#takes my meds again and promptly drops the rock back over it

[panicbones]

i miss my meds for one day and have an absolute mental breakdown. the stress demons my meds keep at bay and make me seem calm and normal are incredible

[sofreddie]

Stashed Away

Summary: With their biological clocks ticking, the brothers set out to find their True Mates, before it's too late.

Characters: Alpha!Dean x OC!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam x Unnamed!Omega

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Mating, Marking, True Mates, Institutionalized Reader, Heavily Medicated Reader, Implied/Mentioned Sterilization

Word Count: 2,876

A/N: For @spnabobingo 2021 - Free Space. This is my first square on my first ever bingo card. Let me know what you think!

Sam and Dean - Winchesters, Alpha hunters - for years they dedicated themselves to the life. But now that they're getting older, and still without mates, they're starting to go feral. Ruts happen more often, are stronger, and last longer. If they don't find mates soon, they will go feral, hurt a bunch of people, and die. So they do a spell, with Cas's suggestion, to find their true mates. They've always acted like they didn't want it, weren't interested, but there's no pretending anymore.

Following the tracking that the spell gave them - they track down Sam's True Mate first. Dean's more worried about getting Sam right than himself at the moment. The tracking leads them to a small town - a case is here, they quickly learn, vamps - by the time they figure out what's going on, they head to the nest, only to find a woman there, taking the head off a vamp, two other bodies at her feet. She’s a hunter - and a badass one at that, taken three vamps down on her own.

Dean's a little agitated, he needed some blood to help balance out the feral rut that's been burning him alive from the inside. Sam however, is speechless. His blood roars in his veins, pounding in his temples as his eyes lock onto her form. He knows - he can feel it with every fiber of his being - she’s his…his True Mate.

"Mega," he wines, taking a step forward only to fall to his knees in weakness, "Need you," he groans, before falling to his side and promptly passing out - the fever too high and rampant.

After quick introductions and explanations, Dean convinces her to come back to their motel. It just happens that she's in the same one, a few doors down. Dean drags Sam into the room, dropping him on one of the beds with a growl. He's getting too old to be dragging his giant of a brother like a sack of potatoes.

“I’ll get another room,” Dean offered, trying to move around her so as not to set Sam off, “I’ll check in with you in the morning,” he offered with a tight smile, nodding at her before leaving and closing the door behind him.

The next morning, seeing Sam’s much improved condition, Dean smiled before entering the motel room and seeing the Omega sat on the bed, a fresh claiming mark at her neck.

“Well, welcome to the team,” Dean joked, still keeping his distance from her as he knew Sam would still be testy over anyone coming near his Omega, “So listen,” he added a bit abruptly, “I figured you and her could snag a car, make your way back to the Bunker,” he explained to his brother, “I know you two need some time. Fresh bond and all. And I still gotta…you know,” he added sheepishly. Now that Sam’s rut had cleared, he could see how bad Dean was in it.

It was time for him to find his Omega.

Dean sighed as he put the Impala in park, looking through the windshield up at the large facility in front of him. When he and Sam did the spell to locate their mates, they looked up the locations to plan out their routes. That’s when they discovered that Dean’s True Mate’s location - was a psychiatric hospital. He couldn’t imagine why, but he hoped that maybe it was something he could help with.

He tried his best to compose himself, feeling weak and barely holding back from losing himself to his biology. Using his FBI credentials, he was led to a common room, the nurse pointing across the room to a woman sat along, staring out the window. Dean nodded to her and the nurse returned to her duties.

Dean gulped down the hard lump in his throat that threatened to burst into a growl. From the other side of the room he could smell her scent, climbing in and flooding his brain. He tried to shake it off, sweat forming on his brow from the fever, and he urged his body to move towards her calmly.

His scent hit her as she gazed aimlessly out the window. A warmth flowed through her and she closed her eyes, humming in content. She opened them once more, her gaze still outside, as she started gently rocking.

“‘Mega…” Dean breathed quietly, his eyes fluttering closed in small intervals as he approached and her scent got stronger. It was driving him crazy, but he had to be wary of his surroundings, wary of her. He had to stay calm. With long controlled breaths he finally reached his goal, pulling a seat opposite the Omega and huffing out a shaky breath.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes gently rolling over his face and body before meeting his eyes once more. Her face was blank, but she looked pale and tired and afraid.

“W-who are you?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

Now he was here he didn’t know what to do. His brain was too full of other ideas. His cheeks had grown slightly pink from the quickly growing fever. “M-my name’s Dean Winchester,” he said quietly, “I…you…” he had to stop and clench his eyes for a moment, swallowing another hard lump in his throat, “You’re my True Mate.”

She looked him over once more, taking a deeper breath, before her eyes turned sad, “You’re dying too?” she asked, emotionless in features and tone.

Dean tilted his head at the question, frowning slightly, “Do you mean turning feral?” he had to gulp again, shifting in his seat as his body ached.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, “Too many meds to really know the difference.” She suddenly lurched forward, her elbows on the table as she looked at him intently and wide-eyed, “They say I’m crazy, you know? That what I saw wasn’t what I saw, but I saw what I saw!” she nodded manically along to her words, “You don’t need a crazy Omega.” she shook her head emphatically, looking down at her lap.

Dean jolted back in surprise at her small outburst, but his rational mind kicked in. He’d seen these places before and the meds they give patients, “I’ve seen a lot of things,” he offered, “So why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

“I didn’t do it,” she whisper-hissed, leaning forward on the table and glancing around the room before looking at him again, “He did, he came in and killed her, not me!”

Dean frowned again, his head jumping to ‘potential case mode’, “So, there was a guy?” he pressed her for more information, “What did he look like?”

“He was just a guy,” she shook her head, “B-but his eyes were weird,” she exclaimed wide eyed as if it was happening before her once more, “He killed her and he said I had to come with him because my Alpha was a very bad man. A-and then his eyes…” she trailed off, shaking her head and fighting back tears, “I got away, went to the police…b-but no one believes me.” she whispered sadly.

Dean’s body almost trembled with quickly growing anger. Someone or something knew what he and Sam had been doing. They hurt his Omega.

My Omega.

Mine.

“You’re not crazy,” he growled, quickly rising from his seat and looking down at her, “Omega, we’re leaving.”

She looked up at him in confusion, shaking her head, “I can’t leave,” she stated simply, “I’m scheduled for sterilization to stop my heat hurting me,” she explained as if it were a simple, everyday activity, “Doctor’s orders,” she nodded, turning back to look out the window.

The next thing Dean knew, he had his Omega in his arms and was standing beside the Impala. He was panting for breath and felt exhausted. He had some vague memory of a lot of snarling, roaring and punching Doctors directly in the face.

And now they were here.

“I’m gonna take you somewhere where you’ll be safe,” he breathed, looking down at…uh… “W-what’s your name, Omega?”

“Y/N,” she answered reflexively, still in an emotionless haze through it all, but relinquishing to her Alpha. “You shouldn’t have taken me,” she added, “The man with the eyes, I’ve seen him outside the window sometimes. And my heat is killing me. I’m a disposable Omega.”

“No,” Dean said suddenly and harshly, his arms held her tighter - his splayed out palms squeezing her. He bit back another growl, the scent of her heat crashing into him like a brick wall now his adrenaline fueled outburst was simmering down, “Never say that. You’re my Omega,” he pressed his forehead onto hers, gasping for breath as his body threatened to buckle as he grew weak, “Please…l-let me take care of you.”

She looked at the man, the stranger, the Alpha who had suddenly come in and tore her from her prison, like a knight rescuing a maid from a tower. She wanted to laugh at that, but she’d long ago lost her ability to emote.

They had kept her constantly medicated, to control her heat, her scent, her mind, her actions, anything they possibly could. But for some reason, something about him broke through her constant haze and made her want to just let him take charge.

“Okay, Alpha,” she agreed, just looking at him as she waited for whatever came next.

“‘Mega…” he breathed, voice breaking slightly from restraint. He held her so close, but not close enough at the same time. He could feel her warmth as he held her, her breath fanning across his lips. Some of that restraint slipped. He pressed his lips firmly into hers, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he hummed hungrily.

She pulled from the kiss, her hand gently cupping his cheek and turning his head to see several personnel searching the lot and searching for him, before one of them pointed at him and shouted for his companion.

“Right,” Dean stared wide-eyed before shaking himself back to reality. After ushering Y/N into the car, he quickly climbed in, the loud tire screeching of the Impala tires shortly following as Dean tore the car out of the lot and sped down the road.

When he said ‘somewhere safe’ before, he had meant the Bunker. The way his body was reacting right now however - aching, yearning, pleading to just touch her - he was ninety-nine percent sure he couldn’t last.

There was that motel just a few miles out though…

Y/N said nothing during the drive, her eyes out the window as before at the facility. She seemed still and calm, but also fragile and numb. But inwardly she felt trapped in her own head and unable to break free. She had dreamed about her Alpha, her True Mate, many times as had most people. And now that he was here, she was unable to even really experience it.

The next thing she realized, she was waking up in an unfamiliar room. She was somewhat dazed but her mind and body felt clear for the first time in a long time. She opened her eyes, sitting up slightly to two men at the foot of the bed she was lying in. One was the Alpha from before, the other a new stranger.

“I’ve healed and cleansed her,” Castiel explained, “But Dean-”

Dean had stumbled back, leaning against the wall as he eyes remained on fixed on Y/N. Castiel’s words were like white noise to him, he knew she was healed. If he thought her scent was powerful before, now with all the suppressants - and fuck knows what else - out of her system, it was like it had been turned up to eleven.

His head dropped back with a thud against the wall, his eyes clenching with a restrained growl. “‘Mega…” he breathed, his chest heaving and sweat forming on his brow.

She whimpered as her eyes set on him. She hadn’t felt a full heat in a long time and this one was especially bad. She knew it was him. She could remember their words, his touch, his lips.

“Alpha,” she called meekly, tentatively reaching up a hand in invite from her position on the bed.

“-Sh-she’s still in full heat,” Cas finished his sentence, taking a wary step back as he eyed the duo cautiously.

“Out,” Dean ordered, not even turning to address the Angel.

And Cas vanished.

Before Y/N could blink, Dean was there. His hands bunched in the back of her hair as he hungrily devoured her lips.

She moaned as they connected, his heat and weight soothing her ache and need. Her heart swelled, but a part of him also felt familiar, as if she’d known him all along. She pulled from the kiss, gazing into his eyes, frantic with need but also wanting to savor every moment. When she noticed how far gone he really was, she decided to let him take what he needed.

“My Alpha,” she whispered, kissing him once more.

There was a small rumble in Dean’s throat as his bloodshot eyes gazed directly back into her. He breathed, “Mine,” before his eyes fluttered closed and his mouth attached to her neck. He kissed and sucked a trail down to her collarbone, pressing his body into her as he fully mounted the bed and towered over her. He wanted to smother himself in her scent, every touch sending waves of need through him.

His hips rolled into her, his brain fogging as he quickly pulled at her shirt, ripping it clean off in one swoop before he hungrily mouthed at the swell of her breast.

She could feel the tremble in his muscles as he fought to keep the beast at bay, trying not to scare or hurt her. But she knew he needed more and she wanted to prove she could handle whatever her Alpha gave her.

“I won’t break,” she pleaded, pulling his lips from her body, “Take what you need Alpha, please,” she whispered desperately.

Dean’s eyes darkened, staring at her half-lidded before his hands moved fast. As he hungrily devoured her mouth once more, he quickly stripped them both of their clothes. His hands roamed her with need, quickly moving down to her center before two digits swiftly dove into her core.

He growled as he felt her slick, curling his fingers and pressing firmly into her g-spot, his eyes rolling back as she moaned in surprise. He quickly withdrew his fingers, moving to grab her hips and flip her onto her stomach. He hoisted her hips up to meet him, letting out a low moan as he rutted his painful hard erection through her folds.

She moaned wantonly, arching her back and presenting for him obediently. She purred, rutting back into him, desperate for her Alpha.

He moaned out, mouth hanging open longingly. “My Omega…” he growled lowly, positing the head of his cock between her folds and gripping her hips tightly, “Wanna knot you…” he growled again - hungrier - before slamming his hips forward with a loud grunt. She was perfect, tightening like a vice around him that he hissed blissfully, quickly pistoning his hips with choked huffs and growls.

She moaned loudly, panting hard as Dean set a brutal pace. His grip was tight, his cock filling her completely, slamming hard into her cervix on every thrust. She reached her arms above her, grasping onto the end of the bed for something to hold onto. Using the leverage, she pushed her hips harder back into him, lifting her head to groan out.

Dean leaned forward, his breathing quick and erratic as he pounded her. His lips grazed and sucked on her neck as he moaned, feeling the muscle at the head of his cock begin to swell. His grunts became strained as fought to keep his pace. “Cum on my knot, ‘Mega,” he demanded, releasing one of her hips to rub hard circles on her clit.

Feeling his knot swell she knew she was close to losing her mind. When his fingers found her clit, she stuttered and screamed as her orgasm washed over her, her walls clenching his throbbing length within her. Dean seemed to draw it out as her pleasure seemed to never end.

As her wall clenched him impossibly tighter, Dean roared through one final harsh thrust, holding himself as deep as possible as he finally came, his hot cum shooting deep and filling her. The hand still holding Y/N’s hip gripped bruisingly tight as Dean suddenly bit into her skin.

As her mind finally broke free of the haze of bliss, she realized he had positioned them on their sides spooning. Dean was nuzzling into the mark on her neck and humming, his hands grazing over her skin.

“Who was that man from before?” she suddenly asked, remembering feeling free of the medications and seeing a man there before he just wasn’t there.

“‘N Angel,” Dean mumbled, breathing in her hair and holding her tightly to him, “Cas. Healed you.”

Y/N smirked to herself, rubbing a hand over his forearm that was wrapped around her, “I see you’re still in caveman mode,” she teased.

He smirked with a small hum, not letting her go, ever.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

[lihikainanea]

Lei, I’m on my period and I’m needy, we’ve all been there. So what if our girl Tiger get very emotional and small on the family trip with the family cause she’s PMSing? Bill notices it when she wakes up and pulls her to the side. She starts off cranky on the family nature walk and then she starts crying at a deer she found in the woods and the families so far ahead that he just plants one on her and tells her to focus.

oh godddddd babes YES.

Bill has just been quietly monitoring her over the past few days, because he knows the signs. The candy that is rapidly disappearing. The way she keeps stealing his sweaters to huddle in, because she always gets a little more cold. The uncontrollable hunger, and the temper/small angry meltdown that happens shortly after. The perpetual frown and pinched eyebrows, and the way she’s been rubbing at her temples when the headaches set in.

And sure enough, the first night they’re there, Bill wakes up when she rolls over and out of his arms, grumbling in pain.

“Owww,” she mumbles sleepily, curling in on herself, “Motherfucker.”

He sighs, reaching over and giving her tummy a few soft pats.

“Do you need Advil?” he rasps, and he’s still half asleep but his subconscious is so trained by now. Little Human needs help. Offer 1) meds, 2) snacks, then 3) cuddles.

“No,” she grumbles, oozing out of bed. She goes into the washroom and Bill all but throws himself out of bed to go and get her hot water bottle ready. She’s already back between the sheets by the time he gets back, so he tucks it to her front and bends to kiss her cheek before climbing in behind her. He curls around her and she takes his hand, puts it low on her belly for rubs--hell he even swings a leg around her when she shivers, pulls her more into him for warmth.

And like, look. Tiger is grumpy central. Bill wakes up the next morning to tiger just lying on him, laid flat out on his chest, and somehow he can already tell that she's scowling. The hot water bottle is pressed between them, her cheek on his chest, his thumb still in her mouth. He grumbles, stretches, peels his eyes open.

“Morning,” he mumbles.

“Fuck you.”

He’s not really surprised. He puts his hands on her back--god they’re big and warm--running them up and down slowly, pressing a little and kneading her lower back where it always hurts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, but tiger just groans in pain.

“Lower,” she says, and his fingers readjust to knead more into her hip.

“We have the hike today,” he says, plopping a kiss on her head, “If you don’t feel up to it, we--”

“It’s hormones, Bill,” she snaps, “It’s just fucking hormones. I’m not incapacitated.”

Bill just sighs, rolls his eyes. Tiger sits up and rolls off of him, no doubt petulantly trying to go get her own coffee, but when she stands he just promptly pulls her back into the bed--plops a noisy, wet kiss on her cheek and then gets up to caffeinate her before she bites him. He grabs her hot water bottle on his way out, and 15 minutes later the little hellion has her hot cup of coffee, the hot water bottle soothing her lower back, and Bill’s hand on her stomach rubbing out some of the aches. She’s mildly placated, but she’s also probably getting a little small about it. Bill’s just so big, you know? And he’s seated behind her, cuddling her into his strong chest, and he’s so warm and the stubble on his chin is so cute and his eyes are big and wide but still bleary with sleep and he’s just patting her stomach gently. He’s always so good to her, so gentle with her, and so preoccupied with her safety and her comfort and it’s times like these that tiger gets all soft about it. And god, come breakfast time--she doesn’t even say anything, but Bill loads her breakfast plate with a lot of iron and calcium, two things he knows help ease some of the pain for her. He brings Advil with him on the hike. Tiger nearly cries on their first little break when she reaches into the front part of his backpack for the gummy bears she knows he brought, and she sees that he stashed a few tampons in there just in case.

