood with Sirius. Surely friends didn’t speak like this?

“Well I’ll take it,” he said gently, taking the key from Sirius, the electricity of their hands brushing jolting through his arm, warming him in the otherwise freezing motel.

He unlocked the door and they both walked through, stopping at the same time in front of the one bed that took up the entirety of the room.

“What kind of shitty fanfiction is this?” Sirius mumbled, sighing as he dropped his bags on the bed.

“And what would you know about fanfiction?” Remus asked, quirking an eyebrow as Sirius grinned,

“Wouldn’t you love to know.”

Remus had no idea how to respond to that. So, he instead chose to join Sirius in dropping his bags.

“I can sleep on the floor.” Sirius offered, and Remus could only laugh as he looked around at the room, the only bit of floor being what they were standing on, just enough for the door to swing open.

“What floor?”

Sirius laughed too, “good point.”

Their laughter died down, and they were once again left in just each other’s company. Both avoiding the elephant, or rather, bed, in the room. “So…”

“So…” Sirius trailed off, “I can run back down and see if there’s any other rooms,” he suggested.

“Didn’t you say all the rooms were gone?”

“Yeah…”

Silence. Again.

“It’s not so bad. The bed could be smaller.” Remus reasoned, shrugging. “I-I’m fine with it if you are. As long as you don’t snore,” he attempted to make light of the situation.

“I don’t snore!”

“Guess we’ll see then.” Remus grinned, opening the zip on his bag.

*****

Sirius didn’t snore. But he also didn’t seem to fall asleep very quickly. Remus kept his eyes trained on the ceiling; hoping, praying that maybe Sirius would say something, anything. Sirius most likely was not thinking the same things. He kept huffing and sighing, shifting around from one side to another on the small bed.

“Can’t sleep?” Remus broke the silence, turning to face Sirius. He looked adorable, the light from the window (with no curtains) catching his eyes, though Remus thought Sirius didn’t need light for his eyes to sparkle. He was always the one to bring the light into every situation. Bring the light into his life. Light that he didn’t know he needed, but now he got a glimpse, never wanted to go without.

“I think the nap on the bus probably wasn’t the best idea.” Sirius smiled a little, facing Remus now. His cheek was squished up against the pillow, black curls covering his forehead. Remus felt compelled to reach forward and brush them away, so he could get lost in the blue of his eyes once more, but instead kept his hands by his sides.

“Probably not.” Remus said quietly, now conscious of his breathing as their faces were yet again in very close proximity. He focused all of his thoughts onto keeping his blush at bay, but there was no use.

“You want to know what I do to get myself to sleep?” Sirius asked, and at the other’s nod continued, “well, I— hey,” he said gently when Remus looked down.

Suddenly, his head was being tilted back up, a hand on his cheek. At Remus’ questioning look, Sirius very simply said, “I can’t see your face when you do that.”

“Oh.” Remus so eloquently responded, mind reeling at Sirius’ hand on his cheek, the touch both overwhelming yet not enough. He leaned into it, closing his eyes.

“Hey!” Sirius said again, smiling when Remus opened his eyes. “Can’t see your eyes when you do that, either.”

Remus must have been dreaming. That was the only logical explanation he could think of for what was happening. He watched as Sirius’ smile grew wider. “Why do you always look so surprised, Rem?”

His eyes widened slightly at the nickname. If his cheeks weren’t bright red already they certainly were after that. “I- I don’t know. Nervous I guess.”

“About what?” Sirius asked, and Remus’ face dropped a little. Was Sirius not aware of the things he did to him? Surely? He took a leap, jumped off the edge of the cliff, hoping to be engulfed in the deep sea of blue. Hoping to finally breathe.

“Do you not know how you make me feel?” Remus asked, trying hard to swallow down his heart that now felt like it had leapt up into his throat.

Sirius exhaled shakily, “no,” he whispered, hand still on his cheek. Remus could feel Sirius trembling. Or maybe that was just him. At this point he couldn’t tell. All he kept thinking of was Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, blue eyes, Sirius...

“Well.” Remus gulped, eyes never leaving Sirius’. He felt like he could write essays upon essays, sonnets upon sonnets, on Sirius’ deep blue eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. Wondering. Does Sirius look at him with the same affection he did?

“Do you want to know what helps me get to sleep?” Remus asked.

Sirius nodded, and Remus took a breath. Now wasn’t the time to back down. Emboldened by the hand that was still on his cheek, Remus continued, “well I- I like to think of scenarios. Little scenes that I make up in my head- of um- of things I wish would happen.”

“I thought I was the one who liked fanfiction?”

“So you admit it!” Remus smiled, nervous energy dissipating, “you do read fanfiction.”

Sirius laughed, “you’re avoiding the subject,” he said, cheeks tinged a light pink. Remus felt reassured he wasn’t the only one.

“Fine,” Remus continued, “the, um, the difference between the- uh- the fanfiction thing and me is that… I picture most of mine happening in real life—”

Sirius’ thumb softly stroking Remus’ cheekbone threw him off his rhythm. Sirius prompted him, “and…?”

“And- uh- most of them are… with you.”

Sirius went silent, and Remus shut his eyes, in fear that he had misread the situation entirely.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute at most passed, Remus opened his eyes to find Sirius staring right back at him, lips forming the shape of an ‘O’. He blinked, almost deciding something in his head, his right hand then being brought up to meet the left, now cupping both of Remus’ cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” Sirius asked, and Remus nodded quickly, leaning forward to meet his lips.

The daydreams didn’t hold a candle to the incredible feeling of Sirius kissing him. Face cradled in his hands, lips brushing against his, Remus finally jumped off the cliff. Finally crashed into the deep blue water, feeling like he just took a breath for the first time, surrounded by Sirius. He couldn’t think of anything else, his hands lifted to bury in his thick black hair, so fluffy and soft underneath his fingertips. One moment it felt like everything was in slow motion, then the next, it felt like someone had pressed fast forward. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Sirius pulled away first, breathing quickly. He looked into Remus’ eyes, lips turning up into a shy smile, one he had never seen before. He felt special. Only he got the privilege to see this side of Sirius.

“How did that live up to your fanfictions?” Sirius asked, breathless.

Remus laughed loudly, unexpectedly, covering his face with his hands. “I said they weren’t fanfictions.”

“Ohh sorry. What do you call it, headcanons?”

“Please shut up.” Remus couldn’t stop laughing.

“Gladly,” Sirius grinned, leaning back in to kiss him again.

Remus wasn’t sure where this was going, but for once in his life, he wasn’t afraid of that. He didn't need to worry about what else was going to happen, because he now had Sirius by his side. And as long as he had Sirius with him, he felt like he could do anything.

#coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #wolfstar #remus/sirius #sirius/remus #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius

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elizabeethan · 4 years

Text

Where The Love Light Gleams

Killian visits his brother and sister-in-law in Storybrooke, Maine for the holidays and runs into the woman who broke his heart three years ago.

Rated T for language

~9700 words

Read on Ao3

A/N: Merry almost Christmas! I was feeling a little angsty the other day and finally sat down to watch the Dust Storm, then had an idea for a CS AU. This isn’t based strictly on the film and a lot of it’s plot points are different, but it is somewhat similar! With a Christmas twist, of course.

With that being said, there are mentions and brief descriptions of alcohol consumption, abuse, and withdrawal in this fic (although not nearly as heavily used as in the film) so please be aware of that.

Also, the worlds largest snowman (and snowwoman), as described here, is a real thing!! It was built in 2008 in Maine, and fun fact, I was there! I think the record was recently broken in Austria, but whatever. Olympia will always be number one in my heart.

Finally, thank you to @donteattheappleshook for your beta services!!

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

To say that Killian is miserable is a bit dramatic. Sure, he’s in this strange little town with only his brother to keep him entertained, but it’s a blessing to be spending the holidays with him and his new bride. Certainly better than being alone in Boston now that Liam has moved from England, he tries to remind himself. But the fact remains that he hasn’t been in much of a Christmas mood over the past few years, and he would almost rather be back at home getting some work done.

He isn’t a workaholic, honest. And he definitely isn't a scrooge, despite what his brother thinks. Really, he just hasn’t been in the mood to celebrate for a while.

Well, a few years, he supposes.

And it’s not because of a woman. No, it most definitely isn’t because of the fiery blonde who stole his heart and ran as far and as fast as she could once things started to feel real.

(She didn’t steal it; he gave it willingly.)

As the snow falls upon an overly-picturesque Main Street, Killian gets about as close as he possibly can to grumbling without any sound actually coming out. It’s freezing here— although not much colder than Boston— and if he has to spend any more time outdoors this weekend, he may very well lose a toe. It’s as he’s making his way down the slushy streets, avoiding the overly cheerful townsfolk and keeping his head down to avoid getting snow in his eyes, that he suddenly feels the warmth he’s been craving for three years.

It can’t possibly be true. The woman he’s just crashed into, the one with golden hair that smells like mint, fruity shampoo, couldn't possibly be her.

But when he looks up, he sees her.

The woman who ripped his heart out of his chest three years ago and ran off to Phoenix with it.

Bloody Hell.

“Oh my… god,” she says slowly, dumbfounded. “Killian?”

She looks stunning. Even more beautiful than he could ever imagine her becoming. Her hair is longer, a whiter shade of blonde under her gray beanie, her eyes perhaps an even more intense shade of emerald, cheeks just as round and rosy as ever, and he can tell even under the large puffer jacket that her body is even more perfect than he remembers.

This can’t actually be happening to him, can it?

He clears his throat, his hand drifting up to the spot behind his ear as he nods. “Hi.”

She laughs lightly and his entire world starts spinning at the sound he’s missed so dearly. She grounds him, though, the spinning coming to a halt when she springs on him and hugs him tight. “Oh my god,” she whispers against his neck.

He can’t stop himself from hugging her back, the scent of her shampoo back in his nose and conjuring up memories he didn’t even know he had. “Aye,” he chuckles against her hair, taking in another breath. “Long time.”

“How are you?” she asks as she pulls away, a bright smile on her face.

“I’m… fine, I guess,” he says, screwing up his face and making her laugh.

