#tumblr ate this the first time [my longest sigh ever]

[meinetranen]

A Favor.

18+ MDNI!

Satoru Gojo x female!reader

Summary: In which... Satoru wants you take away his virginity.

Warnings: There's so much stuff going on... um p in the v, unprotected sex (please us protection, this is a fanfic for christs sake), reader is known to be stubborn and grumpy, I guess—titty sucking, nipple play, dry humping, cunnelings, bj, oral (both male and female), fingering, reader is also implied to be a virgin, implied masturbating, reader is insecure, first kiss, squirting, and um... it's pretty chaotic. It's kind of friends with benefits? Reader and Satoru don't end up in the end, but...

(This is the longest thing I've ever written on Tumblr oh my lord.)

You always despised Satoru. Cocky, playful, overly confident, immature, but strategic. You hated all of it.

Why were you friends with him?

You still don't know to this day.

You shared the same class with him, Geto, and Shoko. The four of you grew close, beginning to hang out after school, going to see the movies, or going to nearby cafés to get a pastry.

And having to deal with Satoru always poking at your face, calling you names, and talking on and on just to get a rile out of you—until you eventually yell at him as he raised his arms up in surrender with a sly grin on his face.

You were used to it, and eventually, you started teasing him back, butting at each other's head just to see who could get the other to rile up first.

However, despite all of this, you both grew close, and maybe... a little too close because—

"I want you to take my virginity away," Satoru spoke so casually, standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.

A tint of blush appeared on his cheeks as his crystal-blue eyes glanced away behind his sunglasses, unable to meet your eyes for the first time while pursing his lips together.

Even embarrassed to say those words, why did it sound so confident?

"What...?" It's one word. The only thing you can say at this point as heat rose to your face, and something stirred in your stomach.

Satoru cleared his throat, his short white hair ending just right above his blue eyes—the color of the ocean—the ones you always seemed to mesmerized by.

"I want you..." he took a step forward, and then another as his tall frame towered over you as you sat on the couch. "Y/N..." he continues. "To take my virginity away."

"You're joking..." you scoff, closing your book and setting it down on the table next to you, and his shadow covers your body. "Satoru, you can't say things like that—"

"I'm not joking," he firmly says, grabbing at your shoulders, forcing you to face him fully. "I'm 100% serious this time... and I want you to—of course, with your consent."

Your eyes widened, and his face was flushed with his pink lips in the form of a straight line, and surprisingly, he had a serious expression with his brows furrowed together.

You brushed his hands away, growing nervous by each passing second. "E-Even if I were to give you my consent... why me? Why choose me out of everyone else?"

This makes the sorcerer pause, and he straightens his posture, adjusting his shades. "You want be to be honest, mochi?"

Mochi. That was the nickname he gave you after you ate so many when you were visiting the pastry shop and ended up throwing up in the public restroom.

"I do," you nod, raising a brow.

He sighed. "You know how I'm popular, right?" And there he is... the typical confident bastard.

"Yeah, sure, go on." Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. "Would you just tell me already, dumbass?"

"Alright, alright, such an impatient woman." he raised his arms up in surrender, still holding that sly smirk becore it turns downwards. "Everyone thinks I've lost my virginity when I haven't—and there are people who have, and I just want to know what it feels like—I want to be able to tell me that I've had sex. When I'm older or a few years later, I want to be able to have a hookup without worrying about my virginity without embarrassing myself or doing it so bad."

There's a frown on his pink lips, and you can't help but take a quick glance at them before meeting his blue eyes.

This man...

Shaking your head again, you pinch the bridge of your nose in disbelief. "Satoru... listen to me, losing your virginity isn't even that important. I say you should wait until you get a girlfriend—"

However, Satoru was desperate, and he took a step closer, bending over to reach your level as he grasped at your shoulders—his face inching closer to yours.

"But I don't want to wait, Y/N. I... I trust you—you're the only person who I can trust you with this stuff..." he sighs, and for the first time... he looks so desperate... pleading for something when usually he doesn't have to beg to get something that he wants. "Please... i-if you don't want to... that's fine with me."

Staring at your close friend, you feel shocked, a rush of different emotions. It makes your heart flutter, think what it'd be like... to hook up with Satoru, the "strongest" man in Jujutsu High—or perhaps all of Japan.

It makes dirty thoughts appear in your mind, and you move them back in your head, disgusted and weirded out about it—even if you've thought about them before in your free time...

Though, it still confuses you from why Satoru would want you—out of all people to take his virginity, when he could've chosen anyone else, but he trusts you... and that makes you happy, but you can't help but feel a little nervous.

You've never had sex before, and all you've ever done is masturbated in the comfort of your room, thinking about whatever pleases you, and trying to stay quiet.

So, surely, this was a big step, and you were nervous, almost frightened about what it'd be like to have sex... because he'd have to see you naked... hear your sounds and—you brushed it off, not wanting to make it worse.

"I know you haven't done it either," Satoru adds, and he remembers this after you two got into a deep conversation one night when it was just the two of you hanging out. "And maybe... maybe it's a little better that since we trust each other—know each other, we can experience it, and try it."

Gulping down a lump in your throat, it suddenly felt dry, not knowing that Satoru was able to have an effect on you like this.

You think about it, and it takes you minutes that feel like hours, and you bite the inside of your cheek all the while you and Satoru hold eye contact, and he's too close.

You can practically feel his breath on your face.

"If I agree..." you begin. "You have to promise me something." In return, he nods. "You won't mention this to anyone—not even Suguru. Second, if there's a point where we have to stop... we have to stop, okay? No forcing one another."

Satoru nods and hums to each word you say, and there's a serious look on his face—one that's determined, to say the least.

"I understand. I promise you." with a firm nod, he reaches his pinky out, and you practically roll your eyes as your pinky wraps around his as he smirks.

"Then it's a deal," you said.

"It's a deal," he repeats, smirking slyly as he pulls his hand away. "So, when do you wanna do it?"

You glance away, almost forgetting that you had agreed to something as crazy as this. "Are you free this weekend?"

"Yeah, probably." Standing up straight, he tilts his head to the side, placing one hand inside of his pocket. "I think I can figure out a way to get the Elders off my back."

"Unbelievable," you scoff.

"What?" he grins in return. "Disappointed we can't do it so soon?"

"Satoru, if you don't shut up, I'm going to smack the shit out of you," you warn, glaring at him.

"Oh, please. I'd like to see you try," he teases. "It's not like you can get past my infinity either way."

"Have you even gotten the hang of it yet?" you retort, sitting up straight, and when he pouts, you have your answer. "Thought so."

"Alright, mochi," Satoru sighs. "Okay, does this Friday work for you at around... 6:30 pm?"

"Yes..." you reply. "Whose house...?"

"You okay with mine?" he smirks, and you want to punch it off his face.

You look away. "I guess."

The smirk on Satoru's face remains, and he takes a quick run through of your body before meeting your eyes.

"I'll see you then."

The day arrives, and you can't help but feel anxious while tugging on the collar of your school uniform, clenching your handbag tighter.

Ringing the doorbell, you tap the food, wanting to get things over with, but flashes of possibilities appear in your head, making your heart race.

Stop thinking about it, damn it... you think in your head, hearing the distant sounds of the tress ruffling in the background.

The door opens, revealing Satoru in his school uniform as well, rubbing the back of his head, not knowing who it was until he looked up, grinning at you like a madman.

"So you really are willing to do it, huh, mochi?" he leans against the doorframe.

"Shut up," you grumble, putting your attention on something else. "May I come in?" he steps aside, signaling for you to do so.

Inside, you took off your shoes, lining them by the front door before sliding on some slippers Satoru had given you as the two of you walk further into his house.

You've been to his house a couple of times. He lived by himself, but he had a few staff members. It was by the Elders that gave him this home, and it was a traditional Japanese house. It wasn't too big, but it was a nice house to live in luxury in.

So, Satoru was mostly alone.

"Where is the staff?" you ask, looking around in the hallways, and find it quiet by the way your footsteps hit against the wood.

"I let them go home early." Satoru looked over his shoulder, another smug expression on his face. "I thought it would be better if we were alone."

You rolled your eyes. "How wonderful."

However, you realized you both weren't going to his bedroom immediately but instead went into the living room, sitting down on the couch.

It was confusing, but it sent a relief towards you.

"I thought we could do something instead of getting straight to it," Satoru said, raising his arms and setting them on the top of the couch and manspreading his legs.

You couldn't help but take a quick glance.

"Oh, really, why?" you snapped your head back from your thoughts, leaning back on the couch with your hands together in your lap.

"'Cause you're nervous." the white-haired man points at your hands, and you look down, seeing that they were shaking.

"Curse your Six Eyes," you mutter. "But aren't you nervous?"

He stays silent for a moment. "I am, a little, but at least you're here with me for it." He nudged your shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so flattered." you can't believe him at this point, but then again, you can't believe everything.

Satoru chuckles, grabbing the remote off of the coffee table and turning on the TV. "What movie do you wanna watch? Or you wanna watch a romance film?"

He wiggled his brows, a cheeky smile on his face.

"No," you plainly said. "Let's just watch a regular TV show."

Grabbing the remote from him, you switched the channels until you landed on a familiar TV show called Sailor Moon.

"I guess we're watching this then." you let out a deep sigh, leaning back on the couch.

"Alright then," he chuckles.

About a few minutes into the film, you and Satoru eventually cuddle. You rested your head on his shoulder with his free arm wrapping around your frame.

The characters talk in the background, and it's loud with the TV sound bouncing off the walls, echoing throughout the home.

Yet, you find yourself staring at Satoru, glancing at him a couple of times, admiring his features. His cold-blue eyes focused on the screen behind his shades, and his short white hair stopped right above his eyes.

When you'd look away, it was Satoru's turn to look at you. He knew that you were taking several glances at him, and he'd put on a grin, but there were butterflies in his stomach.

He examined every beauty mark, freckle, or scar on your face, and watched how you slightly tilt your head to the side when watching the kids show. It made his lips curl upwards a little, seeing how focused you were—biting your lip in the meantime.

Until, both of your eyes met a couple of times, and this time, you held it, glancing down to each other's lips and then back to one another's eyes.

Suddenly, Satoru inched closer, and so were you as your hands slid up his shoulders—removing his sunglasses to take a better view of his eyes as he smiled by your actions.

For the first time, his lips are on yours, and one of his hands cupped your face, tracing the skin under your eye as you closed your eyes.

The least to say was that it was an okay kiss, but there was some practice that could've been done.

"How was that?" Satoru whispers, and there's blush on his cheeks. This was a rare scene.

"Part your lips a little," you reply, noses brushing.

Taking your advice, Satoru went down again, meeting your lips as he parted his just like you said. The kiss wasn't soft or quick anymore—it was longer, passionate as you pulled each other closer, not wanting to let go.

One of his hands rested on your thigh, boldly climbing upwards to the edge of your skirt, and he was bold enough to lick your lips before sliding his tongue in, colliding with yours.

Both of you were breathing raggedly—the kiss growing heated and tense in just a few minutes after getting the hang of it.

Satoru's hand slid up under your skirt, but you quickly stepped him, pulling away.

"What's the matter?" he took your chin between his fingers, forcing you to face him.

"I'm nervous," you say.

"I know."

"Yeah, but..." you exhaled through the nose, closing your eyes before opening them. "I'm nervous you won't like the way my body looks... I'm nervous that you won't like it—that you'll be disgusted or—"

Satoru interrupts you with a kiss, and when he pulled away, he was smirking.

"Y/N, I don't think I'll ever be disgusted by you, ever." He caressed your cheek. "You're pretty, and every time I look at you... I'm glad my Six Eyes can take in every little detail about you... 'cause then I know what you like—" he dipped down, whispering in your ear "—and knowing which area on your body is blocked off to others, but knowing I was the one man that saw it once."

Your breath hitched.

So, you let his hand travel under your skirt, meeting the lace of your panties—and you made sure to wear a matching set for this—and you could see his eyes growing wide a little. He was also in disbelief.

Leaning down, Satoru's lips grazed over your neck, and they tickled your skin, making you shudder slightly.

No wonder they called it the sweet spot.

"Can I touch you more?" he whispers into your ear.

"Yes... please." you tilt your head back, staring at the ceiling.

Satoru couldn't help but grin at your desperate needs, and he trailed kissing down your neck. He removed his hand from under your skirt and went to your breasts—squeezing them through your uniform.

A faint moan escapes your lips, biting on the bottom part. Your hands squeezed his shoulders in return, and enjoyed this new sense of pleasure.

"Does it feel nice?" Satoru asks against your neck, and his hand fondled your breast a little harder.

"Y-Yes..." you reply, breathing labord.

Gently, he pushes you down on the soft cushions, hovering above you, and leans back—taking a second to examine yourself.

Your lips were a little swollen, and his thumb brushed over it, making his own lips part. Your eyes—half-lidded, masking behind a look of desire and satisfaction.

"Look at you..." he whispers seductively. "So needy. I never knew I could have such an effect on you, mochi."

That bastard. One minute, he was blushing, showing a bit of vulnerability, and now here he was, smirking down upon you with pride filling up at his chest.

Of course, you couldn't admit that he was right about this. You can't deny the heat crawling in your inner thighs, how your pussy throbs, and your walls clench around nothing.

All because of Satoru.

"Don't go over your head," you murmur, and he grabs at your hips.

He laughs lightly. "But you can't resist me."

His lips crash against yours again, and your arms sneak around his torso, running his chest atop of yours.

In need of friction, you grind your hips against his, and it makes him groan in response—beginning to do the same thing as he met your hips in return, grinding his growing erection against your clothed core.

Satoru's fingers touch the buttons to the top of your uniform, and begin undoing each one as his hands shake a little.

Removing the top, he throws it onto the tatami mat, and his eyes are transfixed by the sight of your bar upper body—your bra, the only item covering your breasts.

"You're so much prettier like this," he praises, kissing your lips.

His hands went to both of your breasts, squeezing them, and you moaned in response as your fingers played with the buttons to his uniform, unbuttoning each piece as the material slid off his body—down to the floor.

His upper body was exposed in all its glory, and the tip of your fingers traced over the lines of his muscles as his biceps flexed by your touch as he squeezed your breasts.

"Like what you see?" Satoru smirked.

You roll your eyes. "Don't ruin the moment."

"Fine by me," he murmured against your lips, and his fingers went to the back of your bra, playing with the clip of your bra, but struggling.

"You need help?" you cocked a brow.

"No—" he grunted, trying again. "I almost have—"

You raised a hand up to stop him dead in his tracks, and he listened. You take your fingers in yours, guiding them to the clip or your bra and helping him remove it as the straps fell off your shoulders, sliding down to expose your breasts.

You looked away, trying to hide them, but Satoru quickly stopped you, pulling your hands away to get a better look at your breasts.

"You look more beautiful like this," he murmurs, leaning his head down as his hot breath trickled your breasts.

Suddenly, Satoru captured one nipple into his mouth, sucking on the bud as a moan leaves your lips, grabbing a fistful of his white hair that made him groan in response.

"Fuck..." you whimper, grinding your clothed pussy against his crotch again for friction, and he moaned, moving with yours.

His free hand toyed with your other nipple, pinching, and fondling with the flesh as he peers up at you, admiring your reactions.

It didn't last long when Satoru's lips pulled away from your nipple, making a "pop" sound. Instead, he trailed his lips down to your stomach, right above your belly button.

The sensation of his lips tickled your skin when he made contact—and you knew immediately where he was trying to go.

A soft gasp escapes your lips, squirming beneath him—forcing him to pull back.

"What's the matter?" he asked, grinning. "Ah, you're sensitive, are you?"

"Shut up," you grumble.

"You know—" Satoru grabbed your waist, holding you down securely as his lips moved down right above the hem of your skirt. "—despite being all grumpy and stubborn... you're sensitive... and now I wonder how you're gonna react when I my lips reach your pussy."

Your eyes widened, and you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment in an attempt to hide away.

He chuckles at that. "Thought so."

Grabbing the hem of your skirt, the white-haired man tugs it down, taking his time as the material slides off of your body before discarding it onto the floor with the rest.

In full view, he gazed down at your damped panties, seeing the wet spot that formed on the fabric by his doings.

In embarrassment, you closed your legs, but Satoru grabbed at them, forcing them open.

"Nuh-uh, open those pretty legs," he smirks, bringing his face back to your level.

His hand snakes over your thigh as he holds your gaze, feeling successful by the sight of your eyes glancing away or the sight of embarrassment and shyness plastered on your face—the complete opposite of your grumpiness.

"Have you tried touching yourself?" as Satoru asks this, his fingers play with the edge of your panties, slowly tugging them down.

You spare him a glance, wondering why he would ask such a thing, and you didn't respond.

"Don't make me repeat myself, angel." Angel. That was new. "Have you tried touching yourself?"

You nod. "Yes."

"Tell me, what do you like." It wasn't a question. It was a demand.

His fingers slipped under your panties, meeting your dripping cunt, and you gasped, gripping at his shoulders.

In the past, sometimes you and Satoru would have sex conversations about random stuff. About different parts of males and females—things that give them pleasure.

So, safe to say, Satoru knew where those things were on a woman's body—but he needed someone to guide him—such as yourself.

Bringing a hand down, you take his thumb, pressing it against your clitoris—and just from the light pressure made your breath hitch. You can't believe you needed Satoru this bad.

"Put some pressure on it..." you state, and he holds your gaze. "And rub it gently—not too fast."

Satoru listens, and his thumb does what you say, and his cold-blue eyes watch your reactions the entire time.

You gasp and faintly moan. It felt nice—wonderful, and Satoru was doing a good job (shockingly), and it was satisfying—feeding into your needs with your eyes wide.

Satoru leaned down, capturing your lips with his, and he swallows up the sweet sounds you make as his tongue collides with yours.

Getting an idea, his thumb continues rubbing against your sensitive bud as his finger rubs between your wet folds—making you moan. So, he inserts a finger.

Gasping, you arch your back, moaning in response, and the feeling of your gummy walls clenching around his finger excites him.

"How many fingers can you take?" he murmurs against your lips.

"T-Two..." you reply, but it'll hurt a little from being stretched out even from that.