And you know, she’s trying her best. She woke up grumpy as hell but a bit of walking is helping for the most part. She has to stop every now and then if her lower back seizes up and Bill stops with her every time. He waves to the group to keep going and then puts his hand on her lower back and rubs gently, waits for her to nod and start moving again. 

And listen, I’m such a big fan of the thought that these two....my god, even on a chemical level, they’re so intertwined. Tiger’s pheromones are screaming at Bill’s that she needs comfort, she needs softness and cuddles and to be taken care of. And Bill’s pheromones are screaming with protector vibes--to provide for her, take care of her, make sure she’s okay--which in turn are lighting up every single fibre in tiger’s being that just wants to be taken care of. And he can see the shift, can see it start to happen, can tell she’s getting a little small on him. Because he’s just...he’s being too good, you know? He’s giving her exactly what she needs and the poor bean is so incredibly emotional about it, because it’s just comfort. She’s safe with him.

And as they start to catch up to the group, he tucks a knuckle under her chin and turns it up so she looks at him.

“Hang in there, kid,” he says softly. And the message is clear. He knows, he acknowledges, and he’ll take care of it--take care of HER--as soon as the situation allows. It’s a promise. But her eyes kind of tear up, her bottom lip wobbles a bit, and he steps in front of her. Just gently takes her face in his hands, and swipes his thumb across her lips.

“No,” he says, but it’s gentle and soft and not reprimanding in the least. It’s just the bit of strength that she needs, the small but gentle order to wait. Not here.

He waits, waits as she takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly.

“Again,” he coaxes, and she does. And with a kiss to the top of her head, he playfully flicks her nose.

“Just a bit more, kid,” he promises, “You’re okay.”

And like, look. Tiger is super emotional. She’s all over the place, and kind of needs an outlet for it. So they continue the hike with the group, but Bill is just getting a little more concerned for her--because she’s really sticking to him, which is fine, but he knows that it also means she’s not doing that great. So he tries to find any excuse to touch her--grab her hand and help her over some rocks, even though she doesn’t need the help. Pull her in for a playful hug as they take a break to take some photos over a pretty creek, keep his shoulder pressed to hers as they spread out the blanket for a picnic lunch. Every once in awhile he’ll hang back, put a bit of distance between them and the group, and just do a small check in with her--a quick kiss, a little head scritchie, just making sure that she’s holding up as much as possible. And it’s helping, but it’s also probably not helping as much as it oughta because she can feel him and touch him and smell him but not the way she wants to, and it’s just making her even more emotional.

I love your train of thought though, and I think that’s exactly it. Her outlet for this massive influx of emotions that she’s felt all day finally comes when a little baby deer just kind of pops out on the trail in front of them, munching on some leaves, looking every bit majestic and beautiful. And Bill can see it happen in slow motion--the deer pops out, and it’s so goddamn cute and Bill just thinks....oh god. Oh no.

As if on cue, he hears a sniffle--just a small one, but then a wail. He claps a hand over her mouth as the rest of the group turns and looks at her, alarmed. The deer scampers off, scared.

“She’s fine,” Bill says, “She just...loves deer.”

Tiger is crying, sniffling, mumbling shit about Bambi and cruelty and how unfair the universe is.

“You guys go on,” he says to the group, “We’ll catch up.”

And he doesn’t wait, he pulls her a bit off the trail and out of sight. And you know, he wants to be soft with her--because Jesus she’s cute--but I think Bill is sort of realizing that all this softness probably pushed her even further into this state and that maybe he needs to be a little stern now, set some boundaries and some rules, just to help her reel it in.

“Get a grip, tiger,” he snaps when they’re far enough into the bush, “Enough.”

“But the--”

“No.”

“But he was--”

“No,” he says harshly, flicks her nose,  and she shuts up. She ducks her head, and Bill scans his surroundings. When he’s sure that no one is around, he knocks aside some of the brush around his shoes and pushes down on her shoulder to put her on her knees. She doesn’t fight him anymore on it--just trusts that if he’s doing that, then it’s because he’s already sure that she’s safe and that no one can see. He traces his thumb over her lips, and pushes it in gently.

“Tiger, you’re safe with me, you know that. You can always be like this with me if you need to,” he says softly, “But I can’t take care of you the way you need it right now, not here.”

She sniffles, and he crouches down so he’s level with her.

“I promise I will, when we get back. I’ll take care of it for you--as soon as I can, I will. But you have to try and keep it together until then, okay?” he asks, “Can you do that sweet girl?”

She’s quiet, her eyes kind of glassy, as she gazes at him. He nudges her tongue slightly with his thumb.

“Can you do that for me?” he asks again, and he keeps it gentle. Encouraging. And it’s already helping--her trust in Bill is infallible, and this is one of the reasons why. Because he never drops the ball--and even if he can’t give her what she needs in that moment, he does everything he can to give her something. And just taking her away from the group for a bit, getting her on her knees, keeping her grounded until he can really take care of her the way she needs--it’s enough. It’s enough to get her past the threshold so she can hold on for a bit longer.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Good girl,” he praises, kissing the corner of her mouth. But y’know, GOOD DUDE BILL--he doesn’t move. Doesn’t make like he’s going to stand up, or take anything away from her. He just settles in front of her, weaves his other hand in her hair.

“When you’re ready, kid,” he says softly.

GUH FUCK YOU MY HEART.

[emrysaf]

Never Enough Pt. 24

@dottirose​ @peggycarter-steverogers​

They say freak

When you're singled out The red

Well it filters through So lay down

The threat is real When his sight

Goes red again Seeing red again

Seeing red again This change

He won't contain Slip away

To clear your mind When asked

Who made it show (who made it show)

The truth He gives into most

So lay down The threat is real

When his sight Goes red again

♫🎝♫🎝♫🎝♫🎝♫🎝♫🎝♫🎝♫🎝♫

People throughout history have remarked on courage or bravery being a trait of people who know the odds aren’t in their favor, but they do what needs to be done (usually for others) anyway. 

That’s what Y/N wanted to be, to be seen as. Brave. Finally. Not a faux version of bravery where she hurts herself and others with a lack of communication or action and lets everyone suffer ‘because it’s what’s best’. No; true bravery where Y/N can step up and protect the ones - one- she loves. She may be weaker than her enhanced state, but she still had her healing and she would use every last bit of it to keep her family safe.

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

Simultaneously, behind her Bucky was shaking rubble out of his longer tresses and saw Y/N running in front of himself and Steve, objective clear. And he thought it was ridiculously stupid and reckless.

“Y/N!,” his hoarse voice called out to try and urge her away from her plan. He was a super soldier damn it. Bucky immediately regret his decision to yell out at her as she looked back at him; looking at him like she used to, when she loved him, and was subsequently shot in the gut right above her left hip. 

Her scream wrecked Bucky, but it quickly turned into a snarl as she looked to the approaching Hydra soldiers, “You can’t take anyone! You can’t have him.”

‘She thinks they are here for me- To bring the Winter Soldier back’. . . Bucky realized with a burning feeling around his heart, like holding a hot mug of tea in both hands. 

Lost in his thoughts of Y/N, their past together and how she wasn’t giving up on him, Bucky was rocked out of his own head by another scream being strangled down while blood shot from her now kneeling body.

Quickly, Bucky began to rise to his own feet to get to her; to keep her safe. 

Like Y/N could sense him, which thinking about it she probably could, she rose her hand in a stopping motion behind her. The adamant stance froze the brunet in his half risen state.

Y/N brought her hand back in front of her, and looked at both palms with furrowed brows, seemingly forgetting all about the rushing enemy forces. ‘I could feel him getting up. Sense his movements-’ Y/N flashed back to their first real conversation.

//    As she looked up at him and noted his surprise at not startling her she        continued, “I could feel someone coming. As you got to the door I       could tell it was you.”

     “How? I’ve been told I’m ‘Too silent for mine and everyone’s good.’”

     That brought a snort as Y/N questioned, “Sam?” At Bucky’s nod she       decided to fill him in, “My enhancement has to do with electricity. I’m still       pretty fresh on learning about it, but everyone has their own little     charge. Then there’s you, Tony and Banner. The arm, the reactor and the         gamma register differently to me. So, no sneaking for you sergeant.” 

      The last bit was said with a smirk that disappeared behind the star    covered coffee mug as Y/N took a big drink of her tea. 

     Then their eyes met again as she pat the couch and turned on the t.v.     “Always room, Buck.” //

Realization shot through her as she recognized the buzzing feeling beneath her skin; the adrenaline of the fight had distracted her, but she’d remember that feeling always. Y/N focused harder on her hands and saw a dim flickering, like the small shocks when you pull off a sweater in the cold, dry winter.

Like popping ears, all the sounds around Y/N came flooding back and another shot made its mark in her right bicep, through-and-through. With that, it was the tipping point for her base instincts of fight or flight to kick back in. They chose fight.

Sharper crackling came from her palm that held the wound to help it close and heal, but before it closed completely Y/N saw the white electric branching under her skin and over the wound. New resolve filled her as she put her focus into her hands.

Bright, white light arced from palm to palm like tossing a softball back and forth, then with curved fingers Y/N shot electricity at the first few incoming Hydra.

With a split second to think of a viable plan she looked behind her to a still frozen Bucky, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Then she took a standing vertical jump with palms up, pulling electric currents from the compound, the vehicles and frying all electronics. On her descent, Y/N flipped her palms facing down to land in a sumo squat and slam her open palms into the ground. 

The reaction was instantaneous; a rippling of the ground as it was torn up by the pure power, knocking soldiers to the ground and frying them into incapacitation. The arc of Y/N’s fingers gave a clear path in front and around her for the energy to go, which avoided her friends behind her, and the grounded attack avoided hitting those in the sky.

Not caring if he would get too close, Bucky had finally shot up to race towards Y/N while everyone’s eyes were blown wide at the unprecedented show of power. By the time he made it to her, Y/N had slowly stood and begun to turn towards him. 

She smiled lightly as she met his eyes with a whisper of “Buck-” before her eyes promptly rolled back and she dropped like a puppet with it’s strings cut.

Like a flash, Bucky lunged out and caught her. Cradling her to his chest with one hand supporting her neck and head, and the other under her knees he heaved her up to rush to med bay, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 3: Signed In Blood]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, physical frailty, sneaky foreshadowing.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

The cashier blinks at you as he scans the items in your basket: two Cokes, an orange juice, a Mountain Dew, a grape Fanta, a box of Ritz crackers, a KitKat, three packs of cherry Pop Rocks, and assorted bags of Lay’s chips. “You must have, like, a lot of kids.”

“Something like that.”

Terminal E of Logan International Airport is bustling with swiftly-moving businessmen dragging rolling suitcases, tidy-looking flight attendants, careening toddlers and frazzled mothers. The band is waiting at the gate; their plane to Heathrow is scheduled to board in thirty minutes. Our plane, you correct yourself. I’m going too.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I ran out of paper bags but I can check in the back if you want—”

“Oh no,” you protest, slapping a ten-dollar bill onto the counter and gathering up the snacks. You’ve cultivated a stubborn solidarity with your fellow service industry employees. “That’s cool, I’ve got it. Thanks. Have a great day!”

“You too! Good luck with your kids!”

You laugh as you trot away. Yes, my very large, extremely anarchic British children. You could have sent Freddie and Rog for the snacks, but you don’t trust them not to try to steal something and end up getting strip-searched by TSA; Brian is still too weak to go anywhere alone; and John...well, John dissolves into blood-red cheeks and averted eyes if you ask him anything. You weave through the crowded terminal, shifting your arms to keep the snacks centered.

“Wow, you have your hands full there!”

You peer around the heap to see a businessman in a powder blue suit, neatly combed black hair, mid-thirties, benign smile. Your arms are beginning to ache. “Ha, yeah. I guess I do.”

“Need some help?” he asks, still smiling.

“Oh, thank you so much, but I’ve got it—”

“Nonsense.” He cheerfully plucks the chips and Pop Rocks out of your grasp. “Where are we going?”

Oh no. You know this type of man. He’s the guy who flirts with the nurses while his wife is recovering from a gallbladder removal, who tries to impress you with his mid-level accounting job and Marshall Field's neckties, who obliviously—or worse, forcefully—offers assistance when it’s least desired. He’s the type to play superhero so he can get a taste of what it feels like to be someone who matters. He’s not usually dangerous, but he is viperous if his fantasy gets interrupted, bitter and desperate and striking out like a wounded animal. Jesus christ, I do not have time for this bullshit today. The muscles in your forearms are screaming now. “Seriously, I can handle it. Thank you. Can I get my snacks back? My friends are waiting.”

His smile falters; suddenly, Mr. Aspiring Superman doesn’t seem so benign at all. And you can’t help but notice that his grip around your criminally overpriced airport snacks doesn’t loosen. Oh fucking hell. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you stupid or something? Don’t you get it, I’m trying to help—”

“Hey, baby!” chimes a voice from nowhere. An arm appears around your shoulders, pulling you in; John lands a series of kisses across your neck and jawline as the businessman gawks, speechless and horrified. “Did you finish shopping? Oh, you remembered my Coke! Thanks, baby. You’re the best. Come on, they’re gonna start boarding soon...” He stops, stares at the businessman, points with narrowed steely grey eyes: “Are those my Pop Rocks?”

“Uh, uh, yeah, uh...” The man hastily shoves the snacks into John’s hands and flees. John immediately backs away from you, clears his throat, casts his eyes down the opposite end of the airport terminal.  

“Oh my god,” you say, stunned. “I’ve never heard you talk that much at once. Ever.”

He flushes and combs his agile fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I’m so sorry, I just thought...I saw that he was...I figured that would get him to piss off without causing a scene...I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that, I—”

“No, John, seriously, that was brilliant. Thank you.”

“Yeah?” And you think you can detect something in his voice like hope: cautious, fragile hope. More than that, you can still feel his lips against your skin, hot and sure and assertive, almost dominating.

You grin over at him as you walk together towards the gate. “I bet everyone thinks you’re real innocent because you’re the shy, quiet, mysterious one or whatever. But you have some serious game under all of that, don’t you?”

John chuckles out of pure shock, still not looking at you. “I doubt it.”

“I’m onto you, bassist. Those groupies aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Wait, he has a girlfriend, isn’t that what Freddie said? But if he does, John doesn’t correct you.

“Do I see my beloved Pop Rocks?!” Roger squeals when he spies you both. John tosses all three packets to him. Roger rips one open, pours the entirety of the contents into his mouth, then motions for you to pass him the can of grape Fanta. He gulps the Fanta and drums his palms against his thighs as his mouth erupts into sugary explosions.

“Majestic,” you comment.

“Wha...?! I will not be outdone!” Freddie seizes all the remaining Pop Rocks—both packs—and empties them into his mouth, then douses them with Coke. Dark fizzing soda and ruby crystals spew out of his nose. Roger throws back his head and cackles like a hyena as John launches balled-up napkins at Freddie. You ignore them and check on Brian, who is lounged sideways across five seats.

“How you doing, Bri?”

He groans in reply. You give him the orange juice and Ritz crackers.

“Eat, please, Bri.”

“I can’t. I’m dying.”

“You aren’t bloody dying!” Freddie sighs, exasperated, still mopping Coke off his face.

You lay the back of your hand against Brian’s forehead and frown. “You’re burning up, Mr. May.”

“I’ve got aspirin somewhere...” Roger says as he rummages through his luggage.

“He can’t have it. His liver’s still recovering, no over-the-counter meds.” You take two still-cold cans—your Mountain Dew and Bri’s orange juice—and press them to Brian’s cheeks. John, without speaking, lays his Coke against the back of Brian’s neck. “Think you can make it through a six-hour flight?”

Brian’s glassy eyes roam to you. “No offense, but I would literally rather be disemboweled by rabid opossums than spend another night in Boston.”

“Opossums very rarely contract rabies. But your point is noted. We’ll get you home.”

“Thank you,” Brian breathes, drained. “And thank you, John.”

“Not a problem.”

Freddie squats in front of Bri in skin-tight jeans littered with patches, brushes the mess of curls off Brian’s forehead, and pushes a Ritz cracker into his mouth. Brian grimaces but chews it reluctantly. Freddie grins. “You must be truly desperate to trust your wellbeing to Deaky.”

“He’s unexpectedly ferocious,” you warn Brian. “He ran off some creep at the snack stand. Kid could definitely murder you if he tried.”

“Yeah? Well done, Deaks!” Roger gives John a high-five, then aggressively ruffles his hair and growls. “Who’s my favorite little killer bassist?! Grrr. Grrrrrrrrr. Come on. Show me them pearly whites, Mack the Knife.”

John chomps at Roger’s hands in his very best impression of a shark. Roger laughs and yanks teasingly at John’s hair, his face lit up like the Boston Harbor on the Fourth of July.

The next time you look for Freddie, he’s disappeared. You finally spot him several seats away, bent over a notebook and scribbling furiously, snapping his fingers over and over again and murmuring to himself: “Killer bassist...killer woman...killer bitch...killer queen.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When boarding begins, Freddie and Roger practically carry Brian onto the plane. They drop him into a window seat and Brian promptly drapes a sweater over his head and falls asleep. You sit beside him and flip through a fashion magazine you found in the pocket on the back of the chair in front of you, but Roger keeps interrupting by ranking the pictured outfits on a scale of one to eleven.