“I mean, what are you doing here in Maine? What the hell? What a coincidence that we’re both here!”

“Aye, it is. I’m visiting with my brother and sister-in-law for the holidays.”

“Liam?” He nods. “He moved here? He’s married?”

He nods once more. “He did. He and Elsa moved here after the wedding two years ago. My, uh…” he clears his throat. “My dad finally passed away, so nothing was holding him there.”

How he’s allowing himself to do this is beyond him. His willingness and ease in opening right back up to her without thought is maddening to him, but somehow so natural. Bloody hell, has he missed her. “I’m so sorry,” she consoles, lightly touching his shoulder. “Would you… would you want to grab a drink with me?”

“Yes,” he says, before he can even consider how stupid his answer is. But it’s snowing hard and it’s freezing and—

And the love of his life just crashed back into it. He sure as hell isn’t letting her go so easily this time around.

~~~~

He doesn’t tell her that he stopped drinking soon after she left. Doesn’t tell her how badly he reacted to her fleeing, turning to rum in hopes of numbing the gash in his chest that she left wide open. He doesn’t tell her that one of their favorite things to do together became the thing that almost killed him.

He ignores two phone calls from Liam.

When she takes him to the Rabbit Hole, a dive, but the only option in this horribly quaint town, she orders what used to be his favorite shot. It sends a pang of nostalgia so strongly through him that he can’t deny her anything, couldn’t possibly say no to a second when she asks. After he’s had three, his lips are so loose that he should probably staple them shut.

“So,” she says, leaning drunkenly towards him as he does the same to her. “Tell me about your life now. What else has changed?”

He laughs, as if anything since she left is the same, and holds up his left arm. “I got this,” he says, sloppily pointing towards the prosthetic.

Her mouth gapes open and she drops the glass to the table with a bit too much force as realization hits her. “Is that,” she starts, but it seems like she’s unable to get any words out.

“A fake,” he tells her, knocking it against the table. “Lost it in the Navy.”

“Oh, Killian…”

He feels nauseous at her pity because he knows exactly what she’s thinking. He always knows what she’s thinking.

“Not your fault,” he shrugs. He doesn’t have to elaborate because he knows that she knows that he joined the Navy full time because she left him. “You tell me something now,” he insists.

She clears her throat and shakes her head, glancing away from him and smiling as she thinks of the thing she wants to tell him. “I’m here because my brother is having a baby. Well, his wife is.”

“David?” he asks. Although she was adopted by David’s mother as a teenager, she still struggled to consider him a brother when the two of them were together, so to hear her label him as such was strange.

“Yes,” she giggles. “My only brother, David.”

“Ha ha,” he chortles sarcastically, bumping into her and laughing for real as he takes another sip from the drink she ordered from memory. “That’s lovely news.”

“Maybe you can come meet him once he’s born.”

“Maybe.”

“Now, what about good news?” she requests.

Good news, he thinks. Since you left?

“I don’t know,” he says with a sad shrug. “My brother got married.”

“Yes, I heard,” she laughs, always able to make any situation feel light despite how miserable he may be. “I meant for you, though. Tell me something good that’s happened to you.”

He laughs, but it comes out more like a scoff. How can he tell her that, since she left him, his life has been shit? How can he still be so hung up on this bloody woman? “I don’t know,” he says again.

She shifts, and he can tell that she understands his meaning. Liam texts him again and he locks his phone without reading it.

She laughs lightly to fill the silence between them, taking another sip from her drink before saying, “dance with me.”

It isn’t a request. It reminds him of how many times he asked her to do just that in the sleazy clubs in Boston, and how many times she was too insecure to say yes. But now here she is, asking him, and he wonders what else has changed about her.

He says yes.

They’re on the dance floor, almost completely alone, dancing to shitty old music because apparently good songs haven’t found their way to Maine yet. And she looks so wild and so free as she swings her hair from side to side, slides her back up to his front, and lifts her arms until they’re reaching behind her to the back of his head and she’s pulling him close. His mouth is so close to her ear that he could nibble on it easily— she likes that. But he doesn’t, because he knows she’ll run.

But then she’s spinning around to face him, dangerously close as she continues to swing her hips with her hands in his hair, and he leans down and kisses her.

He knows it’s a bad idea the second he does it. He’s a fool for doing this, but he hasn’t had a drink in almost two years and he isn’t thinking clearly. All he can think about is the fact that she just started kissing him back.

He’s heartbroken when she pulls away just as quickly, looking confused and torn and broken as she turns away from him. He tries to call after her that he’s sorry, he knows he fucked up, he shouldn’t have done that, but just like three years ago when she left him, she’s gone once more without a word.

As confused as he was when he ran into her, he’s far more confused now.

~~~~

When he wakes the next morning in the room he rented because Liam and Elsa were renovating their house, he’s feeling worse than he has in years. There were many reasons he quit drinking, and the hangovers were certainly one of them. The throbbing in his brain sends it slamming against the front of his skull with each move he makes, and the bright light streaming in through the blinds isn't helping. What he needs is an aspirin and a greasy breakfast sandwich, plus about a gallon of water, but he’s got to get out of bed to get any of those things, and he thinks he may be sick if he tries to stand.

He also needs to stop thinking about the fact that he saw Emma Swan last night. Maybe if he got any drunker he could’ve convinced himself that it was some sort of fever dream. Seeing her nearly killed him because he knows that he would take her back without a second thought despite how badly things ended the last time. The fact is, their relationship needed work, and instead of putting in the effort and communication necessary, Emma simply ran.

What he really, really needs is for his phone to stop ringing and that knocking to go the hell away.

“What?” He calls out, his voice groggy and thick from the dry air and his dehydration.

“Open the door,” she demands, and his heart begins racing at the sound of her voice. What the bloody hell is Emma doing here?

He tries really hard to stand up. He’s barely got his eyes open, the movements sending a rush of blood to his head with each step he takes, but he’s a damn fool and he can’t let an opportunity to speak with her pass him by. When he reaches the door, he leans his blunted, naked arm against the frame and rests his head against it as he opens the door.

She’s bright eyed and bushy tailed when he first opens it, but when she sees the state he’s in, her face falls immediately. She drops her arms to her side, coffee and to-go bags hitting against her thighs as she takes in his appearance. “Oh no,” she says. “You look like you could use some breakfast.”

He couldn’t stay away from her if he tried, truly. He can smell the bagel inside the bag already, and it’s making his mouth water. All he needs is some water and he’ll be as good as new, right?

He moves slightly out of her way so that she can brush past him, sliding gracefully into the room and placing her offerings on the small table by the bed, just beside the prosthetic he doesn’t remember removing and the half-empty bottle of rum he bought on his way back here. He should throw that away.

Once everything is settled, she takes her coffee and seats herself on his bed. Bloody hell. If the sheets smell like her tonight…

“How'd you know where my room was?”

She shrugs. “There's only three rooms here. I took a lucky guess and followed the stench of day-old rum.”

He tries to laugh but nearly falls to the ground, a wave of nausea pulsing through him once more.

“Oh,” she says, moving towards her large bag and pulling out a bottle of water to toss at him. He catches it one-handed, as he does everything, and opens it up effortlessly, gulping the entire bottle down almost instantly.

“Thank you, love,” he says, then wonders if he can still call her that. He still loves her.

“You look awful,” she remarks playfully, giving him a smirk.

“Thanks,” he grumbles. He moves across the room and takes a bagel out of the bag she brought, his stomach singing in anticipation as he takes the first bite.

“I’m only teasing,” she tells him with the soft smile he recognizes. The one he’s yearned for for years.

“Aye, I know when you're teasing. I’m just a bit hungover. It’s been a while since I’ve indulged that much.”

“Really?” she asks, turning towards him once he sits on the edge of the bed as far from her as possible. “How long?”

He clears his throat, buying time by taking another bite and practically groaning at the feeling of his body coming back to life. “Little over two years.”

She stills, her face falling, her shoulders sagging as she clearly and effortlessly puts together the timeline in her mind. “Oh.”

He says nothing in response, taking a hefty swig of his coffee made just the way he likes it.

“I’m sorry, Killian—,” she starts, but he raises his short arm to cut her off.

“No, I shouldn’t have said yes, it’s my own fault.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she says awkwardly.

“No, not like I shouldn't have said yes, just…” he sighs, dropping his head slightly in defeat. “I wanted to catch up, I just shouldn't have drank, that’s all.”

“You're almost three years sober and I pushed you to drink within fifteen minutes of seeing you,” she says, her tone filled with self-defeat and disappointment.

He attempts to laugh and lighten the mood by saying, “it’s not the first time you've driven me to the bottle, love,” but he can see how bad of an idea that was the minute the words leave his lips.

“I’m sorry,” she nearly whispers. “I should go. I shouldn't have come.” She’s standing, getting herself ready to leave because he’s driving her away again. It’s his fault, again.

“Emma, no,” he tries.

“No, I just… I came to apologize for running off last night. I should've stayed and talked to you and dealt with that, and I'm sorry that I didn’t. So I've said my piece, and now I should go.”

He’s thrown by her words, her statement of wanting to discuss the events that transpired, because that was always the last thing she wanted to do when they were together. All they really did was drink and fuck each other and argue, falling in love somehow despite never having a conversation of substance. Each time he tried, she distracted him with a drink or her body. And because of that, things ended the moment it became difficult between them. The moment he tried to make it real. “You want to… talk?” he asks, his shock clear in his voice.

She laughs, dejected, and responds, “is that so surprising?”

“Yes.”

She clears her throat awkwardly, wrapping her arms around her middle before moving back towards the bed to sit down again. “I just wanted to come here to say I’m sorry and that I shouldn't have run off. Or left you with the bill. That’s why I brought you breakfast, to try and make up for it.”

“You never want to talk.”

“I’m not the same person you knew three years ago.”

“Then what’s changed? Aside from the fact that you suddenly seem open to having a conversation with me?”

“Killian,” she sighs, running her fingers through her perfectly messy hair. “I didn't think I would be having this conversation with you in this ass-backwards town after not seeing you for three years.”

“Well, I didn't think I would be having any conversation with you, ever.” She sighs again, and he knows he’s being unfair. He probably can’t blame her for everything that went wrong.