Satoru slides in a second finger, pumping them in and out of your dripping pussy, and your nails dug into his shoulders.

"Curl your fingers a little—" you pant, and again, he listens, making you cry out in pleasure. "Fuck—"

He kissed your cheek, his fingers pumping in and out of at a steady pace with them curled. He placed a little more pressure on your clitoris, and it leaves you squirming.

His lips grazed over your ear as he whispered, "You make such pretty sounds. I wonder what you'll sound like when I have my cock inside that tight pussy of yours."

The way he was talking to you sent a new sense of pleasure down your core. He had never talked to you this way before and... it turned you on. It made your walls clamp down around him more.

It made you go into your fantasies... wondering how it would feel like with Satoru inside of you, fucking in and out of you with his sounds right against your ear.

All these thoughts... the pleasure grew within you, and soon enough—

"Satoru, I'm—!" you gasp. the pleasure washes over your entire body, leaving you trembling and panting heavily as you arch your back, pressing your chest against his.

Satoru raised his brows at the sight of you, moaning in pleasure when you orgasm, and he enjoyed the sight.

He wanted to see that again.

Over and over—

Again.

He pulled his fingers out, examining your juices sticking between his digits as he grinned, seeing how they glistened under the dimlight.

"How'd I do?" he pulls his attention back to you.

"Better than I expected," you nod, catching your breath.

Sitting up, Satoru helps you, resting his hand on the small of your back.

However, something caught your eye. Looking down at Satoru's crotch, you saw his growing bulge, and your eyes widened at the sight.

He was big.

Satoru notices this. "You can touch it if you want," and despite him grinning, his cheeks have a tint of blush.

"What?" you snap your head back at him.

"You heard me." he leaned down, his breath hot on your face.

Gulping down a lump in your throat, your hand hesitantly touched his bulge, using your palm to squeeze it gently.

Satoru responds with a groan. "Shit..."

You never expected this, but you undid his belt, sliding it off as the metal clanked when hitting the floor, and unzipped his pants.

You didn't realize how much you were shaking when you looked down at your hands.

Sliding off his pants—including his boxers, you gaze down, eyes growing wide at the sight of his cock sprung free.

He was 6.5 inches at least, and fairly thick—but not too thick, and his pink tip was leaking with pre-cum.

It made your mouth water.

You were about to reach your hand out when you stopped yourself. "Can I...?"

He nods. "Go ahead."

Your hand wrapped around his length, your thumb brushing over his tip as the pre-cum sticked to your digit as you began pumping him up and down.

"Fuck..." Satoru pants out, squinting his eyes as he bit his bottom lip.

Taking your other free hand, he moves it to his balls and makes you squeeze them gently.

Listening to his wishes, you squeeze his balls a little harder while pumping his hard cock up and down, slowly picking up the pace, but not too fast.

"Just like that... good girl," he praises, and something inside of you shuddered at the way he called you that.

He leaned down, kissing you passionately as your hands kept working, panting heavily into his mouth.

Pulling away, you kissed his neck, hearing him sigh in satisfaction before lowering your head down.

"What're you—" Satoru doesn't finish his question when he moans once your warm tongue licked his tip and tasted his pre-cum.

Slowly, you open your mouth wider, taking in his cock, bobbing your head up and down, and feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat.

Your saliva ran down his length, and Satoru's fingers grasped at your hair, pulling on the strands as he helped guide you take his cock in your mouth.

Sucking him off, your hand also fondled with his balls like he said earlier and peered up at him.

He looked so pretty. His face flushed pink, and his lips part, breathing heavily as he met your eyes, looking so vulnerable and flushed.

You tried to take on how full length without gagging, and when he did, he praised, "Atta girl, what a good girl." You don't know why or how, but when he praised you like that it made your pussy turn into a waterfall.

Pulling away for breath, you gasp, saliva trailing down your chin as your eyes met.

"Good girl," Satoru praised again, grabbing your chin as he leaned down to kiss you, getting a taste of himself.

"How'd I do?" your breath was short.

"Really good," he nods. "Never knew a girl Iike you could do such a thing."

"Oh, really?" you cocked a brow. "I never knew a boy like you could even a girl an orgasm."

"But I did," he firmly replies, smirking. "I gave you, angel, one. In exactly under five minutes."

Damn it, he was right.

"I bet you can't even make me squirt," you huff, looking away.

Satoru blushed, and for a moment, he was thinking about it before he said—

"I bet I can."

You snap your head back in his direction. "You couldn't."

Out of the blue, Satoru pushed you to lay down back on the couch, grabbing at your hips as you yelp with his grip pulling you towards him.

"Oh, I think I really can." he lowers his head down, and before you could say anything else, he licks his tongue between your lips.

Spiders crawl at your skin, and you hitched in a gasp. Immediately, you squeezed your thighs around his head, trying to somehow push him away from embarrassment, but—

"Don't even," he purred, forcing your legs apart as he brought your knees to rest on his shoulders. "I want you to spread your legs for me."

Parting his lips, he sucked on your clitoris, and you moaned, arching your back.

He inserts two fingers inside of you again, curdling them like you said. He remembered those past sex conversations you two would have—and he recalled you mentioning a "g-spot," and so, he made his fingers brush over it.

Doing this, your jaw agapes, crying out in pleasure as your hand lowers down to his white strands of hair, tugging on the soft locks.

He licked your juices, humming in satisfaction. His blue eyes peered over at you, watching your pleasure face of rapture. His nose brushed against your clitoris, and he couldn't get enough.

"You taste so sweet..." Satoru groans quietly, closing his eyes for a moment, focusing on his fingers moving in and out you—curling against your g-spot. "You look so fucking beautiful when I eat your pussy... I should do this more often 'cause you become so soft for me..."

I should do this more often.

Satoru wanted to do it again with you. It made you a little surprised nonetheless, but it excited in you in some way. Not just how he pleasures you—but also by his words.

You never knew Satoru could say such dirty, sensual things, but you didn't mind. It was amusing, and it made your stomach flutter.

"Wait, 'Toru—" you breathe passionately, and there's an unknown feeling growing in your stomach that you've never felt before.

It felt like you needed to... pee?

"'Toru!" you exclaim in pleasure, and without knowing, that pleasure releases as you squirt right in front of Satoru.

Gasping, you look down in embarrassment, and around Satoru's lips, mouth, and some parts of his cheeks were covered in your essence with his eyes slightly wide.

Heat created up to your face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't— you were cut off.

"Don't be embarrassed," he gave you a reassuring smile that turned to a grin. "I told you I could do it."

You glance away, still embarrassed.

"In fact..." Satoru grasps at your hips, pulling your dripping cunt closer to his face. "Give me one more, angel. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Before you could protest; his mouth is back on your wet pussy.

☆☆☆

After reaching your release for the third time, Satoru finally pulls away.

The both of you were panting heavily, coming out in short breaths as you met one anothers gaze after the whole ordeal.

Your pussy was puffy, and you felt exhausted.

"Had enough?" you breathe out, unable to move on the couch.

Satoru chuckles. "Yeah, of this..."

He leans down, his lips brushing over yours, grasping at your hips with his thumb tracing circles on the bone.

"You ready?"

Oh.

You raise your brows, and you feel as if your heart is about to burst out of your chest in any given moment.

You were going to lose your virginity.

To Satoru Gojo.

And he would lose his virginity.

To you.

Nodding, your throat feels dry, gulping down your saliva to help moisture it. "Yeah, I guess I am. Are you, at least?"

"Yeah," Satoru nods, looking deeply into your eyes, as if trying to see into your soul. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

"Yes," you firmly reply. "I mean, we've already come this far... so why stop now? And you...?"

He chuckles softly. "You're right. I'm ready."

Satoru presses his body weight more on top of you, his forehead leaning against yours as you hold eye contact. His hands hold your hip and thigh, trying to soothe you.

"You told me it hurts a little at first, right?" he questions, recalling what you've told him before in past conversations.

"Correct," you nod. "Go slow."

"I will," he whispers.

Grasping at his cock, Satoru lines the tip at your entrance, giving you one last look to check on your approval, and you do. You nod.

Slowly, he slides the tip of his cock in, and you gasp, holding his shoulders.

Groaning, you squint your eyes, and your short breaths tangle with his as you look into each other's eyes, taking in the moment that's happening in both of your lives.

Tears blur your vision. It did hurt. "I-I can't—"

"You can do it, angel," Satoru encourages, and he pushes further inside of you as you gasp and groan in both pain and pleasure. "You can do it—shit..."

He pushes in farther, and he's already fully in. You feel so tight and warm around his cock, and he doesn't want to pull out.

"Can I move?" he queried, kissing your cheek.

You nod, clinging to him.

Again, slowly, Satoru begins thrusting in and out of you, and it felt so good—he wondered how and why it felt so... wonderful. Why hadn't he done it earlier?

A faint moan leaves your lips, and the pleasure overpowers the pain as your pussy is stretched out by his thick cock.

He moans along with you, and you hold each other's gaze for the whole time, moving as one as Satoru begins to quicken his pace, grasping at your hips.

Your nails dug in his back, and he groans, meeting your lips into a fiery kiss as your sweet sounds mixed with his.

"'Toru..." you whimper, closing your eyes.

"You're taking me so well..." Satoru praises, placing multiple kisses on your lips and then your neck. "Such a good girl—so tight."

You take one of your hands off his back, cupping his face to meet his crystal-blue eyes.

But something appears in your head.

"Satoru..." you call out, narrowing your eyes. "Did you put on a condom?"

This makes his eyes widen, and he doesn't stop his thrusts. He looks down, watching his cock moving in and out you—covered in your juices with no protection on.

"Nope," he simply says, and he gives you a smile.

"Satoru!" you scold. "I'm not even on birth control."

He grins, kissing your jaw. "It's okay. I'll pull out."

"You better—fuck!" you wail in pleasure when he suddenly thrusts deeper into you—his tip hitting against your cervix.

The conversation is dropped, and the two of you focus on the pleasure of intimacy.

You grasp at his back again, your nails clawing at his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind by his hisses of satisfaction, thrusting faster into you.

Both of your bodies are covered in sweat, and your skin rubs and sticks to one another's as the sound of your juices squelch from his cock going in and out of you.

The pleasure builds inside you again, spreading all over your body as you scream his name, reaching your orgasm as you cum on his cock.

"I love it when you scream my name," Satoru whispers, biting on your earlobe.

It doesn't take long for him as well as he starts pounding into you harder with desperate needs as his abs flex, and he holds your hips hard.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum—" in time, Satoru pulls out, cumming on your stomach as the white, thick liquid rests on your abdomen.

Satoru plops on top of you, and you both breathe heavily. You both stay still, unable to move after your actives that must've been... more than a few hours at this point.

"How do you feel?" you're breathless, combing your fingers through his white hair.

He enjoys your touch, resting his head on your chest as he sighs. "Amazing. It felt so good—you felt so good."

You chuckle. "Yeah, it was amazing. I... oh my god."

"What?" he lifts his head up to look at you, cocking a brow.

"I can't believe I lost my virginity to you, Satoru Gojo," you say in disbelief.

He laughs loudly. "I know you don't regret it, and I don't regret losing mine to you."

It's silent for a moment, and you hold each other's gaze, wondering what the other was thinking, but the two of you agree on—

"You down for another round?" Satoru smirks.

"Yeah," you smile.

You and Satoru are in a nearby pharmacy after the two of you finish hours and hours of sex, and it's already past midnight.

Your legs are still shaking.

Walking around the pharmacy, you stroll between aisles, looking for birth control and a few condoms that Satoru can wear—instead of forgetting to buy one or even use one—

"¥7,419.30 ($50) for birth control??" you quietly exclaim, turning to look at Satoru in shock.

"Hmm?" he takes his hand out of his pockets, taking the item in his hold while examining the piece behind his shades, chuckling. "Guess the world wants women to have children, huh?"

You roll your eyes. "I guess... I don't want to pay that much for plan b... God, I guess I have to."

Before you could walk to the cashier, Satoru grabs your wrist, pulling you flush against his chest as he stares down at you.

"I'll tell you what," he begins. "I'll pay for condoms and plan b... if you promise to hook up with me again."

Your eyes widened, and you thought you would never do this again with Satoru. You only thought it was just for him to lose his virginity—but maybe he was pussy drunk—?

He did love your pussy the moment he licked and fingered it the first time.

"Deal," you smile, nodding in agreement.

[hepalien]

Shrunkyclunks (Modern Bucky/Cap Steve) Fic Rec

Hate Sex & Hair Protocol by @maddiewritesstucky - Mature, 1.8k

SHIELD Agent Bucky, UST, Enemies to Lovers (in Steve’s head), Humor

They’re all full of shit, Steve decides.

His team don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, running their mouths about the way he and Bucky look at each other; the tension that seems to be at a constant near-snapping point between them.

'It’s called annoyance' Steve wants to yell in each of their faces, loud and one by one. It’s the pain of having to exist every day in close proximity with someone who drives you out of your fucking mind.

---

In which Steve discovers that ire and desire may just exist side by side in his brain.

Stop interrupting my grinding series by @rohkeutta - Teen, 2.5k

Nurse Bucky, Wrong Number, Fluff, Humor

“I tried to call Sam,” Captain America says, bewildered. He’s sprinting like Usain Bolt and doesn’t sound even a little out of breath. Fucker. “Who’re you?”

“Someone who’s watching you live on TV,” Bucky tells him as the tiny patriotic figure on the screen takes the turns like he instructed. Bucky should probably be a lot more freaked out about this, but honestly? After a tour in the Middle East and six years as a nurse in New York, even this isn’t enough to ruffle him. One sees a lot of shit in the ER. “Also, you better hang up now, that thing is behind the next bend.”

“Uh, okay,” Captain America says. “Thanks?”

“Whatever,” Bucky says, disconnects the call and turns the TV off to get ready for his shift.

Save a Horse, Ride a Captain by @galwednesday - Teen, 2.7k

War Vet Bucky, Meet Cute, Fluff, Humor, Modern Howlies

Bucky tapped him on the shoulder, swaying back and forth a little as he waited for the man to turn around. “Hello,” he said, and then promptly forgot what else he was going to say, because this guy was fucking beautiful. “Wow. Good face.”

Two of the guy’s friends, a man wearing a suit that fit so well it had to be bespoke and a man with a cute little gap between his front teeth, started cracking up. The petite redhead sitting next to them cocked her head to the side and pulled her phone out of her handbag. Beautiful Face just looked kind of pained, so Bucky redirected. He was a gentleman. He could take a hint. No hitting on beautiful guys who were uncomfortable with that sort of thing, no matter how lickable their jawlines were.

“Hello,” he repeated, doing his best to mind his manners. “I’m very sorry to bother you. Can I have a piggy-back ride?”

You Make My Heart Skip A Beet by @musette22 - Teen, 3.8k

Chef Bucky, POV Outsider, Fluff, Humor

“I made soda bread.”

Steve lets out the 6’2” supersoldier equivalent of a squeak. “Oh, I love soda bread,” he says eagerly, rolling forward on the balls of his feet like he does when he gets excited. “My mom used to make it all the time when I was growing up.”

The tips of Barnes’s ears turn red, and he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “I know.”

more under the cut

Cafe Au Écoute by @littlesystems - Teen, 3.8k

Coffee Shop AU

No matter where Steve goes, there's always the chance that he'll overhear a conversation about himself - or rather, Captain America. This coffee shop is no different. The fact that he keeps eavesdropping well past the point of plausible deniability is another matter entirely.

#TweetMeDaddy by StarSpangled - Teen, 4.1k

SHIELD Employee Bucky, Misunderstandings, Crack, Humor

Coulson, for his part, stares up at Bucky with such a betrayed look of frozen horror that Natasha actually goes the extra step and presses another button, capturing the moment and airdropping the photograph to her phone for posterity. When he speaks, his voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. “Why…?” He swallows and starts again, trying for some semblance of normality. “...Why would you tweet something like that?!”

“If you must know, sir,” and somehow he manages to make ‘sir’ come out with the same inflection most people reserve for ‘motherfucking son of a bitch’, “it’s because I have a difficult time doing my job when my job involves monitoring the man with the best fucking ass in the United States of America.” He slowly lowers himself back into his seat until he’s at eye level, making extreme eye contact with Coulson until Coulson turns away to make mortified eye contact in Natasha’s general direction through the one-way glass. Natasha would take another picture, if she weren’t too busy catching Steve’s red-faced sputtering. “Sometimes, I vent to my Twitter followers. Sometimes, it’s about hot men with washboard abs. Can I go now, or do you need a graphic description of how I pleasure myself at night?”

at first chance i'd take the bed warmed by the body by @spacebuck - Explicit, 8.2k

YouTuber Bucky

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

OR: the one where Bucky's a youtuber who solves puzzles on camera, and steve's smitten and horny

Came with my cool (I dropped it) by @liionne - Teen, 9.2k

Yoga Instructor Bucky

"When you said I need to loosen up, I didn't think you meant literally."

"I meant it every way. Mentally, emotionally, and physically." Natasha says, and thrusts a yoga mat at him.

there once was a diamond by bloobeary - Teen, 11.3k

Fluff, Thanksgiving

"You," Becca seethes, and hits him with a wooden spoon. "Could have told me," Hits him again. "You were dating Captain America." Final hit, Bucky laughs. He supposes he deserves it, giving her no more information than the fact he was bringing his boyfriend to Thanksgiving dinner at her house and then showing up with Steve.

Salt by littleblackfox @thelittleblackfox - Mature, 12k

Bakery AU

The cinnamon roll is gone in four bites. Four indecent, jaw-unhinging bites, and Steve sucks the last traces of lemon and icing from his fingers with a low, throaty sound of satisfaction. He glances up at Bucky, who is leaning against the counter and watching him with avid fascination.

“Um…” Steve says around his index finger. There’s still a little icing on the bed of his fingernail, and he stops trying to work it off with his tongue.

“You know those movies where the girl eats an eclair or something, and it’s really, like, sexually charged?” Bucky asks.

Steve pulls his finger out of his mouth. He’s never seen that kind of movie, but the thought of Bucky eating an eclair is certainly… well, it lingers. “Uh?”