“Why eleven?”

“Because I gave that neon yellow coat three pages ago a ten, but now I like these rainbow pants even more. So they have to be an eleven.”

“Okay Roger.”

Freddie and John sit in the row in front of you and alternate between scrawling in their notebooks—song lyrics for Freddie, sketches of some kind of amplifier for John—and tossing peanuts into each other’s mouths. John doesn’t speak to you, but he keeps glimpsing back between the seats like he’s considering it. When Roger gets up two hours in to take a smoke break and chase down extra peanut packets for Freddie, John finally turns around and peeks over his seat.

“Why don’t opossums get rabies?” he asks.

“That’s what’s on your mind?” you tease, sipping Mountain Dew.

“Maybe.”

“Okay. Buckle up. It’s technically possible for opossums to get rabies. But they have naturally super low body temperatures, like 94 or 95 degrees Fahrenheit. So the virus usually can’t survive in their system. Thus, squeaky clean opossums.”

“Well. Minus the ticks and fleas and dirt and rubbish and all that.”

“Most of the cute things in life are at least slightly grubby.”

“Like Roger Taylor.”

You laugh. “That man has definitely been submerged in garbage at some point.”

“You have no idea. But you have to learn to be a Londoner now. We wouldn’t say grubby, we’d say dodgy.”

“Dodgy. Got it.”

“Show me. Use it in a sentence.”

“Roger is super dodgy, while Brian is much less so. Jury’s still out on John.”

“Well done.” He applauds.

Now you reach out to touch his hair, like Roger did earlier; it’s impossibly soft and downy, comforting, almost homey. John smiles patiently. “You have fantastic bone structure, you know,” you tell him. “You should cut this off one day so people can see it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. But in the meantime...” You gently thread your fingertips through his locks, twirl a strand, observe that those blue-grey eyes that seemed steely back at the airport are now as soft and innocuous as morning fog. Roger reappears with his loot of peanut packets and gasps, pretending to be scandalized.

“What’s going on here?! Jesus, Deaks, I leave you alone for three minutes and you’ve got her all enamored with your soft cuddly exterior and latent homicidal tendencies.”

“It’s a winning combination.” John catches the peanuts that Roger hurls his way and turns to split them with Freddie.

You gaze up at Roger and beam. “Hey, dodgy Rogey.”

“Oh, you think that’s charming?” He slinks into his seat and drapes an arm across your shoulders. “You realize you’re one of us now, right? That makes you dodgy too.”

“As long as I don’t have to participate in any scandalous naked photoshoots.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! Freddie, Fred, hey, Freddie, why would you show her those...?!”

Hours later, when the plane hits the runway at Heathrow, Brian jolts awake and clutches for you like a staircase railing. He’s cooler to the touch now, appears less feverish, insists he feels better; nevertheless, Freddie and Roger escort him all through the airport like intense and sunglasses-armored Secret Service agents flanking Nixon, steadying him on escalators and dragging his luggage. As the five of you descend into the arrivals area, Freddie points to a group of young women and shrieks in delight, waves, blows flirtatious kisses all the way down the steps.  

“Freddie!” the blonde one calls, leaping in her heels and grinning enormously. She’s holding a large, glittery sign that reads: Welcome home, Queen! Freddie races to meet her, sweeps her off her feet, dips her halfway to the floor and kisses her deeply, theatrically. The blonde woman in his arms giggles and buries her fingers in his mane of shining black hair.

“Darling?” Freddie says, spinning to find you, flourishing his artful hands. “This is Mary Austin, the love of my life. Mary, this is our new best friend, Florence Nightingale.”

“Well,” you confess. “That’s not my actual name, obviously. It’s—”

“I quite like Florence Nightingale,” John says. “I’ve always fancied the name Florence. That’s where Dante was from. He was exiled during some political conflict and ended up bouncing around all over Italy. He eventually landed in Ravenna and finished The Divine Comedy there. By the time he died, he hadn’t seen Florence in twenty years. But Florence was always home.” He smiles at you in an off-kilter, crafty sort of way that tells you you’ve at last been admitted into the diminutive, highly selective circle of people that John calls friends; and you feel like you’ve won the lottery for the second time in forty-eight hours.

“Hmm,” Freddie replies, puzzled. Mary nods uncertainly. Then John turns to greet a petite auburn-haired girl in a simple turquoise sundress and with long, bone-white legs.

Brian pulls you away to introduce you to his girlfriend, the one he was always trying to call on the hospital phone. He rests his hands on your shoulders as he presents you. “Chrissie, I love this woman.”

Chrissie glowers and crosses her arms. “Oh.”

“Wait, no, sorry, I mean she saved my life. She was my nightshift nurse in Boston. I was completely lost before she found me, tremendously depressed. You know how I get. She’s come to London to look after me. Then we’re going to convince the record company to hire her as our travel nurse.”

“Oh!” Now Chrissie softens. She has wavy brunette hair, plump cheeks, marvelous wide-set blue eyes, a completely uncomplicated presence. She embraces you kindly, gratefully. “Thank you so much, love.”

“No, please, it was my pleasure! Bri is a perfect gentleman. And a genius. But you already know that.”

“Chris, I was hoping she could borrow our couch for a few days until she finds her own place...”

“Of course!” Chrissie replies, fussing with your hair, studying you, her mind roiling. “What’s ours is yours. But it’s not much, I’ll warn you.”

“I’ll pay rent. And cook and clean. I’ll be a certified house wench.”

Chrissie laughs, then screams as Brian staggers and collapses to the floor. “Bri—?!”

“He’s alright,” you announce calmly as everyone crowds around. You claw through your luggage, pull out an instant cold pack, crack it and press it to Brian’s forehead. He stirs and mumbles something about New Orleans. “Rog, can you flag down a taxi? We gotta get him home.”

“Sure, you got it.” Roger darts off. And as Chrissie, Freddie, Mary, John, and John’s girlfriend—whom you gather from their conversation is named Veronica—scuttle to reassure Brian and fetch him water, you lock stares with Josephine. Roger’s girlfriend—super casual, not exclusive, that’s what he told me—is beautiful and slim and tan and dark-eyed and, worse than all of that, palpably clever. She considers you silently, and what crosses through her pristine, heart-shaped face is not mere suspicion but knowing; and perhaps there is acceptance there as well.

No, not acceptance, you realize. Resignation. Disappointment. Powerlessness.

You tear your eyes away from Josephine and turn back to Brian: tilting a bottle of water against his lips, pulling him to his feet, fanning him with airplane tickets, leading him to a bench to wait for the taxi. The others help, oblivious to the shadow that has marauded through the room like an eclipse.

I won’t end up like her, you think to yourself with savage determination. I won’t let myself love him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Brian sinks into a plush orange lounge chair as you and Chrissie cart the luggage inside. You get a tour of their tiny apartment, shove your few remaining belongings beneath the couch where you now live, and drop into the plaid cushions, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe I did this. I quit my job. I left Boston. I’m living on some random couple’s couch in London. Oh my god.”

“Hey,” Chrissie says warmly, lifting your chin. “We aren’t so random. We’re your friends. Maybe we’re even your destiny.”

“Jesus, you’re something out of a fairytale.”

“You’re the one who’s going to be cleaning my house, Cinderella.” Chrissie tosses a bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I have to swing by work and see if my students killed the substitute teacher today, will you two be alright here?”

“Of course,” you say. Brian gives her a groggy thumbs-up.

“Okay. Bye for now. Love you lots, Bri.”

“Love you,” Brian replies weakly. Chrissie departs into a bright London summer. Brian looks over at you sorrowfully, guiltily. “I miss New Orleans.”

“What do you miss about New Orleans, Bri?” You know Queen stopped there before they came to Boston, before they came into your life.

“Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.”

He stares at the wall, vacant, acutely distressed. “I think I’m in love with a stripper called Peaches.”

“Oooookay.” You snatch up your purse and dash for the apartment door.

“Wait, no, really, I—”

“Don’t tell me about it. Call Roger or someone. Or, better yet, write a song about it and make some money so we can all have mansions with swimming pools one day. Do you need anything from that grocery store on the corner?”  

Brian sighs mournfully. “I suppose not.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Then you’re getting homemade chicken noodle soup. Everything will be better now, Brian. I promise. Everything will go back to the way it should be. Now that you’re home. Now that you’re here.”

Brian echoes quietly to himself as you open the door and sunlight floods in: “Now I’m here.”

[pynkhues]

#9 “oh, you’ve started stealing my socks now?” 😊

(Sorry this took so long!) 

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

“I’m just going to – ”  

“No, you ain’t,” Rio snaps back at her, his nostrils flaring, and Beth rolls her eyes, curling the blanket tighter around her shoulders and flopping back onto the couch. He squints at her for a second, and she’s pretty sure he’s waiting to make sure she doesn’t get up again, which is honestly hilarious. After all, she’s doing okay – she’s three glasses of red wine deep and has the blanket. He’s the one shivering in a pair of stiff black jeans and a too-thin hoodie on the living room floor.

Satisfied that she’s not going to make a break for the thermostat, he turns his attention back to the fire. Or rather, not the fire, Beth thinks, amused, but the enormous log he’d dropped into the fireplace, the smattering of kindling and what has to be close to thirty burnt out matches, leaving smears of charcoal on the concrete floor of the thing.

“We could just turn the central heating on until you get it going,” Beth says, and she keeps her voice light, soothing, even if internally she’s practically glowing. There’s just something so magical about finding something new he’s bad at, especially given the list is so short – cooking, singing (and that one had surprised all of them. “With that deep, husky voice?” Ruby had asked, eyebrow raised, grinning wide. “Figured he’d be a regular Ray Charles.”

“Nope,” Beth replied gleefully, taking a sip on her cocktail. “Like skinning a cat.”)

And now, apparently, lighting a fire.

Rio mumbles something under his breath which sounds vaguely threatening, but Beth’s pretty sure it’s aimed at the log, not her, which is a little harsh. After all, it’s not the log’s fault, she thinks, reaching to grab her wine glass off the coffee table and god, okay, it really is cold. She pulls her glass to her chest and then curls the blanket better around herself again, keeping the cool air at bay.

The night had started off so well too. With her kids at Dean’s and Marcus at Laura’s and the weather warnings blearing over the radio, Beth had closed the dealership early to get all the staff home safely and somehow managed to talk Rio into doing the same with the warehouse (albeit, not quite as early). It had barely been three by the time she’d gotten home, and she’d managed to throw on some sweats, get a casserole in the oven, crack a bottle of wine and check in with the kids, Annie and Ruby before Rio had stumbled in the door, brushing sleet from the shoulders of his coat.

And it had almost been romantic, she thinks contentedly, safe from the bustle of the real world outside of their dining room, eating dinner, drinking wine, jazz practically oozing languidly off Rio’s turntable, her foot inching up his leg beneath the table, when he’d suggested they take it to the living room.

And now here they were, Beth thinks, watching as Rio surges back up onto his knees, furiously lighting another match, holding it low on the kindling, the flame almost licking around the stick instead of catching on the bark, and it must be wet or something because it’s really not going to light. The match burns down, singing Rio’s fingers, and he swears, tossing the thing haphazardly into the fireplace.

Biting back a grin, Beth sits forwards a little on the couch, about to get up to help him (she’d have done it earlier if he hadn’t been so insistent on her staying warm and relaxing back on the couch – while also not letting her turn on the heating, promising this’d be roaring soon enough), when suddenly Rio’s work cell starts buzzing in the back pocket of his jeans. He cusses again, yanking it out, checking the number, and promptly answering it.

“What?” he grunts in lieu of a greeting, and someone must say something significant, because suddenly he’s rocking up to his feet, covering the mouthpiece as he looks at Beth and says:

“Gimme a minute, yeah?” before striding off into the hallway then darting up the stairs to their shared home office, and Beth frowns, because if he’s taking it upstairs, it means it’s either news he doesn’t want her to know, somebody he doesn’t want knowing about her (he’s weirdly paranoid about certain unnamed people hearing her voice, and no matter how much she pries, he refuses to tell her why), or both.

Watching him disappear up the stairs, Beth shuffles forwards, dropping her wine glass back to the coffee table and then herself to the floor.

Thing is, it is weird. All those months ago in Beth’s old bed, in her old house, the fireplace had been the first thing on his list when they’d played Dream House, and on those early, new nights, she’d dreamt of what that meant, assuming it held a significance to him in the same way that the kitchen did for her. Something that would make a house their home. Had imagined him with a childhood spent in front of one, toasting marshmallows or warming his toes, imagined it as one of the few things he’d had to go without in his loft, imagined him missing it, but now she’s not so sure.

It’s like he’s never even seen someone light one before.

She almost laughs when she gets to the fireplace, pushing aside the enormous log he’d laid down at the base of it and the sticks which actually are wet (he must’ve grabbed them from outside when she was cleaning up dinner), and starts to sort through the kindling, finding the smallest, driest pieces. She finds a newspaper on the shelf below the coffee table – one she’s pretty sure Rio’s done with, and tears off a few shreds, scrunches them up, starting to build the base of the fire. When she’s happy enough, she lights a match, dropping it down and watching the flame surge as it swallows the newspaper, just starting to catch the sticks above.

Humming a little to herself, she grabs one of the enflamed sticks, pushing it a little deeper, letting the embers flick over to the newspaper at the back, catching against them there, slowly starting to catch on the sticks there too. She watches the fire ebb, the embers starting to dust the concrete floor of the fireplace, lets it build again, her eyelashes briefly fluttering shut as the first breath of warmth hits her cheeks.

“So were you gonna tell me you knew how to do that, or just gonna watch me make a mess of it?”

The words are little more than a lazy drawl, and Beth glances behind herself to see him wandering towards her, like a whip of darkness in the cool, dusky light of the evening. She grins, shrugging, turning her attention back to the fire. She pulls the stoker off the holder, and gently prods a few of the flaming sticks towards the naked ones.

“You didn’t ask.”

Rio snorts, sitting down beside her, rocking just slightly forwards, and he doesn’t hold his hands out to the fire, doesn’t stretch out in front of it, but she knows he’s warming himself up. He runs cold anyway – she thinks it probably has something to do with the fact he has barely an ounce of body fat on him – but he doesn’t even have to touch her for her to know his hands are even more freezing than usual.

“Scouts,” he guesses, and Beth grins over at him again, tilting up her chin a little proudly.

“Got the badge and everything,” she replies, and then points with the stoker to where she’d pushed his efforts aside for her own. “Your log was too big.”

“Yeah, I heard that before,” he hums in faux resignation, and Beth rolls her eyes, a blush dusting her cheeks at the innuendo before she can stop it, and she pokes his side with the handle of the stoker. He takes it easily, and Beth moves around him, her blanket dragging behind her as she reaches for a smaller piece of wood.

“You need to be gentler with it too,” she says gesturing to the fire, and then quickly looks back at Rio, who’s mouth is open to reply. “Don’t.”

His laugh is quick, lyrical over the crackle and thrum of the fire, and Beth can’t quite bite back her grin either as she carefully places the smaller log by one of the healthiest parts of the fire, letting the flames slowly engulf it.

“Everything okay?” she asks, and at Rio’s questioning look, adds: “With the phone call, I mean.”

Rocking his head from side-to-side, Rio prods at the fire, watching the flames move, sticks like skeleton fingers snap beneath the heat. This close, she can see the slightest dusting of freckles at his cheeks, each little bump of new hair in his five o’clock shadow, the impossible length of his eyelashes. He looks engrossed, eyes tracing the way the fire builds, the way it consumes, the way it -

“Can you take more cars next week?”

Beth blinks back at him, wets her lips, collecting herself. She wraps herself up again in the blanket, curling her legs underneath her as she thinks it over.

“Probably,” she decides. “Not like we have the kids, and Annie could use the extra cash at the moment for Sadie’s meds anyway, so I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to a few longer days too.”

“Might need you to.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks again, forehead furrowing, and Rio sighs this time, clenching his eyes shut briefly, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. She doesn’t think he’ll reply – usually doesn’t when she asks, and she knows he’ll be annoyed if she asks again. To her surprise though, Rio drops his hand, stokes the fire, and says:

“Just internal shit with our suppliers. Want to finish up faster so we can shut down business with ‘em. AJ’s hooked me up with some guys he’s worked with before, says they’re hard work too, but get shit done. Figure I’ll go check ‘em out, and if they’re good, start moving us across, at least temporarily, until we find someone longer term.”

Beth considers this. She knows there’s been issues with one of their big suppliers – has been for months, Rio had told her as much, but she hadn’t realised it had gotten this bad. She bites the inside of her cheek.

“If we’re changing people, I want to be there to meet them,” she says, and Rio exhales, like he knew that was what she was going to say, and Beth frowns, watching him watch the fire. It’s not like she hasn’t met with people before, with suppliers and partners and associates, but Rio rarely offers. She thought for a while that he liked making her weasel her way into it all, and she thinks that he did, for a while, but these days he seems to only like her in meetings with people he’s - - they’re already in business with. People he knows. Like he’s worried she might make a bad impression or something on anyone new, and sure, she knows she’s not exactly Demon, but she thinks she’s always presented professionally.  