“I get it, okay? I fucked up. I was fucked up. I still am fucked up. I fucked you up, obviously. I shouldn't have done most of the shit I did when we were together. But right now, I'm feeling nostalgic, and I've missed you terribly and seeing you yesterday… Well, I just missed you, okay?”

He huffs out a breath, taking another generous swig from the to-go cup then running his fingers through his hair. “You think I haven’t missed you just as terribly?”

“So can’t we just enjoy this time we have together? Come to town with me and we can go to that holiday festival they have going on. Something brought us together and I don't want to waste this opportunity to catch up with you.”

And that is how Emma Swan convinced Killian Jones to forget all of the heartbreak she put him through three years ago. Not by offering him a drink, not by using sex as a bargaining chip, but by talking to him. He isn’t sure if this is a horrible idea or a brilliant one.

His phone rings again, and he knows Liam will chastise him if he answers the call.

It isn't as if they talk about anything meaningful. Their conversations throughout most of the day are rather bland and lack any quintessence whatsoever, but that doesn't mean he enjoys her company any less. They were always good at this, the banter and the jokes and the lighthearted conversations. Her sarcasm is infectious, as is her laugh, and he does whatever he can to hear it ringing through his ears again and again.

The winter festival is lackluster, the small and sleepy town providing all that it can but not holding a candle to anything he’s seen in Boston. There’s supposed to be some snowman building event soon, followed by a tree lighting ceremony, but he doesn’t get his hopes up. It’s still snowing lightly somehow, and the flakes that settle on Emma’s lashes are begging to be kissed away, although he holds back. Emma said she missed him, but in what capacity, he isn't sure.

“What about your nephew?” he finally asks as they walk through the overly cheerful crowd watching a couple of children sledding.

“Not here yet,” she responds. “I’ve just been waiting and waiting. I’m glad I ran into you, otherwise I’d have to be sitting with the lovebirds all this time.”

“Ah,” he says with a falsely somber tone. “So I'm simply a means to an end?”

She knows he’s joking and looks up at him with a bright smile that could probably melt some of the snow surrounding them. “You caught me,” she laughs. “I’m using you for your company alone.”

“I am rather good company, I must admit. Who else would buy you a bloody four dollar hot chocolate?”

She laughs again, bumping his shoulder with her own, and says, “no one.”

“Precisely.”

When she starts shivering, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close to him. She doesn’t flinch or pull away, only turning her body slightly so that she fits perfectly under his arm, then wrapping her own around his waist as they continue strolling.

The winter festival doesn’t offer them much by means of entertainment, but apparently, Storybrooke, Maine is breaking a record for the world’s largest snowman, around which the festival is built. Once they reach the center of the park, Emma enjoying her caramel corn and occasionally sharing with Killian, they’re able to watch as the townsfolk put the finishing touches on the stories-high structure. She laughs when the crane carries a giant truck tire to use as the coal eyes and mouth.

“Look at that!” she shouts, pointing at the two trees they plan to use as arms. The thing is at least 100 feet high, and it doesn’t seem like the 30 foot spruce will be big enough. She nearly collapses from laughter, apparently in utter disbelief that this is happening before her. It truly is magnificent to watch, the record-breaking snowman coming together before their very eyes. Apparently, the entire process has taken close to a month, and the festival celebrates the end of construction.

“Quite astonishing, aye?”

“Aye,” she laughs, resting her head on his shoulder as the people around them begin to applaud the final product. The thing is massive, and somewhat horrifying, but it was fun to be there to witness it’s completion. With her.

An announcement is made that the tree lighting ceremony will begin soon and Emma makes a comment about wanting to make this day as cheesy as they can by doing all of the small-town winter activities, so they head that way.

Again, Storybrooke has nothing on Boston in any capacity, but the small and homey feel of a town where everyone knows each other and welcomes the newcomers makes him feel quite at home. Though he isn't sure if it’s the town or the woman on his arm who seems more than comfortable to be there.

Everyone lets out an ooh and an aah as the lights are plugged in once the sun goes down, and Emma lets out a gentle, contented laugh, her smile beaming and blinding him. She glances to him quickly, her grin softening. He knows it must be because he’s unable to hide the look of wonderment on his face as he gazes at her. “It’s really something,” she says softly.

His smile grows and his eyes flutter, and he truly can't believe that he’s here again. He can’t believe that he’s letting himself fall so hard for this woman once more. But things feel so different. Better. When she turns so that she’s facing him completely, no longer paying any attention to the twenty-foot tree before them, he knows there isn't anything in the world that could stop him from falling back into the maelstrom that is loving Emma Swan.

She steps up onto her toes, her nose close to touching his, and threads her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. His own hand and prosthetic find purchase on her hips over her large puffy parka as he tilts his head forward until their foreheads are touching. “I’ve really missed you,” she says, her breath warming his lips as it escapes her mouth.

“Aye,” he whispers back. “Me too.”

“You’ve missed yourself?” she jests. He laughs, although he thinks she has no idea how true her words are.

“Perhaps.”

She doesn’t answer verbally, choosing instead to lean a bit further onto her toes and press her lips gently to his.

This kiss is unlike any they’ve ever shared. It’s unlike the last one because neither of their minds are altered by anything other than the presence of the other. It’s unlike all of the ones they shared during the year and a half they spent together, but he isn't sure why.

She deepens the kiss and he lets her, her tongue sliding against his as she tilts her head. Her lips are soft and sweet like the hot chocolate she was drinking. Her teeth nip lightly on his bottom lip and he sighs into her mouth. Despite the fact that he knows this could very well destroy him, he feels at home.

They kiss for several minutes, or perhaps it’s hours, before she pulls away from him and presses her forehead to his again, breathing heavily as her smile nearly touches his. To say he’s conflicted would be an understatement; every part of him wants to be with her in this moment, to forget the past and make things right with her. But the logical part, the part that his brother practically beat into him, tells him to run.

But when she says, “do you want to get out of here?” there isn't a single part of him that wants to say no.

“As it turns out, I have a lovely room that’s currently unoccupied.”

She hums as she laughs, rubbing her nose against his. “Isn’t that convenient?”

They walk hand in hand to the inn, Emma standing behind him and melting effortlessly against his back as she wraps her arms around his middle. When they get inside, she walks to the small bedside table, picking up the half-empty bottle of rum, and he thinks the worst.

It’s as if she hasn't heard a word he’s said all day. He quite literally quit drinking because of her, and if she offers him rum right now, he knows it will have to be over between them. He knows he would have to leave her now for his own good.

He thinks of Liam's words telling him how bad they were together. How the fact that they never communicated was completely unhealthy, how their excessive alcohol consumption prevented them from having an adult relationship, how their reliance on physical expression made it impossible for them to have any sort of meaningful conversation. He thinks about how close he came to death because of how excessively he drank when she left him. He thinks these things and nearly says them. “Emma, I can’t.”

But she interrupts. “I was just gonna throw this out. We don’t need it if you're sober, right? Is that okay? I don’t want to overstep.”

He feels his shoulders sagging and drops his head back with a smile, relief washing over him. “Yes,” he finally breathes out. “Yes, please get rid of that.” His heart rate starts to go back to normal almost immediately.

She smiles at him as she carries it to the adjoined bathroom, popping open the cork and ceremoniously pouring it into the toilet. She grins at him as she does so, and he smiles back, leaning on the jamb of the door and crossing his arms as he watches. She places the now empty bottle on the counter and turns to him, wiping her hands together three times as if to indicate that all is said and done. “There,” she says.

“Thank you,” he tells her softly, still leaning against the doorframe. She steps towards him, getting close enough to where he can smell the mint of the candy cane she ate earlier, and wraps her arms around him.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“You don’t need to apologize again, Swan. It was my decision.”

“Would you have bought that bottle if I hadn’t asked you to get drinks? Would you have ordered shots if I hadn’t ordered them for you?”

He wants to lift his hand and scratch behind his ear, but she knows that’s his tell, so he wraps his arms around her in a hug and she lets him. “Probably not,” he murmurs sadly.

“Then I apologize.”

“You didn’t know.”

She giggles against his chest, the air puffing from her nose stirring the hair she leans against. “You could’ve told me.”

He shrugs. She sighs against him, squeezing once more before letting go and moving towards the bed to take a seat, patting a spot beside her.

“We never could talk about things that mattered, could we?” he asks boldly.

Her laugh is sad as she hugs her legs up to her chest, and he thinks she’s probably wishing she had a drink right about now. He wonders if she’s holding onto her legs to stop herself from running. “We weren’t all bad.”

“No,” he agrees. “But we weren’t all good either. What we had, Emma, it wasn’t healthy. I see that now.”

“Then why would you want to see me? Why would you say yes when I asked you to get a drink?” Her tone isn’t necessarily accusatory, per se, but he can see that she’s hurt by him saying that they weren’t right for each other.

“I don’t know,” he answers with a dejected tone.

Emma scoffs, shaking her head as she stands from the bed enthusiastically enough to send Killian bouncing. “So it was a bad relationship because I never communicated, but I ask you one question and you don’t have an answer.”

“Don’t do that,” he starts, though he isn’t sure where he’s going.

“Do what?! Try to actually have a conversation with you? Killian, you told me that you wanted to work on things because we never communicated.You told me you were serious about us, and instead of putting in the work, I left. I’m sorry for that. But now I’m here and I’m trying and you just don’t see that!”

“I do see that!” It’s true. It may not have been long since he ran into her, but he can see the changes in her from a mile away.

“Then talk to me! There’s a reason you said yes to drinks with me even though you’re sober, just tell me what it is. Why would you do that if you knew you would be hurting yourself?”

“I didn’t want to lose the chance to see you!”

“That’s ridiculous,” she chastises, rolling her eyes, and he stands now too.

“It’s because I never got over you. I saw you randomly in the streets after you basically destroyed me and I knew instantly that if I had the chance to be with you again I would take it.” Her face has fallen and she looks so sad and lost that it pains him. “When I saw you last night, I knew I never stopped loving you, no matter how fucked up we were. If I’d said no, I’d never have forgiven myself.”

She’s frozen. He is too. “You love me?” she asks.