“Yeah, well that was the exact opposite.” Steve scowls, and Bucky cackles gleefully. “You are something else, Steve.”

Leg Day by Brokenpitchpipe - Explicit, 12.1k

Gym Thot Bucky

“So talk to him,” Sam says.

“I can’t,” Bucky groans. “I can’t, Sam, I. He just.” He fluffs his hair up and stares at Sam, distraught. “I want him to bench press me.”

“Okay, so it’s serious,” Sam interprets. “Got it."

(Or: The one where Sam is Bucky's long-suffering roommate, Bucky is a hot mess of a millennial, and Hot Steve spends far too much time on the Lat Pull-Down machine.)

Art Nouveau by voluptuous_panic - Explicit, 12.2k

Bartender Bucky, Tattooed & Pierced Bucky

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

much tattoo about nothing by @deisderium - Explicit, 14.5k

Tattoo Artist Bucky

Steve Rogers gets a lot of email requests, but never one like this: James Barnes wants to use his healing factor to practice tattoos.

Turns out tattoos give Steve boners.

No Wonder There's Panic in the Industry by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Not Rated (I’d say Mature?), 20.5k

Stark Industries Intern Bucky, Team fic, Humor

In which Bucky Barnes and his BFF, Clint Barton, are NYU interns for Stark Media Group competing to be Pepper's favorite.

Or alternatively, the time Bucky assisted the P.A. team on the Steve Rogers piece and ended up (adopted) with a contact list full of Avengers.

Life of the Party by @aggressivewhenstartled - Explicit, 21.6k

Superhero Impersonator Bucky, Mistaken Identity

“You know, kids,” Steve heard from the backyard, “one of the most common threats a superhero has to face is inside an active volcano! We’re going to have to work on your evasion skills, so for the next five minutes, the floor is lava!” This was met by a sudden spike in both volume and pitch from the small children as they scrambled onto every raised surface they could find and immediately launched themselves right back off.

“I’ve never seen actual lava in my entire life,” Steve said, vaguely offended.

“You got a superhero impersonator for The Falcon’s niece’s birthday party,” Sam said, incredulous. “The Falcon, who is an actual superhero.”

Trust Enough by @geneticallydead - Explicit, 23.3k

Misunderstandings

“Saturday. Yeah, that’s good,” Steve says, and actually scuffs his shoe at the ground. Like a ridiculous shy superhero damsel. “Say eight? I live-“

“Yeah, big building with the A on it,” Bucky says, and can’t help a big stupid grin. Steve stares at him, looking a little dazed, and after their whole conversation it’s only now that Bucky’s brain catches up and realises Steve finds him quite attractive. So. Win for Bucky.

“Let me get your number,” Steve says finally, after they’ve stared stupidly at each other for about three hours, taking out his phone.

So they exchange numbers, and then Steve says he should go, and Bucky agrees, and they kind of stare at each other for a bit more, then Steve actually does go, but not before taking Bucky’s hand and squeezing it warmly in a way that makes Bucky want to shiver all over. Then Steve is gone, and Bucky is standing alone in the alley, grinning to himself.

Right up until the moment he remembers that Steve thinks Bucky is an escort he’s just hired.

Well fuck.

The Roommate by layersofart, Niitza - Teen, 28.6k

War Vet Bucky, Roommates AU, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Team fic

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

Brooklyn Baby by sprinkle_of_cinnamon - Mature, 33.7k

Coffee Shop AU, Modern Howlies, Mistaken Identity, Team Fic

In which Bucky is just trying to live life and enjoy his unofficial official table at the obnoxiously hipster coffee shop but some guy named Steve stole his spot.

Or, the time that Bucky unintentionally befriended the Avengers and had no idea.

Never Talk to Strangers by mambo @whtaft - Teen, 40.4k

Grad Student Bucky, Slow Burn

Never Talk to Strangers: or; How a Forgotten Childhood Lesson Led Bucky Barnes to Appreciate Charlie Chaplin, Befriend an A.I., Slip on Soap Bubbles, Be Mistaken for a Succubus, and Try to Woo a Superhero.

Sinking Our Teeth In The Heart Of The Sun by fallendarlings @pressrestartwrites - Explicit, 102.8k

Single Dad Bucky, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, Domestic, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Steve has Autism

Bucky Barnes never intended to become a single father at 25. But life has always enjoyed kicking him while he's down and it's showing no signs of stopping. A chance meeting with a brick wall of a guy named Steve in the formula aisle of the grocery store leads to a friendship it seems like both of them need. If only Bucky could remember that's all they are- friends. If only Steve didn't slot into their lives so perfectly and look so good spoiling Bucky's daughter (and Bucky, despite his protests).

Oh, if only Steve didn't turn out to be Captain America.

Steve Rogers is wandering around a world that he doesn't fit into, fighting for a government that he doesn't trust, just because he doesn't know what to do with himself if he ever relaxes long enough to actually think about anything other than the next mission.

And then came Bucky Barnes and his newborn baby.

More recs

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

So, I managed to come back to this one. So sorry for taking so long! My mind wanders easily but I really do enjoy this series!! I'm hoping to get a few more chapters done in the next week or two if I can. As it is, my time is a bit up in the air with a looming lockdown.

That being said, I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don't shy away in the comments and I promise to keep doing what I can for all my ongoing series.

As for tumblr, I’m just kinda in and out. I’m not here here in a way as I’m trying just to stay sane.

You sat across from Barnes. Rigid, as you kept in mind not to slouch. Tense, as you brooded over your hopeless situation. Silent, as you inhaled the scent of the savoury meal but found yourself curtailed at every attempt to eat. His eyes followed every move and you were met with either a tskk or a remonstrance; ‘not that fork’, ‘small bites, smaller sips’, ‘smile’, ‘keep your lips closed’, ‘elbows off the table’...

You sighed as your last attempt to sate your growling stomach ended in another reproach. His words, his even voice almost taunting, stoked your anger and made it difficult for you to follow his direction. You sat back and peered up and down the long table, the chairs empty and table cloth crisp and white.

“How much longer do I have to do this?” You bemoaned. “I’m hungry. Let me eat.”

“Duchess, you will be expected to act as a lady for the rest of your life.” His mouth twitched at one corner as if he would grin. “Do not be unhappy with me, it was not I who neglected your education.”

Your nostrils flared and you looked at the longest knife among the row. He chuckled and you squinted over at him. You sighed.

“Do not be a child, Duchess. When you are queen, you will be the beacon for all other women at court. And if you cannot set a good example, they will make sure you know it.” He pushed his shoulders back. 

“I don’t care about those women. I don’t know them.” You sniffed. “This isn’t my home.”

“It is.” He said plainly. “As close to as you’ll have given that yours would be entirely lost to you.”

You stared at him. You tilted your head and frowned. “You don’t realise how absurd this is? Do you really think I could ever want to be here?”

“If you don’t even give it a chance, then no.” He shrugged, “But you haven’t. You were in school, you liked it?”

You ran your tongue along your teeth and nodded.

“We have tutors; the finest money can find. If you are agreeable, your husband might be too.” He ran his thumb along the line of his palm. “You like museums, well we have one of the grandest in the world. You must know of it given your interests.”

You looked away. It wasn’t the same. What would you do with an education if you were trapped in a royal marriage? How could you enjoy a museum if you just went to look? Your former life felt so far away, yet that before you, felt even further. You weren’t a queen; you didn’t want to be a queen.

“So what? I’ll beg for scraps from my husband? 'Oh, please, I would love to visit the library today, my king. May I? May I really?'” You spat as you clutched your hand together dramatically.

“The King can be amenable but if you approach him with the same attitude as you have me, this marriage will be exactly what you expect it to be. Perhaps you might consider how you could make it at least tolerable?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You want me to change everything about myself; how I walk, how I sit, how I dress, how I eat. That is not tolerable.”

His lips parted and he tore his eyes away from you as he thought. “Well, to be frank, the king won’t care what you tolerate and he does not tolerate much. So whether you wish it or not, you will at least pretend to change.”

“Mmm, sure.” You huffed.

“I am offering you advice and it is good advice. The king… He will not be as patient as me. If you embarrass him in front of his court, in front of the world, you won’t ever forget it. He’ll make sure of it.”

“You know, the more you tell me about him, the better he sounds,” you said dryly, “A hell of a catch.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and a deep line formed in his cheek. “Go on. Take the salad fork-- no, wrong one.”

You bared your teeth as you blinked at the line of forks. “I’m not very hungry anymore.” You grumbled.

“Hungry or not, you need to learn how to hold a fork, Duchess,” he rebuked, “Sit up straight.”

👑

When you were finally allowed to retire from your first day at Regia, you were exhausted. Your chambers were welcoming as you left your personal tormentor, Barnes, without and trudged over to the bed. As you dropped onto the bouncy mattress, you looked around and your irritation piqued again.

Your suitcase was gone. Only your toiletries remained in their beige leather pouch and a stack of books. You frowned and stood reluctantly. Your neck and shoulders ached from the tension nestled there from a long day of Barnes’ tutelage and his nuisance.

You grabbed the first book, the title wrought in gold on the fading spine; ‘Queens of Astrania’. You fluttered through the pungent pages and took the next; ‘A Lady’s Place’. You set that one aside and scowled as you went down the stack; ‘Manners and Etiquette’, ‘The Provinces of Astrania; Lands and Rights’, ‘Astrania the Bold; A Kingdom Without End’, ‘Queen Loren: The Royal Mother’....

You left them in the pile and covered your face with your hands as you resisted the urge to scream. You turned away and went to the dresser. You slid open the drawer but it wasn’t your clothing inside. Instead of your plain cotton tee and jogging pants, you found satin and silk night clothes in every cut. You opened the drawer beside it and found bras and panties you’d never have wasted a penny on.

You slammed the drawer shut and went to the closet with the thick wooden doors etched with curlicues. Inside, blouses, skirts, and pants hung, pressed and pretty. The wardrobe of a lady. You could see Princess Kate in your head wearing any piece of it and yet, each garment looked sharper, more modern than the British fashion.

You shut the doors and crossed your arms. Three weeks. Well, one day down. That was all you had left. You thought of the women who had come before you; the medieval maidens, the romantic ladies in their puffed sleeves, the Victorian stiff neck marms. Had they wanted it? Or had they been trapped like you? Did they feel the same hopeless despair?

You went to the window and looked out at the green lawns painted in silver moonlight. Clouds framed the shining crescent, the sky streaked in greys and blacks that sent a shiver through you. The gates stood closed and ominous at the end of the winding drive and trees stood sentinel around the palace.

Once, you’d dreamed of visiting a royal home. Your love of history held you reverent in awe of the remarkable architecture, the years marked by renovations and the contrast of styles often found between one room and the next. Visions of spectres stirred your imagination and you thought of the dead haunting the corridors as they retraced the footsteps of their existence.

No, it all just felt horribly empty. These places were prisons. History didn’t need to be kept alive, only remembered as an omen for those living. Let it go but do not forget. 

You drew away from the window and slumped in the upholstered chair not far from it. Barnes had your phone, you didn’t expect to get it back. It wouldn’t be of much use. As much as you missed your mom, you had nothing left to say to her and hearing her voice would only make you feel worse. She would only remind you of what she’d done; of the secrets she’d kept from you.

It was only you and the whispers of the dead. They carried on the breeze outside the window as if to warn you. ‘You are one of us…’

👑

The second day went much the same. Barnes woke you early, his gaze tinged with judgement as he chose your outfit for the day and bid you to pay attention. You ate, slowly and with the same endless critique, and he took you to the palace library and sat you down with a large volume. He paced as you read and occasionally listed off all that you had yet to learn. In all your years of school, you’d never had a teacher as overbearing and relentless as him.

When you were thoroughly restless from the tight font and stiff pages, he took you for a walk around the lawns and pointed out the statues of your predecessors. When you returned to the palace, he gave you another lesson in posture, a book on your head as he had you strut across the foyer over and over again. When you were dizzy from the repetition, it was time for another meal and you growled at your cutlery in frustration.

The days went on as such. You snapped at Barnes when he breathed down your neck but he never again bent you over and spanked you like a child. Instead, he merely grinned and thought of another ridiculous activity. But when he caught you with a sandwich secreted from the house staff and your hand streaked in mustard, he looked close to another lashing. He only took the last of your crust and scrubbed your fingers himself.

On the fifth morning. You woke with difficulty. You were exhausted and angry and about to give up. Barnes tore away your duvet and tossed a dress at you. He stood before the rack of dresses you’d gone through on your first day. You groaned and snatched up the petal pink swathe and rolled out of bed.

You dressed as he waited in the hall and you stumbled out in the pair of steep heels. You held in a yawn as he bent his arm and you merely stared at it in detest.

“Duchess,” he sighed, “Let’s not do this today. We have a packed schedule.”

“What is it? Am I to balance on one foot and recite the royal family tree?” You spat.

He snorted and shook his head. He took your arm and hooked it through his own. He turned and led you down the hall. “Well, no, but I fear you might look just as silly.”

You narrowed your eyes and your stomach knotted. You wondered at his meaning but went along with him. Your days at Regia still felt like a dream; you just couldn’t accept that any of it was real.

He led you down the stairs, with some trouble, as your ankle bent and you caught the railing in panic. He righted you and continued lithely down the staircase. Your heels clicked on the marble as he turned you and guided you to the tall doors that opened into a grand ballroom. Long tables lined the perimeter with straight back chairs and portraits of women long dead and their respective husbands hung from the walls. The high ceiling was pointed and arched in the style of the seventeenth century and velvet curtains were tied back with tassles at the other end of the chamber.

A woman in black, a stiff white collar poking out from beneath her blazer, and a prim twist to her lips, stood expectantly at the centre. She held a stick that reminded you of a 1900s schoolhouse teacher and her round framed glasses magnified her cold glare.

“Priscilla,” Barnes released you and approached the woman. He greeted her in all courtesy, a small nod and a kiss on her hand. “Timely, as always.”

“Lord Barnes,” she arched a brow and her hazel eyes peered past him at you. “Duchess?” It was barely a question as she bent her knee and gave a stoic bow.

“The very one,” Barnes affirmed.

“An honour,” she stepped past Barnes. “I was present when your mother and her father visited our kingdom all those years ago.”

Your lip curled and you looked between her and Barnes. “I never knew my grandfather. Apparently, I never knew my mother either.”

Her eyes rounded and her face contorted as if she had tasted lemon juice. She looked at Barnes who shook his head.

“You know the nobility well, Pris,” he said, “They have the temperance of toddlers.”

“Wouldn’t you know it, my lord,” she quipped. “A blessing to her it is not Austin in my place.”

“I made certain it wasn’t,” Barnes approached you and took your hand, “I do appreciate your expedience.”

“I would never disobey the king,” she held the stick horizontal in both hands, “Very well, first position.”

Barnes turned you and drew you to him. His other hand went to your back. He held you to him, a small space between your bodies and you wobbled on your high heels.

“What the--” His sharp look kept your form profanity.

“You must learn to dance,” he said, “And if you can barely stand straight, I trust we have much to do.”

Priscilla came around you and touched your shoulders with her stick. “Head up,” she chided, “Straight, straight, straight.” She tapped the tip along your spine. “You are lucky.” She girded, “To learn with such a partner. Barnes… I hope that even you might sharpen this one.” She tutted, “There is much work to be done.”

“Would you stop that?” You tore your hand from Barnes’ and wipped at the stick against your back, “I’m not a dog.”

“Mmm,” she hummed and smacked your ass with the stick as Barnes took your hand again, “Move your feet.”

She rescinded the stick and tapped the butt of it on the floor as she began to count. You trod on your partner’s toe as he led you. You looked down at your feet and he hissed, “Don’t look down.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You stomped his shoe again. “Or do you like broken toes?”

“Just back, forward, side, side, back…” He raised your hand. “Stand straight. Head high.”

“I hate you,” you snipped as you scrambled to keep the beat.

“A good thing you are not my fiancee, then,” he smirked.

“We can agree on that,” you sneered but found yourself pressed against him as you tripped. He caught you and chuckled as he stood you up straight.

“Graceful as ever,” he kidded, “My apologies, Priscilla, it is going to be a long day.”

“You’re apologizing to her?” You grimaced, “What about me?”

“You’ve tread on me nearly a dozen times, so far,” he turned you, “I would say you owe me a few ‘sorries’ yourself.”

“I’d say we’re even,” you snipped. “My freedom, your toes.”

His lips curved again as he watched you. You looked past him and focused on the numbers; one, two, three, and four… Your gaze caught on a queen with sad eyes painted in fading pigments. She had no husband beside her, only an urn on a plinth. A chill rippled through you as you were spun away from the sight. For all its radiance, there was something very grim about this palace of betrothed.

[latinasmoak]

the sweetest life (and the loving is easy when you’re with me)

tumblr version:

rating: mature

tags: no warnings, mutual pining, lol slow burn? what slow burn?, I don’t know her, not actually unrequited love

Chapter Three: Strawberry Crème Brûlée p. 2

He had been hesitant to try it. Her strawberry creme brulee.

His appetite had yet to make an appearance and the truth was he was dreading her news, dreading to be told what he already knew to be true, that she was taken, and completely out of his reach.

Yet he couldn’t bear to disappoint her, not when she looked at him so eagerly, so expectantly. So he cracked the rose gold crust, the sound a crystal clear snap of sugar that whetted the appetite and reluctantly dipped his spoon in.

That first spoonful was ambrosia on his tongue. His reluctance to eat was never because he was fearful that it would be anything less than perfection, but even now he feels a fool for resisting something as delicious as this. The strawberry creme melted in the mouth, soft as velvet and sublime. The caramelized crust added a slight burnt bitterness needed to temper all the sweetness. One spoonful wasn't enough and Colin soon found himself devouring the entirety of his creme brulee.

He couldn’t explain it, but something about Penelope’s food comforted him. The way he felt when he ate something she created, it was a warmth that reached his very soul. Before, Colin would have brushed the thought away. He would have gone so far as to claim that eating anything delicious would elicit the same feeling. Now he knew the truth, it was Penelope. She infused so much of herself, of her joy, of her love, that her food was enough to make a person feel cherished and taken care of. With every spoonful of the strawberry creme, he was reminded that she made this for him and he felt so lucky.