When he doesn’t answer, Beth’s frown deepens.

“Rio.”

“You get all your badges?”

Beth blinks, forehead furrowing.

“What?”

“At scouts,” Rio adds when he clocks her confusion, and Beth promptly rolls her eyes. “Ain’t there like a hundred of ‘em?”

“Rio, I’m serious.”

“You still got ‘em? I bet you do,” he hums, dropping the stoker to the front of the fireplace and shuffling a little back. He looks over at her appreciatively, sucking in his lips, like he’s picturing it. “Got the little hat still?”

“Rio,” she groans, hand escaping the blanket to push him, when suddenly he surges forwards, pushing her heavily onto her back against the freezing floorboards. She squawks, flails, still half tangled in the blanket as he rolls them over until she’s lying flat on top of him, and god, she must be squashing him, she thinks, feeling the sharp plains of him underneath her, and she tries to sit up, but he pulls the blanket around her and uses it to yank her back down towards him so hard she’s almost winded against the hard, flat top of his ribcage.

She squints down at him.

“You’re too skinny,” she tells him accusingly, and he just looks up at her, eyebrow raised, as she adds: “No wonder you’re always cold.”

“Ain’t that what I got you for?” he asks, and Beth rolls her eyes, about to tell him no, actually, but he does have her to go to this meeting with him, thank you very much, when suddenly he pulls her close to him, shoving his freezing hands down the back of her sweat pants, squeezing her ass over her panties before changing his mind and shoving his hands beneath those as well. Beth makes a noise she’s pretty sure only dogs can hear, trying to wriggle away from him, and Rio just laughs, rolling her onto her side and rubbing his icy nose against her neck.

“Mmm, feelin’ warmer already,” he purrs, rolling his hips against hers, and Beth groans in the least sexy way possible, trying to wriggle away from his cold hands. It’s no good though, they’re too big and – when he feels her moving – too firm.

“Yeah, well, believe it or not, I’m not,” she hisses in reply, and Rio sits back enough to look down at her, pulling one of his hands off her ass.

“Yeah? Damn. Think I got a few ideas on how we fix that though.”

Beth gives him an unimpressed look at that, and when she goes to push him off her, he grabs both her wrists in his hand and gives her a shit eating grin. It’s enough to make her smile way too sweetly in reply, lifting her leg until she can get her foot against his hip, kicking him back, when he glances down, eyebrow arched, and promptly lets go of her wrists to tug on her (well, his) black sock.

“Oh, so you’ve started stealin’ my socks now?” he says, and Beth curls her toes to stop him from pulling it off her. They really are warmer, she thinks, even if they swallow practically half her leg.

“Well, since stealing your money and your business worked out so well for me, I figured I should see how this went,” she says with a sniff, just to see the way his forehead furrows, his lips part, unimpressed.

“Oh, is that right?”

A giggle escapes Beth’s mouth before she can help it, and Rio grabs her ankle, pushing it away so he can better slide between her legs, laying flush against her, and she almost hates the way her breath hitches, the way he notices it – of course he notices it – and well, she thinks, blinking suddenly when she feels his half-hard cock push against her cunt. She keens before she can help that too, feeling the heat pool low in her.

“You warmin’ up yet, mama?” he asks her, the hand down the back of her pants shifting, moving around to her hip, playing with the lace of her panties, keeps moving, until his cold fingers are slipping between her folds, and she jumps, fingernails digging into his neck, and god, when had her hands even moved there?

“We haven’t finished this conversation,” she promises him, squinting, and he nods, faux serious, but there’s a look in his eye that tells her he knows that too, and as long as he does, Beth thinks, surging up to kiss him.

That’s really all that matters.

[pan-princess-levy]

sea gifts

characters: levy mcgarden and gajeel redfox rating: gen word count: 1,679 summary: 

while collecting seashells, levy makes a new friend. in a rather unusual way.[mermaid au for mermay. first part of many.]

read also on ffnet and ao3

matching art piece here, drawn by me

The water was halfway up her shins when Levy saw the dorsal fin.

It had been a long day of work—sitting some village children in the morning and then running around the shop for most of the afternoon. Levy had bid her parents goodbye before running off, eager to spend the last couple hours of sunlight doing her most favorite past time.

There were, after all, some positives in living just by the beach. (Even though the breeze could turn cold in times and they ended up with more bugs than most other places.) She'd run home from her parents' flower shop and then immediately headed out to the rocky shore just outside of their humble home.

For the hour and half of fun time she'd allowed herself, Levy had managed to fill half her bag with shells. Pride filled her chest every time she'd found a different piece in the water—some in soft cream, some in oily black—all unique. Some of the village kids had often called her strange for her fixation with the sea, but Levy could barely go through a day without the thick scent of saltwater and seaweed on her lungs, without the scrape of sand and wet stone against her soles.

And then she'd noticed the shark.

Sharks were not, exactly, a common occurrence at the reefs. They weren't particularly rare one either—sightings were known to happen at least once per week. Reef sharks were curious animals and often would wander close to the shore. There were many attractions for tourists in the area to go swimming with sharks. Back when she was little, a family friend had arranged Levy to go along one and she'd even managed to pet one. The people here, long used to their unusual neighbors, lacked some of the irrational fear inland people seemed to possess.

This particular shark, however, didn't seem to be exploring.

Levy bit her teeth as she slowly straightened up, sliding the last shell into her bag. The shore stood just to her right. 5 meters? 10, perhaps? She could run that for a second. But… it might be more. Without her glasses, she wasn't quite as able to perceive the distance.

And the shark… She couldn't pin it down. Oh, sure, the dark dorsal fin stuck like a sore thumb in the setting sun's blazing light. But what kind of shark was it? How far was it?

Could she outrun it?

Levy knelt down and dug her hand into the wet sand. Her fingers brushed something hard and smooth and she tried to take it. A gasp slipped from her lips at the sharp stinging sensation. When she pulled her hand out of the water, red dripped from her open palm.

Distress filled her mind and an uncharacteristically colorful line of curses fell from her mouth. Levy stood up, perhaps a bit too fast, and took a couple of shaky steps before she regained her balance. Her vision was swaying. She wasn't grossed out by the blood— she was a med student, for Heaven's sake—but the situation at hand terrified her. She tried to force out the violent memories of all those childhood encyclopedias about how sharks were able to smell blood from kilometers in the water, but they pushed against her walls. Her vision blurred at the edges, eyes locked on the dark dorsal fin in the distance. So Levy did the most logical thing her frantic mind could come up with.

She dropped her bag and ran.

Luck was definitely not on her side. Barely a few steps later she promptly stepped on another broken shell. Or perhaps the same one she'd cut her palm on. Burning pain shot up her leg and she cried out, doubling over into the water. The saltwater was stinging against her cuts and it made her eyes mist.

The waves splashed around her as she tried to regain her senses. The dark fin had moved closer and now she could see its colors—a band of white around the bottom of it that slowly darkened to the oily black tip. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe—

Then the water moved and the fin shifted and something big and dark began raising from the water where it has just stood.

Levy threw all sense through the window and ran in the opposite direction, screaming bloody murder.

The thing was calling her.

"Small human!" the thing yelled after her. "Don't go!"

Hallucinations. She was having hallucinations. She'd cut herself and got poisoned, or she'd inhaled too much water—

Something dark filled her vision and before she could react, Levy collided with a rock. The force of the impact made her lose her ground, her fingers feeling for the growing swell on her head.

It took a moment for her system to catch up, for her senses to take in her surroundings. A moment too much, it seemed. The soft sloshing of water announced the thing's arrival.

Levy turned her head around to face it.

After the initial shock wore off, she saw it was… a person. A weird person with gray skin and what looked like gills and fins and— Breathe, she commanded herself and squared her shoulders. Then she lifted her head and stared right into it.

"Hello" she said, her voice as calm and even as her terrified state could keep it.

"Hello" the creature copied her, as if speaking a foreign language.

The thing was, for the lack of other words, big. The upper part of it resembled a person—that is, if people had scales and gills. From the waist under, it looked more than a shark than anything else. A big and long and strong and most likely able to kill shark.

"You're a mermaid" Levy blurted out.

She was surely having a hallucination. Mermaids weren't real—mermaids were the dream of a small, lonely little girl with no friends and no other way to entertain herself beside old fairytale books. Mermaids were children's animations. Mermaids were not real.

The thing stared at her, dark eyes shining from under a curtain of dark, wet hair. It tilted its head to the side. Small rivets dripped down the lines of its body. A drop fell from the tip of its nose.

Levy found herself unable to move, her back pressed to the rough stone as if it could provide some protection. Despite the fear that she was probably going to die, despite her instincts screaming for her to run, she was rooted to the place. Levy was fixated.

"Mermaid" the creature repeated, as if the word was foreign to it. It probably was. "I… I think so?"

"You think so?" Levy asked. Laughter bubbled in her chest—at the absurdity of the situation or at the confusion written all over the creature's face, she couldn't say. "You look like a mermaid."

"I look like a—" The thing blinked in confusion and then shook its head, sending water everywhere. Levy made a face at the sudden cold against her damp skin. It extended one of its limbs—its arm—to her. Its fingers were gripping the strap of her bag. "Yours?"

Her… her bag. The creature was chasing her because she dropped her bag. The creature wanted to give her back her bag. The creature had probably watched her while she collected her shells and didn't want all her work to go to waste.

Levy started laughing.

Her lungs ached with the force of her laughter, her stomach spasming. The thing did not attack or threaten her. It probably did not know how to deal with hysterical girls. Poor thing. Levy leaned against the rock and lifted her head to meet the creature's—the mermaid's eyes. She had lost her fear somewhere along its confused expression and its calm gaze. She wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

After slinging her bag over her shoulder, she offered the mermaid her hand.

"My name is Levy. It's—" she giggled, "it's my pleasure to meet you. Excuse my… initial reaction."

The mermaid stared at her hand. In the soft light of the setting sun, Levy had to admit it looked beautiful, like a drawing out of her old childhood books.

"You're supposed to shake it" she told it when it just stood there, the top half of it half submerged into the chilling water. "And then you say your name."

The mermaid nodded slowly, then lifted its hand from the water and wrapped it around hers. Levy expected it to be cold, like fish were—instead, she felt a gentle, reassuring heat against her skin, smooth scales brushing her palm. Its hand was larger than her own, with longer, stronger fingers with silvery webs between them and small calluses. She could hardly believe she had been afraid—no creature with such gentle hold and such kind eyes could be dangerous to her.

"Gajeel" the mermaid said slowly, shaking her hand as it spoke. "It's my plea— plea—"

"Pleasure?" Levy suggested.

"It's my pleasure to meet you." It seemed very proud of itself. "Levy. Sounds pretty."

Despite everything, Levy giggled again. She brushed the hair from her face and gave the mermaid her best smile.

"Thank you. So does yours." She slipped back into the water with a small "plop". "Thank you for bringing my bag."

It seemed to have some trouble putting its thoughts into words. Levy winced in sympathy. Human languages were different enough from each other—she couldn't imagine how much harder it would be for a non-human creature to change its whole way of speaking.

"Sorry. For scaring you" it said after a while.

Levy hummed and carefully headed back to where she'd been collecting her seashells. When she didn't hear any movement behind her, she lifted her head.

"Are you coming?"

With what she was sure was a relieved expression, the mermaid swam after her. Levy smiled to herself. She'd just made a new friend. A new magical friend.

7 years old her would be so happy if she knew.

[lokisgame]

Just As Friends [2]

[part 1] 

She won, two out of three, then they did a few rounds of steady backstroke to rest, letting their thoughts float aimlessly. Mulder watched the lights reflected of water onto the ceiling, hearing nothing but his own measured breathing, weightless, happy. Even loosing to her felt good, fair. She didn't gloat, she didn't try anything, simply threw herself into the competition, unafraid, ready to give 100 percent. He had a feeling she did that with everything, and the thought made him smile. He glanced to his left and saw pale, slender arms draw graceful arcs above the surface. They passed the final flags and turned around to go back. He waited for her at, what he realized, was the deep end of the pool, five and a half feet was nothing for him, but for her it meant treading water to keep breathing. Crossing the last few yards in a slow breaststroke, she didn't stop when he reached out for her. “Let's take a minute.” Her hand on his shoulder, meeting half way, and a second later her arms were around his neck, thighs around his waist. Scully smiled when his arms closed around her, hands gallantly above the waist. Mulder touched bare skin, the back of her suit cut out deep, and his cheeks colored when their eyes met; so much for suave. She kept smiling, though, pulling herself closer, her embrace warm, soft breasts just a layer of fabric away. Her chin landed on his shoulder and he held her close, trying to think friendly thoughts. "Thanks,” she sighed into his ear, and let the water take her weight as he kept her from sinking. In that moment, she trusted him. "Any time," he said, hugging her lightly and she hugged him back.

"You can study at my place, if you want," he offered, as the doors closed behind them. "No, but thanks," she smiled, hiking the gym bag on her shoulder a little higher, "if they haven't worn each other out by now, the guy would have to be an olympic gold medalist in bed." Mulder filed that away to think about later. "Okay, but let me walk you home anyway, it's late." "Don't you have your own studying to do?" "I'll manage." He smiled and pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, "C'mon, you'll catch a cold." "Doctors don't get sick," she said, pushing the hood back, "don't you know that?" "Yes, they do," he pulled it up again, chuckling. "I can't see you," she whined, trying to fix it. "Yeah, I'm brilliant and handsome, such a shame," he scoffed, putting arm around her shoulders, hand resting lightly on the top of her head, to keep her from throwing the hood back. "Stop it, if I can do it, so can you." She looked up, and true enough, his face was shadowed by the enormous hood of his navy blue windbreaker. "You look like you just got off the deck of a fishing trawler." "Arrrgh," Mulder growled making her giggle, and picked a path that lead back to the dorms. "I was going for clandestine meeting in a dark alley, but I'll take it." "Sure, Captain." Mulder let go and the night became just a little bit colder than it was a second ago. 15 minutes later they stopped in front of her dorm complex. Somewhere above, through a cracked window, they could hear a girl scream, short staccato yelps of ecstasy and then a piercing cry, someone on another floor cheered, hands clapping. Scully groaned shaking her head in resignation, Mulder chuckled. "What are they on?" "My offer stands." "You don't mind?" He nudged her a little, to get moving, "let's get your stuff." Different speakers blared behind closed doors, as they walked down the corridor to her place. People coped as they could, by creating noise of their own. A girl, tall and slender, wearing jeans and a crop-top that said 'I can't, I'm in med school' went past them, rocking her hips and smiling at Mulder, like she could. "It will take just a minute." Scully said, unlocking the door and flicking the lights on. The room was small but neat, books stacked, notes only slightly askew in their binders, charts stuck to walls with tape mixed with pictures and polaroids, stemming from a black and white print of Einstein, his tongue stuck out to the wold. "I thought you were a med student." He said, trying to understand the connection. "I did my undergrad thesis in physics." She said, emptying the gym bag onto the floor and hanging out the wet towel over the back of a chair, before packing thick volumes into it. "And you switched to medicine?" "Long story," she zipped up the bag and went for the bathroom, the tap started, water splashed. The towel slipped to the floor and Mulder went to pick it up, taking a glance at her desk, more books and lecture notes. A framed picture of what had to be younger Scully caught his attention, her arm around a slightly younger boy, one tooth missing from his grin. Behind them, a tall man had his arms around a younger version of himself and a girl, matching them in height, but willowy instead of solid. All red-haired and freckled to varying degrees, smiling to the camera. Her family, father, two brothers and a sister, all five of them happy. "Okay, I'm good to go." She said, coming back, drying her hands. He glanced up, feeling guilty of snooping, but she came to his side, pointing to the picture. "That's Bill and Missy, Ahab and my baby brother, Charlie." She smelled like apple pie and just a hint chlorine. "Cute," he put the picture back, next to a huge mug filled with highlighter rainbow, "let's go." Before she opened her mouth to argue, he took her bag and swung it over his shoulder, leading her out and just as Scully was locking the doors, the moaning started again. "You've got to be kidding me," she sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe they're scared of the Russian judge." Mulder grinned, and taking her lightly by the arm, made her walk faster. She looked puzzled for a second, but he winked at her and as they passed the lovers' room, he pounded one fist on the door. "Keep it down, will ya!" He yelled and grabbing her hand, they ran. Scully laughed as they stumbled down the stairs.

They shared the couch, Scully curled up in one end, Mulder stretched out in the other. Silence reigned, broken only by rustle of pages, soft thumps of textbooks against the coffee table and occasional crack of sunflower seed. Nursing second mug of black coffee, Scully leaned back on the arm rest, stretching her legs. His hand landed on her crossed ankles, petting them absently, eyes never leaving the paragraph he was reading. Sometime past 1 am, she ended up lying down on the seat, with her legs bent at the knee and draped over his, sharing the cramped space. The book she was reading a minute ago, lay open on the floor. Mulder took the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over the two of them, letting himself rest too, just for a few minutes. The swim had really taken it out of him. Curling up a little he felt her shift, limbs growing heavier with sleep. He noticed the diagram she was studying; human heart with all it’s cross-sections, every part marked and labeled in Latin, and wondered, which parts held the people she loved, and if there was any room left, for one, Fox William Mulder.