“Aye.”

She’s crying. He is too. She wipes at a tear trailing down her cheek and sniffles hard. “After all this time?”

“I didn’t realize how bad we were while I was in it. After you left me, I basically got my ass handed to me by my brother and he helped me to see how toxic we were.”

“Toxic,” she repeats.

“Yes, Emma. All we did was drink and fuck and argue. We never talked. Not about the stuff that mattered.”

“I tried,” she says. “I really did try for you, Killian. You were always just so… so connected and you were always saying these profound things to me and about me, and I couldn’t handle it.”

“Why didn’t you just say that, then?”

“I didn’t know how!”

“So instead you left? Just up and leave one morning without a word? One fight and we were done?”

“There was a lot more than one fight.”

“None of the others mattered. They were over stupid, meaningless shit. The one time I tried to get you to work on us you ran off to Phoenix.”

“That was a bad move,” she admits.

“Then why did you do it?! Why would you do that to me?”

She chokes out a soft sob, dropping onto the bed and letting her face fall into her hands. He feels regretful for making her so upset, but he must admit that there’s a certain catharsis in letting this out three years later.

“I didn’t know how to handle how much I loved you. No one has ever talked to me like that, not before or since. And I thought, if my own parents couldn’t love me enough to even keep me, then you couldn’t possibly either. So a part of me never really believed you. Every time you would say that you loved me, I could tell myself you didn’t mean it.” She sniffles again, blowing her nose into a tissue before continuing. He takes the opportunity to sit beside her once more. “Then that night, you were so honest. You just kept saying how badly you wanted a future with me and how desperately you wanted to make things work between us. And I thought I had done a good job of keeping you at arm's length so that that wouldn’t happen, but I guess I didn’t. And I couldn’t believe I had done that to you. I thought you couldn’t possibly have had a happy future with me.”

“Emma,” he says, hoping to argue with her but desperately unsure of what to say. “How can you say that?”

She shakes her head, still crying although he’s managed to stop his own tears. “I tried, Killian, really. I tried so hard to let you love me the way you wanted to, but I just thought you deserved so much better.”

“You deserve to be loved, Emma.”

She sighs, hugging herself around the waist. “It’s been really hard for me to see that,” she says softly, almost weakly.

“I love you,” he says. “Every part of you. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but it’s true. I only wanted to help you see that.”

“All I did was push you away,” she chokes.

“Aye, that made things rather difficult for me,” he laughs. “And I’ll admit that I ran out of patience and had to insist that we open up to each other. And I’m sorry that you weren’t ready then, but I don’t regret it. I regret losing you, every day, but I don’t regret saying what I did.”

She looks up at him through long, tear-filled lashes and barely smiles. “I know.”

They sit in a soft silence for a moment, the remnants of what was exchanged between them comfortably heavy in the air. Finally she turns to him, still holding a scrunched up tissue covered in her black makeup, and says, “can I tell you about Phoenix?”

He scratches behind his ear, unsure if he wants to hear about the things she got up to after leaving him behind, but says, “sure, Swan.”

Her breath catches in her throat and she smiles at him. “No one has called me that in three years.” He chuckles back at her, smiling and unsure of what to say. He likes this, him sitting here beside her while she talks to him. It’s different, and exactly what he needed all those years ago. “It was miserable. I was so unhappy, I don’t even know why I went. I got a shitty job as a waitress, I barely made enough to support myself, and I missed you so much it hurt.”

“I missed you too.”

She takes his hand and continues on. “Eventually I met this asshole who I thought was good for me, but I kept comparing him to you and I couldn’t get over it. A couple weeks ago he did something really stupid, stole some watches, and I got the hell out of there.”

“So where have you been for the last few weeks?”

“Here,” she shrugs. “Waiting for the baby, using that as an excuse to avoid my problems.”

He chuckles, unfortunately understanding what she means. “Well, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you there. Never did get that job as a cop you wanted, did you?”

“No,” she hums sadly. “I guess there’s still time.”

“Aye.”

“Can you tell me about Boston? While I was gone?”

“Ah,” he starts, scratching behind his ear and earning a smile from her. “Wasn’t all that great. I started drinking more after you left. I joined the navy full time, then dad finally died, and even though I hated the bastard, I started drinking even more. Then I got to the point where I had to have something in me to even make it to work, and one day I crushed my hand so badly they couldn’t save it. Basically went through withdrawal while I was in the hospital. Liam moved here with Elsa, I got discharged, and then rest is history.”

She’s silent for a moment, taking in a deep breath before she says, “Christ.”

“Aye.”

“I guess neither of us really got our shit together, huh?”

He laughs again. “At one point I thought I had, but then I ran into this woman in the street and suddenly things just started going mad again.”

“Hmm,” she hums lightly, scooting over towards him on the bed. “What a bitch.”

He shrugs. “She’s not so bad now that I’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

“Ha ha,” she fakes. But before she can say anything more to him, she’s perching herself close to him and taking his left arm in her hands, gently stroking up and down the remaining flesh under his shirt. “Are you okay?”

He knows she’s referring to the hand he lost, probably to all the other things he went through as well. He nods, taking the opportunity to lean towards her and meet her forehead with his. “It was a while ago. Over two years now. I’m alright.”

“I’m sorry that it happened to you. And that you lost your dad.”

“Thank you.”

Before he knows what hit him, she’s kissing him. She presses one soft kiss to his mouth and pulls back, as if asking permission to go on, as if he could ever resist her. He’s kissing her back, placing a hand on her hips once she gets into his lap and running his arm up and down along her spine, wishing he could feel her against his fingertips again.

They remain in that position, her hips atop his and her fingers in his hair, for more time than he can keep track of. It doesn’t go any further, they simply enjoy each other as they get to know one another’s mouths again. If he thought he missed her before, he was a fool.

Once they break apart, he moves his arms so his hand slides up into her hair, pulling her into a tight hug and pressing their chests together until he can breathe again. They’re silent for another few minutes as they hold each other, trying to catch their breath. Her nose is pressed into his neck and he can feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. His nose is tucked into her hair and he can smell her familiar shampoo, fruit and mint mixed together.

“I’m tired,” she finally says. “I know it’s not that late, but can we go to bed?”

“I have rather missed sleeping beside you.”

“I haven’t really slept in three years.”

“Well,” he starts, moving to remove his shoes and grab his pajamas from his suitcase. “Lie down, Swan, and we’ll make sure you sleep soundly tonight. Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?”

“Yes please,” she smiles. “Did you bring face wash?”

“Of course, it’s in the bathroom.”