Then she went and moaned, and Colin felt a punch of lust hit him fast and without mercy. Penelope’s sweet and innocent appreciation of her own creation had set his whole body aflame. He couldn’t help but imagine her making that sound again, only this time with him being the sole reason for the moan. Her breathy sigh as she finished her spoonful of the creme brulee had Colin hardening so fast, he felt dizzy with want. He glared at the dessert, nothing should elicit those sounds from her except for him. He should be on his knees, worshiping her as he drowned himself at the apex of her thighs. It should be him.

But it won't be.

She was already taken. He was too late, and it was agony. Everything he just imagined would be done by someone else. That fucking bastard would be the one on his knees, and his name would be the one she would shout out. The mere thought doused the fire within him faster than ice water. His fury had him gripping onto the counter. His rage directed at the man who had the audacity to come and grab his girl while he was gone. Yet however much he wanted to pummel him, the majority of his rage was inward. He was so wrong, to assume that nothing would change, that she would always be there waiting for him to come home. It wasn’t as if she was his wife, with a ring as proof that he would always come home to her. Of course she would live her life. Of course she would seek her happiness, for companionship, for love.

He was such a fool.

And now he was paying for it.

It wasn’t long before Penelope noticed that something was wrong and Colin thanked heaven and earth that she wasn’t privy to the mess going inside his head. She looked at him so sweetly, with so much concern in her eyes he felt himself go weak. His eyes closed in contentment with the mere brush of her hand on his forehead.

Why did he have to lose her? Why did he have to be so blind?

She questioned him, wanting the answers he didn’t even know how to share, but he didn't hesitate.

Something in him took over and all that came out is the most important question that would guide him in regards to how he should treat Penelope Featherington.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice ragged with intensity. Colin’s eyes burned with the need to know exactly how she felt.

Whatever Penelope was expecting, it was obvious from her reaction that this was not it. “What?!”

Colin closed his eyes briefly, gritting his teeth as he gathered the bravery necessary for this inquisition. He opened them and this time he used her grip on his hands to his advantage, bringing them up to rest against his chest. He wondered if she could feel how fast his heart was beating for her.

“Are you happy? With him? ”

The snarl that escaped him would have been embarrassing under normal circumstances but Colin was past caring about pretenses. This might be his one and only chance. Surely however long they'd been seeing each other wasn’t enough to build any foundation... right? And could a month or maybe two, really compare with years?

“Colin? You aren’t making any sense! Who are you talking about?”

Penelope gripped his hands tighter and his brow furrowed at the confusion swirling around in her vibrant blue eyes.

“I saw you with him, yesterday. I just wanted to surprise you, Pen.” Colin huffed as he thought about how that turned out.

“It wasn’t my intention to interrupt any moment, and I left pretty quickly…” seeing the hug had been hard enough, Colin didn’t want to imagine how he would have felt if he had stuck around and seen them kiss.  “I just want to make sure that you’re happy Penelope. You deserve everything your heart desires.”  

Colin was deathly afraid of her answer. Afraid to have to come to grips with the reality that he really had missed his chance. Yet for Penelope he would learn to deal with it. Her happiness mattered more to him than his.

-

It didn’t take long for Penelope to connect the dots, he obviously had come to the very wrong conclusion that Phillip was her boyfriend. Seeing as he was the only man to have entered her flat in the past few days, present company excluded. Phillip Crane as her boyfriend. A laughable concept, as if anyone could compare to Colin Bridgerton. He was it for her. He’d had a hold on her heart for so long she couldn't even remember the days when he didn't. Even when she had tried to date in the past, it had never gone past the first few dates. Every date had become a game of comparison. Not tall enough, not funny enough, too rude and too arrogant, the list was never ending and it was never fair. It wasn’t fair to the strangers who’s only real flaw was not being the man she was already in love with and it wasn’t fair to her to attempt to date when she hadn’t given up. She hadn’t allowed herself to kill the hope still flickering in her heart.

So she connected the dots, but it absolutely terrified her, to even attempt to understand why the knowledge of her having a boyfriend wrecked him so. Did she dare to infer that he was jealous? And if he was, was it because he felt he could lose a friend? Or something more? She didn’t know what to think, but she couldn’t let him go thinking for another second that she was dating another man. Not even to tease or torment him. Her heart rejected the thought of being tied to somebody else, even if it was only in his mind.

“Colin, there is no him. Not like that. He’s a friend, and I was letting him taste the sweets I was making for his girlfriend.”

Penelope figured it was a matter of time before he would find out the significance of who the girlfriend was, but Penelope was not about to break her vow of secrecy now.

Penelope gripped his hand tighter. She was scared-- so scared that this was about to blow up in her face but he had given her an opening and she was going to take it. Something inside of her urged her to be bold. He’d just said she deserved everything her heart desired and there had never been a greater desire in her heart than him.

Penelope took a deep breath and looked up at him, she tried to feel comfort in the knowledge that she could feel his heart thrumming in his chest. Surely that wasn’t insignificant. Be daring, be bold.

Oh Colin, please don’t break my heart.

“I couldn’t be bothered with a boyfriend…if it wasn’t you Colin.”

A watery chuckle escaped her. Her eyes threatened to well up with tears. There, I said it. There’s no going back now. Her whole body was strung up tight, the words just floating out there and it felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from her chest, now that she no longer had her longest secret hidden. Her anxiety had her spitting out more words to fill the silence.

“It’s always been you, and I’m sorry if this ruins our friendship but I-”

Colin’s lips were on hers before she could even finish her confession and everything else suddenly ceased to matter except for this moment.

Colin Bridgerton was kissing her.

Colin Bridgerton.

Was kissing.

Her.

His hands cupped her face so gently, leaving Penelope dazed. She felt warm, starting in the pit of her belly and spreading, as if his lips on hers were the switch to turning her body alive . She gasped when he nipped at her bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue and she moaned when he took that gasp as an invitation to taste her. She allowed herself to taste him back.

It was hard to believe it was real. That moment; it was everything Penelope had ever dreamed of, only better. Because even her imagination wasn’t good enough to imagine the feel of Colin’s slightly chapped lips against hers. She never knew that he would taste faintly of strawberries mixed with something that was uniquely him. She never imagined that he would move his hands from her face down, down, down to her waist. Slowly spreading a trail of fire wherever his fingertips touched. Penelope’s daydreaming was never this vivid, and never this maddening and when he finally moved his mouth to kiss her cheek, before finding the pulse at her throat, Penelope was already a bundle of nerves ready to explode. Her panting breaths the only sign that she was still breathing. Was she dreaming? Colin sucked at her pulse and Penelope’s knees went weak. Not that it mattered, Colin was there to hold her up.

This was better than anything Penelope had ever dreamed of, because it was real.

This was real.

-

Colin, there is no him.

I couldn’t be bothered with a boyfriend…if it wasn’t you.

It’s always been you.

Each sentence she’d uttered was a bomb bursting into the agonizing fantasy he had begun to build from the moment he walked in on that embrace, and shredding it to pieces. His heart lifted with every second that passed by, the dread that had clung so strongly to his very being, chased away by her declarations. Because that's exactly what they were, Colin wouldn’t pretend otherwise, for some unknown reason, the gods were smiling down at him, despite all his flaws and mistakes, they somehow deemed him worthy enough to be on the receiving end of Penelope Featherington’s love.

He would not waste it. This opportunity, handed to him on a silver platter.

If Penelope deemed him worthy enough to be the champion to carry her heart, he wasn’t going to be the one to let her down.

It was only when she began to mention nonsense about ruining friendships that Colin foolishly realized he had yet to say anything. Words were simply not enough. He had to have her, had to claim her as his.

He couldn’t let her finish, he couldn’t wait a second more. In fact it was rather remarkable that he’d waited this long. He had to taste her now.

So when he held her face in the palms of his hands, and he leaned down to reach her lips, he felt a sense of rightness so strong, he had to smile. His thumbs stroked her cheeks while he teased and licked her soft lips, finally getting the chance to bite at her lower lip the way he had imagined before. She gasped so beautifully and he finally got what he wanted. A taste. She was so sweet, the flavor of strawberry creme she had eaten not that long ago still present. If strawberries weren’t his favorite flavor before, they were now. She was perfect and he felt overwhelmed at the contentment spreading through his entire being. It was at this very moment that he realized that everything he thought he knew about kissing was a lie.What had always been a fun activity, a stepping stone to the next pleasurable act was never so compelling that it felt as if his soul was being branded as hers. He could kiss her forever, and he would still be completely captivated by every little move and sound Penelope made. Every gasp, every moan. It would never be enough, he would always want more.

When the pesky little thing called oxygen was needed for the both of them, Colin was reluctant to stop kissing her, so he moved from her lips to her cheek, a quick brush of his lips before he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He smiled to himself, pleased at how out of breath she was, at how closely pressed her body was to his. He missed hearing her little moans so he went back to sucking at her pulse point, holding onto her tighter as she tilted her head making it more accessible for him to continue. He didn’t know when Penelope had gotten her hands into his hair but all of a sudden he felt a small tug and his head snapped up from the hickey he was leaving behind. His eyes quickly connected with her piercingly blue ones, dilated with pure want.

A dopey smile spread across Colin’s face at the sight.

He’d done that. He had put that look upon her face. He was the reason her lips were swollen, he was the reason she was flushed and panting. Him.

“You are so fucking beautiful Pen.”

Colin leaned his head down so that his forehead could press against hers, simply breathing her in, letting them both calm down.

“You are so beautiful, and you are mine.”

He lifted his head and grabbed her chin with right hand, tilting her head up so that he could stare into her eyes again. He didn’t want a single misunderstanding to occur.

He wouldn’t lie to her, and tell her that he always knew it would be her. He didn’t. A few days ago, this very moment wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but that was then and this was now.

He was different.

Awake.

Aware.

No pretty lies were needed.

“You, Penelope Featherington, are mine.”

Colin brushed his thumb against her still-swollen lips and grinned, pleased to be making his current declaration..

“And I am yours. All yours.”

Maybe it wasn’t love, but Colin already knew he was falling.

It was terrifying, it was exhilarating and best of all, it was real.  

Penelope’s hopeful smile grew and grew, and she laughed, as tears of joy started running down her face.

It was real. It was all real.

 || AO3 ||

[earliebirb]

prompt: stevetony + accidental love confession during a fight? I'm loving your stevetony fics, thank you for sharing

Oh my God!!! The first prompt in my inbox and it’s from the lovely @ishipallthings !! What an honor. I have followed you for such a long time on Tumblr (at least on my other, messier blog, because this one hasn’t been around for a very long time) and to have you request a fic in my inbox is so surreal. Thank you so much for the prompt, I hope I didn’t disappoint you!

turning tides

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, getting together, 1783 words

When he wakes up, the first thing he sees is a mop of blond hair, the owner of which is seated in the visitor’s chair beside Tony’s bed, deep asleep with an arm pillowing his head.

Steve is back from his two-week-long, highly classified, solo mission. Tony missed him terribly. Steve is also still wearing his uniform, sans gloves and cowl, which is really weird. Surely he had time to change out of his uniform after the mission. What was the rush?

One of his hands is slipped into Tony’s. He obviously fell asleep with his hand holding Tony’s but his hold had loosened some time during his slumber. Tony resolutely ignores the way his heart flutters at the contact. 

Tony looks around the room. SHIELD medical, really? It isn’t like he is dying. At least, he doesn’t think he is. The last thing he remembers before this is the spinning sight of the workshop ceiling and the feeling of his forehead resting against the cool floor of the workshop. Then… nothing. 

Tony gazes at Steve, who has fallen asleep with his face tilted towards Tony, allowing Tony the rare privilege to indulge in his guilty pleasure of openly staring at Steve for as long as he wants to, getting his fill, at least until the guy wakes up. It’s probably a bit creepy, but sue him. He is in—

Tony pauses.

Fuck it. He has spent such a long time denying it to himself, it’s about time he admits it, at least in the safe and private confines of his mind.

He is in love.

There, he said it. Thought of it. Whatever. It doesn’t terrify him whatsoever. Not even a little bit.

Tony studies Steve’s eyelashes closely, gentle adoration blooming in his chest. He has the longest eyelashes Tony has ever seen, like beautiful blond waterfalls, casting dark shadows on his cheeks. Those coupled with Steve’s baby blues are absolutely a sight to behold, which probably explains why Tony has trouble breathing every time he has Steve’s full attention on himself. The thrill that runs through him every time Steve looks at him is addictive, has him turning greedy. He wants Steve’s attention on him and only him at all times. Tony tilts his head to admire the curve of Steve’s lips better, slightly ajar in his sleep. He can’t help but smile at the sight. Steve looks so peaceful and innocent when he sleeps. Tony feels like he could look at him forever and never get bored, always finding new details to marvel at without fail.

Tony reaches out to trace the straight line of Steve’s nose with his finger when Steve stirs. Tony withdraws his hand quickly, like a child just about to touch a boiling hot kettle before being reprimanded. 

Steve’s eyes blink open slowly, squinting as they attempt to adjust to the light shining just above the bed. Tony watches silently, waits for Steve to find his bearings.

When Steve’s eyes finally meet Tony’s, they widen with surprise when he realizes that Tony is awake.

“Tony,” Steve says with an exhale, standing up from his seat, “you’re awake.”

“I am,” Tony confirms. Steve has extricated his hand from Tony’s in the process and Tony pretends that he doesn’t feel suddenly bereft at the loss of warmth.

Steve stands there for a few moments, taking the sight of Tony in. Then, his back straightens. His eyebrows start to furrow, the corners of his mouth tugged down, the features of his face rearranging themselves into a scowl. 

Tony braces himself mentally. He knows what’s coming. 

Here we go again.

“I have told you, countless of times, that you need to take better care of yourself, Tony.” Steve’s jaw clenches, his voice heavy with disappointment.

“Steve,” Tony sighs, leaning back into his pillow as he closes his eyes, “can we not? I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now.”

Steve’s chin juts out stubbornly, inhaling deeply through his nose. Tony recognizes all the signs: Steve is not backing down.

Steve raises his eyebrows, leveling him with a glare. “Then muster some.”

Oh. Steve is angry angry.

First things first. “What happened?”

Tony has some inkling as to what might have happened, but it’s still good to know the details. 

“You passed out in the workshop out of exhaustion. Jarvis tripped the emergency alarm and the others brought you here. They told me just as my plane was landing,” Steve explains, his voice cold and clipped.

God, passing out due to exhaustion warrants a stay at SHIELD’s medical bay? What an overkill. Tony would like to stress again, that he is not dying. He just passed out from exhaustion and that can happen to anyone. Not everyone’s a supersoldier, Steve. Of course, since Tony values his life, he tries his best not to voice out his thoughts to Steve, who is still staring at Tony like he had insulted his mother.

“Alright. I’m fine now. I’m awake, see?” Tony gestures to himself with a smile. Steve’s expression remains stormy as ever.  

“You can’t keep doing this, Tony. When was the last time you ate anything? When was the last time you slept before you collapsed?”

The fact that Tony can’t seem to provide an answer for either of those questions is probably a bad sign.

“Why are you so dismissive of your own health? When are you going to learn to take proper care of yourself? God, it’s like you want to get sick,” Steve spits out, like the words had left a bad taste in his mouth, and that?

That has Tony’s hackles rising.

“Listen. I’m so fucking tired of you picking fights with me, telling me how to live my life? I don’t get why you’re so pissed off about everything I do all the fucking time. I can’t do anything right, can I? So I fainted, big deal. If Jarvis hadn’t tripped the alarm, I’m sure I would have come to eventually. I can just get some rest and then I’ll be fine. Why do you care so much? This had nothing to do with you. You weren’t the one who had to drag me to medical, anyway. Why are you so fucking worked up about it? I never asked for your concern, okay? I’m sorry if this event has inconvenienced you in some way.”

Steve drags in a sharp breath. His hands are curling into fists. His mouth is open and twisted in a way that suggests something like disbelief, his eyes turning red with tears. He lets out one long, shaky breath.

“And you think I asked for this?” Steve’s voice is breaking. Tony feels his heart plummet down to his stomach, panic rising in him. God, is Steve crying?  Whatever the fuck did he say that made him cry? Tony didn’t even say anything that was wrong.

Steve grits his teeth. God, that is definitely a tear rolling down his cheek. His eyes stay wide open, glaring daggers at him like he is trying to end Tony’s life with the force of his stare alone.

“I never asked to go insane with worry every time you get sick, or miss a couple meals in a row, or go without sleep for days on end, or get hurt doing something unbelievable reckless on the field.” Steve’s voice is trembling with barely restrained rage, rising in volume. Tony has never seen him so furious before.

“I’m sorry, okay, Tony? I’m sorry for caring about you. I’m so goddamn sorry for being in love with you but I don’t have a choice about that!” Steve roars, but near the end his voice breaks down into a sob, and, and—

What? 

Tony feels lightheaded. “...What?”

Steve is still standing there, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, shoulders heaving up and down as he pants with exertion. He is still looking at Tony like Tony had personally ripped his heart into shreds, which—

Tony wasn’t even aware that he had Steve’s heart in his hands to begin with.

Tony swallows as he tries to wrap his head around this new, unbelievably absurd concept. Tony has always been in love with Steve. This is a fact. Not the other way around. Of course not.

Steve is not in love with Tony.

Tony looks at Steve, who is now frozen, eyes still locked on Tony.

Is he?

“…Steve?” Tony asks, whisper-soft, and he loathes the sliver of hope that slips into that one syllable.

Steve staggers back reflexively, like Tony’s utterance of his name has a force so powerful it knocks him backwards.  Then, he shakes his head, looking down at the floor.

Ah, okay. See? There is no way Steve is in love with him. Tony must have mishear—

“I’m sorry, Tony. This isn’t how I wanted you to find out. I mean— I knew that you must have… known, and you were just being nice about it, but… I never intended to bring it up. Please forget what I said,” Steve says to the floor, his voice sounding distant and polite and Tony absolutely hates it.

“I didn’t know,” Tony blurts out.

That makes Steve look up, tentative and unsure. “You… didn’t?”

“Not a clue.”