[winterbaby89]

I’m Falling For You

Summary: All it takes is one text to make Killian’s world stop… one text from his best friend since college to simultaneously break his heart and breathe new life into him, effectively turning his world on its head.

Killian is Emma’s rock. The one person she knows that will be there for her time and again. When the break up from hell, and residual fallout, puts her best friend, once again, in the role of caregiver and comforter, Emma can no longer deny the feelings that have been brewing within her ever since college.

Can the magic - and questionable mixture of alcohol and pain meds - during the holiday season finally force the confessions they’ve both been suppressing for years?

Rated M

A/N: This fic was inspired by the song of the same name, by Chester See. If you haven’t listened to it, I recommend it.

I want to thank and give all the love to the lovely ladies that helped me get this fic finished, be it by beta-ing, cheerleading, or being the second set of eyes that I don’t seem to possess… So, THANK-YOU @hollyethecurious, @ilovemesomekillianjones, and @kmomof4.

**Special thank you to @hollyethecurious for creating the fantastic aesthetic to go with the fic for my birthday week reblogs.**

Line break indicates change in scene or POV.

Also on AO3 and FF

All it takes is one text to make Killian’s world stop… one text from his best friend to simultaneously break his heart and breathe new life into him, effectively turning his world on its head.

Emma : I need you. Walsh and I broke up. Can you come get me? I’m at Mass General.

Killian : I’m on my way love, are you alright?

Emma : I will be.

“Hey Li, I have to go. I’ll call you later, yeah?” Killian’s slight panic must bleed into his voice because Liam’s response on the other side of the line is his concerned papa bear tone.

“Everything okay Kil?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but Emma’s just sent me a text from the hospital, I’m heading there now.”

“Oh! Okay, well I’ll talk to you later little brother. Go take care of your girl.” Liam promptly hangs up, not giving Killian a chance to correct him.

“Younger. And she’s not mine, no matter how much I might wish it,” he mutters anyway, to no one in particular.

The whole drive to the hospital he is on autopilot, his thoughts lost in a swirl of memories.

Northeastern University four years ago:

Killian was glad to be back on campus after his summer in New York, as much as he loved Liam, his older brother could be a bit much, plus being back meant he’d get to see Emma again. All last year he tried to deny what he felt for her, but as the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder , and fonder was putting it lightly when discussing how head over heels in love he was with his best friend. Killian was planning to tell her just that, as soon as he could make it to her dorm, after dropping off his stuff in his own.

Knocking excitedly on Emma’s door, Killian was confused when a half naked guy answered the door instead of his Emma.

“I’m sorry. I guess I have the wrong room, I’m looking for Emma Swan.”

“No you got the right room buddy, but she’s kinda busy,” the shirtless guy all but sneered at him with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Oh!” Embarrassment colored his voice as he turned to leave, tossing out, “Sorry to have bothered you. Can you have Emma text me when she’s unoccupied?”

“Sure thing… who are you?” Killian could hear the condescension oozing from every word the guy says.

“Killian?”

At the sound of Emma calling his name, Killian  turned back around. Based on the look Mr. Rude and Pretentious was wearing, he could tell that the guy wasn’t expecting Emma to come to the door, and he wasn’t too thrilled she was calling out his name either. Emma continued on, oblivious to the tension, “Hey. There you are. Where are you going?” As he looked at his best friend, Killian noticed her look of confusion.

“I was informed you were busy, so I was going to leave you to it.” Killian’s tone was curt and clipped, trying not to let his heartbreak show, which only caused Emma’s confusion to deepen.

“Busy? No, Neal was just helping me get unpacked. Why don’t you come in.”

Killian could see plain as day on Neal’s face, that he didn’t want another man around. “Emma, I don’t think-”

“Oh! I’m sorry. You two haven’t met before, have you? Killian, this is Neal. Neal this is my best friend Killian.”

That day was the beginning of the hopelessly tortured road to the end for him. He’d had to watch from the sidelines as Emma dated Neal (controlling, cheating arse ), then Graham ( poor sod was hopelessly in love with their friend Ruby ), then August ( guy found himself a great boyfriend in the hatter’s son ), and up until tonight it would seem, Walsh. Walsh had lasted the longest of the four.

They didn’t all end badly, but over the course of four years Killian stood by and watched as each time she would excitedly enter into these relationships, completely unaware of the effect it had on him. When things did go bad, he’d be there to help her pick up the pieces and rebuild, leaving her a little more guarded and her walls a little higher than before. When it went bad, it was bad , and Neal, the bastard, was bad enough for a lifetime.

Little did Killian know that Neal would have nothing on Walsh…

Two Hours Earlier:

Walsh really outdid himself tonight, Emma muses. He’s made a reservation for them at Mama Maria’s for their eight month anniversary. Although Emma suspects this evening to also be his last ditch effort to convince her to go with him to his family’s estate in Connecticut to spend Christmas. He’s been trying to persuade her since before Thanksgiving, after she’d told him she would be spending that particular holiday with her brother, some friends, and their families. Killian’s brother had come into town with his wife Elsa, and they’d all shared a nice intimate holiday with old friends at David and Mary Margaret’s. Since then Walsh has been insisting they spend Christmas with his family, since she’d had Thanksgiving with hers, but she has been steadfastly refusing.

Dinner is a tense affair despite being a celebration, because Walsh keeps going on about the things they must see, or do while they are in Connecticut. Emma’s had enough, and is trying not to snap at Walsh about how she is absolutely not going home with him for Christmas. She’s impatient to get home to a large glass of wine, her favorite pj’s, and the Princess Bride. Maybe I’ll text Killian to see if he wants to join me after his weekly call to Liam, she ponders.

When the server comes around inquiring about dessert, Emma tries to politely pass, but Walsh is insistent that she try the tiramisu because apparently it’s the talk of Boston. Emma sighs agitatedly, acquiescing to the tiramisu.

When the server brings the plate around, Walsh grabs her hand and squeezes as her eyes land on the ring neatly set into the ganache.

“Walsh…” Emma trails off as her brain attempts to grasp what her eyes are seeing.

Walsh must take her stunned expression as a good sign, as he begins his pre-composed speech. “Emma, I know most people wouldn’t consider eight months a very long time, but I believe we know each other well enough. I see no point in wasting any more time. So, marry me, become Mrs. Walsh Osmond.”

“Walsh. I’m sorry. But… no.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I can’t marry you. I didn’t realize you felt this way, but I thought you knew, I’m not ready for marriage, I’m sorry.” Emma pulls her hand free of Walsh’s grasp, then standing from her seat, she pulls on her coat and heads for the door.

Walsh comes bursting through the door just moments after her looking incensed. “How could you do that to me Emma? Do you realize how much of a fool you just made me look? All of those strangers staring at me with pity. We will be getting married, and you will come with me to Connecticut for Christmas, so we can celebrate our engagement with my family.”

“Walsh, I am not some Stepford Wife , at your beck and call, to carry out your every whim. We are not getting married, and I am not going to Connecticut. I mean, we’ve been fighting about Christmas for the last several weeks. In all that time, what made you think I was going to change my mind and decide to go with you?”

“I knew you’d change your mind once we were engaged. My family is expecting us to come together, they’re already planning an engagement party for us that weekend, at the country club.”

“YOU TOLD THEM?! Why did you tell them before you even asked me?”

“Because I knew it was a sure thing.”

“A sure thing?! A SURE THING?! Well, buddy, you got that wrong… now you have to go home with your tail tucked between your legs, and explain to your family how you misled them. Because like I said inside, I’m not marrying you. We are through.”

“Don’t be like that Emma. You know we’ll have a large wedding in the spring, in Connecticut-”

“NO! Just stop right there. Walsh I have told you no, numerous times, we are not getting married, I am not following you to Connecticut. WE. ARE. THROUGH. You are deranged, and I have no idea what I ever saw in you.” Emma turns away from Walsh, planning to put this boy and this night in the rearview. The next thing she knows there is a burning sensation in her shoulder as Walsh jerks her back to him by the crook of her arm.

“Get back here. We are not done.”

Emma struggles against his hold, intensifying the pain in her shoulder. “Let go of me, you lunatic-” Her next words are cut off as Walsh’s fist connects with her face. Thankfully, Walsh lets go of her arm as she falls back from the force of the blow. She stumbles backward until she hits an antique light post, she tries to protect her shoulder from the impact. “You bastard,” she grits out as an intense burning sensation blossoms around her eye.

“Emma, it didn’t have to be like this.” Walsh approaches, fists clenching, looking like he’s going to continue his physical tirade.

Before he has the chance to swing again, Emma thrusts her good elbow upward and catches Walsh’s nose. She knows she has hit her mark when blood starts gushing like Niagara, causing him to stumble back clutching his broken nose.

Moments later the cops and paramedics arrive on the scene, alerted to the situation by concerned patrons watching the scene from inside the restaurant.

Killian arrives at the hospital having worked himself up into a worried frenzy, but he’s trying to contain himself, for Emma. He parks in the first spot he sees, barely managing to turn the car off before running into the ER to find her.

He is directed through the security doors, toward the nurses station, where he can get more information. As he comes around the corner, he spies David at the end of the hall. As soon as David sees Killian headed towards him, he moves to meet him halfway.

“How is she mate, is she okay? What the bloody hell happened?”

David puts an arm around Killian’s shoulders, with a wary look on his face. “Here, come with me. She’s been treated for a fractured orbital socket, and they had to reset her dislocated shoulder. She’ll be okay. But it’s probably best you hear the whole story from her.” David leads him along the hallway to Emma’s room.

Killian wonders why David came to the hospital, but isn’t in the room with his sister. Probably on duty and can’t stay too long, Killian thinks.

Opening the door he walks into her room; seeing his best friend on the hospital bed looking beaten to hell shatters his heart. Emma has massive bruising around her left eye, a sling protecting her right arm, and is sitting cross legged on the bed with an IV in her right hand. Looking at Emma the rest of the world fades away, and Killian doesn’t even notice as David shuts the door to allow them some privacy.

“Love. What happened?” Killian asks quietly as he makes his way to her side.

“Don’t worry Killian, I’m fine, promise.” She tries to give him a reassuring smile, but he is not fooled.

“Fine?! Darling, you’re always fine. But there is nothing fine about this situation.” He tries for levity, to curb his distress at her current situation. He does not want to tax her any more than she already is.

“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” Emma gives him a cheeky grin as she banters back.

“Guy?! What guy? I thought you were in an accident.” As the words leave his mouth he sees the smile slip from Emma’s face as she looks down at her lap.

Without looking up, Emma says, “I’ll tell you everything that happened, but you have to promise me you won’t overreact.”

The weight of her tone leads him to sit at the end of the bed. As she continues to avoid his concerned gaze, Killian reaches out to gently grasp her free hand reassuringly. “Alright Swan, tell me.”

She tells him the whole sordid affair, from the tense dinner, to the proposal, to the brawl in the street. Never once does she look up from their joined hands. He sits in stunned silence, processing everything he’s just been told. The quiet in the room is broken by the nurse coming in with all of Emma’s discharge paperwork, and prescriptions.

“We would like to give you a dose of something stronger to help with the pain, so you can get some sleep tonight. Will there be someone with you?”

Without looking away from Emma, Killian responds before she can say a word, “Aye. She’ll be staying with me tonight.” When Emma looks like she is going to protest, he speaks up a little louder, “Please don’t fight me on this Swan, take the medicine, so you can sleep tonight.”

“If you’d like sir, bring your car around to the entrance, and we’ll wheel her out in a few minutes.”

Killian nods and leaves the room to retrieve his car, while walking down the hall he sees David is still there. Realizing that he is in the exact same spot as before the reason why David wasn’t with Emma hits Killian.

“Son of a bitch!” Killian curses, knowing that David has Walsh in custody. “Bastard is still here.” Killian storms down the hall with a murderous intent for Walsh.

“David, mate.”

“Killian?”

“The bastard is in there isn’t he?”

“Don’t even think about it Killian.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than think about it. Go get a coffee, give me five minutes alone with him.”

“Emma has already pressed charges, we’ll handle Walsh. Right now Emma needs you, and you’ll be no good to her if I have to arrest you, too.”

“Then don’t arrest me.”

“Not gonna happen Jones. Go take care of Emma. If it’s any consolation, she shattered his nose.”

As he is about to retort that it’s still not good enough, he hears Emma’s concerned voice call his name. Deciding the low life isn’t worth it, Killian gives David a nod, then turns on his heel to go catch up to the nurse pushing Emma towards the exit.

The nurse wheels Emma out, and waits on the sidewalk with her as Killian quickly brings his car around. Pulling up right in front of them, Killian puts the car in park, and moves out and around to help Emma get up. By the time he makes it to her side she is half asleep, thanks to the meds, but still cognizant enough to slap his hand away as he tries to help her get up out of the wheelchair. Emma makes it to her feet, but doesn’t even get a step towards the car before she’s falling sideways into Killian’s chest.

“Easy there Swan.”

“I’mng good. Mmm-got it. G’off me.”

Realizing exactly how high she is right now, Killian can’t suppress the chuckle that rumbles up from the depths of his belly. “Whatever you say Swan. As graceful as your namesake you are. Up you go, let’s get you in the car.”

After getting Emma in the passenger seat, Killian has to reach across her to get her buckled in, because she’s already half asleep, again . Whatever they gave her didn’t take long, and I’m glad, she needs her rest after tonight , Killian muses. He has to take it slow on the drive home to avoid throwing Emma’s injured shoulder into the door as he’s taking corners.

Finally making it to their apartment building, Killian has to carry Emma up the two flights of stairs to their floor. Maneuvering around her dead weight to unlock the door, Killian finally gets the two of them inside his apartment. Traversing the familiar terrain easily, Killian safely makes it to his bedroom, depositing Emma on the bed as gently as he can manage. As he is getting her tucked in under the covers, Emma burrows her nose into his pillow and inhales deeply. Killian freezes as she mumbles on a breathy exhale, “Mmmm, smells so good, just like Killian.” His heart stutters in his chest at her not quite declaration, thinking that maybe there is hope for him after all.

Two Weeks Later:

Curled up in her corner of the couch, legs tucked up under her, nursing her now lukewarm cup of cocoa, Emma is lost in her thoughts. She recalls her moment of panic less than a week ago, when she realized that she and Killian had been successfully cohabitating in his apartment. Domestic, and perfect, and just not in the cards for her, because she’s in love with her best friend, and he will never see her as anything more. She had to run, she had to protect herself, because if she had stayed at Killian’s another day, she would have ended up doing something to fuck it all up. She couldn’t lose Killian, so before he could push her away, she ran; to protect herself, and her battered heart.

The only reason she’s nursing a mug of cocoa instead of something a little stronger is because she had agitated and inflamed her shoulder. She’d tried to do too much, too soon, just to prove she could, which landed her with another round of pain meds and a stern talking to from her brother, sister-in-law, doctor, Killian, and even Liam (via Skype).

Of course it had been Killian to find her crying on her bathroom floor, unable to put her arm through the sleeve of her robe, because of the intense searing pain. The faint flush of his cheeks when he found her like that had to have been from the residual heat of the shower she’d just left. Always a believer in good form, and gentlemanly behavior, he hadn’t even tried to sneak a peek under her robe as he helped her get her arm into the sleeve.

Since the day she re-injured herself, Killian had been crashing on her couch every night. He’d make his excuses to not have to leave, and supply her with all manner of coffee, food, and treats. He made sure she had breakfast and dinner daily, and ensured she took her pills before he’d leave to get ready for work. She loved the attention and doting, and the more fanciful part of her brain kept insinuating that it meant more. But she couldn’t listen to that voice, that part was an idiot, and couldn’t be trusted anymore. Emma couldn’t let herself hope; hope was a dangerous thing for someone like her.

Emma is brought out of her musings and self-chastisement by Killian ringing the doorbell. She opens the door to reveal the man of her dreams, also the man who torments her dreams; his hands are full of take out from their, her, favorite Chinese place around the corner. She gladly lets him into her apartment, helping him juggle all of the take out containers.

As he goes to retrieve the silverware and drinks, Emma queues up Princess Bride for them to watch as they eat.

After they’re done eating, Emma finds herself more focused on Killian than her favorite movie, noticing the small things more than she’s ever thought to. There’s nothing new about his arm slung across the back of the couch, his hand absentmindedly playing with one of her curls. Everything appears to be the same, normal even, but her thoughts from earlier, and what could be, keep coming back to the surface, making her inspect and scrutinize everything for deeper meaning.

She’s startled out of another such musing when Killian turns to look at her with a pensive look on his face, she hadn’t even realized the movie had ended.

“Everything alright Swan? You seem to be somewhere else tonight.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine, just tired I guess. Everything okay with you?”

“I’m fine Swan. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else.” Killian gives her a sweet smile, the smile she recognizes as her smile, before a slightly anxious look passes across his features, “Actually, there is something I need to talk to you about.”

“I find whenever a guy says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

Smothering his chuckle, Killian sobers once more, “Nothing bad, I promise. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not going to be able to bring you dinner tomorrow, you’ll have to fend for yourself. I am finalizing those contracts that I’ve been working on with that big client tomorrow, and then it’s expected that I take her to dinner afterwards.”