As they get ready for bed together, easily slipping back into the routine, he tries not to stare at her ass in his t-shirt, covered only by her cotton underwear. Once they’ve slid into bed, she slots herself up against him, one leg hitching over his hips as her arm hugs around his waist. He isn’t sure about her, but he sleeps like a rock for the first time in ages.

~~~~

When he wakes to her still clinging to him, he grins. At first, he can’t believe that she’s still here, but when he remembers their conversation, it makes sense. As much as he wants to tell himself that she could still take his heart again and run with it, he doesn’t believe it.

He detangles himself from her grasp, careful not to wake her, and stands to stretch. Once he gets out of the shower, he changes into a shirt and jeans and leaves her a note, telling her that he has to check in with Liam and asking her to meet him at the diner after.

When he finally gets to Liam's house, his brother exits his front door in a rage, marching down the front steps and grabbing him by the collar of his jacket. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

“Good morning to you, too, brother,” Killian jests lightly, removing his hand from his coat. “I came to apologize.”

He scoffs. “You haven’t answered a single call or text, you don’t show up for the festival like we planned, what were you thinking?”

“I was busy.”

“And you could have told me you wouldn’t be home for dinner. Elsa made extra just for you!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait… did you say you were busy?”

Killian smirks, stepping aside from Liam towards the house to let himself in. “Aye.”

“Tell me it’s not her, little brother.”

“Younger.”

“Killian.”

“You mean you knew she was here?” he asks as he turns from the door, releasing the handle before he can get inside.

Liam sighs and moves Killian out of his way so that he can slip inside first. “Yes, I thought it may have been her when she arrived. As you know, she never wanted to meet me, so it was hard to determine from the pictures alone. But I remembered you saying she had a brother, and I knew David’s sister was in town.”

“Bloody hell,” he says as he follows his brother into the kitchen. He’s offered a coffee but he refuses. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Because, brother, think of who you were when you were with her. I didn’t want you going back to that place.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“You nearly died when she left you! How is that not my concern?”

Killian sighs, taking a seat on the stool at the countertop. He knows his brother is right, and that they still have more that they need to address, but he feels good about their conversation last night. He especially feels good about the fact that it was Emma who initiated it. “We’re both in a better place,” he starts.

“Well, you’re down one hand. What has she lost?”

“Liam,” he warns. “My reaction to her leaving is not her fault. I was the foolish one.”

“And I’m sure she agrees that it’s all your fault?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve had a conversation about this already.”

Liam laughs condescendingly and says, “really? Emma Swan had a conversation with you.”

“She initiated it.”

He’s quiet. A quiet Liam is almost never good… it means he’s thinking.

“I know you love her,” he starts. “But watching you the last time… well, it nearly ended me to see you go through that.”

“I know, brother.”

“I don't want to see you go through that again.”

“I don’t want to go through it again.”

They speak a bit more, mostly Liam talking at Killian about how concerned he is.But finding out that Emma was the one to reach out and take the first steps must have been encouraging to him. It was to Killian.

Almost an hour later, Killian finally leaves, just before he’d asked Emma to meet him at the diner, and makes his way down Main Street. It’s finally stopped snowing, and now that it’s Sunday morning and the fame-garnering festivities have ended, the town seems a bit quieter. He takes the gentle calm as a good sign. If nothing else, it’s finally showing him that perhaps this sleepy village isn’t as bad as he’d once thought.

He sees Emma sitting at the counter when he arrives, happy to see that she’s taken him up on his offer. But when he begins to walk over to her, something is off. The man seated beside her is sitting a bit too close, and he doesn't just think that because he’s fallen back into his tendency to be protective of her. When he takes hold of her arm forcefully and she tries to back away, Killian rushes towards her.

“Neal, I said stop! Get off me!”

He thinks of nothing but getting to her, grabbing the man by the shoulder and throwing him off the stool he’d occupied. She shouts when he does so, and he rushes to her to take her cheek in his hand and brush his prosthetic over her tousled hair. “Are you alright?” he asks, brushing a tear from her cheek.

“I’m fine,” she says shakily, letting out a breath in a sob. “I’m okay.”

He can only console her for so long before the man, Neal, grabs him by his own shoulder and yanks him away from Emma. He swings towards Killian and strikes his cheek, so he shoves his shoulder into the man’s gut until he falls and collides his own fist to his jaw.

He hears Emma shout his name, but whatever happens next is a blur to him. He doesn't stay on top of the man who attacked her, rising quickly to get away from him and standing in front of her in hopes of protecting her.

He forgets that her brother is the damn sheriff. It’s a small town, of course someone calls.

When he arrives, Emma tells him what's happened, blaming it on Neal and explaining that Killian was protecting her. David takes a statement from the both of them, then arrests Neal, leaving Killian with only a threatening look that he assumes means watch yourself around my sister. It’s not unlike the looks he gave him almost five years ago when he and Emma first began their relationship.

After all is said and done, Emma gets him ice from the kitchen and tenderly places it on his throbbing cheek. She apologizes relentlessly for getting him involved, as if he wouldn’t choose to do the same thing again and again. “It’s fine, love,” he tells her. “I’m alright.”

“This is all my fault.”

“No, Swan,” he insists, placing his hand on her cheek and brushing some hair behind her ear. “Don’t say that.”

She leans into his hand, soothed by his touch, and says, “let me bring you to your room. You don’t want to be out here with everyone watching.”

He finally gets his bearings back on his way up the stairs, the stars behind his eyes fading away and the feeling of her hand in his grounding him. She takes the keys from his pocket, struggling slightly to open the door with her shaky hands, so he rests his chin on her shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to her check and neck.

Once they’re inside, she pulls him to the bed and sits him down beside her. “That was my ex,” she tells him, pressing the glove filled with ice back against his cheek. He flinches away from the cold against his flaming skin and she apologizes once more. “He found me, I don’t know how. But he’s mad that I left him while he was fencing the watches he stole. He was scared I was gonna turn him in.”

“Well, he did a nice job of getting himself arrested, then.”

She chuckles, leaning close to him and pressing a soft kiss to the uninjured cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Thank you. For just… I mean, we were in a public place and I know nothing could've happened, but… I don’t know. As messed up as it sounds, it felt good knowing you were there for me.”

“‘Course I am. Always.”

She runs her long fingers through his hair lightly, soothingly, and he leans his head against her hand.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He opens his eyes to look at her once again, urging her to go on. “I’m in therapy.”

He smiles brightly at her and she returns it. “Are you?” It explains enough, her willingness to be open with him especially.

“Yeah. I started about a year after we… after I left you. It’s been going really well.”

“That’s wonderful, darling.”

“Yeah. And, uh, it’s made me realize some things. Like… like how you’re right, I pushed you away because I didn’t think I was worthy of love. And how being abandoned affected, like, every aspect of my life. But mostly my ability to… be vulnerable with the people I love.”

He nods his head, leaning back so that he can sit against the headboard. It’s only around 10, but he’s exhausted. “That makes sense, Swan. I’m glad it’s working out for you.”

“My point is,” she continues as if she didn’t hear him, likely because she desperately wants to get her point across. “My point is that… you’re one of those people. Just like you said everything changed when you saw me, it was the same for me. The second I saw you I knew that I— that I never stopped...”

She’s practically spitting the words out, but it’s so much more than she was willing to do three years ago. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I love you. I always have, I think I always will. And you were right. We weren’t good for each other back then because I was horribly closed off and you deserved someone who would open up to you. But I’ve worked on myself and now, well, now I want to work on us, if you still want that.” He grins at her admission and leans forward to press a kiss to her lips. “And one other thing.”

He backs away just slightly so that she can speak, but isn’t willing to go far. “What’s that?” he whispers.

“I have an interview after Christmas for a position on a police force. I’d just be beat cop but… I’m gonna go for it.”

He laughs and backs away some more because it’s all he can do. He’s happy for her, of course. She’s following her dreams. But he’s also heartbroken to hear that she plans to plant roots in Phoenix.

“That’s fantastic news, love. I’m glad to hear you’ll be following the path you set for yourself.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But you missed the best part.”

“What’s that?”

“The job is in Quincy.”

He’s frozen. “Quincy? That’s—”

“Like, 20 minutes outside of Boston.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I checked a map myself.”

He breaks out of his stupor to laugh, suddenly appreciative of her ability to make light of their situation now that she’s shown her willingness to be open with him. He’s in awe of the steps she says she’s taking. Of course there’s still more to discuss, but her admission has given him something he hasn't had in quite some time: hope.

“I know we haven’t talked about this,” she says in almost a whisper. “But I haven't been happy in Phoenix. I was hoping to move back to Boston soon anyway. And then when I ran into you… Killian, I'm…” she inhales deeply, smiling at him softly before saying, “I want to try again. Really try.”

Every time he thought of her over the last three years, he felt broken and saddened, and yet he still had love for her. Whenever he thought about their relationship and how bad it really was, there was still always a part of him that would have taken her back. Each time he had these thoughts, he knew they were outrageous because he would have needed her to tell him that that’s what she wanted too, that she was willing to work with him to make their relationship something good.

He never dreamed he would actually hear those words from her mouth.

“You’re serious?” he asks, completely dumbfounded by her once more.

“Yeah, I mean… if that’s something you would want.”

Without a second thought, he says, “yes. Yes, Emma,” he laughs. “I always would have taken you back. I always would have and I always thought that would be a horrible idea because I didn't think it would work, but now you’re…”

“I want to make it work.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, standing and moving towards her so that he can scoop her into his arms and hug her so tightly that he lifts her from the mattress. Her laughter rings through his ears joyously, a sound of which he thinks he’ll never tire. “Bloody hell, woman,” he says against her neck. “You've really put me through the ringer this weekend.”

She giggles again, tucking her nose against his pulse and planting a kiss there. “We all need a little drama around the holidays.”

“You’ve certainly delivered.” He releases her a bit so he can look into her eyes, brushing some fallen hair from her face and planting a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You're really moving back to Boston?”

She nods. “The only thing keeping me in Phoenix was my therapist,” she tells him with a laugh. “I can get a new one of those.”

He breathes out in disbelief once more. “I’m very proud of you, you know. All this time I wanted you back but I never thought you would want to put in the work. Not just for us, but for yourself. I’m glad you started seeing someone, love. You deserve to love yourself the way I love you.”

With a smile that seems to never fade, she touches her fingers to his cheek, the one with the bruise forming, and nods her head. “I’m glad I ran into you this weekend. Pretty life-altering.”

“One might consider it a Christmas miracle.”

With a laugh, she takes his hand and says, “yeah. Now come on, I need breakfast.”

They spend the day together again, this time neither of them timid around the other and freely touching and kissing one another. He can’t get enough of her. He’s sure the patrons of the small diner are sick of them reaching across the table to hold hands throughout their entire meal. Well, Emma holds his prosthetic, but the concept is the same, and she doesn't seem to mind. They talk about Christmas and New Years and life when they go back to Boston. They talk about their schedules and when they'll have time to see one another. She tells him she plans to start looking for apartments as soon as she can. She’ll stay with her brother and help with the baby until she finds one.

She gets a call from the sheriff after they've finished their breakfast, more like lunch given the time, and is informed that her nephew is on his way. She tells him that she’s going to meet him at the hospital and asks if her boyfriend can come, too.

The baby is quite cute, as newborn babies go, but what’s cuter is the look on her face when she holds him for the first time.

Killian sits in the waiting room to call Liam while she sits with her brother and sister-in-law, and he asks him to come by for Christmas Eve dinner. He also tells him that he should bring Emma along, and he hopes that she’ll agree. When they were last together, she was too afraid to meet his family. But when he brings it up to her once she’s finished visiting, she happily agrees.

Emma gets along beautifully with Elsa, and Killian can see that Liam really does try to give her a chance. Christmas Eve is special not only because he gets to spend it with the people he loves, but also because Elsa surprises all of them by revealing her pregnancy. When Liam finds out he’s to be a father, he cries.

With a promise to return for Christmas morning, they head out and back to his room at the inn, Emma claiming that the only gift she wants for Christmas is to spend the morning with him.

“So,” he says once they’re seated in the lobby with a fire roaring before them. “I’m your boyfriend?”

She hums, as if considering this, and nonchalantly says, “I guess so,” as she takes his hand and pressed a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

They sleep with her back against his chest, her hips wiggling into his every so often driving him mad with desire. But there’s an unspoken agreement between them to wait before being physical with each other again. The last time, sex was something they used to distract themselves from the things that were going wrong in their relationship. This time around, he wants it to be something more. He wants it to be about them and how much they mean to each other.

He can tell that she’s sleeping as her breathing shallows, and he reaches his hand onto her hip to hold her a bit tighter. When he does, she takes his hand and pulls him over her so that every part of them is touching. It’s perfect.

~~~~

When he wakes on Christmas morning, he’s alone. She’s tossed the sheets away so that they were folded over on top of him, and when he reaches for her pillow, it’s gone cold.

A part of him panics. Could she really leave him again? The last time, he woke and she was gone, leaving only a note that said ‘I can’t, I’m so sorry’. This time, there’s no note, and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The difference now is that he isn’t as worried as he could be. Sure, she isn’t here, but he trusts her more now after just two days than he thinks he did for much of their relationship three years ago. So when he collapses back onto the bed, slightly worried, he finds himself also embraced by a sense of unexpected calm.

She’s opening the door just a few moments later, and he knows his face brightens by several shades once he sees her carrying a tray of drinks and pastries. A bear claw for her and a donut for him, plus a coffee and what he’s sure is a hot chocolate. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it was to convince Granny to sell these to me.”

He sits up in bed slightly, reaching his arm behind his head as he grins at her. “Happy Christmas, Swan.”