Steve pauses. He lets out a sigh as he closes his eyes, bowing his head once again. His long eyelashes are wet with tears, Tony notes.

“Well, now you know. I’m sorry.”

There is a pregnant pause in the room, neither of them knowing what to do with this revelation.

And then, after what feels like eternity:

“Steve?” Tony calls.

Steve looks up.

“Come here for a second?”

Steve shuffles on his feet hesitantly, his fight or flight instinct coming into play. He looks like he is weighing paradoxical options in a battle fought within: that getting physically close to Tony right now is simultaneously a viscerally compelling and undeniable need and also the last thing he wants to do. Eventually, however, because he is Steve and Steve will always, always be more lionhearted than Tony could ever hope to be, he approaches Tony with the air of a man accepting certain death. Once again, he finally finds himself back at Tony’s side.

Where he belongs, Tony thinks, and something unfurls deep in his chest.

Tony looks up at him, his hand reaching up to gently wipe away the tear stains on Steve’s cheek. Steve is still looking at him like he’s a ticking time bomb.

Tony gathers all of his courage and takes a deep breath, looking straight into Steve’s impossibly blue eyes.

He bites the bullet.

“Kiss me.”

When Steve’s lips meet his, it feels a lot like coming home.  

[sweetscentences]

Small Changes: Chapter 3

On AO3 here. Thanks for being patient with me formatting this for tumblr <3

The sun set, and Rosinante was getting worried. Law hadn’t come back yet. Rosinante knew that Law could handle himself, knew he told him to take as long as he needed. But an old paranoia was creeping up on Rosinante. It didn’t help that this was the longest he’d been separated from Law in over half a year. 

Garp dragged him down to the docks to watch the sunset when Rosinante’s anxiety started to grate on him. But the sun finished sinking below the horizon, and there wasn’t any sign of Law. Rosinante gnawed, absentmindedly, on one of his nails. 

Garp smacked his hand from his mouth and hauled him to his feet. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Rosinante asked, but followed after Garp. 

“My grandsons stay with me when I visit. We’re going to go grab them.” There was an uncharacteristically soft smile on Garp’s face. “Besides, they know those woods better than anyone. Maybe they’ve seen your brat.” 

Rosinante wasn’t sure if he would describe Law as any sort of brat, let alone his. He mellowed out while they traveled together- partly because he was dying, partly because he had someone to care about. But even when he first joined the Donquixote Pirates Rosinante would have described him as a homicidal little shit before he called him a brat. 

He didn’t bother nitpicking though. Garp considered anyone younger than him a brat, and Rosinante… 

Lying was his livelihood. Sometimes, it came easier than breathing. But calling Law his son was the easiest lie he ever told.

The best lies were the ones a person desperately wanted to be true.

Garp lead them through the forest confidently, even though they quickly deviated from the path. Before too long, they arrived at the base of a massive tree. A treehouse the size of a small cottage was braced in its branches, and the sound of young voices floated down from it. 

Young voices cursing. In Northern. Garp shot Rosinante a look. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, just as Law’s voice reached them. He was slowly working through the pronunciation of a particularly graphic threat involving ice picks and vital organs. 

Rosinante heard it many times after he dragged Law away from the Donquixote Pirates. Back then, Law actually following through wasn’t out of the question.

Rosinante thought it best not to share that much. “Nothing good,” he said simply. 

Garp looked like he might press for more information, when loud laughter from above them distracted him. Garp’s soft smile turned into something sharp. 

“You brats!” he bellowed. Silence fell immediately, and three boys poked their heads out of the treehouse’s window. There was a mix of horror and excitement on their young faces. 

“Hi Gramps!” the smallest one, with a straw hat balanced on his head, called cheerfully. Rosinante had seen that hat before, on wanted posters. Which meant this must be Luffy- Garp’s grandson who had been charmed by Red-Haired Shanks.

“Hey Gramps,” the only blonde of the group said with a wave. Garp regaled Rosinante with enough stories about his boys that evening for him to know this was Sabo- a street rat from the other side of the island who often served as a ringleader in the boys’ schemes. 

Which meant the last boy, grinning sharply down at them, had to be Portgas D. Ace. Rosinante wasn’t sure how Garp handled two boys who inherited the will of D. He barely managed with one. 

Then Rosinante remembered Garp was a D. himself. No wonder he wore Sengoku out so easily.

“Hey. Gramps.” Ace’s voice was more a challenge than a greeting. “Go fuck yourself.” 

Rosinante fought the urge to choke on his own tongue. Garp’s face went red. Even if he couldn’t understand the words, Ace’s tone and smug grin were painfully clear. 

Rosinante was distracted from Garp starting a tirade by a figure making their way down the treehouse’s ladder. 

It seemed Luffy noticed the same thing. “Be careful, Torao!”

Rosinante’s hands twitched with the effort of keeping them by his sides. Law wouldn’t appreciate Rosinante stepping up to help him. Wouldn’t appreciate being coddled, even if Rosinante could see his legs shaking. But he wasn’t going to grab Law, not when he didn’t know if his touch would be welcome. 

When he didn’t know if his presence would be welcome.

A few agonizing minutes later, Law was on solid ground and staring up at Rosinante. He scratched a faded pale patch on one of his arms- the only nervous tic Rosinante ever saw from him. 

Neither of them knew what to say. 

Law settled on saying nothing at all, instead taking a deep breath and opening his arms to Rosinante. He didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees and pulling Law into a fierce hug. Law’s arms wound around his neck, and his head tucked against the hollow of Rosinante’s throat. 

Law trembled slightly, but Rosinante didn’t acknowledge it. His hands were shaking too, after all.

There were so many ways he could have lost Law. To Doflamingo. To the Amber Lead. To the fact that he was a Marine. 

(There were so many ways he could still lose Law.)

“I knew for awhile,” Law admitted, his voice muffled by Rosinante’s shirt and the rounded shape of Northern. Garp somehow made his way into the treehouse to give them space, but Rosinante taught Law to be wary of prying ears. “I knew back on Minion. But I wanted to pretend I didn’t.” 

“I wanted to pretend too,” Rosinante said, holding Law a bit tighter. The fact that Law allowed it, that he squeezed Rosinante back, told Rosinante more than words could. 

“There are things I need to tell you,” he said. “About how I grew up. About being a Marine.” He hoped, desperately, that his birth as a noble wouldn’t be what drove Law away from him. He felt Law tense in his arms, and ran a careful hand up and down his back. 

“Nothing like that,” he promised. “Never anything like that.” 

For all that Rosinante had done for the Navy, lying and killing alike, there was never anything comparable to Flevance. He would die before aiding a genocide. Would die before killing children.

Law relaxed again with a shaky exhale. Nodded. His arms loosened a bit, and Rosinante took that as his cue to let go. Law stepped out of his arms, but didn’t go far.

“I meant to come back sooner,” he said. “I got distracted.” 

Rosinante shook his head. “I told you to take as long as you needed.” He smiled at the treehouse, where Garp was herding his grandsons down the ladder, keeping a tight grip on Luffy. “It looks like you made some friends.” 

Law shrugged and scratched his arm again. “They’re weird, but funny. Luffy ate a Devil Fruit too.” 

“Oh.” Rosinante sat back and watched Garp try to corral his other two grandsons as Luffy wrapped strangely long arms around his neck. That explained some of Garp’s worry over the boys, as well as his resentment of Shanks. A Devil Fruit wasn’t likely to end up in a village as small as Foosha without a pirate’s involvement. 

Garp successfully caught Ace and Sabo in something that looked half like a hug and half like a wrestling move. He straightened out and marched towards Rosinante as the boys resigned themselves to their fates and slouched against his chest. 

“Let’s head back into town. Something tells me the boys haven’t eaten yet.” 

Apparently food was the magic word with Garp’s grandsons, who burst into an intimidating round of cheers. Law shot Rosinante a helplessly confused look. Rosinante couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. 

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

Law took hearing about Rosinante’s past better than he hoped. He half expected his childhood as a noble to be the final straw for Law. Instead, Law told him he couldn’t help where he was born, and that he didn’t act like a ‘complete bastard,’ so it didn’t matter. 

They both knew it mattered. 

Law traced the scars on Rosinante’s hands and arms with careful fingers and burning eyes. Rosinante wouldn’t be able to tell him they hadn’t hurt. Law understood the body far too well to believe that. Rosinante resolved, then, to never tell Law about his knees. Law would worry over them, over him, far too much. But there wouldn’t be anything he could do. Every doctor Sengoku took Rosinante to said the same thing: they healed wrong when he was too young, and his body developed around the mangled parts. Any surgery would be more risk than it was worth. 

It wasn’t so bad, in the temperate East Blue. They didn’t ache or lock up the way they did in the Northern cold.

After a few minutes of cataloguing the wounds on Rosinante’s arms and grinding his teeth, Law softened. 

“That language you whisper in sometimes,” he said. “What is it?”

Rosinante was surprised Law noticed. He either had incredibly sharp ears, or he wasn’t asleep half the times Rosinante thought he was. 

Sadly, Rosinante was certain it was the latter. 

“It’s the language of Marie Geoise,” Rosinante sighed. “The language of my family.” 

All his family but Senoku, that was. Sengoku and now Law. 

“Even Doflamingo?”

Rosinante tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Even Doffy.” 

Law stared down at his lap. His hands squeezed Rosinante’s.

“Will you teach it to me?”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. An old taboo stole the breath from his lungs. 

To the Celestial Dragons, teaching a commoner the Holy Tongue would have been the greatest sacrilege. A betrayal like no other. One so severe that even Rosinante’s parents never did it. 

But Rosinante hadn’t been a Celestial Dragon in a very long time. 

“I’d be happy to,” he breathed. 

Law released his hand, only to shuffle closer and lean against his side. He even let Rosinante wrap an arm around him.

After that, Law took the news of Sengoku’s visit significantly worse.

He shut down, briefly, his breath catching and his hands curling into fists. He didn’t look up at Rosinante when he told him he needed to leave. Told him that Luffy and his brothers invited him to go fishing, and that he would be back after sundown. 

It seemed he was trying to handle his anger, his grief, without lashing out. Rosinante wouldn’t stop him. Instead, he did his best to stay busy around Makino’s bar on the off chance that Law came back early and needed him.

It was a bit before midnight when Law returned, creeping into their room and pressing himself wordlessly against Rosinante’s side. 

For awhile, the only sounds were the rumbling chatter of the bar below and the cricket song from outside.

After a few minutes, Law spoke. “He’s the Fleet Admiral.”

“He didn’t know.” 

“How?” Law snarled, an old, familiar anger sharpening his voice. “How could the Fleet Admiral not know?” 

“Because the government is corrupt and cruel,” Rosinante said. It wouldn’t be good to lie to Law here. Not again. Not about this. “There are people in power who know what Sengoku would never approve of, so they do it behind his back. They do it, and they burn records, and send bribes so he doesn’t find out.” 

Few people knew how little Sengoku actually controlled. So much of what he did was standing as a figure-head. 

Law made a pained sound. Covered his face with his hands and ducked his head to his chest. Rosinante pressed on anyway.

“I spoke to Garp about it. Sengoku tried to run an internal investigation, but with the ruling family dead there was no one to fund it. Not that they ever would have.”

He took a shaking breath. Reminded himself that not knowing would only hurt Law more.

“There were only a few, vague records left. As far as Sengoku could tell, all the others were burned.” 

That, it seemed, was too much for Law. He started sobbing, curling in on himself and Rosinante’s side as Rosinante dragged him into his lap and against his chest. 

“So that’s all it took?” Law hiccuped, one of his hands twisting to grab Rosinante’s shirt. Anchoring himself against Rosinante. “A few burnt papers and it- it never happened?! We never happened?!” 

He made a sound like a dying animal, pressing his face against Rosinante’s chest and quickly soaking his shirt with tears.

Rosinante didn’t try to hush him, didn’t offer any meaningless platitudes. Law would never accept them, in the same way he would never accept pity. 

“It happened. Nothing can change that,” Rosinante growled, fighting to keep his voice steady. He was angry, so soul-burningly angry about what Law was forced to endure.

It was the same anger he wielded as a weapon, when he wasn’t much older than Law. The same anger that drove him to burn the hospitals that turned Law away, that made Law cry. 

The anger he wished he didn’t have. The anger he shared with Doflamingo. 

“The people who did it will be punished. In this life or the next.” 

Rosinante didn’t believe in fate as an unknowable, intangible force. He believed in fate as something that was made, something resting in a person’s hands. Something that depended on the strength of a person’s will. 

Law was the most strong-willed person he’d ever met. 

“What if I don’t believe in another life?” Law asked, breathless and horrible.

This was dangerous territory, Rosinante knew. But he promised himself he wouldn’t lie to Law again. 

“Then we work to see them punished in this one.” 

Law stilled for a moment. Took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I won’t ever be a Marine,” he said. 

Rosinante ran a hand through Law’s wild hair. He didn’t take his hat when he left that morning. 

“I wouldn’t ever ask you to be one,” Rosinante told him. He meant it too. 

He knew Sengoku would want Law to join the Marines. Rosinante would make sure he never brought it up in front of Law. 

Sengoku wouldn’t like it. He would think Rosinante was encouraging Law to be a pirate through inaction. But Rosinante didn’t think he was being that passive. Law would be whatever he wanted to be. Rosinante would watch over him as long as he wanted it. 

Sengoku would just have to make peace with his grandson being a pirate. 

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

Rosinante sent Law off to Ace, Sabo, and Luffy’s treehouse the moment he spotted Sengoku’s ship on the horizon. (Apparently Law had been sparring with the boys. They showed their bruises off to Rosinante and Garp proudly. Law was a far gentler teacher than his were.) Law didn’t hesitate or complain, he only grabbed his hat, gave Rosinante a quick hug, and waved to Makino as he swept out of the bar. He wasn’t comfortable being around Navy ships. Wasn’t even comfortable seeing them. 

Rosinante watched the ship approach from his window over Makino’s bar. When it docked in the harbor, he slipped out of the bar’s back door and into the woods, silencing himself as he went. 

He trusted Sengoku, and he trusted Garp, but he didn’t trust the men Sengoku would be bringing. Not implicitly. 

Not again. 

He settled himself down on a fallen log and braced his head in his hands. His Observation Haki was good enough to cover the village and the nearby coast. He could recognize Law, a bright spot a few miles away, moving with Garp’s boys. Sengoku and Garp were forceful presences, making their way through the town to the woods. Closer and closer to Rosinante. 

It was only a few minutes before Rosinante heard their voices. 

“If this were anyone but you, I would be suspicious, Garp,” Sengoku said, his voice tense. The sound of it made a pit grow in Rosinante’s stomach. 

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Garp laughed. 

“It’s simply a fact. You don’t have a scheming bone in your body,” Sengoku told him. “It’s a wonder where your son came from.” 

With that they walked into a clearing, and Rosinante’s line of sight. 

Sengoku looked tired. He had clearly lost weight, and there were bruise-dark shadows under his steely eyes. Rosinante never thought of him as an aging man. He held himself too proudly for that. But now his features were haggard and worn- grief etched into every line of his face Rosinante never noticed before. Garp held up a hand to stop him, and he nearly stumbled. 

Rosinante ignored the way his hands shook. Ignored the way his stomach rolled. Ignored the horrible, choking lump in his throat. He let his bubble of silence grow to cover the clearing. 

“Garp, what are you-“ 

Sengoku’s eyes landed on Rosinante. 

His mouth dropped open. 

Rosinante was up and crossing the clearing before either of them could blink, dragging Sengoku into a smothering hug. 

“I’m sorry,” Rosinante said, and Sengoku’s arms snapped around him like a vice.

Sengoku held him bruisingly tight. It sent twinges of pain through Rosinante’s still healing wounds, made his ribs ache. He didn’t care. Sengoku had thought he was dead, and now he was crying against Rosinante’s shoulder. 

Rosinante had never seen him cry before. 

“How?” Sengoku asked, his voice shaking as much as his body. 

“I don’t know,” Rosinante told him, just shy of hysterical. “I thought- I knew I was…” he took a deep, heaving breath. Pushed the thought of dying out of his mind. “Law saved me. I don’t know how.”

He knew, generally, that Law saved his life using his Devil Fruit, but he still refused to share any details. Just like he refused to tell Rosinante how he healed himself. 

Law told him about Flevance. He wouldn’t say anything about this. 

Rosinante wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If it was bad enough for Law to keep it from him, he didn’t know if he could stomach it.

“Doffy has spies in the Marines,” Rosinante said, before Sengoku could press about Law. There would be time for that later. He pulled back just enough to look Sengoku in the eye, but didn’t let go of him. “I don’t know how many, but at least one is a Lieutenant called Vergo.”

Sengoku’s teary eyes hardened. “Vergo? You’re certain?”

Rosinante wasn’t going to tell Sengoku any details. Wasn’t going to tell him how he was beaten. How many times he was shot. Wasn’t going to tell him how certain he was of his own death. 

Instead he said, “he’s Doffy’s man through and through.” 

“He’s been following me around lately, insisting on ‘supporting me through my grief’,” Sengoku snarled. Rosinante’s blood ran cold. 

Sengoku saw the fear in his eyes and softened. One of his hands came up to cradle the back of Rosinante’s neck- a familiar gesture from a time that Sengoku’s hands dwarfed his. 

 “I haven’t let him anywhere near me,” Sengoku promised, and Rosinante could breathe again. 

“He’s probably waiting to see if I’ll get in contact with you,” he said. “...Which means Doffy isn’t sure I’m dead.”

That was a terrifying thought. 

Rosinante knew it would happen sooner or later. Knew that Doflamingo wouldn’t be able to write off his disappearing corpse as the work of wild animals for long. He was too paranoid for that. 

But still, imagining Doflamingo tearing through North Blue looking for him, looking for Law, leaving his dog to follow at Sengoku’s heels… 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Rosinante said.

Sengoku laughed- a sharp, waterlogged sound. He cradled Rosinante’s face in his shaking, calloused hands. “You? I’m the one whose son has come back from the dead.” 