“Big client? You mean Tink? From Pixie Dust Development? The handsy one?”

“Handsy? What are you talking about, Swan? But, yeah, if I land this contract, it will put Jones Bros Designs in the black for years to come.”

“You know what, nevermind. I hope that the deal works out well for your company. Come on, it’s late, and you have to get up for work in the morning, we should really get to bed.”

“Absolutely, love. Your bed or mine?” he teases. His over the top flirtatiousness usually draws a laugh, or at the very least a good natured eye roll, but her traitorous thoughts from earlier choose that moment to come back to the forefront, making her wonder, what if? When she doesn’t respond with anything but a tense silence, Killian asks, “Are you sure you’re okay Swan?”

“What? Oh… yeah sorry, like I said, just tired.” Emma vacates the couch so Killian can lay down, since the man refuses to sleep in his apartment lately. She hurries off down the hallway to her room, listening to Killian settle onto her couch for the night. She also hears his tossed out reminder to take her pain pills just before she shuts the bedroom door behind her.

Emma has a fantastic boss, and her dream job, but unfortunately because of her bastard ex she is on administrative leave through Christmas. She can’t properly do her job until she is fully healed.

Most people would think that being a social worker would be a less than desirable job, but for Emma it is her way to give back to the kids like her. Orphans. As soon as Christmas is over, because of all the foster families that wait until the holiday has passed to send the kids back, she knows that she will be busier than ever, which just isn’t right.

So she really should enjoy the quiet that she’s got now, but she can’t stop herself from thinking about Killian alone with Tink. Every scenario she comes up with is worse than the last. Finally, unable to stand the thoughts any longer, she goes in search of that half full bottle of rum that she knows is hiding in her kitchen somewhere. Prescription warning labels be damned.

The bottle of rum, now empty, sits on her coffee table. Emma can’t keep herself from wondering if Killian had accompanied Tink home. With a set purpose, she gets up from her couch on wobbly legs, and makes her way back to her room. She is a woman on a drunken mission.

Killian is glad to finally be home, excited, elated even, at having secured a massive multi-million dollar contract for his and Liam’s architecture firm. Tink had been a little more aggressive than anticipated, after she’d had a few drinks at dinner. Luckily they had all of the paperwork signed and completed before they had gone out; she had looked a bit perturbed when he’d rebuffed her advances.

Kicking his front door closed behind him, Killian contemplates making his way over to check on Emma after taking his shower. Weighing his options, he realizes that it might be nice to actually sleep in his bed for the first time since she got hurt. As he is contemplating that luxury, Killian makes it through his bedroom door, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Emma Swan. Naked. Passed out, on my bed. Naked. I’d recognize the drunk hicca-snore anywhere. Naked. Why is she naked, in my bed? This is my bed, aye? Doubting that he’s actually come into his own apartment, since he’s so used to being in hers lately, Killian goes back out into the hall to double check the number printed on his door. It is.

Making his way back inside the apartment, and ensuring the door is secured behind him, Killian makes his way to the linen closet to get a blanket for Emma. He knows he won’t be getting any answers tonight as Emma sleeps solidly through his attempts to cover her completely. He affords her the softest and warmest comforter he owns, so as to ensure that her supple backside won’t be subjected to the cool night air; and to protect her modesty should she turn over at some point while she sleeps.

Having resigned himself to another night on the couch, at least it’s comfortable, Killian proceeds with his plan of taking a shower, and if he should have the need to relieve some tension that had stirred to life at the sight of Emma’s delectable assets, none need be the wiser.

She wakes to the sunlight streaming onto her face, wondering, why in sam hell is my blackout curtain not working? Starting to take inventory of herself and her surroundings, Emma comes to several conclusions rather quickly. Oh shit! This isn’t my bed. Why am I naked? Damn my head hurts like a son of a bitch, what the hell happened last night?

As she thinks back to the night before, she tries to mentally retrace her steps. Emma remembers having worked herself up into such a state of agitation thinking about Killian and Tink together, that she drank every last drop of rum left in the bottle. The last memory she has is getting up off of her couch with determination. What the hell was I so determined to do? Everything after that is fuzzy.

How did I get to Killian’s apartment? The key, that’s right, he gave me his spare key… Taking stock of her current lack of clothing, surely I must have taken them off before getting in his bed, right? Looking around the room, there are no clothes scattered on the floor. I didn’t? I wouldn’t. Did I really walk across the hall naked and break in to my best friend’s apartment, and pass out on his bed? Was he home? How much of me did he see? How did he react? Fuck! How awkward is this going to be? Deciding there is nothing for it, she gets out of his bed to face the music, before he comes to confront her.

Making sure the coast is clear, Emma gets up and dashes for Killian’s closet to find something to cover herself with. Picking her favorite hoodie of his and a really soft pair of boxers, she heads out in search of Killian, only to find him in the kitchen. His back is to her as he works at the stove, making what smells like… pancakes? He’s making me pancakes?

“So wanna tell me why you were passed out in my bed, love?” He turns his head just enough so she can see that damnable quirked brow of his, “Not that I’m complaining about coming home to a beautiful woman in my bed… I’d thought Christmas had come early.”

“Yeah… sorry about that… I was upset,” Emma mumbles as she avoids Killian’s gaze, afraid of what she might find.

“Upset? What were you upset about?” Killian sounds genuinely concerned, but she still refuses to look at him.

“Nothing, I was just upset, and got drunk, and I think it reacted funny with my medication.”

“Swan. You know you’re not supposed to drink with your medication.”

“Nevermind, you know what, just forget about it. I’ll just leave you alone. Sorry for bothering you.” As she turns to leave, she feels Killian’s hand gently wrap around her uninjured elbow, turning her to face him.

“Emma, love, stop. What is going on?”

Well hell! Way to ruin things Emma, way to ruin everything, like always. He knows something is up, he actually is quite perceptive. Honestly this may be my last chance to say something, I may have already lost him, and I can’t let him go, without at least telling him.

Emma brings her panic filled eyes to meet Killian’s concerned gaze as she solidifies her resolve. Now or never Emma , “I’m in love with you. That’s what, and I don’t know how to deal with it, along with the fact that you don’t see me as anything more than a friend.” Her voice starts out strong, but as she reaches the end, it is quiet as a whisper, and cracking as she struggles to contain her turbulent emotions.

“Now where did you get an idea like that?”

“Like what?”

“That I don’t see you as anything more than a friend.”

“You’ve never said anything.”

“When would I have had the chance? The timing was never right.”

“Oh.”

“Emma, I have loved you for so long, I can’t remember what it’s like not to love you. So, to clear up any possible confusion. Emma Swan, I love you.”

In lieu of a response to his declaration, Emma is on him. Her lips are sealed to his in a passionate kiss that he’d never even let himself dare to hope for. Apparently, she was going for action rather than words, but she had already said those five fateful words, and he’d thought his heart was going to burst when she had.

If we’re going the route of action then . He picks her up and though she startles to the point of exclaiming his name in an octave higher than normal, her legs wrap around his hips of their own volition.

“Do you realize how mad you drove me?” he murmured against her lips, not wanting to pull away any further than that, now that he’s been granted the pleasure of her kiss. Killian is relying fully on muscle memory to guide them back down the hall to his bedroom. “Seeing you naked on my bed, unable to touch you. And this morning, seeing you in nothing but my clothing, a man can only take so much temptation.” He presses the evidence of her torments against her as he pins her against his bedroom door.

“You’re not the only one that’s been tempted Jones.” Emma veritably moans as he grinds against her again.

“What say you, to us re-examining your outfit from last night?”

“But I wasn’t wearing anything last night.”

“Exactly.” With Emma’s giggle, Killian finishes the trek to his bed. As things are ramping up, kisses more heated, touches roaming over every expanse, a disheartening realization comes to him. “Swan, wait… wait, wait. I don’t have any condoms. I wasn’t expecting-”

“It’s ok Killian… I’m covered. I’m clean, and protected .”

“Aye?”

Emma nods bashfully at his enquiry.

“I’m clean as well, so if you’re still willing.”

“Yes, I’m willing, now get a move on Jones. I’m tired of waiting.” At the vehemence in Emma’s voice, Killian leans up off of her to remove his shirt. He notes the look on her face as his shirt clears his head, and soars across the room.

“See something you like, love?” he asks with a smirk playing on his lips. It takes her a moment to peel her eyes away from his toned chest to meet his gaze.

“Yeah.” Her voice is much breathier than normal, which causes his smirk to widen.

He helps divest her of his hoodie, and is unable to stay his thoughts “You are an absolute vision my love.” One of his new favorite things has to be the blush that creeps across Emma’s chest and face at his words of praise.

With a roll of her eyes, she deflects by saying, “Whatever you say, Romeo.”

Willing to let it be, and get back to the more urgent matter at hand, Killian gives her another kiss before pulling back, and nudging her hips so he can help her shimmy out of his boxers. When she’s completely bare he leans back up and showers Emma in kisses. He starts with her pouting lips, then works his way down her jaw, and all along the length of her neck, intent on showering every inch of her body with his affection.

“Killian-”

He can’t help but smile at the way Emma whines out his name in frustration.

Pausing his trail of kisses long enough to look up into her emerald eyes, with pupils blown wide, he asks, “Yes, my love?”

“You are still far too overdressed.”

“All in good time my love, I plan on taking my time, and taking care of you the way you deserve. I’ve been dreaming about this for far too long to rush any of it. Ladies first, then I will take you; I promise.”

“W-Wait… you’ve dreamt of this?”

Killian chuckles wickedly. “Of course I have. You are quite entrancing.”

Killian rests his chin just above her delectable quim, glancing up, he catches her eye. He wants to make sure she is alright with this, not wanting to cross a line, and risk pushing her too far too fast; the thought of pushing her away is unbearable. When Emma smiles reassuringly, he closes the distance, licking a line with the flat of his tongue from slit to clit, eliciting a moan from both of them.

“My love, you taste divine, I’ll never get enough of you,” he murmurs into her core, not wanting to stop for even a second.

Emma wiggles and jumps with the sensations of his attentions causing him to place his left hand across her belly to keep her still. Alternating between long licks, penetrating her with his tongue, and sucking on her bundle of nerves, he’s quickly driving her to the edge of pleasure. As she gets closer he uses his mouth to focus his ardor on her clit while guiding his fingers in and out of her to work her to completion.

Emma comes with a cry of his name on her lips, and he swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound.

“Still with me love?”

She hums out a pleasured sound of affirmation as he hops back off of the bed and shucks his pants. Killian then lies down beside her, playing with her hair, until she opens her eyes to look at him.

Bringing himself above her, once she has recovered, Killian’s right hand trails down her side from her pert breast to her hip, anchoring himself to her there. He slowly runs his silken steel shaft through her drenched folds, savoring the wetness as he coats himself in her essence. After teasing the both of them a few moments more he delicately pushes his throbbing cock into her tight sheath inch by delicious inch until he is completely buried in her to the hilt. Pausing to give them both a moment to adjust, he leans forward to capture her lips in a kiss to trump all kisses. He keeps his pace steady, trying not to thrust too hard, wanting to make it memorable for both of them.

Feeling his release building quicker than he’d like, he reaches down to caress her clit and whispers to her, “Come again for me Emma, I want you to come with me.” As he circles her clit faster, he feels the enticing flutter of her walls signaling her orgasm.

“Killian. Right there. I’m … I’m … OH GOD!’’

“Let go Emma, I’ll catch you. Come for me.’’ Watching as Emma falls so beautifully over the edge, he lets her take him with her. Killian murmurs her name lovingly as he spills his release inside her.

“That’s it love, that’s it.’’ He relaxes above her, momentarily forgetting he is putting all of his weight on her. Regaining his senses, he rolls off of her and pulls her to her side so they can lie facing each other to catch their breaths.

“I hope I’ve not worn you out, love. I am nowhere near finished with you yet,” he growls into her ear.

They both lose track of the hours, too wrapped up in the feel of one another to care, they spend the rest of the day in Killian’s bed.

Waking from, probably the best sleep she’s ever experienced, laying snuggled into a still sleeping Killian, Emma thinks back on the perfect and pleasurable day before. Emma finds herself wanting Killian, again .

She takes advantage of his slumber to peruse every facet of his beautiful body. Her hand starts at his cheek before skimming along his chiseled jawline. She moves to his neck, and leans down to place a gentle kiss in the hollow of his throat, then continues with both hands now, to smooth along his toned chest. She loves his thatch of chest hair as it rubs against her palms, and even more when it grazes her hardened nipples.  

He truly is a work of art, and she wonders if he’d be upset if she tasted him. She’s wanted to take him with her mouth since she’d seen him bobbing hard and proud against his stomach. Deciding she is going to treat him, Emma delicately shimmies her body down his, so as not to wake him before she wants him to.

Once she is level with his already hardened member, she licks her lips in anticipation; gently taking his generous length in hand, she extends her tongue to lick a stripe from base to tip. Killian shifts in his sleep at this, but does not wake, emboldened by her desire she opens her mouth to take him in fully. Unable to stifle the moan that crawls up her throat at the sensation of him in her mouth, Emma begins to steadily bob up and down along his length. She feels the ache in her core and knows she is wet, but this is about Killian, and his pleasure, not hers.

By the time Killian starts to stir from the sensations she’s lavishing on him, she can feel the wetness pooling and dripping down her thighs. The sound Killian makes is a mix between a moan and grunt. His hand reaches out reflexively tangling in her hair as she continues to work him over with her mouth. Voice still heavy with sleep, Killian finally speaks up, “Emma…” His voice trails off as another moan escapes his throat, and he gives a slight tug on the hair in his grip. “Love stop, or this will all be over too quickly. I’ve no wish to leave you unsatisfied.” At that Emma picks up her pace, intending to make him fall apart for her, just as she had fallen for him the day before. Any further protestations from Killian are staved off by another moan torn from his throat as he begins to spill himself down her throat. Emma tastes his release and swallows down every last drop before releasing him with a soft pop. She grins up at his sated smile like the cat that ate the canary.

After a few moments of quiet, with nothing but Killian’s labored breathing to be heard, Emma shimmies back to her place, snuggled into his side. “Well. Swan, wow. Christmas really did come early. But have no doubt, I will get you back for that.”

“I look forward to it. Best Christmas ever.” Emma hums out as she snuggles into Killian’s chest.

~ Fin ~

Walsh’s POV

Tagging some lovelies that have asked to be tagged, as well as some I believe might enjoy. Please let me know if you do, or don’t wish to be tagged. Happy reading.

@artistic-writer @captain-swan-coffee @flipperbrain @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @laschatzi @seriouslyhooked @smutqueen27 @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @yayimallamaagain

[littlej097]

Klaine Advent- Health

Summary: It’s hard being sick, but nothing can prepare you for when you’re a parent and your child is sick. Daddy!Klaine

Note: This should be fairly accurate. I’m a nursing student and I actually witnessed a case pretty similar to this during my time in the Children’s ER yesterday. 

It’s always hard being sick. However, nothing prepares you for when you’re a parent and your child is sick. Penny had woken Kurt and Blaine up around one o’clock in the morning by screaming her head off. It was strange because she normally slept through the night since she was two now. “I’ll go get her.” Kurt told Blaine. He pushed himself out of bed and padded down the hallway and into Penny’s nursery. “Oh honey, what’s the matter?” Kurt cooed. He picked the two year old out of her crib and instantly could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“Papa!” She cried and gripped onto his pajamas. Kurt held his baby and then took her back to their room.

“Blaine, wake up.” Kurt said as he shook his husband awake. Blaine woke up pretty quickly because Penny was still screaming pretty loudly. “I think Penny is sick.” The toddler reached out towards Blaine and he took the little girl into his arms. “I’m going to go and get a thermometer.” Kurt added. He hurried into the bathroom while Blaine shushed Penny and bounced her slightly. Before Kurt could come back, something truly awful happen. Penny went pale and promptly vomited all over Blaine’s pajamas. Blaine was frozen not knowing what to do.

“Kurt!” he called. Kurt came rushing in and saw that his husband was covered in vomit.

“Oh god, gross.” Kurt exclaimed. He went over and took Penny from Blaine and let him get up to change his clothes. “I was really hoping this wasn’t going to be a stomach virus thing.”

“Tell me about it.” Blaine muttered. “It’s going to be a long night.”

By the morning, all three Anderson-Hummels were exhausted. Penny had been up all night throwing up and her fever had reached 100.5. She was currently passed out on top of Blaine’s chest, a blanket lying over both of them. Kurt was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee, desperately trying to stay awake. He had been stuck in the world of Web M.D for a long time and was getting freaked out. He didn’t know if they should go to the emergency room or if they shouldn’t. Not knowing who else to talk to, He picked up the phone and dialed Carole’s number.

“Hello?” Came Carole’s voice.

“Carole, I’m sorry to wake you up. I just didn’t know what to do.” “What’s wrong sweetie?” she asked.

“Penny woke up last night and started throwing up. She’s got a fever too. I’m just worried that she’s getting dehydrated.” Kurt replied.

“It’s going to be okay.” Carole told him. “Kids get sick. Just made sure you keep giving her fluids. Pedialyte is good. She’s two so she can have tylenol. Just watch her fever. If it get’s over 101, I would go to the emergency room.”