She places the tray on the table beside the bed and tosses her shoes off before climbing into bed and onto his lap, her legs straddling his. “Merry Christmas.”

“There are some things you just won’t be able to change, my love.”

“That’s alright,” she laughs, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I like you the way you are.”

It’s enough, he thinks. It’s perfect.

#tw alcohol #Captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #captain swan AU #cs au #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #ouat au #dust storm au #angst #fluff #angst with a happy ending

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sevendeadlyvices · 3 years

Text

Larger Than Life

To practice my writing a bit and be self-indulgent, I’m going to write out one of Sam’s dreams and see where it goes! I’m going to write until my writing muse wears off, so here it goes…

It was a slow day at the Office of Sam and Max: Freelance Police. Sam had to bring out his typewriter that he affectionately named Vicky to type up some report and they were no calls to action from the Commissioner yet. Max had offered to go to Bosco’s for some snacks and Sam agreed since the store was on the corner.

That should have been his first clue that the day would get interesting.

Sam took out the typed paper from the machine and smiled. “Good. Just a few more of these and we’ll be free from our weekly paperwork in no time!”

“Oh, Sammie~”

The dog immediately flung Vicky to the side with shaky arms. The voice was louder and a bit deeper, but he recognized it right away. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Then again, strange things always occurred at Bosco’s Inconvenience Store.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Something tapped the wall from outside as if a wrecking ball was lightly tapping the building. Did Sam dare look? He turned around to face the nearest window… and found a large brown eye staring at him.

“GAH!” Sam exclaimed, his hat flying off of his head as he fell out of his chair. A deep chuckle echoed around him.

“Tee hee! You’re funny, Sam.”

For a few seconds, the other didn’t answer. Gosh, his partner‘s giggling was cute. Clearing his throat and with flustered cheeks, Sam stood back up with his arms crossed.

“What happened this time?”

“For the first time since a while, it ain’t my fault. Somebody was mugging Bosco with a fancy gun as usual and I was about to pulverize ’em when they shot me and I grew to this size. So I ate the guy and got us some snacks. Incoming!” Before Sam could question or protest, there were a few cracking sounds coming from above. He could see large fuzzy white fingers poking in from the ceiling. The roof and the entire upper floor was ripped off and set to the side. Sam looked up to see his little buddy almost a hundred feet tall, staring down at him with a wide grin on his face. Just then, a hot dog cart was dropped next to Sam’s desk.

“Good work, little buddy! Er… big buddy!” Sam smiled, his cheeks still rosy as he went to the cart and picked up a couple of specialty hotdogs, eating them.

“Did we get a new case yet?”

“Not yet. Guess even major crimes have their off-days.”

“Oh… so are ya done with the paperwork? I’m bored and staarrrrrrrrrving!” Max pouted and crossed his arms. He blinked when he saw Sam choke on his food. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Sam reassured after his throat was cleared up. “And screw paperwork! We better take advantage of your newfound size before you shrink back to being the little buddy I know.”

“Like harassing the mayor again, pouncing at buildings, and playing with the Subway trains?”

“You crack me up, big buddy!” Max lowered his hand and grabbed Sam by the waist, lifting him from the office and right at eye level.

“You look so cute, Sam. Like a little doll to play with!” Max admitted, then leaned in close to lick at Sam with his pink tongue. Sam sputtered and covered his blushing and now covered in saliva face. “Tasty too~”

“M-Max!” The dog stammered nervously. A devious grin formed in the giant lagomorph’s face.

“You’re just what I always wanted! I’m going to keep you with me forever, dress you in nice suits, and play with you as much as I want. I’m the president and now a giant, so I can do whatever I damn well please~” Sam looked up in awe, nervousness, and flustered emotions as Max leaned in closer with his sharp fangs, about to do who knew what…. When Sam woke up on the bottom bunk of his bed. And he proceeded to slam his head against the post. Repeatedly.

Why did it end there?

#Sam and Max #fanfiction #Mun Writes #short oneshot #Giant Max #Tiny Sam #Just wanted to write a short thing #Sam is crushing hard and flailing at his special interests coming true #Meanwhile Max is oblivious for now #Tell me what you think #Giant #tiny #g/t

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celeste-clearwater-06 · 4 years

Text

A warm spring day in Neville's 5th year was a perfect day to go out and find productivity by examining some greenery near the Black Lake. He had brought fresh parchment and a quill outside with him, and he scribbled down perfectly literate handwriting, observing a blade of gold and olive-colored grass.

And coincidentally, he was not the only student who needed a breath of fresh air and to break away from the horrid witch, called Umbridge.

Y/N adjusted the strap of her small, hand-knit bag that she slung over her shoulder.

She found a seat underneath a willow tree, sat close to the edge of the lake, and tucked herself close to the trunk, which made the perfect makeshift seat between its large and knotted roots.

Y/N sat cross-legged, and carefully emptied the contents of her bag.

A well-used sketchbook and pencil, and a few snacks that she had been gifted from the generous house-elves after she had skipped lunch.

A fluttering of wings drew her attention away from the beautiful landscape and watched with a smile as her sand-colored tawny owl perched himself on a gangly root close to her.

"Hello, Percy. " she smiled, and gently stroked the top of his feathery head with two fingers. He closed his eyes with a content chirp, making Y/N chuckle.

"I brought you a little snack. Are you hungry?"

She held out a small piece of bread, and let the owl happily snatch it from between her fingers.

Y/N then looked down at her sketchbook, feeling the urge to let her creativity discharge onto the paper. She scanned her surroundings longingly, trying to unearth any spark of inspiration. Her eyes scanned over large trees, and the captivating lake, watching as a few mermaid tails skimmed the water's surface and delved back down below. A small whip Scorpion scuttled along the ground near Y/N's feet. And when she grew frustrated that no inspiration had come to her, she saw him.

Neville Longbottom, her long time crush, seated on the lush terrain with his legs sprawled out, as he scratched words onto a piece of parchment, and gently biting down on his lower lip in concentration.

Perfect.

A sight for her sore eyes, and for a moment, Y/N can't tear her memorized stare away from the flawless presence about 20 feet away from her.

And when she could finally look away, it was straight down to her hands, watching as they mindlessly duplicated the stunning image not far from her.

Neville felt… strange. He felt the piercing stare of eyes on the side of his head. Nevertheless, he didn't draw his attention away from the violet petals of a beautiful flower. He figured that it was just his subconscious and panicked mind. It always felt that way, since he was known as the fool, the klutz, the screw-up of Hogwarts. He felt like people were always there to judge him.

But if only they were in his shoes. Then they'd know how hard it is to be him. To be Neville. For a moment, the feeling went away, and relief washed over him, but that feeling was short-lived, and the pressure began again.

Neville shifted uncomfortably and furrowed his brows just a bit more. He suspected it was just Draco and his obnoxious goons and decided to just let them stare and conjure up a plan to tease him.

He knew it would never change, and he would just have to live with that.

But, still, his conscience was persistent, and he found his attention pulled away from the delicate flower between his soft fingers, and surveyed his surroundings. And his heart skipped a beat.

Y/N had her beautiful eyes locked down in some sort of book, hand moving in gentle strokes across one of the pages, and her eyebrows knitted together, completely lost in her little world. Next to her, sat a small owl with unusually large eyes. It stared intently at Neville, and then let out a loud chirp.

Y/N smiled, looking up from the book, and up at her owl, speaking to it in a delicately inaudible voice, before realizing that it was staring at something. Neville's face flared as red as his house color, seeing her gentle smile and wave in his direction, and he could hardly lift his hand to wave back.

He watched as Y/N chuckled, then turned back to her book continuing to scribble with eagerness.

He tried to continue looking down at the fragile plant in his hand, but his infatuation with the girl nearby was all too much for his timid heart to handle.

Y/N sighed with relief, seeing him turn back to his original position, permitting the opportunity for her to finish the black and white sketch of Neville. She added finalizing touches, like the golden sun reflecting off of his chocolate-colored hair, and his beautiful long eyelashes that fluttered when he blinked.

She looked up one last time to confirm that she'd made the art perfect, but Neville was gone.

Her heart sank, knowing she had missed another opportunity to talk to him, but jumped out of her skin when she heard a cough on her opposite side.

Y/N quickly turned her head, to find Neville standing above her, wringing his clammy hands together.

"M-may I sit here?" He inquired politely, and immediately averted his eyes when hers widened.

"Absolutely."

Y/N's answer surprised Neville, but he thanked her quietly and accepted the offer of her hand patting the ground. As he lowered himself in between Y/N and a tree root, Neville caught a glimpse of the drawing in her hand and his eyes widened in astonishment.

"That's amazing!" He gaped with perplexity, referring to the art with a nod of his head. Y/N flushed and choked on her own words.

"Ooh, uh yeah…I-I mean thank you! Thank you." She stuttered, internally hexing herself for doing so.

"How in Merlin's Beard did you do that?!" Neville asked, reaching his hand out, and stroking the pencil marks on the well-used paper.

"Just practice I guess. Takes a lot of work, but it pays off in the end." Y/N so badly wanted to place her hand on top of his.

"What spell did you use to do this?"

"Sorry, what?"

"What spell?" Neville repeated, "I had no clue there was a charm for art."

"There's not…"

And Y/N thought Neville's eyes couldn't get any wider.

"REALLY?!"

The loud noise startled Percy, causing him to screech loudly, and flap his wings. Neville gasped.

"Shh, shh it's okay Percy!" Y/N soothed the owl, with a marvelously lulling voice, and Neville just stared in bewilderment as she was able to Instantly calm him, stroking the top of his head.

"I-I'm so sorry!" Neville whispered guiltily, "I didn't mean to scare him."

Y/N laughed sweetly, making Neville's heart skip a beat.

"It's alright. You don't have to whisper."

"R-right. Sorry." His attention was drawn back to the sketchbook. "So you really drew that yourself?"

"I did…"

"You're incredible…" Neville muttered and quickly realized that those words were not meant to leave his mouth.

"I-I mean, the drawing is incredible! A-and you are too! AGh… Merlin, I'm pathetic, aren't I?" He hid his bright red face in his hands

He heard Y/N laugh again, and found that her face was just as red.

"I don't think you're pathetic, Neville."