Rosinante made a noise embarrassingly close to a sob. “I never meant for you to think I was dead,” he promised. “But it wasn’t safe to contact you. I needed-“

“You were looking out for more than just yourself,” Sengoku cut him off, idly brushing a tear from Rosinante’s cheek. “You were looking out for that boy. The one with the Amber Lead.” 

“He doesn’t have it anymore,” Rosinante said, finally stepping out of Sengoku’s hold. 

“The Devil Fruit?” Sengoku asked, his expression serious. 

Rosinante nodded, trying not to tense too much. This would be the moment that decided if he would go back to the Marines, or be forced to run from two powers. 

He didn’t want to lose a father again. But he would do it, he would walk away, if it meant saving Law’s life.

Sengoku sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He ground his teeth. Rosinante held his breath. 

“We could spin it in Rosinante’s favor.”

Garp’s voice was an unexpected shock. Rosinante had half-forgotten he was there. Sengoku had too, if his widening eyes were any indication. 

“What do you mean?” Sengoku asked, unexpectedly eager. The fact that he was entertaining the idea at all...

“The Donquixote Pirates stole the Devil Fruit,” Garp said, spreading his hands. “How could we know which member did it? Commander Rosinante had reason to believe he was compromised, so he escaped and took the kid and the Devil Fruit with him.” 

None of it was even really a lie- Garp simply moved some things out of order. It could work, Rosinante realized, if people didn’t dig too deeply. There was only one problem.

“How do we explain the boy eating the Devil Fruit?” Sengoku asked, frowning the way he always did when he was deep in thought. 

Garp grinned. “An accident!” he laughed. “The brat was too sick to realize what he was eating.” 

Rosinante’s eye twitched. 

Sengoku glowered at Garp. “Who would believe someone ate a Devil Fruit by accident?” 

“My grandson did it,” Garp said with a shrug. 

“Is your grandson an idiot?” Sengoku snapped. Rosinante burst out laughing as Garp’s face reddened. 

“It could work,” he said, before Garp could start a fight. He didn’t think Foosha Village could survive one of Sengoku and Garp’s brawls. “Late stage Amber Lead poisoning can cause hallucinations. Who could know that it didn’t for Law?”

It was hard to mention that fact so casually. There was more than one time Law tugged at Rosinante, asking him to describe the world around them so he could be sure the poisoning hadn’t reached his brain. His mind was all he had, towards the end. He was so afraid of losing it. 

Garp grinned, triumphantly spreading his hands. “There we go! An easy solution.” 

Sengoku closed his eyes in a lightly pained expression. Rosinante chewed on his lower lip. 

“I wonder if we even need to say that much,” he said. 

“What do you mean?” Sengoku asked, his voice stern. 

He was speaking as the Fleet Admiral, then. Not as Rosinante’s father. 

Rosinante straightened up. “I took a sick child and a Devil Fruit away from the Donquixote Pirates. I was caught, and in that confrontation the Devil Fruit was lost. What more do I need to say?” 

He didn’t want the Navy focused on Law. He didn’t want anyone in power focused on Law. It wouldn’t lead to anything good.  

If it came out that Law was a survivor of Flevance… 

(A memory came to Rosinante’s mind of the Ohara incident. Of a little girl’s face on wanted posters.)

“Does anyone but you know that Law had Amber Lead specifically?” he asked Sengoku. 

Sengoku’s shoulders slouched. “I doubt it,” he said, dropping the authority in his voice. “Piecing together the boy’s origin was… difficult, to say the least. It’s unlikely anyone will investigate him to the degree I did.” 

“Why?”

“Because I thought he might be the answer to what happened to you.” 

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. His heart stuttered. 

Sengoku smiled thinly. “If nothing else, it seems I was right about that,” he said. “I never recorded anything I found about the boy. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Sengoku closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grounding himself the way he taught Rosinante to. 

“Could he keep up a lie you told him under scrutiny?” Sengoku asked. 

Rosinante’s mind came to a screeching halt. He could barely believe Sengoku was considering this. That he was planning for it. Rosinante did his best to gather himself, and focus on the matter at hand.

“Easily,” he told Sengoku.

He decided to leave out the fact that Law would take any opportunity he could to spit in the government’s face. Lying would be nothing for him. 

“What’s the plan, then?” Garp asked, a rarely heard seriousness in his voice. 

“We’ll deal with Vergo first,” Sengoku said with a nod. “We’ll try to bring any other spies down with him. We can spin Rosinante not checking in as intentional rather than him going AWOL. The boy…” he trailed off with a sigh. “We’ll work the boy into it.” 

“Law won’t go into Marine custody.” Rosinante decided now was as good a time as ever to bring that up. 

“Why not?” Sengoku asked, his voice sharp. That commanding bark never intimidated Rosinante as much as it did Sengoku’s troops. 

(Maybe it was because none of them ever found Sengoku sprawled out on their living room floor, singing nonsense songs to his pet goat as he fed her treats. That kind of thing softened one’s image of a man.)

“Flevance,” Rosinante said simply. “It’s a minor miracle that Law forgave me for telling him I wasn’t a Marine. Another miracle that he agreed to be civil with you.” 

“Civil?” Sengoku asked. 

Garp cut in. “Means the kid won’t pull a knife on you.” 

Sengoku stared Garp down. “Did he pull one on you?”

“Nah,” Garp said. “Only ‘cause he didn’t have a knife to pull. But your kid gave him one the other day.” 

Sengoku shot Rosinante a look. He raised his hands in defense. “I’m not leaving him unarmed when Doffy’s after him.” 

“How many years has Doflamingo spent grooming him?” Sengoku asked, and Rosinante grit his teeth. “How sure are you that he won’t go back to him?” 

“I’m very sure,” Rosinante hissed, his voice hard as he rolled his shoulders back and straightened up. 

(Like a cobra rising to strike, Doflamingo laughed, once.) 

He might not have been certain a few months ago, but any good will, any tolerance Law had for Doflamingo died when he shot Rosinante. He was probably higher than the average Marine on Law’s shit list, at this point. 

Sengoku had never quite figured out how to deal with Rosinante when he was angry.

“I didn’t mean to… doubt either of you,” he said. The lie was so bad he flinched as he said it. 

But Rosinante recognized the intention, and forced himself to let it go. “Just… just don’t say anything like that around Law.” 

“I won’t.” 

Garp grinned. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

Rosinante sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to admit out loud that Garp was certainly right. 

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

Garp was mostly right. 

Predictably, Sengoku had no idea how to act around Law. 

Even more predictably, Law hated Sengoku on principle. 

Rosinante was sure the only reason he didn’t bolt or try to attack Sengoku was because he attached himself to Rosinante’s side. He was intent on keeping his promise to be civil. Rosinante wouldn’t admit it out loud, Law would smack him if he did, but it was painfully endearing.

To Rosinante, at least. Sengoku looked just as ready to run as Law did. 

The meeting was agonizingly awkward and stilted. Thankfully, Garp brought Luffy to ease some of the tension. He was currently chatting Sengoku’s ear off in barely passable Grand, telling him a story about almost being eaten by crocodiles. 

Rosinante hoped it was just a story, but considering the alarmingly proud look on Garp’s face, it wasn’t. 

Luffy was simultaneously providing a distraction for Law, having offered Law his hand when everyone settled in Makino’s closed bar. Law was carefully experimenting with seeing how far he could stretch Luffy’s fingers, and trying to feel the rubbery bones beneath the skin. He was clearly having a wonderful time with it, if the grin crawling across his face was any indication.

The light in his eyes visibly unsettled Garp and Sengoku. Rosinante knew Law noticed this, and was fairly sure he was playing it up. 

“Luffy-ya, do you bleed?” he asked. Sengoku looked at him sharply. Luffy barely paused in his storytelling. 

“Just if I get cut!” he chirped, before launching into another story of almost getting eaten- this time by a large wildcat. 

Law only hummed, stretching Luffy’s skin and holding it up to the light to see the veins running below the surface.

Rosinante leaned down and whispered to Law in Flevean, “don’t be creepy on purpose.” 

“It’s not on purpose. I’m just curious,” Law said, which was a weak defense, seeing as he stared Sengoku down every time he asked Luffy a strange question. 

Rosinante raised an eyebrow at him. Law caved, and heaved the most put-upon sigh Rosinante ever heard. 

“Hey, old man,” he called to Sengoku, which was hardly polite but definitely better than however Law was thinking of him. Sengoku’s eye twitched a bit at the disrespect, but thankfully he didn’t say anything about it. 

“You raised Cora, right?” Law asked.

If Sengoku was confused by the name, he didn’t show it. Instead, he nodded. “I took him in when he was young.” 

Law stared at him for an uncomfortably long minute. Even Luffy fell silent to watch. 

“Then thanks,” Law said. 

Rosinante wouldn’t have been able to stop his smile if he tried. 

“I should thank you as well,” Sengoku told him, his lips twitching. “It’s my understanding that you saved his life.” 

Law nodded, shifting in a way that made it clear he was uncomfortable. Not with the praise, Rosinante knew, but with the reminder. 

“I’m a doctor,” he said, simply, and went back to playing with Luffy’s hand. 

Rosinante shot Sengoku an approving look, both to thank him and to keep from pushing his luck. Luffy helped that as well, poking at Sengoku and asking him if he’d ever seen a Sea King. Garp took over answering that, tugging Luffy out of Sengoku’s personal space before he could start climbing on him. 

“Are you doing alright?” Rosinante asked Law. 

Law shrugged. “I don't like this. Or him. But I get to kill two birds with one stone.” 

Rosinante did not get a chance to ask what, exactly, Law meant by that.

“Luffy-ya,” he called, waiting till he had the other boy, and everyone else’s, attention. “Does this hurt?”

He brutally bent one of Luffy’s fingers until it touched the back of his hand. 

“No,” Luffy said, oblivious to the horrified adults around him. “Should it?”

“Yes.” Law smiled, all bared teeth. “Do your bones break?” 

“I don’t think so,” Luffy shrugged. Law lit up. 

Before anyone could stop him, Law braced Luffy’s arm and twisted his hand completely around. It was a clear, practiced movement that would break any other person’s wrist. Luffy laughed. 

“Can you move your fingers?” Law asked, briefly meeting Sengoku’s horrified stare. 

“Yup!” Luffy chirping, obligingly wiggling each one. 

“That’s fascinating,” Law muttered. Luffy grinned at him, as if he understood the compliment. It absolutely was a compliment, coming from Law. 

Law pinned Luffy’s wrist down and continued twisting it, like he was turning a corkscrew. Luffy went back to his conversation with Garp.

Rosinante looked at Sengoku. He was staring at Law, one eye twitching, with a concentration similar to when he was putting together a puzzle. 

A slightly disturbing puzzle, in this case. 

“Cora, do you have a notebook?” Law asked, finally letting Luffy go and watching his wrist spin back into place with an almost manic fascination. His fingers twitched lightly. 

Rosinante knew all about Law’s hobby of small animal dissection. If it were anyone else Rosinante would find it unpleasant, but Law got so excited when he talked about veins, and nerves, and the way tendons strung a body together. It was a good thing Law had enough manners not to ask if he could cut Luffy open. Rosinante wasn’t sure Luffy was sensible enough to refuse. 

There was a small notebook and a pen in Rosinante’s pocket. He pulled them out and handed them to Law, who started writing frantic notes. 

“Is this… normal? For him?” Sengoku asked, watching Law write. 

Rosinante wished he could tell him it wasn’t. 

“Pretty much.”

It was better not to tell Sengoku this display was tame by Law’s standards.

But Law’s curiosity was satisfied. Sengoku was deeply unnerved. Two birds with one stone indeed. 

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

“The boy is certainly… unsettling,” Sengoku said, staring up at the windows over Makino’s bar. Law went to bed hours ago, and Garp left with Luffy not long after. After that, Rosinante and Sengoku settled behind the bar, passing a flask of rum back and forth. 

Rosinante looked at Sengoku, accepting the flask when he was offered it. He would wait to be offended. Sengoku might have a point beyond insulting Law. 

He could almost see why some people thought Law was unsettling, but he didn’t agree. Law was too easily flustered, too easily riled. Too fascinated by the most surprising things. Too genuine in his rage and his joy. Too small. Rosinante struggled to see him as anything other than endearing. 

“But he’s your son.”

Rosinante struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “I don’t think he sees me as a father. I don’t think he could.” 

From what he told Rosinante, Law’s father was an incredible man. A man that Law loved and admired. A man he had, at one point, wanted to be like. It wasn’t Rosinante’s place to compare himself to him. 

“It’s obvious that he loves you,” Sengoku said. He snatched the flask from Rosinante before he could knock the rest of the rum back in an impressive display of self-pity. 

(He knew Rosinante’s habits well. Half the reason they ever drank together was so Sengoku could be sure he didn’t drink too much.)

“He does.” Rosinante meant to agree, but the fear crawling up his throat turned the words into a question.

Sengoku knew Rosinante well enough not to call it out. Instead he stood and grabbed Rosinante’s arms to haul him to his feet, and into a hug. Rosinante melted into the embrace. He clung to Sengoku like he did as a child. It was difficult, now that he was taller than Sengoku, but they managed.

“I have a week in Foosha,” Sengoku said, his voice rough and unsteady. 

Rosinante swallowed a sob. Nodded against Sengoku’s shoulder. 

“We can make a plan in that time.” Sengoku squeezed Rosinante sharply, then pulled back just enough to cup Rosinante’s face in his calloused hands. Tears ran tracks down his face, even as his lips curved up.

“You’re alive.” 

Rosinante hiccupped. He tried to bite down the feeling rushing up his throat before he remembered this was Sengoku. This was his father. Rosinante sobbed. He clung to Sengoku and wailed, breaking down in a way he hadn’t since he was a child. Since the first time Sengoku made him feel safe. 

It had been too much. 

Everything with Doflamingo. Living when he should have died. Law drifting every day between death and life. It was too much. 

It was all too much.

Sengoku was steady as ever, holding Rosinante upright. Running a hand over Rosinante’s back, a hand through his hair. Taking clear, long breaths that were easy to match. Easy to fall into rhythm with, even if Rosinante’s chest rattled as he did. 

Sengoku didn’t try to soothe him. To hush him, or promise everything would be well. It would only set Rosinante off again if he tried. Instead, he held Rosinante close for as long as it took his grief to run dry. For as long as it took him to gather the pieces of himself together. 

When he straightened up, his hands stayed- balled tightly in the fabric of Sengoku’s coat.

Sengoku was wearing a smile Rosinante had never seen- the smallest tilt to his lips, his eyes pained and warm all at once. Rosinante untangled his hands from Sengoku’s coat, squeezing his shoulders before letting his arms fall to his sides.

Sengoku reached up to wipe the last tears from Rosinante’s face.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. Rosinante could only nod and watch him leave, too choked up to speak. 

Rosinante stood alone in the dark for a long time, breathing deeply and grounding himself as best as he could.

Once he felt he wasn’t about to start crying again, he slipped back inside. He made a bubble of silence around himself as he snuck into his and Law’s room. There was barely enough moonlight spilling in from the window for Rosinante to see where he was going. He used the small washbasin by his bedside to clean the makeup from his face.

He knew he should regret the tattoos. But instead he found, time and time again, that he didn’t. They were a reminder of something wonderful just as much as they were a reminder of something awful.

There was a rustling sound behind Rosinante. He turned to find Law sitting up in his bed. 

“Cora?” he asked, his voice thick with exhaustion. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Rosinante said, stepping forward to ruffle Law’s hair. 

He lazily slapped Rosinante’s hand away. “I was already awake. Mostly.” 

Rosinante hoped Law would sleep better once he was cured, but he didn’t really expect it. Amber Lead was far from the only thing that plagued him.

“Insomnia again?” 

Law didn’t answer. Instead he ducked his head, his clenched fists twisting the bedsheets. 

“Law?” Rosinante prodded, kneeling by his bedside. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Cora,” Law snapped, so sharp that Rosinante flinched back. 

“Wh-”

“You’re an idiot.” His voice was a hiss- sharp and cold. “You’re an idiot who’s so used to his Devil Fruit he can’t tell how damn loud his voice is.”

Rosinante’s mouth went dry. He took a shuddering breath.

He almost didn’t notice Law start to cry; his shoulders shaking, his small chest heaving.

“I already said we’re family, didn’t I?” 

Rosinante’s body moved before his mind could catch up, opening his arms for Law to fall into. 

“I’m sorry,” Rosinante breathed, as Law’s arms wound around his neck. “I’m sorry for not listening.” 

“Just don’t do it again,” Law snarled, but the sound was softened by the way he clung to Rosinante. 

He let himself relax into the hug. Let himself trust that Law wasn’t going anywhere. Wouldn’t be lost to him in the night- to sickness or to Doflamingo. 

“I love you, Law.” 

Law’s hold tightened. 

Rosinante had a son.

[queerhargreeves]

Big Brothers Need Help Too

Diego’s usual stoic silence lasts longer than normal. His siblings take notice, because of course they do. 

sOOO tumblr ate the inbox request?? a wonderfully kind anon asked me to write a diego-centric fic where he doesn’t talk for a while and the siblings take notice!! i’ve been in a writing rut for a while, but this prompt broke me out of it. dear anon you are like my diego-angst soul mate!!! so pls, if you’re out there and wanna talk diego......im all ears!!

The Hargreeves siblings have been together post apocalypse for a few months now. And they’re mostly okay. They’re alive, and that’s all the matters right? Well, almost everyone is. Grace and Pogo are gone, but billions of lives are not. Hell, even Ben is as back as he can be. They’ve spent the last few months healing in their own ways.  

It’s been a tough six months for all of them. Vanya’s training has been long and intensive, but she’s gotten stronger. Her siblings have forgiven her for everything even if she hasn’t fully forgiven herself. She probably never will. Diego insists on giving her a ride to every rehearsal, making sure she gets to the auditorium and back safely. Allison and Klaus drag her out of her room and makes her join them on their nail party nights; even if she usually settles with a clear top coat or nude color she will happily paint Klaus’ nails nine different colors.