“She’s just never been sick, Carole. I feel so helpless.” Kurt replied.

“The dilemma of every parent with a sick child.” Carole replied. “It’ll be hard, but just be there for her and she’ll be okay.” Suddenly from the living room, Kurt heard Blaine yell, “Kurt! She’s throwing up again!”

“Carole, I have to go. Penny’s getting sick.” he said before hanging up the phone and running into the living room. This time, Blaine was lucky enough to get a trashcan to the toddler’s mouth. When she had finished throwing up, Kurt took the trash can from him and went to wash it out. When it was clean, he walked it back over to his husband who was taking their daughter’s temperature again.

“What is it?” Kurt asked when the thermometer finally beeped.

“Still 100.5” Blaine replied. Poor Penny looked so sick as she lay limply against Blaine’s chest.

“That’s not good.” Kurt said. “I talked to Carole and she said to keep giving her fluids, even if  she keeps throwing it up. I’m going to go out and pick up some Pedialyte for her. Do you want me to get anything else?”

“Maybe some popsicles. Those might be good too.” Blaine offered.

“Got it.” Kurt replied as he pulled on his jacket. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Kurt left and Blaine was left with the sick toddler.

“Maybe a nice warm bath will be good for your fever.” Blaine said. “How about it Pen?” The little girl didn’t reply. She just put her head on Blaine’s chest. Blaine decided to do it anyway. He took Penny into the bathroom and stripped her down.

“No Dada.” she whined.

“It’s gonna feel good honey.” Blaine told her. He placed the two year old in the bathtub and began running a washcloth over her skin. Penny shook like a leaf in the lukewarm water. Though it was hard to see, Blaine knew that it was most likely helping his daughters fever. He tried to engage the little girl by showing her her favorite rubber ducky, but Penny just didn’t care. Blaine eventually got her out of the tub and wrapped her up in her hooded elephant towel. He took her into her room and then put her into new pajamas. “Okay, baby. Let’s go watch some tv. Do you wanna watch Cinderella?” Penny nodded. Blaine took her into the living room and then turned on the movie.

Not too much later, Kurt came home from the store. “Hey, I got the Pedialyte. Do you think she’ll want to try some?”

“It’s worth a shot. She didn’t throw up while you were gone.”

“Well that’s good.” Kurt replied. “Do you mind if I quickly take a shower? Then, you can take one. I would let you go first, but I think that she wants you.”

“It’s fine. We’re good.” Blaine replied. “I’ll get her the pedialyte. You can go shower.” Kurt nodded before heading upstairs. Blaine set Penny on the ground. “Daddy, will be right back okay Penny girl.” Penny didn’t say anything. She just continued to stare at the movie. Blaine walked into the kitchen and got out a sippy cup. He started pouring the Pedialyte into the cup when he heard a loud thud. He dropped the cup and ran into the living room. There, he saw Penny on the ground. Her body was tensed up, especially her hands which were in tight fists and her legs were drawn up to her stomach. She stared at the ceiling and Blaine watched as her eyes rolled back into her head.

“Kurt! Kurt!” Blaine screamed as he ran over to Penny. He grabbed a pillow the blanket and placed it under Penny’s head and then he looked at the clock and started timing the seizure. Kurt came downstairs. Obviously he had yet to get in the shower.

“Oh my God! What’s happening?” Kurt exclaimed.

“She’s having a seizure.” Blaine replied, still looking at the clock. “Go call 911”

“We-Oh my god- we need to go to the hospital.”

“Kurt, call 911!” Blaine said.

“No! The hospital is five minutes away. We’re not waiting.” Kurt exclaimed as he scrambled for his car keys.

“We can’t take her while she’s having an active seizure.” Blaine told him. Suddenly, Penny stopped seizing and her body went limp. Blaine was quick to press his fingers to her carotid artery. “She has a heartbeat.” he placed his head on her chest. “And she’s breathing.”

“Please, we have to take her now.” Kurt begged. Blaine picked Penny up and they ran to the car. He sat in the backseat with her while Kurt drove. Those five minutes felt like a lifetime, but finally they reached the ER. There was a nurse waiting outside for them because Blaine had called 911 on the way.

“Here, please help her!” Blaine said. The nurse took Penny in her arms and then ran back to the trauma room. Kurt and Blaine followed along. When they reached the trauma room, Penny was lying on the large hospital bed. She had wires attached to her to monitor her heart and a blood pressure cuff on her. And, she was screaming. Kurt felt so overwhelmed that he started sobbing. He sobbed so hard that Blaine had to grab his arm just to keep him upright.

“What did we do wrong? What did we do Blaine?” he cried. A doctor came over to them and gave Kurt a chair to sit in. She knelt down and began to talk to them.

“It’s okay. I’m Dr. Kopek” She said to comfort them. “You did everything right. She’s doing okay. I just have a few questions. Tell me what happened.” “She’s been sick since one o’clock this morning. She was vomiting and couldn’t keep anything down. I went to get her some pedialyte and then I heard a loud thud and found her having a seizure.”

“Has she ever had a seizure before?”

“No” Both of them replied.

“I timed the seizure. It was only about three minutes.” Blaine added.

“It was great that you knew to do that.” Dr. Kopek replied.

“I have epilepsy.” Blaine said. “I’ve had some experience.

“You what?” Kurt replied. “You never mentioned that!”

“Sorry, I... I haven’t had a seizure in a long time. My meds are controlled.” Blaine replied. “Could Penny have epilepsy?”

“It’s hard to say. But, we’re doing everything we can for you daughter.” Dr. Kopek replied. “You can go in with her if you like.” she offered. Kurt nodded and wiped away his tears. Four nurses were holding Penny down as they tried to get an IV into her. Kurt went close to her head and whispered sweet things into her ear, but none of them seemed to help. Finally, the nurses got the blood that they required and Kurt was able to pick Penny up. He rocked her in his arms and soon Penny fell asleep. Poor thing was exhausted from having the seizure.

Kurt, Blaine and Penny spent the rest of the day in the ER. They had to go through Penny getting an EKG to check her heart and a Cat scan to look for anything neurological. Finally around 3 in the afternoon, Dr. Kopek came back in. Blaine nudged Kurt who was sleeping and he woke up.

“I got all the tests back and I talked to our neurologist, Dr. Coffrey. He doesn’t believe that Penny has epilepsy. Her fever was 101 when she came in so we’re it's pretty definitive that it was a febrile seizure, meaning it was caused by fever. They’re common in younger children.”

“So she’s going to be okay?” Kurt asked.

“She’s going to be okay. I want you to keep an eye on her fever. It was 99.0 which is good, but other than that you can take her home.”

“Oh thank God.” Blaine said. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome and I hope you keep feeling better Penny.” Dr. Kopek replied. “Dr. Coffrey does want you to follow up with him just so he can definitely rule out epilepsy, but he is pretty sure that this seizure was just caused by virus.”

“We’ll make an appointment tomorrow.” Kurt replied.

“Good.” Dr. Kopek replied. “A nurse will come in with your discharge information and then you’re good to go.” she added before leaving the room. Kurt and Blaine could not have been more relieved. They got Penny dressed and then headed home. Once they got there, they laid Penny in her crib and watched her as she slept.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I’ve been today.” Kurt confessed.

“Me either.” Blaine replied. “I’m just happy that once she’s over this virus she’ll be healthy again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had epilepsy?”

“It’s not something I talk about often and I haven’t had a seizure in years.” Blaine confessed. “They were really bad after Sadie Hawkins, but they’re under control now. I’m a little self conscious about them to be honest”

“Honey, you know you have nothing to hide with me.” Kurt replied. “Also, I signed up to love you in sickness and in health, but you have to fill me in on the sickness side, so I’m ready.”

“I’m sorry.” Blaine replied. “I promise to talk to you more about it and even show you my meds. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Kurt replied. “How about we try and get some sleep?”

“Sounds good to me. I’m exhausted.” Blaine replied. They walked hand in hand to the bedroom and layed down on the bed. The day had been horrific, but Kurt and Blaine couldn’t be more grateful that their little girl was okay.

[phosphorescent-naidheachd]

From a Certain Point of View

Or, how Ben Kenobi’s boldfaced lie prevarication saved the Galaxy (but not in the way he thought it would).

(See Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four)

Part Five: Epilogue

When Sidious dies, Jedi and other Force Sensitives across the galaxy sense it, even if they don’t all know precisely what it is that they’re feeling. The Force reverberates with the death of so powerful a being – with the shattering of so many significant shatterpoints. A heavy, oppressive cloud has lifted. The Force hasn’t felt this way since… longer than some of them even remember. The older among them do remember the days when the Force was lighter and their foresight clearer, but even they hadn’t realized how bad things had gotten until the fog of the Dark was gone.

Padme, with her low midichlorian count, is not particularly attuned to the Force, but she feels it too. Somewhere deep in her bones, she knows that something has changed. And Padme has always trusted her instincts.

So when Anakin bursts into her office in the Senate and announces that he just killed Chancellor Palpatine -- oh, and that Palpatine was a Sith Lord who orchestrated the entire war, by the way -- she isn’t quite as shocked as she probably should be.

(Which is not, of course, the same thing as not being shocked at all. Because Palpatine? A Sith Lord? She’d been concerned about the executive powers he was accruing and the policies he was putting into place, of course, but...)

“Are you all right?” he asks, dropping to his knees in front of her chair.

“Me?” she says. “I’m fine, Ani. I’m not the one who just fought a Sith! We need to get you to a medic.”

“Only if you get looked over too,” he says. He hesitates then adds, “Is there anything you, uh, wanted to tell me?”

He gestures awkwardly in her direction with his flesh hand.

Padme stares at him.

“I’m sorry?” she says, eyeing him worriedly.

Who knows what kind of damage he might have sustained in his encounter with Palpatine.

“You know,” he says. “Any, um, family news?”

“My family is fine, last I heard,” she says slowly. “Ani, what’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Padme, how is the baby doing?”

She stares at him. 

“What baby?”

There is a choking sound near the door.

...which, she realizes in retrospect, they never closed after Anakin barged in like a gundark. 

“An excellent question. Is there anything,” a particularly exhausted-looking Obi-Wan Kenobi says dryly, one eyebrow arched, “that the two of you would like to tell me?”

An Hour Later...

Silence falls once Anakin has finished his story.

One of Obi-Wan’s few comforts is that Padme looks nearly as shellshocked as he feels. At least he wasn’t the only one Anakin has been keeping in the dark...

“Let me see if I understood this correctly,” Obi-Wan says, folding his arms over his chest. “Not satisfied with just conducting an affair so indiscreet that every padawan and half the initiates in the Coruscant Temple knew about it, the two of you decided to get married. While Anakin was still a padawan himself, no less. Then, shortly after the beginning of the War, your son from the future arrived to warn you about a student of mine that was going to bring about the fall of the Republic and the Jedi, only to vanish into thin air partway through his explanation of events. Instead of talking this fantastical tale through with me, as would have been sensible, your response was to maintain absolute secrecy, cling to my side like lichen to rock, prevent me from spending any time with younglings, and to steal Ahsoka as your padawan to prevent her from becoming my student and thus this Darth Vader. Is that correct?”

“...that about sums it up,” Anakin says, only a little shamefaced.

“Ah, good,” Obi-Wan says. He belatedly realizes that he is stroking his beard with one hand -- an unfortunate tell of his. “I’d hate to have missed any other revelations.”

Padme looks ready to drop her head into her hands. Obi-Wan can sympathize. 

“So you’re sure you aren’t pregnant?” Anakin asks, turning his attention back to her.

“Yes, Anakin,” she repeats with supreme patience. “I’m sure.”

“Maybe we should get you checked out, just in case,” he says.

Padme sighs.

“Trust me,” she says waspishly, “I am absolutely, without a doubt, not pregnant. I’m on my moonsblood right now and you are not helping my mood.”

Anakin freezes, the expression on his face resembling nothing more than an ash-rabbit trapped by a predator. He turns his head in Obi-Wan’s direction, eyes pleading.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. 

(He’s learned many things over the years, and key among them is to never get involved in a couple’s marital spat.)

And yet...

Obi-Wan sighs internally and begins to speak. “I hate to interrupt, but do we know if Mas Amedda was aware of Palpatine’s true identity? With Palpatine dead, the Chancellorship will fall into his hands, along with its manifold new powers.”

Padme frowns, lacing her fingers through one another atop the desk.

“Several of us in the Senate have long suspected him of corruption,” she says, “but we’ve never been able to tie him to anything. Every time we think we’ve finally caught him, he slithers away again. Bail -- Senator Organa -- thinks Amedda might have someone from Intelligence in his pocket, but now I wonder... Whether he was aware of Palpatine’s identity or not, I can not imagine Amedda didn’t do some of Palpatine’s dirty work. We’d need actual proof before we could oust him from his position, though...”

“And if he has any brains, one of the first things he’ll do upon learning of Palpatine’s exposure -- and his own newly gained authority -- is erase any evidence that might incriminate him,” Obi-Wan agrees.

Force, this is such a mess.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as the headache building behind his eyes continues to grow.

“And if Palpatine planned everything,” Padme continues,“he must have had allies. Many, many allies -- witting and unwitting. How deep does this go? ...We need allies and we need to figure out how we’re going to spin this. Quickly, before the press gets word. Tell me, what did you do with the Chancellor’s body? Did you attack any of his Security on the way in -- No, you can’t have done, they would have raised the alarm long before now. -- Do we know if he had any other appointments this afternoon? For that matter, who else knows about this?”

Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, pin him in place.

Reluctantly, he says, “We left the Chancellor’s body in his office where he fell. No one other than Palpatine was harmed, to my knowledge. Anakin simply walked in without an appointment -- the guards are used to that -- and I snuck in through a window. I’m afraid I have no notion of whether he had any other appointments later in the day. Anakin, was his secretary there when you entered?”

Anakin shakes his head. 

“I think she was on her lunch break,” he says.

“Well, that’s something at least,” Padme mutters. “And the rest?”

“Cody knows,” Anakin says promptly. “So does Ahsoka.” 

“The Chancellor’s personal chef knows as well,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s possible that any of them have told someone else. I... have not yet had an opportunity to brief the Council on this matter as someone ran off to your office the second I confirmed Palpatine’s death. I barely had time to lock the office door behind him before following.”

Padme lets out a low groan.

“I,” she says, “am calling for backup.”

Anakin makes as though to move, only to be halted by a gesture from Padme.

“You,” she says, “are going to stay right there. I’ll ask them to bring a med-droid while they’re at it.”

“Then perhaps --” Obi-Wan begins delicately.

“And you,” Padme says. “You aren’t going anywhere either. The two of you have done enough for the moment.”

“I was merely going to suggest that someone inform Ahsoka of our whereabouts,” Obi-Wan says. “It wouldn’t do for her to panic and barge into the Chancellor’s office, lightsaber in hand.”

“...that is a fair point,” Padme says, sounding almost insultingly surprised.

“Then while we’re at it,” Obi-Wan says, “Might I suggest that one of us contact the Council and request a representative’s presence at your planned meeting? Everything will go more smoothly if we are all on the same page.”

“Of course,” Padme says with a gracious nod.

Obi-Wan has just lifted his comlink from his belt to make the call when a terrible thought occurs to him.

And really, if he hadn’t been so tired -- if this entire day hadn’t been one galaxy-shattering revelation after another, interspersed with frantic planning and fighting -- he would have thought of this much earlier.

“Padme,” Obi-Wan says slowly. “By any chance, do you know if the interior of your office is under any forms of surveillance?”

“...oh fuck.”

Mace Windu was having a fairly pleasant day, all things considered. For the first time in months, he wasn’t in a war zone. The Sithbegotten headache he’d received earlier today had finally gone away. The Force felt tangibly lighter, shatterpoints were showing futures brighter and clearer than any he’d seen in well over a decade, and he even had a cup of Sapir tea in front of him.

Yes, Mace Windu was having a good day. 

‘Was’ is the key word here.

The second he received an urgent comm from Obi-Wan Kenobi asking for him to come to Senator Amidala’s office in the Senate ASAP, however, he knew his day was about to descend into all nine Corellian hells.

It’s Kenobi, after all -- the man has a positive talent for attracting chaos. And where Kenobi is, Skywalker is rarely far behind.

The question isn’t whether Mace’s headache is about to return, the question is only how bad it’s going to be when it does.

So when he enters Senator Amidala’s office to find not only Kenobi, Amidala, and Skywalker, but also Tano and Senators Organa, Mothma, Danu, and Tills, he can feel his temples start to throb anew.

Then he hears Skywalker’s story.

Mace closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep, calming breath.

...he hates it when he’s right about these things.

The meeting feels like it lasts forever. Once they’ve decided how to handle Palpatine’s death, talk turns to the current intra-political environment in the Senate and how that might affect any brokering of a peace agreement with the remaining Separatist leadership. Which then leads into even more political discussions. 

Anakin is bored stiff.

In the end, the meeting only breaks up because Bail reminds them that it will look suspicious if they remain holed up together for too long -- especially once news of the Chancellor’s death spreads.

Unfortunately, however, it appears that Anakin’s trials for the day have just begun. The rest of the day involves enough politics and long-winded debates given in double-speak that he’s begun to seriously consider ‘accidentally’ injuring himself just to have an excuse to escape.