He looked at her with a deep marvel.

"Y-you know my name?"

She nodded, looking back down at her book with rosy cheeks.

"C-Can I ask you a question?" Neville spoke very quietly, turning to admire the lake a few feet away from them.

"Sure."

"Why did you draw me? There are plenty more interesting things to draw, than me."

Y/N was quiet for a moment, and Neville instantly regretted asking the question, afraid it made her uncomfortable, but before he could speak up, Y/N answered.

"I like to sketch things that I think are pretty."

She answered simply, closing her eyes as the spring air blew gently against her face, and leaned her head back on the trunk of the tree.

Y/N didn't see Neville's face burn an intense shade of red, or how he grinned from ear to ear, mimicking the way she leaned against the willow.

"You think I'm pretty?" He muttered.

"Well, yeah I guess. I think you're very interesting. You seem very nice." She opened her eyes, looking over at Neville, anxious with the sound of his silence.

He was still grinning like a fool as he stared out at the captivating body of water. Y/N found herself starting. He was even more handsome close-up, with the reflection of the water creating beautiful moving patterns that danced across his complexion. He blinked his ivy green eyes a few times.

"Nobody's ever found me interesting unless I'm making a fool of myself." Neville's smile quickly vanished, and he looked back down at his fidgeting hands and picked at a loose string on his cable-knit sweater.

"I can assure you, I think you're more than just a fool. Not everyone can see that, though I'm not sure why."

"Well, I'm not the bravest Gryffindor, for starters. Not as great as Harry Potter. I'm the only one who can't cast his Patronus for Merlin's sake."

"You're brave for trying at least. There's a reason I'm in Hufflepuff, you know. I couldn't do half of the things you Gryffindors could."

"Well sure you can. Hufflepuffs are amazing!"

"Yeah… really though, I think you're incredible Neville."

Neville had nothing else to say. This girl was not one to let him talk down on himself.

After a few moments of stillness, Y/N coughed.

"I think we should get back before Umbridge sicks her evil quill on us."

This made Neville chuckle, a deep, butterfly inducing sound that made goosebumps crawl up and down Y/N's skin.

"You're right. T-thank you by the way."

Y/N looked over at him, realizing she was practically the same height.

"For?"

"Being so kind. It's not every day that someone wants to draw me."

Y/N blushed, and then got an idea, the thought evident on her face as her eyes lit up.

"Here." She ripped the page, and Neville stared in horror at the sound of tearing paper filling his ears.

"What are you doing?"

She pulled out a cleanly torn page, with the picture of Neville, and then held it out to him with a bright smile.

"A parting gift."

"You don't have to do this. Y-you worked so hard and-"

"It's fine, really. I always find the time to make more."

"Thank you. So much. Really, I mean it." Neville's face hurt from smiling so much, as he stared down at the beautiful artwork.

"You're very welcome." Y/N grinned and dusted off her clothes before standing up on her feet.

Percy fluttered from this perch and up onto her shoulder. Neville still hadn't looked away from his gift, and hardly noticed the girl holding her hand out.

"Need some help?"

He froze, locking eyes with Y/N, and unable to form even half of a syllable, with his bright burning expression.

Finally, he could move his head just enough to replicate a nod, and lifted a trembling hand to place in hers. And he would have melted into a puddle of happy-Neville right then and there if it weren't for the fact that he needed to get back to herbology class.

Her hands were warm and soft, and immediately he grew anxious that she would notice the sweat on his as she helped pull him from the ground.

When Neville was back on two feet, he had nearly forgotten how to walk, being so close to this beautiful angel.

He tumbled forwards a little bit, almost knocking Y/N over, and she laughed, helping him stand up straight.

"Oops!"

He quickly pulled his hand away and started to stutter, but Y/N cut him off.

"Hey, you dropped something."

She pointed down at the grass, and Neville noticed it as well. It was the same purple flower that he had been studying earlier. An idea of his own came to mind, and he stooped to pick it up, before holding it out to Y/N.

She gratefully accepted the beautiful plant and tucked it in the front pocket of her black school robe.

"Thank you, Neville! It's beautiful!"

"Y-you're welcome." He smiled shyly.

The two acquaintances walked up towards where they had originally come from, having a deeply intriguing conversation about this so-called "Dumbledor's Army" that Neville had spoken of earlier, and though both of them had been very shy and hesitant at first, they walked away with one thing in mind; they were happy that something good had changed.

A/N- I hope you enjoyed this little one shot!! I know, im not super experienced with the entire set up of this format, but I'll get used to it eventually!! Thank you!! ❤❤

#neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom #harry potter #x reader #hufflepuff

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daaedoodles · 3 years

Text

Building walls (just to tear them down) | 1, Blood Sugar

A/N, TRIGGER WARNING for brief mentions and implied self harm, eating disorders, abandonment issues and emotional neglect.

One minute she’s standing in front of a patient with Dr Halstead, and the next, the world feels like it's spinning at a hundred miles an hour.

Then it all goes black.

Next thing Sarah knows, she’s coming back to consciousness, lying down with the strangely stiff sheets of the hospital bed beneath her fingertips. She winces, screwing her eyes shut, the damned white overhead lights far too bright. Reese raises a hand to pinch the top of her nose bridge as what just happened sets in.

You have got to be kidding me.

Her eyes flutter open and leaning over into her vision is Halstead, in all of his golden hair and scruffy glory. He narrows his eyes, furrowing his brows as he stares.

“Reese? You okay?”

Letting out a baited breath, her eyes flicker open, blinking in response to the sudden change in brightness. “What happened?”

“You-” Will pauses, stepping back as he grabs the blood pressure machine cuff, pressing the velcro closed around Reese’s upper arm. “Passed out.”

Sarah Reese lets out a sigh, rubbing her temple as she feels the cuff around her arm slowly begin to squeeze at her flesh, then release. Then she feels her pulse in her upper arm, beating like a drum against her skin. The sensation clouds her mind, the steady rhythm of her heart reminding her that she’s still alive- And that she passed out, again. Except this time, people saw her- and when people know they always get worried.

You should’ve been more careful.

“121 over 86, you’re all good.” Dr Halstead announces, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“Mind taking off the cuff?” He gestures to the blood pressure machine as he walks purposefully to the end of the bed, hastily snatching up a clipboard with what she presumes are her files. Sarah reaches up, tearing the velcro straight off of the cuff and sliding it off of her arm roughly.

“I’m so embarrassed.” She grumbles as she places the cuff on the table atop the machine, reaching up then to touch her head briefly.

Will glances up from the papers to look at her, “Don’t be, you fainted.” His eyes return to the clipboard as he flips a page, scanning its contents before flipping once again.

“Yeah, right on top of that poor gymnastics teacher.” She turns to him, a sense of urgency and frustration in her voice before it softens, “Did he say anything?”

He tries to conceal the mischievous smirk playing at his lips as he brings the clipboard down, looking directly at Sarah. “Only that he was very impressed with your dismount.”

She narrows her eyes at him, a slight tinge of both disgust and confusion on her face. Will breaks into a cheeky grin, causing Sarah to smile and shake her head at her co-worker's rather silly attitude.

“Reese, your EKG and BP are normal, so I think what we’re looking at-”

“Is a vasovagal syncope, right?”

He nods gently, “Probably. Just gotta figure out what the trigger is.”

Sarah glances at her shoes, pushing herself up with her hands to adjust herself into an upright position, releasing a breath as she speaks. “Okay.”

“You know, maybe blood sugar.”

She snaps her head up, folding one hand over the other in her lap as she notices he’s offering her a hand to get up. “Let’s get you some orange juice.”

“Yeah.” She says in response that was barely a whisper, taking his hand and sliding herself off the bed. For a brief moment, Dr Halstead’s brows knit together - the normally charming and chirpy student doctor’s usual bubbliness having crumbled away in a split second.

Sarah’s vision is still fuzzy, her grip on Will’s hand travelling up to his shoulder as he navigates her through the busy ED towards the break room. Her knees threaten to buckle and crumble beneath her weight as the world continues to spin, she feels like she could fall at any moment, but instead Sarah shuts her eyes tightly and keeps walking. By the time she realises it, they’ve made it to the door and Will is pushing it open and guiding a dizzy Sarah through. She lets go of him, coming to a stop infront behind a chair that’s seated at a round table. Struggling to plant her feet into the ground, she tries her best to steady herself, just hoping the dizziness would pass.

Dr Halstead wanders towards the fridge, his warped figure swaying in her vision as he swings the refrigerator door open, ducking behind it. He snatches up a small can and walks towards her slowly, the can making a soft pop noise as it’s cracked open.

“Well, I’m no Doctor Charles but is everything okay with you?” he asks, offering the can to Sarah with an outstretched hand.

She takes the drink from Will, wrapping a hand firmly around the circumference of the can, knuckles turning white under her grip. “Everything’s great.” Sarah offers with a strained smile.

Reese eyes the liquid inside the can, swaying the can slightly as she watches the orange juice slosh against the sides, leaving pulp clinging to the walls. There’s that faint voice in her head that’s always there, screaming at her, begging her not to drink it; telling her she doesn’t deserve it, that she’s not good enough to eat. But she brings the can to her lips and takes a small sip, sitting down on a lounge chair opposite Will, his eyes trained on her every move.

“The uh- Oh the tuba player living above me?” She begins, pausing to check for some sort of a recognition to show in Will’s face, to which he nods. “Finally moved out.” Reese smiles, wrapping her other hand over the one holding the can briefly before she raises it again, gesturing with it as she begins to speak. “And of course I just got my pathology match-”

He’s going to get concerned, just play it off. You just have to keep talking, Sarah.

“And- oh..” She reaches into her pocket, digging out a crimson box laid in velvet. It fits perfectly in her palm, flat enough for her to press her fingers over the top. Sarah flips open the box, turning it around to show its contents. “Joey gave me the bubonic plague.”

Will blinks at the box, raising his head to meet Sarah’s eyes. “Wow.” He nods, pausing as though unsure of what else to say. “He must really like you.” He offers, pursing his lips and grinning slightly.