Luther, the most aloof and ignorant of them all, has finally started to accept that he is a victim of trauma: A victim of Sir Reginald Hargreeves, just like his siblings. He’s been ashamed of being seen for so long that he would purposely isolate himself from his brothers and sisters. He knows what he’s done to hurt them, what Reginald drilled into his brain was the correct thing to do. He’d flinch at any contact with his siblings, retracting so quickly as if their touch burned him. They all notice, because of course they do. He’s getting better about it though. With Klaus sprawling his legs over his knees on the couch and Diego’s shoulder massages after their sparring, how could he not. Their casual touches is slowly bringing the big man out of the shell that he’s never stepped foot out of before.

Allison’s life as America’s Sweetheart came to an end. The power that destroyed her life has been forcibly stripped away. This new loss, this disability, is something she’s had a hard time coming to terms with. Her brothers and sister help her in every way they can. Diego was the first to go to an ASL class with her, the rest of the siblings promptly went after. Vanya would always offer her voice to talk to her daughter, to be her interpreter.

Five, the man who went through literal hell for the sake of his family, is now learning how to actually exist. Being a person is so much harder than he had ever imagined. He was focused for so long on one thing: surviving. Five never really thought about what to do after that. He doesn’t remember a life before ashes, fumes, and a sea of nothingness. He doesn’t remember a life before killing, before taking orders. Diego is the first person to notice when Five gets lost in his head at the dinner table, his fork shaking lightly in his hand and his eyes looking far off. He’s somewhere else. Diego would simply lay a gentle hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. It was grounding. Five doesn’t quite know who he is yet, but shopping trips to the mall with Allison and Klaus and movie nights with Ben and Vanya are certainly good places to start finding out.

Ben, although he’s only able to be corporeal for 7 hours max a day, has had to do his own adjusting. Sometimes he forgets he can be seen, touched. The touches can be overwhelming, the locked eyes too intimate. Diego and Klaus are patient with him. They understand that sometimes he just wants to be corporeal and alone and they give him the agency he deserves to do so. But he’s grateful to be apart of his family again even for a little while at a time.

Klaus has been sober for six months, the longest he’s ever gone since he was 13. He has never been able to go longer than 30 days without relapsing so 188 days is a huge feat. His siblings have held him through the terrible dope sickness, the bone rattling shakes, the nausea. Allison would silently tuck herself in his bed in the middle of the night after hearing him scream in the middle of the night, muttering heart wrenching words about war and his lost love. He’d sob in her embrace as she’d run her hands thru his curls, whispering kind affirmations until her throat begged her to stop. Diego would and has dropped anything to take the man out on a late night drive. Klaus wouldn’t even have to say a word. All it took was one look at his brother for Diego to know he needed to get out. The house, the mausoleum, had so much history -  there were just too many of them. It didn’t matter where they went, Diego would drive for hours until if it meant Klaus would fall asleep in silence and safe.

Then there’s Diego. The now ex-vigilante has been one of the most solid constants for his siblings over the last six months. He’s been there for them through each of their traumas, their coping, and their recovery. He’s been an anchor for each of them in his own way, never asking for a thank you or any recognition of the sort. Diego has always been the softest of them all, not that he would ever admit it. Before their rankings were enforced, before they were taught that emotions were a sign of weakness, Diego was the most empathetic of the bunch. He’d pick Vanya up when she fell and scraped her knee in the courtyard, helping her over to their mom for a band aid. He’d always play tag with Luther and would let him win when he could see he was getting frustrated at losing. Diego was always a good, kind brother in his own way.

Which is why it shocked Klaus that no one noticed until now. Diego had never been much of a talker unless he was angry and felt the need to be defensive. His nonverbal communication was usually enough. And he’s been less angry, working on his impulse control and actually thinking through his feelings instead of immediately acting on them. A silent pat on the shoulder, a hug, a nod towards the door to signal a car ride was all it took for his siblings to know his intentions.

But this? This went beyond Diego’s usual causal stoic silence.

The siblings were sat around on one of their three living areas, the only one with a TV. Diego, Klaus, and Ben were on the three seater couch with Diego cushioned in the middle. Vanya and Allison curled up on the floral loveseat and Five and Luther sat on their own recliners. They were watching Disney movies, per Allison’s instance that Five be educated on some of the classics he had missed out on. They were on movie number two, Bambi. Vanya and Diego’s favorite.

“Hey Di,” Klaus started, voice soft as looked up from his place on Diego’s chest to meet his deep brown eyes, “Why is Bambi your favorite Disney film? It makes sense for Van, but I wouldn’t expect something like Bambi to be your cup of tea.”

Klaus could feel Diego’s body tense at the question, pursing his mouth in thin line before he settled on a quick shrug of his shoulders. Klaus cocked his head, not finding that answer completely satisfactory. There was no witty comeback, no snide remark. No backlash. Why isn’t he saying anything? The more he started to think about it, the more he realized something.

Diego hasn’t said a word all day. Wait, scratch that. He actually can’t remember the last time he heard his brother say anything. Something that hasn’t happened since they came home from an interview where Diego stuttered through an answer and was forcibly shoved in the tank for 36 hours.

“C’mon bro, this is a safe space and all.” Klaus shifted from his spot on Diego and straightened up, turning his body so he could look his brother straight in the eyes. “Tell me. Why is this your favorite movie?” He asked again, louder this time. Diego didn’t know how long ago the movie got paused but what he did know is that he wished he didn’t give Five the remote privileges for the night.

“Diego?” Vanya piped up, her voice small but full of concern. “What’s wrong...are you..?” She trailed off. This was so unlike her big brother.

Diego opened his mouth, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His tongue was jammed in his mouth and nothing but strangled grunts escaped his lips. He gave up after a few moments, closing his eyes tight and sighing softly. He started to shrink in on himself, his usual usual strong presence turning into anything but.

“Oh Di.” Ben wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Diego gave another shrug, his body releasing some of the tension he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Diego, how long has this exactly been going on?”  Five asked cautiously, his voice lacking it’s usual edge and snark.

The six siblings watched as their brother struggled to form words. They all saw the shame start to wash over his face. He was becoming more red as each second passed. Diego started to close in on himself, but Ben’s arm was keeping him from completely slipping away. They knew he was almost scared of their reactions of what would come out of his mouth.

“Please, Diego we just want to help. It’s...it’s okay. Like Klaus said, safe space.” Luther affirmed, leaning forward from his seat and placing a firm grip on his knee and giving it a light squeeze. Allison cleared her throat until Diego met her eyes and gave a gentle smile.

“Please, we love you.” She signed and mouthed.

He took a deep breath, trying to remember what his mom told him all those years ago. Just picture the word in your mind, right? He knew his trigger letters, he knew to speak out the exhale of a breath if his stutter was particularly bad.

“S-since M-mon-m-monday.” He managed to get the answer out, his hands curling in tight fists and leaving moon imprints on his palms. God, this was a lot harder without Grace here.

Vanya eyes immediately narrowed at her brothers frustration and in one swift motion she plopped herself criss cross applesauce right in front of the man before he could break skin. She gently ran her hand on his knuckles and started massaging his wrist until he slowly released the firm grip.

“Monday?! Bro, that’s six freakin’ days!” Klaus exclaimed, his eyes widening.

“Diego, why didn’t you tell us? It’s just - you’ve helped us all so much. Like, with everything. Let us help you this time, yeah? I know you like being the strong, big brother all the time but it’s okay. You don’t think any less of me when you help me, right? Or Five?” Klaus stressed. Diego shook his head.

“Right! So don’t wait so long to confide when stuff comes up. I’m sorry I didn’t even think to see how you’ve been coping? We’ve all been so caught up in our own lives that it just. It shouldn’t of slipped - it won’t happen again.”

Diego nodded again, letting out a soft scoff.

“I-I-I th-thought I c-could g-get over it alone. But w-w-with-without m-mom…”

“Without mom, it’s hard, right?” Vanya finished a few seconds after Diego stopped, making sure she wasn’t speaking over him.

“It won’t be the same, and I can’t promise we’ll be as good as her. But we can try. All of us.” Five assured, the other five siblings agreeing and nodding their heads.

“It’s n-not that I-I-I don’t trust y-you guys,” Diego paused, thinking carefully on how to word the next statement.

“I-I just d-d-didn’t w-want to w-worry you. I’m s-sorry I didn’t s-say a-any-anything.”

“Honestly? I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried, Di.” Klaus started softly, “But we don’t have to go through this shit alone anymore, remember? You of all people should know that. You’ve taken me on more drives the last few months than I’ve been on in like, my entire life. You take Van to every rehearsal, you’re the best at ASL so far. You’ve always had the biggest ‘protective big bro’ energy and I’m sure even Lu over here can admit that.” To which Luthe agreed with a “true, true” at the statement.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to lean on us when you need to.” Klaus ruffled Diego’s hair, causing a quiet giggle to erupt from the man.

“I think this calls for a Hargreeves group hug, no?” Allison whispered softly and signed.

“GROUP HUG!” Ben exclaimed, wrapping his other arm around Diego. The rest of the siblings jumped up and squashed themselves around each other, not daring to move for another 30 seconds.

“I-I know I c-c-can h-hold my b-breath, b-but I d-don’t think F-Five can.” Diego’s voice was barely audible, muffled from the center of the pile.

“Oh Diego, always the observant one.” Five gasped as they disbanded, heaving dramatically.

“I think Di deserves remote privileges for the rest of the night, no?” Vanya grinned, running her hand through her hair.

“The honor is yours. But please, no more Fight Club.” Five pleaded.

“Fine. K-k-karate k-kid.” Diego retorted, yanking the remote off the chair and collapsing back on the couch. Five rolled his eyes, but his tiny grin and prominent dimple always gave away his lack of annoyance.

“Karate Kid it is then.” Luther agreed.

Yeah, so maybe they weren’t perfect. But they were the only people who could even begin to understand what each other went through. They knew each other through and through. They knew each of their flaws, their insecurities, their defense mechanisms. That meant nothing goes unnoticed, but that always meant that nothing would go unsupported. The seven of them would be there for each other always - the spent entirely too long tearing one another apart. And they saw how that could’ve ended. They weren’t going to do that anymore, the Hargreeves made sure of that.

[yellowsugarwords]

When you have time could you do head canons based on something I saw on tumblr where it said Gabe's biggest fear is becoming like dad and hurting those he loves and he's with Clem so he does the whole 'you and I must stay away from each other bc I might hurt you absjfbj' thing and clem has to convince him it'll be fine

part 2:

Ayo a while back I requested this headcanon set and wanted to add/modify the request? If it’s not too much trouble? It’s the request of Gabe worrying he’ll hurt Clem bc his dad hurt kate and javi. I was wondering if you could make it into a sequel to that high school au gabentine set you did. If you’ve already written the headcanon set/already started than you can ignore this lol I don’t want to make fic writing hard for you… Anyways, stay blessed xx

here’s the first one!

Gabe’s family didn’t have a lot of money.

That had never been a secret to Clementine.

Clem knew from the get go.

Sliding him granola bars from her lunch.

But what she didn’t know was why.

Or that there even was a why.

She didn’t think there needed to be.

But she knew there was after they continued to hang out.

Day after day.

Almost constantly.

Almost always.

“I feel like an ass.”

“Why?” Clem asked, passing him a granola bar.

At lunch, they sat together on the front steps.

Clem with her packed lunch.

Gabe with nothing.

“Because I’m always taking your shit.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not.”

“That’s what I’ve always done,”

“I brought it for you.”

Gabe hated how sweet she was.

She was too sweet for him.

For someone like him.

She deserved better.

That’s why he hated it.

“Are we still going to the arcade later?”

Gabe closed his locker to get a better look at her.

She blinked when he didn’t respond. “My Mom says she can drive.”

Gabe gulped. “Maybe.” He said.

Clem frowned.

She had been looking forward to it all week.

“I’ve been feeling down lately,” Gabe said.

Clem nodded. “We don’t need to go.”

“Yeah.”

They both felt crushed.

Gabe didn’t show up for lunch the next day.

Clementine ate alone.

Heartsick.

“Gabe?”

Gabe tensed at his locker.

“Are you avoiding me?” Her voice almost cracked when speaking.

Gabe was her only friend.

Her only real friend.

Gabe gulped again. “No,”

Clem blinked, brows tense.

“Maybe,”

Her shoulders sagged.

“I don’t think you should hang out with me,”

Clem could feel her heart crack.

“What?” She could hardly force the words out.

Gabe slammed his locker closed.

Clem didn’t jump.

“I only ever hurt people.” His gaze fell over her. “I’m not good for you.”

Clem wanted to argue but he left before she could.

Clementine tried her best.

Slipped granola bars through the gaps in his locker.

Smiled at him in math.

Passed him in the halls.

He looked away.

Avoiding her.

Clementine left school late a few days later.

Some of the longest days of her life.

She missed him.

Terribly.

More than anything.

Gabe was sitting on the front steps.

In the darkness.

Just as Clem came out to wait for her mom.

“Gabe?”

Her tensed.

And turned.

And felt his heart flop.

There she was.

Her.

His her.

“What are you doing here?”

Gabe looked away.

Feeling sick.

“Killing time.”

He could hear her sit down beside him.

He could feel his warmth.

He missed her more than he ever had.

And she was right beside him.

“Why can’t you go home?”

Gabe gulped, staring straight ahead.

“It’s not safe there.”

His Dad was in a mood.

One of his darker ones.

Where he yells.

Screams.

Throws things sometimes.

He felt as if he was thinking about it.

But it was when he turned to Clementine.

Her jaw dropped.

Her face broken.

Did he realize he had said it aloud.

“Gabe…”

“I don’t want to be like him.” he said.

Turning away.

Heart churning.

“It’s…it’s what I hate the most about myself.”

He could hear her heart crack with her voice.

“Your Dad?”

“No,” he said. “That I’m a part of him.”

He could feel a warmth on his arm.

And he knew Clementine was reaching out.

Touching him.

Then, he felt something warmer.

A soft press to his cheek.

Something that made his face flush.

His body go hot.

His ears heat.

A kiss.

The softest, sweetest touch.

“You aren’t like him,” Clementine said.

Her hand slid down his arm.

Gently. Softly.

“Nothing at all.”

Gabe couldn’t remember the last time he was touched so gently.

Treated so sweetly.

Treated as if he was a gift.

A blessing.

Something worth cherishing.

He looked at her.

Didn’t bother hiding the flush in his cheeks.

And stared at her.

He had missed her so much.

In only the past few days.

He couldn’t avoid her anymore.

He needed her.

He wanted her.

He grabbed her neck.

And brushed his thumb across her cheek.

And kissed her.

As softly as she had with him.

He treated her as gently as she had him.

And she melted.

She dropped her books to cling to him.

To grasp his arms.

To stay close to him.

When they pulled away, both breathless, they sighed.

Lost in each other.

Rekindling their spark.

The one they both feared they had lost.

“See?” Clem smirked. “Nothing like him.”

Gabe laughed. “How?”

“Because,” she brushed his fingers across his palms. “You’re soft and gentle with me.”

Gabe couldn’t shake his grin.

Not when Clem offered him a ride home.

Not when her mom asked him how he was doing.

Not when Clem squeezed his hand before he got out of the car.

He was his own person.

Not like his father.

Not anything like him.

Because he had someone like Clementine to prove it.

[cosmicak]

Crush - HidaDei Gift

This is for Sophie or @squipwich for the @akatsuki-gift-exchange !! I really hope you like it! It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written for fun and I had a great time writing it 💖 Happy Holidays Sophie~

This’ll also be on Ao3 (username: Cosmica) just in case Tumblr decides it’s too impure for its good Christian neighbourhood ❤️

Pairing: HidaDei

Words: 2,072

Written in Deidara’s POV as I saw he was listed as your first fave 💥

Contrary to popular belief, Hidan does not sleep naked.

Which is what Deidara discovered when he was sent on his first mission with the devout jashinist. Sasori having had been killed a few months prior by a certain pink haired kunoichi and Kakuzu being occupied with his budgeting for the Month. The two had been sent off on their journey to find and eliminate a mole of Akatsuki that had turned snitch.

Deidara wasn’t so sure why his brain thought this information was so crucial to remember. Maybe he was just going insane with the constant berating Hidan did when his original partner was brought up in conversation, or how many times he had to hear about god damn Jashin and how utterly amazing Hidan’s stupid religion was.

God, he needed a drink.

“How far along is the next village, hmm?”

“I don’t fucking know you have the damn map, don’t you?”

Oh, right .

Checking the map as he pulled it out from his cloak, he noticed the weren’t that far from the land of Lightning’s border, noting a small village residing right between the countries. Perfect.

“It’s getting dark, so next village can we get a room at an Inn? We need to report to Leader-sama of this guys whereabouts, hmm” He proposed to his traveling partner, looking over the map with his visible eye, looking at Hidan’s back. The older man turned, walking backwards as he contemplated his reply, fingers holding his chin.

“Why don’t we just camp out instead of risking our asses getting caught by lightning country shinobi? I’d love to sacrifice a few of those fucks to Jashin but right now I could go for a fucking nap” Hidan further emphasised his point by yawning loudly and stretching, making Deidara sigh, he hated camping, he’d be picking bugs and whatever else out of his hair for days. Deidara shrugged, putting the map away as Hidan rolled his magenta eyes and turned back around, fingers sinking into his silver hair as he ran his hand through it to flatten it back to his original style, grumbling about the wind. This was when he started noticing little things about the man traveling with him. How the ends of his slicked back hair curled up slightly as he ran his hand over them, the gel must of come off and the scars on his hand from he was assuming the aftermath of one of his stupid rituals, making them look rough and intimidating- Deidara paused for a moment.

Why the hell was he..admiring Hidan?

The blond frowned, he had never admired anyone from the Akatsuki before. Not that there really was anyone to admire, Itachi was a bastard and Deidara would rather loose is arm to Zetsu than touch Itachi with a ten foot pole. Kisame, body wise, wasn’t that bad looking but his blue skin and shark like eyes threw Deidara off. Kakuzu was just..Old and very greedy, and Deidara thought back to when he’d been told about what he’d done to his..previous partners. Sasori was dead. The remaining Akatsuki, Deidara thought, were just too damn weird. Deidara knew he had never really been into women like most men are, but he’s never been with a man either.

Deidara’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud yelling.