Something in his face must have given his thoughts away, because Obi-Wan lays a hand on his arm and shakes his head.

“If you think this is bad,” Obi-Wan whispers, sounding far too amused for a man listening to yet another piece of circuitous sophistry from a puffed-up planetary representative, “you should be grateful you haven’t been on the Council long yet.”

It... can get worse then this?

Anakin shudders.

By the time they leave for the evening, Anakin can’t decide which he wants more -- to eat something, to sleep for twelve hours straight, or to hit something hard.

Padme, in his private opinion, looks almost as disappointed as she does smug when she informs him that she never had occasion to use her blasters today.

.........he can sympathize with the former. 

Politics are enough to make anyone violent.

Irritating politicians aside, confronting and disposing of Palpatine is not enough. Not for that kind of intimate betrayal.

It will never be enough, he knows, not even if he kills every last one of Palpatine’s stooges. Their blood will not wash away all the blood that has been shed in this stupid, pointless war; their deaths will not bring the other dead back to life or restore him to a world where his trust remains unbroken.

Damn if it wouldn’t make him feel better, though.

But not for long, that annoying voice in his head that sounds like Obi-Wan reminds him. It would only be a temporary distraction; you’d still have to deal with everything eventually. Besides, vengeance is not the Jedi way.

...sometimes Anakin really wishes he hadn’t spent so much time meditating with Obi-Wan.

Padawan Ahsoka Tano is tired. It has been a long, tense day. A long week, really. A long past few years.

She’s looking forward to lying down on Master Obi-Wan’s couch and passing out.

(Ever since she became Anakin’s padawan, the two of them have been on the front lines more often than not, so he’s never bothered to get them their own set of rooms. Ahsoka doesn’t mind -- there’s something kind of cozy about sharing an apartment with both of her Masters. ...She suspects that Anakin and Master Obi-Wan feel the same way, even if they’ll never say as much.)

So naturally, when they enter Master Obi-Wan’s apartment, someone is already sitting there.

She doesn’t recognize him, but Anakin certainly seems to.

“Luke?” he says incredulously. “How -- why --?”

The boy -- man, really -- shrugs.

He seems only slightly sheepish to have been caught breaking into their apartment. 

“Surprise?” he says, running a gloved hand through floppy blond hair.

The conversation that follows is perhaps the weirdest one Ahsoka has ever been a part of... and that’s saying something, considering who she works with on a daily basis.

Every now and then, Skyguy cuts Luke off, throwing her a nervous glance.

...Now that she stops to think about it, this usually happens when the subject of this new Sith, Darth Vader, comes up. 

It’s super irritating. Ahsoka isn’t some untried youngling! She’s fought in countless battles. She even helped to take down a Sith Lord; she hardly needs shielding from a mere discussion about one! 

Anakin has just sent her into the kitchenette to make some tea -- which, if you ask her, is a totally transparent excuse to get her out of the way so he can talk to this Luke person in private -- when there’s a faint rap at the apartment door.

Glad to escape the tedium of tea-making, Ahsoka dashes back into the living room.

It’s probably just as well that she did, because Anakin and Luke are so absorbed in their Top Secret conversation that she doesn’t think they even saw her come through, let alone heard the knock.

She glances through the peephole.

Ah, it’s Master Obi-Wan.

Since it’s his apartment, Obi-Wan doesn’t need to knock, but he’s done so ever since that one time he walked in on her making out with Barriss.

(In retrospect, the living room really wasn’t the best place for that. Even Barriss, usually so unflappable, couldn’t look him straight in the eye for a solid week afterwards without remembering the short talk they’d both received about the importance of using protection, exercising discretion, and remembering their priorities as Jedi.)

Shaking away the memory, she opens the door. 

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” Master Obi-Wan says. “...is that Tarine I smell?”

“Yeah... Good nose,” she replies. “Want any? I’m already making some for Skyguy and his visitor.” 

“Oh? Is this visitor anyone I know?” he asks, arching a brow quizzically.

“Some guy named Luke,” Ahsoka says with a shrug, stepping back to let him in. “He claims he’s from the future and that he’s met Skyguy before.”

“Really,” Master Obi-Wan says.

His eyes sharpen as he steps through the door and peers around her.

“So that is Luke,” he murmurs.

Luke freezes in his place on the couch, then his head snaps up. 

He gapes.

“Ben?” he says, moving forward. “Ben Kenobi? Gosh, you look different.”

“Have we met before?” Master Obi-Wan asks.

Luke’s eyes seem to laugh at some private joke. Smiling faintly, he says,

“Oh yes... from a certain point of view.”

THE END

[carey-pricemas]

I’m Pregnant- Andre Burakovsky

Y'all are killing it with these requests! Such great requests from all of you! Thank y'all for keeping the requests coming and for being understanding about the time it's taking to get them up! Here's another Andre coming at ya! Enjoy!

Warning: mentions of vomiting

Anon Request: Can you do one where you've been dating Andre Burakovsky for a couple years and then you find out you can't have children but then he proposes and you "celebrate" and then a couple weeks later you find out you're pregnant

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

              This was not how you wanted Andre to find out.

              You had found out earlier this week that it was pretty much impossible for you to get pregnant. You hadn't told Andre yet, because you just didn't know HOW to tell him. You guys had always talked about having three kids in the future. Now it was possible you might not have any.

              You were going to tell him tonight, but now here you were, standing in your kitchen, Andre on one knee and a ring held out to you before you had the chance.

              Andre's question was left hanging in the air, thickening it with tension as the seconds ticked by.

              "Andre" you whispered, promptly bursting into tears.

              "These aren't happy tears" Andre said, standing and pulling you into his arms.

              "I want to marry you" you wailed.

              "But?" he prompted. You sniffed and tried to pull yourself together. You hadn't shed a single tear until now, but now that they were flowing, you couldn't get them to stop. "Shh" Andre whispered, rocking you gently. "Take your time, älskling."

              "I can't get pregnant" you muttered. Andre froze. "I found out at the doctor's this week, but I didn't know how to tell you."

              "Oh, (Y/N)" Andre whispered.

              "I'm sorry, Andre" you cried. Andre pulled you closer and pressed his face into your hair, resuming the gentle rocking gesture. "I'm so sorry."

              "Shh, älskling. This isn't your fault" he said. "I still want to marry you."

              "But I can't give you your three children!"

              "Haven't you figured it out yet?" Andre asked pulling back just enough to be able to see you. "I love you and kids aren't necessary. Plus if we want, we could always adopt." You pulled him closer, sobbing once more.

              "You're too good to me" you said. Andre chuckled and kissed your head.

              "You put up with me. I think it's you who's too good for me" he said, giving you a squeeze. "Let's try this again, shall we?" Andre pulled away and dropped to one knee, fishing the ring back out of his pocket. "(Y/N), you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. You support me unconditionally and come to every home game to cheer us on. You are my world and I love you. Vill du gifta dig med mig?" You laughed through your now happy tears.

              "I really hope that means 'will you marry me' and not something else."

              "Of course that's what it means! I'm trying to be romantic here" Andre said, looking slightly offended.

              "Then yes, Andre. I would be happy to be your wife." Andre jumped up and slid the ring on your finger.

              "Finally" he murmured, kissing you deeply. Your fingers tangled in his curls, deepening the kiss. Andre picked you up in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist, giggling as he bumped into the wall as he tried to get you from the kitchen to the bedroom.

              "Andre" you laughed as he bumped into the hallway wall. "Maybe we should-"

              "Celebrate" Andre grunted. With his attention fully on walking, he jogged down the hall. You laughed as he set you on the bed, leaning over you. "Now, where were we?"

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

              This was the third morning in a row you had woken up and had to rush to the bathroom to throw up.

              "Still not feeling well?" Andre asked as padded into the bathroom. You groaned and leaned into the toilet as Andre wet a washcloth for you, pressing it to the back of your neck. He pulled your hair up with one hand, his other rubbing your back.

              "This is miserable" you groaned as you flushed the toilet.

              "Maybe you should go to the doctor?" Andre suggested. You pushed yourself up and made your way to the sink to brush your teeth.

              "For the flu? Maybe if this goes on for a few more days."

              A week later you found yourself sitting in the doctor's office, waiting for her to come in. They had already taken blood and a pee test from you, so hopefully you would be out of there soon.

              You really wanted blueberry pie.

              "Hello" the doctor said breezing in. She grinned at you and you smiled back.

              "You're unusually happy for a doctor" you joked. She laughed and sat down on her stool, rolling closer to you.

              "Well it's not every day I get to tell women good news" she said.

              "Good news?"

              "(Y/N)" your doctor said gently. "You're pregnant." Your world stopped and you choked on the emotions flooding you.

              "What?"

              "I know! I don't know how it happened, but you're about 6 weeks along. And it seems to be so far so good!"

              "Oh my god!" You felt the tears sliding down your cheeks as your hand went to your stomach. "I'm pregnant!"

              "We're going to start you on prenatals and you'll need to go to an OB/GYN, but for now I want you to take it easy. No heavy lifting and watch what you eat. Exercise, but not vigorously." You nodded. "Generally these are all end of pregnancy things we worry about, but I want to be extra careful with your baby due to the difficulty of you getting pregnant." You nodded firmly.

              "Don't worry. As soon as I tell Andre, I'll be on bed rest." The doctor laughed.

              "No need to be so drastic, but no need to take extra risks." She scrawled out a prescription for the vitamins and handed it to you, before making her way to the door. "Congratulations, (Y/N)."

              "Thank you" you whispered. You grabbed your coat and made your way out of the office and to your car. You pulled out your phone and dialed Andre's number. You hoped he was out of practice by now.

              As the phone rang in your ear, you bit your nail.

              Would he still want a baby?

              "Hey, älskling" he answered. "What did the doctor say?"

              "Are you sitting down?" There was a pause.

              "Why?"

              "Andre, are you sitting down?" There was a sigh over the line then some shuffling before he responded.

              "Alright I'm sitting. Oh god!" You could hear the panic in the last of his words. "Do you have cancer? Oh man ok we can make this work no need-" Andre stopped talking as you giggled.

              "No, babe. I don't have cancer. Actually, I'm not even sick."

              "You've been sick for two weeks!" Andre cried out in disbelief.

              "Andre" you said softly. "I'm pregnant." There was silence on the other end of the line as he processed the information.

              "Really?" He didn't let you respond before he was talking again, this time at a rapid, excited pace. "Oh my god! This is great! Wait I thought... Never mind you are! We're going to have a baby! Hey Tom! Tom! Guess what? (Y/N)'s pregnant!" You laughed as he told his teammate the good news. "Babe I've got to go! I've got to go tell the guys! We'll celebrate when I get home! Jag älskar dig!"

              "Love you too!"

              "We're having a baby" Andre whispered. "A child of our own."

              "I know, babe" you whispered back. "Go spread the good news. I'll see you at home."

              "See you two at home."

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Awwww! There we go! Angsty then happy! Don't worry! We'll meet the baby Sunday! (It ties into that request actually XD) Up next: Jordie Benn for smut lovers or Luke Kennard for all!

[olwog]

Wednesday. So, we’re up and about, perhaps not as early as we would have liked but the flight and travel time yesterday coupled with the fabulous Nepalese meal at the Nepali Tandoori Restaurant on Calle Lepanto may have a combined effect of slowing us down.

I’ll be referring back to the Nepali restaurant later in these texts such was the quality of the meal.

  Today is a new day and we decided to take a bus as far across town as possible and walk back. I’ve been to countries where the simple act of catching a bus can be ‘challenging’ but not in Spain; you pay your €1.50 and you’re good to go. It lasts only one journey though so if you want to go one stop you may feel it more prudent to walk. Today we’re going across town which takes about 40 minutes so it’s good value, tomorrow we’re going to another town so that’s even better value!

The journey itself is interesting in as much as the route is convoluted and worth a trip just to orientate yourself and the outstanding thing for me is the amount of investment that’s going on. There are roadworks and building programmes on a number of streets, not enough to be off-putting but reassuring in terms of confidence in their local economy and tourists. Benidorm is part way through the process of re-inventing itself and if you believe it’s just for stag and hen parties then you’re missing a trick. It’s nestled into a double bay with a southern outlook and the natural crescents of sand protect the town from the winds that can blow across the Med. When you approach it from the airport it is high rise and it looks like a concrete jungle but it is what it is and it does it really well.

The bus has a screen that tells you what the next stop is going to be and between that and Google maps running on my ‘phone we know precisely where we are should there be any area of town that we pass and want to revisit on our walking return.

The bus drops us in a tiny bay which is worth a visit purely because it is slightly forgotten and has a ‘relatively’ quiet ambiance where there appear to be a number of discerning Dutch and German people. The beach is adjacent to Cala Finestrat, Cala is a Spanish word for river or cove and Finestrat is a district. We walk around the tiny cove and up on to the rock which is bathed in sunshine. It’s a dead-end but no matter, we’re in no hurry and this new view of Benidorm is interesting for its own sake. There’s a young man walking towards us who smiles and wishes “Hasta luego” (see you later). It’s the equivalent of “So long” in English and is meaningless in content but a wonderful illustration of how friendly the Spanish people are; always a “Hola” or “Buenas días” and usually delivered with a smile – sunshine brings out the best in everyone.

After a brief inspection of the rocks and astonishment at the way that the houses; complete with tiny swimming pools, are built into the rock, we make our way through the narrow streets and descend the steps onto Playa de Poniente (West or Sunset Beach) and make our way along the promenade in a sweeping curve.

This part of Benidorm is not as commercial as the area near the Castell Promontory and the Old Town. The area beyond is Playa de Levante (East or Sunrise Beach) and, along with the Old Town, are the real tourist areas.

It takes us five or six hours to walk the two beaches although we do takes some time to drink coffee and people watch.

We pause for a while near the marina at the base of El Castell on the Pointe side and discuss the church when a voice with a wonderfully strong Mancunian accent says, “Are you looking for the church?”

I nod and say “Yes”.

“It’s up the 234 steps over there” and he gestures to the path that is partially hidden by railings and a bit of shrubbery.

I nod again, this time to indicate acknowledgment but feel it would be rude not to engage in some dialogue and ask him if he’s visited it.

This is Colin and he comes here every year from the beginning of December to the end of January and there’s not a lot that he hasn’t done or seen over the years.

He’s had a heart attack so now takes three pills per day and his doctor tells him that he’s doing exactly the right thing. Out here he’s out and about every day in the winter whereas back in Bolton in the winter he’d be sitting watching the TV. He spends one month in one hotel then between Christmas and New Year he changes the hotel, he’s telling us he does this to vary the surroundings but it also means he gets a more varied menu although he does eat out most evenings and if you pick and chose your venue it’s cheaper than eating in in the UK and you get to talk to different people. He’s a nice guy is Colin and he also gives us some advice regarding a trip to Altea, just to the East, using public transport where there are some good walks – we both prick up our ears at this point and tomorrow is being planned as we listen.

If you ever read this Colin, your advice was followed and we owe you a big thanks for it but to return to the here and now we take our leave and start the ascent of the steps. We don’t count them and arrive at the Church of St Jaime; however, unlike the churches in beautiful Yorkshire the ones in Spain seem to spend most their time locked and this one is no exception! So off we go again, this time into the shops and then on to the promontory where a busker is playing some beautiful guitar music. It’s these moments that are the best, sheer pleasure as we bask in the sun, take in the views of the hills and listen to the music which is Spanish enough for it to be local but not too flamenco to be tedious (I once went to a one hour flamenco recital and it was the longest week of my life!) however, this guy and his style I like but it doesn’t work for all. A few minutes later I’d returned from my musical reverie to be told by the Pilgrim that a really articulate Scot had turned to his wife/partner and said, “I’m not listening to this crap!” and promptly walked off. Clearly, the sound of this guitar is falling short of the subtle sounds of the bagpipes – so there you have it, you really can’t win ‘em all.

We wend our way along the Playa de Levante (Sunset Beach) and arrive at the far eastern end of Benidorm just a little too early for the actual sunset and repair to a bar where we sit in the gap that can be a window should the weather demand. We engage with a gentleman who lives in Central London but travels a lot. He’s Irish and tells us about his (large) family back in Ireland and the fact that his Mam wanted to retire and enjoy life; however, her husband (his Dad) and the owner of a construction business did not, so she threatened to sue him if he didn’t change his mind. I’m not sure if we discovered the outcome as his partner returned having paid the bill. We greet him and mention we’ve been chatting to his partner. “Him…”, he responds, “He’s just a gobshite, he can talk for England.” Now that’s a mean feat for an Irishman. Still wondering what happened to his mam and dad though.

The sun makes a shallow arc across the sky and we make our way to the beach as it kisses the sea. I take a few pictures. It certainly earns its name as Sunset Beach and sets us up for a return to the hotel and an evening meal yet to be determined although my eyes have a few floaters in them from looking at the sunset.

      Enjoy the snaps…G..x

Benidorm Day 2 – It’s more than the reputation! Wednesday. So, we’re up and about, perhaps not as early as we would have liked but the flight and travel time yesterday coupled with the fabulous Nepalese meal at the Nepali Tandoori Restaurant on Calle Lepanto may have a combined effect of slowing us down.