She beams, cheeks turning slightly rosy as she presses her lips back together, a ghost of her grin still stuck on her face. “He does.” She turns the box to face her, bringing it towards her with a sigh as she looks down at it once more. The joyful expression on her face seconds ago having been ripped away entirely, being replaced with a hint of woe that puzzles her coworker.

“And he’s very excited about me going into pathology.” Sarah reaches out with her right hand, closing the box gently as she slides it into her pocket, pausing to consider her next words. “We’re both excited.” Sarah declares with a nod as if to try and convince herself.

He tilts his head, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, recognising the look on his face and rushing to pick off where she ended. “You know, Dr Halstead, I’m sure this was nothing.” She says, a smile that seems too forced to be genuine on her lips.

“Probably.” He responds, lifting an arm to prop up on the table between them. “But just to be safe, let’s order a CBC and we’ll take it from there, all right?”

She nods back, almost too dismissively. “Okay.” Sarah sucks at her teeth, biting down on her lips that are pressed between them as she brings the can of orange juice to her mouth, tilting it to take another tiny sip.

Sarah swallows audibly. “You should get back to work Dr Halstead.” She places the can on the table, drumming the pads of her fingertips against her knuckles, fingers interlocked around the can. She gulps, desperate to remove the residual sour, slightly bitter taste of orange juice that makes her want to gag. She glances up briefly and begins again.

“There’s actual patients out there you need to see. I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He nods, taking a sharp breath and letting out a sigh as he stands, pushing his chair backwards from beneath him. “Get some rest Reese, I’ll let Goodwin know you’re off rounds for today.”

Sarah swallows, her skin sinking and gripping at her collarbones as she feels her saliva slide down her throat. “Thanks.” She looks up at him, sharing fragmented moments of eye contact while she nods at him with a smile which doesn’t quite reach her hazel eyes.

Will reciprocates, flashing a grin back as he pushes his chair back under the table, its silicone feet squeaking against the vinyl. “No problem.” He takes a few steps towards the door, the rubber soles of his shoes shuffling against the floor. Dr Halstead reaches a hand out to the door handle, wrapping a hand around the round metal bar, cool against the warmth of his skin.

She can hear the sound of the handle being pushed down, the latch of the door clicking into place when it suddenly goes silent.

“Uh- Just take care of yourself, okay?”

The corners of her lips turn upwards, practiced and perfected. It’s a false promise she’s made far too many times over the years. The same sense of guilt she experiences all too often creeps up in her chest, heavy and sinking into the pit of her stomach as she sees genuine concern - or maybe even pity - in his dark eyes.

Compassion fills his eyes, as if even though she didn’t say a word, the conflict in Sarah’s actions were more than clear to him.

“Can't have you passing out on any more patients.” Dr Halstead adds lightheartedly as he swings the door open.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Sarah pushes herself up to her feet, her vision gradually fading as it’s consumed by a blurry darkness that spreads across her view. As it fades, she finds herself pacing the small break room, far too panicked to worry about the glass walls providing little to no privacy to the anxiety that starts to consume her. The world is spinning at her feet, the walls and ceiling looming over her, twisting, deforming and melting into one another. She gulps harshly as she takes a seat again, feeling her saliva grip and rub against the roof of her mouth and down her throat that’s suddenly painfully dry. It only worsens the nauseating feeling that’s beginning to overtake her every sense.

“Just breathe..” Her voice crackles and shakes as she exhales those words in a shuddering breath, hands reaching up to her face to push her fingers through her thick curls.

Her stomach takes a sudden turn, twisting itself into knots in her abdomen and she feels a sudden sickening, sour taste hit the back of her tongue. She cups her hands over her mouth, leaning forward as it surfaces again..

Focus.

The dampened noises of phones ringing and talking, the way the silk fabric of her button down brushes against her spine as she breathes, the stark white light panels hanging from the ceiling and the feeling of the air entering her nose and filling up her lungs- The way her chest seems to collapse in on itself as her body seems to brutally squeeze out every ounce of oxygen left in her with every exhale.

She takes a sharp breath and suddenly reaches out to shove the can away from her towards the centre of the table, the slightly condensed base of the aluminium screeching across the glossy finish on the wood.

Passed out, right in front of one of her superiors, much less Dr Halstead. Not to mention on top of a patient.

It feels like she’s going to throw up, the suffocating feeling rising in her chest as she wretches, her heart jumping into her throat. Thoughts are racing through her mind, screaming and yelling insults into her head-

Desperate, she finds herself shifting to press her hands against either side of her head as firmly as possible but it only worsens. The sound of her thoughts are strangling her, crushing her lungs in it’s powerful grip with every waking moment. She’s doubled over and quivering in her own hands, eyes squeezed as tightly as possible. Sarah pries her eyes open, her vision fuzzy with tears she hadn’t even realised were forming as she stares blankly at the insides of her wrists. They’re cold as they trace down the sides of her cheeks, falling onto the white sleeves of her lab coat and leaving damp, grey patches along the cuffs.

She shakes her head, letting out a noise that almost sounds like a scoff as she shoves her face into the base of her palms. Tiny muffled sobs leave her throat as she buries her face into her arms, her body convulsing with every sound that leaves her body.

It’s just about the millionth time that she’s broken down in this way. It takes more effort with every time that it happens to keep herself together, to get out of bed in the morning, to eat or drink even a single thing, to push through a day of work, to smile at patients and coworkers, do her best with every emergency that crops up, and to deal with the people, much less the children, who inevitably die on her watch. It’s exhausting.

It takes so much effort to even be alive. It’s always been like this for as long as she can remember. She finds herself wondering, too often to be healthy, how she isn’t dead yet.

Sarah Reese spent the majority of her life telling herself to just stick it out, to pull herself together and keep moving, hold her head up high and always respond with a grin on her face. “It would all get better, once she grew up,” she told herself, “once she moved out it she would finally be okay.”

She spent her childhood all throughout primary school, those two phrases being the last slither of hope, as a 6 year old girl would watch as her father and mother began to fight so often she could hardly think back to the last time they’d just spoken without yelling. Then, when her father just packed his things one night and left; not a single call, an email, a text, a letter. And again when her mother stopped coming home and spending time with her little girl, disappearing for weeks and months on end on business trips across the globe.

Barely a teenager, Sarah was left to pick up the pieces her parents had left her in.

Time dragged on, and as the years passed it took more and more of Sarah with it- What was left of her, anyway. Birthdays spent alone with a cake meant for more than just one, gifts that consisted of lazily drawn up checks that took no more thought than a call to an accountant, Christmases and Thanksgiving spent like any other day.

The minutes and hours, then days, months and years that passed her by just wondering, what if?

If she was a better daughter, maybe her parents might come back. If she got the highest grades, maybe her mother would tell her she’s proud. If she got into medical school and became a doctor, maybe, just maybe, she would be good enough for them that they’d finally love her in the way she always wanted.

Soon those thoughts, the needs for love and care her younger self was deprived of, turned bitter with each time she was left disappointed. In her head, a constant screaming and pounding, a neverending barrage of self loathing, chipped away at her mind relentlessly.

If she hurt herself, her parents might finally care. If she stopped eating, her parents might finally care. If she died, her parents might finally care.

Sarah built walls around herself, to protect herself from ever having to face that kind of disappointment again. She’d learnt to keep everyone at an arm's length, going through highschool and college isolated to herself and her study. Her mind was plagued constantly with the same questions.

If her parents couldn’t love her enough to stay, enough to show up, enough to even care at all, then who could? If her own flesh and blood could abandon her so easily, did she really deserve to be loved? Was she good enough?

She found comfort in the anxiety, in the fear and the constant stress. In the thoughts that wouldn’t leave her alone, in the bottom of a pill bottle, in the pain she’d caused herself to be able to run her fingertips over the dozens of purposeful scars that littered her pale skin, in the way her stomach would hurt after hours of not eating, the sharp pains in her chest and the way she felt dizzy and sick all of the time.

It was the only thing that she could rely on, the only thing that stuck with her and kept her company throughout all of it. It was sick, and she knew it more than she wanted to admit.

Her heart was pounding against her chest, her body quivering with every boom, ready to burst at any given moment. The thunderous thudding is nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of her thoughts. Sarah intertwined her fingers, resting her forehead against the base of her thumbs, digging her fingertips into the dips between her defined knuckles.

In for four. Out for four. You’re okay Reese.

The beating of her heart slows as she breathes in and out, meticulously counting every inhale and exhale in perfect rhythm. She tries her hardest to focus on the sensation of her chest expanding with each intake of air, and as much as she wants to deny it, the smell of crappy disinfectant and sharp air fresheners was a comfort, soothing and cool as she takes in another deep breath.

The noise of the door swinging open suddenly breaks her out of her thoughts.

“Reese? You okay?”

Dr Halstead.

“Uh-uh.” Her exhale is hot on the bow of her lips.

She hears the shuffling of his shoes against the vinyl floor, growing louder as he seems to get nearer to her. Sarah opens her eyes, her vision fuzzy as she stares at the insides of her wrists.

“Did it happen again?”

Sarah sighs, parting her lips to answer. “Vertigo.”

“Maybe something is going on.”

Her eyes dart up and to the side, where she sees Will kneeling by her, brows creased and staring at her intently. “We should run some more tests.”

“No-” She pauses, “I know what’s going on.” Sarah shuts her eyes, opening them as she searches for the words she wants to say.

Sarah Reese has thought it through so many times, what to say, what to do, how to act and brush it off and make sure no one worries. But no matter how many times she’s wanted to do it, to just say it out loud, she finds herself again, like the thousands of times before, biting her lip and swallowing her words.

“Pathology.” She releases a heavy sigh.

It’s too hard to say out loud.

Maybe someday she’ll say it. Just not today.

#pieces!au #this au was 👌 close to being called reese’s pieces au but it was too much #reese’s pieces #sarah reese #chicago med #chicago med fanfiction #chicago one #5+1 things but it’s angst #hurt/comfort but mostly hurt #will halstead #gaffney chicago medical #my take on sarah fainting that one time #tell me if i’m wrong but reese probably has an eating disorder #trigger warning implied self harm and eating disorder #brief mentions of suicidal thoughts #proceed with caution pls #building walls (just to break them down)

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