“What the fuck has gotten into you? Oi blondie! why have you stopped fucking walking? Let’s go!” He heard his partner say, suddenly breaking away from his thoughts of sexuality, seeing the man in question. Waving his hand in front of his face, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a frown. Deidara slapped his hand away gently and averted his eyes from looking into the others, filled with frustration.

“I was just thinking about the mission, hmm” He replied, arms crossed as to emphasise his point. From the corner of his eye, he sees Hidan smirk, Deidara knew he should not have found that, or anything attractive, about the man in front of him.

“Then do you want to explain to me why the fuck your face is red eh?” Hidan teased, finger poking at Deidara’s cheek, making the blond scowl, brow furrowing at the action. He slapped his hand away harder this time and resumed walking, hiding his red face behind his long fringe. Hearing the footfall of the other behind him catching up, Deidara shoved his hand into his clay pouch, trying to occupy himself with making one of his masterful creations. Instead of looking at the man who was getting him so worked up. He saw from the corner of his eye as Hidan came into step beside him, the immortals mocking gaze still on him. Deidara thinks he could see why Kakuzu wanted to strangle his partner so much. ________________________________________________________________________________

Deidara had come to the conclusion that maybe camping wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, he could have gone for a walk.

After his embarrassing encounter on their walk to the small village they currently reside in, Hidan did nothing but stare at him with a shit eating grin, occasionally making crude remarks about how the younger man had been flustered and how fucking hilarious it was. Not long after that Deidara had sent the immortal flying into a tree with one of his creations.

No regrets, the blond smirked to himself.

They had entered the inn and demanded a room, the sultry woman behind the desk gave Hidan the key and gave him a wink. Deidara noticed how she pushed her bosom forward, trying to seduce the man beside him. He watched as Hidan waved his hand as thanks before walking away from the desk, Deidara quickly followed suit.

As they got to their room for the night, Deidara noticed there was only one bed, which wasn’t unusual for shady inns like the one they were currently in and being in the Akatsuki, you usually shared a bed during missions like this, but Deidara had never shared a bed with his former partner as.. Well.

Sasori didn’t really need to sleep.

He watched as Hidan placed his scythe against the one desk and unzipped his cloak, throwing it into the chair next to his scythe. Deidara took his own cloak off, neatly putting it on the small hanger next to the entrance, leaving him in his cropped shirt and Akatsuki issued pants. Putting his bags of clay aside, he stretched, the satisfyingly pop coming from his back. Just as he let his hands fall to his side, Hidan had fallen onto the bed, a loud sigh coming from him as Hidan pulled himself up to rest his head on the pillow. Deidara went through his options, he could sleep in the bed with the older man, or he could take the couch which looked like it would likely collapse under his own weight. Deidara quickly made his choice and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Before he could take a moment to relax he felt a weight suddenly come onto his back, pale scarred arm coming into view from behind and locking around his neck.

Deidara screeched as he felt knuckles rubbing roughly against his scalp, struggling in the hold of the man behind him.

“Hidan! You bastard, let me go, hmm!” The younger man cried out, hearing the Jashinist behind him cackle as he let go. Deidara’s head snapped to look at Hidan and his shit eating grin.

“That’s what you fucking get for fucking blowing me into a tree you fuck” he mocked, grin twisting into a smirk which made Deidara’s heart skip a beat. Deidara sneered and got up, hands already fixing what mess Hidan had made of his hair. Oh, He was going to pay for that.

“I’m going to get food, I’m fucking starving” his roommate declared as he arose from the bed. Deidara grumbled a reply and let his hair down from its high ponytail.

“Get me something too- wait, do you even have any money, Hidan, hmm?” Enquired Deidara, pushing his long hair behind his shoulder, he saw Hidan reach into the pocket of his cloak, pulling out a small coin purse, shoving it into the pocket of his pants before grabbing his scythe.

“Eat a dick, just because Kakuzu fucking hoards his own money doesn’t mean I don’t have my own, you think that fuckface buys me food?” Hidan retorted, strapping his scythe to his back, the strap resting across his lean, muscular torso. Deidara could appreciate the sight for just a moment before he realised he needed to reply to the man across from him. Deidara shrugged as he watched Hidan walk to the door, slipping his shoes on.

“I’ll get us some shitty ramen or whatever, I’ll be back soon” He yelled over his shoulder before exiting, leaving Deidara alone in the shady room. Deidara sighed and ran his hands down his face, letting out a long groan as he sat down on the bed, letting himself fall back, looking up at the cracked ceiling. He supposed Hidan wasn’t the worst person you could have a crush on out of all of the current members of Akatsuki.

__________________________________________________________________________________

When Hidan returned that night, Deidara almost puked when he turned covered in blood and his stomach slashed open, and his right arm holding his left arm which was carrying their dinner. Lovely.

Hidan’s stomach seemed to heal itself which was a relief to Deidara, but he was then tasked with stitching Hidan’s arm to his shoulder. After they ate their really shitty ramen, Deidara sat Hidan down on the bed and sat cross legged next to him, needle and thread in hand as he tried stitching the arm back on. Deidara was horrible at stitching, both clothes and body parts alike.

“Deidara, what the fuck are you doing? Fuck, you’re so slow” The man beside him groaned, head back, exposing his muscular neck as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. Which was something Deidara appreciated, he had stitched the arm together on the outside half but yet still needed to stitch just above his armpit. Deidara lifted the arm up so he could stitch the inside of his arm together , eyes drifting back to admire the other man once again. How his sharp jaw led down to a strong neck and broad shoulders, chest covered in numerous scars from self harming during his rituals along with his signature Jashinist rosary, lean torso leading down to his silver happy trail and v-line-

“Like what you see eh?” He heard the man he was blatantly admiring tease, Deidara’s eyes snapped up to see Hidan’s face not only looking directly at him but he had gotten much closer. Deidara shouted in surprise and fell back, falling onto the floor, and as he’d been stitching his arm back on, Hidan fell with him. Hidan’s one intact arm was holding him up while his haphazardly stitched arm was limp in Deidara’s hand, legs spread wide as Hidan’s hips rest against his.

Deidara’s mind went blank, all he could focus on was the feeling of Hidan’s breath fanning on his face and how close he was. The weight of Hidan’s hips against his own, the feeling was addicting- that was until Hidan’s damned rosary poked him in the eye, pulling him from his fantasy and into real life once more. Deidara sat up and lent back on his one free arm, his face directly facing Hidan’s much more perplexed looking one, for once he wasn’t arrogant but more curious if anything. Deidara was about to make a sarcastic remark about if Kakuzu was usually in his role until he felt a pair of rough lips on his own. Deidara’s azure eyes widened, the grip on Hidan’s limp arm tightened as he watched Hidan’s eyes sink, barely open look into his own. Deidara took a leaf of faith and kissed the immortal back, dropping the useless arm to wrap a hand around the back of the other’s neck. The two losing themselves into the tender kiss.

As Deidara felt Hidan part for air shortly later he couldn’t help but notice the light pink settling on his cheeks, watching Hidan lick his lips and run his fingers through his slicked back silver hair, the blond couldn’t help but think that Sasori dying was the best thing that ever happened to him in the 19 years he had been alive.

[takaraphoenix]

@rinssaem *sighs softly* Stupid tumblr ate the ask when I was half-way through. I swear, the key-combinations when answering asks are the worst.

Okay, so this is interesting and I love answering asks like those! (Which is why I am currently answering it for the second time ;-;)

I don’t have recommendations for HiJack or Klance, because it’s not like I actually wrote a lot for either of them. Most are around 1k short things and those are... snacks for in-between. Not a recommendable main-course.

So, let’s do the big one first. Sorted by word-count, because I am super not also going to rank those. I am not good at making decisions like that.

And thanks to the power of screenshots, I’ll just split this up and do a separate post for the Shadowhunters recs. ;)

Nicercy:

“Percy and the Ghost King of Summers High” - I love this story a lot. Otherwise, I would not have bumped the chapter-count up to 50 to make it my second longest fic of all times. It just has everything I love. Pining, slow-building of trust, the friendship dynamics, mermaids and catboys and vampires, Percy having a good and loving family.

“Percy Jackson, Ambassador of Hades” - Less so about the Nicercy, more so about the family dynamics, because Percy raised by Hades and dad!Hades coupled with adorable kiddo!Percy was just so much fun and then there’s Percy who actually gets trained to know how to use his powers and raised as Leo’s brother... so many of my favorite things.

“All the Percybilities” - One of my favorites for the Nicercy relationship itself, but also the story around it. I was being really clever there and I do love when I’m being clever. You, actually having a plot around the whole relationship. The alternate realities were so much fun to write and the changed dynamics of it all.

“Dead Dinosaurs and Living Legends” - Parent-switch AU that was really a lot of fun. I enjoy when I get to change up the ever-same dynamics some and, as mentioned above, dad!Hades coupled with adorable kiddo!Percy is insanely fun.

“How to Court the Prettiest Omega Ever in Five Years or Less” - My first PJatO ABO-verse and it was a lot of fun to write, changing the same old tropes up some, with Percy standing up for himself, the way they got together and dealt with everything and what a cute dork Nico was.

“Because We’re Real” - I hold a special love for this one, because it’s very... down to Earth and real. The Navy SEAL with the PTSD finding comfort and love in the arms of his nerdy graphic novelist.

“Honey, I Shrank the Hero” - Like I said before, I have a weak spot for kiddo!Percy. He’s so endearing. And deaged!Percy interacting with his friends was, you guessed it, a lot of fun to write.

“I Would, But My Mom Said No” - The only newer entry among the oneshots, but this was such a nice change of pace. The slow-burn, the different dynamics, how very grounded it was.

“Starcrossed Lovers” - Potentially my most reread Nicercy oneshot, because it’s so... very different from my other work. Also part of the reason why I love Summers High so much, because I let that bloodthirst bleed into that story too - though different from this mafia AU of course.

“The Dragon’s Treasure” - It’s so funny? I like when I manage to be funny, personally I don’t think I manage to do it very often. But dragon!Nico AU was funny and cute and also fun to write.

[stereksummerexchange]

Bad Karma

@ritarmandi - After a bit of lurking on your tumblr, it seems you have a soft spot for magic!Stiles, so here, have some magic!Stiles causing a bit of mischief from the POV of an unwitting outsider!

by @kai-strex

Josh has come to learn that everything about Stilinski is a little odd.

Note: I have zero experience with college dorms.

Josh never believed in karma until he got to college. In just the first two weeks, Micah broke the vending machine that gave access to the nearest supply of chips and then every shower ran cold no matter which stall he stepped in; Brett set off the fire alarm at four in the morning and then had a pipe burst in the bathroom all over his only pair of shoes, which stayed dripping wet for an entire week despite being left on the radiator at every spare moment; and after Andy and Craig ‘accidentally’ ate the leftover pizza belonging to Stilinski - Josh’s dorm room neighbour - their room became a wifi deadzone. (Two months later and they’re still being forced to set up shop in the hallway with no fix managed. Stilinski always looks oddly gleeful whenever he sees them huddled out there.)

Though, Josh has come to learn that everything about Stilinski is a little odd. He grows herbs on the windowsill of the room he shares with McCall, has intricate red tattoos swirling up his arm like vines - probably the latest hipster trend that he’ll find himself regretting in six months time - and Josh is pretty sure his geeky, thick-framed glasses have no prescription, even though he always makes a point to perch them on his nose whenever he stares at the blank pages of the leatherbound book he carries everywhere with him.

Josh hasn’t really had much to do with him - except for that one time their hands brushed and he got an electric shock - but the guy’s door is always open and seems to be admitting a never ending stream of visitors. They leave with small packets of said ‘herbs’, leading Josh to the only conclusion that he must be the dorm’s resident dealer. (Once, he thought he saw the guy hand a nervous, waif-like girl a tiny stoppered vial of acid green liquid - though when he blinked, it turned out it was just a novelty eraser and Stilinski flashed him a wink.)

Josh is all for everyone finding their recreation wherever they please but he’s surprised at how blatant Stilinski’s activities are. It’s probably the reason for their RA’s eyebrows pulling down into a scowl whenever he catches sight of the guy.

Stern but fair, Derek is probably the best RA Josh could have hoped for, but something about Stilinski seems to just rub him the wrong way. Whenever he’s in the vicinity, Derek is all but gnashing his teeth and when Stilinski flutters his eyelashes and smiles that impish grin of his, it - inconceivably - ties the usually articulately-spoken RA’s tongue into knots.

It hadn’t taken long for a secret betting pool to open up predicting when they’d finally get each other’s clothes off. Josh’s prediction passed by a week ago so he’s down ten bucks to Micah, the only one of them who’d guessed it would take this long. Lucky son of a bitch. Or maybe it’s the karma? He’d better watch out. It has a habit of turning at the drop of a hat around here.

*

Josh is running late one morning in early November, cursing his lucky roommate who has a late start as he fumbles their door closed behind him. He’s just wrestling his bag onto his shoulder when Derek storms across the corridor and slams into Stilinski’s room.

“Stop it,” he snarls.

“Stop what?” comes Stilinski’s voice, dripping with airy innocence.

“You know what.”

“Get Isaac to apologise and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Isaac Lahey is the most recent victim of the karma curse, waking up yesterday morning with hands somehow stained bright red, though Josh has no idea what he did to bring that down on himself. He doesn’t know what problem Stilinski could have with him either.

There’s a thud and as Josh inches by, he sees Derek pressing Stilinski against the wall, hands fisted in his collar. Josh has heard the phrase ‘seeing red’, but for a moment he’s sure Derek’s eyes are actually glowing.

“If I’d have known you liked it rough, Sourwolf, I would have invited you in sooner.” Stilinski leans closer to Derek whose resident scowl has melted and now he just looks dazed, ears pinking. And is he staring at Stilinski’s lips? The way they quirk up at the corners say it hasn’t escaped Stilinski’s notice.

Josh accelerates down the hallway as Derek barrels out of the room and back to his own. He doesn’t need to be seen putting his nose where it doesn’t belong. He also doesn’t have the precious seconds to spare.

*

Thursdays are Josh’s longest day of classes so the dizzying trek to the top floor of the dorms that he usually considers the bane of his existence is, for one day a week, a blessed relief.

Derek and Stilinski are having a hushed conversation at the top. Despite having never met before, Josh has spotted them whispering in corners since their very first day in the dorms and at least three times a week since. They’re always accompanied by Derek’s usual scowl, but what’s not so usual is how serious Stilinski always looks. Josh has never been able to catch what they’re saying and the discussion today ends as he crests the final flight. It’s so commonplace he doesn’t even wonder what they mutter about anymore.

Derek nods at Josh as he starts to make his own descent, a stack of paper in one hand, and Stilinski has his elbows draped over the banister, watching.

“Just remember what I said,” Derek says to Stilinski over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, Alpha,” Stilinski purrs.

There’s a choking sound and swish of paper and Josh looks back to see Derek’s worksheets spiralling down the stairwell. He’s staring open-mouthed at Stilinski whose eyes sparkle above a wicked smile.

Josh shakes his head and continues his weary trudge towards his room. These guys are driving him crazy.

*

He’s jolted awake that very same night by Stilinski yelling, “I can take care of myself!”

There’s urgent shushing and a low, rumbling murmur that can only belong to Derek. Josh lifts his head from his pillow, straining his ears.

Stilinski is hissing, ���You’re the one who nearly got your arm ripped off by that other Alpha.”

Getting into a fight with some fraternity? That doesn’t sound like usual Derek behaviour. Though, by the sounds of it, he was defending Stilinski’s honour, in which case it makes perfect sense.

Can’t they just bone already? Josh asks himself as he rolls over and tugs the sheets over his head. He just wishes he had the courage to open his door and yell it at them.

*

The next morning, Josh spies Stilinski and Derek in line in the cafeteria, standing close, though it looks like Stilinski is giving the RA the cold shoulder. The argument of the night before clearly hasn’t been resolved. Josh can’t help eavesdropping.

“What, are you going to punish me this time?” Derek is asking. “Turn all my course notes to Japanese? Zap all my underwear to the moon?”

Stilinski smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Derek scowls coolly back, and though he can’t put his finger on why, Josh finds himself gulping for him.

*

When he gets back to the dorms after classes, all of Derek’s shirts have mysteriously been sliced open from collar to hem. It’s not exactly unusual for Derek to be walking around the dorm without a shirt, but Stilinski still leans against his doorframe and leers at Derek’s bare torso whenever he stomps by.

*

The next night, Josh goes for drinks at a friend’s place off campus which is exactly what he needs to get away from the weird and downright impossible goings on at the dorm, like the fact that all of Derek’s shirts had been inexplicably restored when he woke up that morning or that he’s ninety-percent sure he saw a black wolf jumping out of Stilinski’s dorm window in the middle of the night. He has no idea what’s going on anymore.

He’s still feeling pleasantly buzzed when he gets back to the dorm at one in the morning, already chalking everything up to sleep deprivation and the stress of an increasing workload.

As he passes Stilinski’s room, a thud comes from inside, followed by Derek snarling, “Jesus, Stiles, you can’t just-”

Josh heaves a sigh and rolls his head on his shoulders in exasperation. He’s had enough of their shit.

Fuelled by his liquid courage, he spins round and slams the door open. He realises too late that there was probably a reason why it was closed for once.

“Okay, that’s it, will you two just-”

The words shrivel in his throat as he takes in the two of them sprawled across Stilinski’s bed, Derek’s jeans undone and slipping down his thighs, Stilinski with his shirt off and revealing that his tattoos spread all the way up his arms, across his chest and down his stomach, all the way to the spot above his belly button where Derek had been in the midst of tracing them with his tongue.

“Oh,” Josh squeaks. “As you were.”

He pulls the door shut with a snap and stands frozen in the corridor for a few long seconds, already pretending that Derek’s mouth full of fangs and Stiles’ eyes shining gold was just a trick of the light. He focuses instead on the triumph of About time! as he continues on to his own room with a spring in his step resulting from the alcohol and a vehement denial of reality. His internal celebrating lasts even through Stilinski’s choruses of “Fuck, Derek, oh fuck-” echoing through the wall, even though that’s something he could really have done without hearing, ever.

On the bright side, he thinks, as he pulls his pillow over his head to block out the world he no longer understands, Maybe it will finally put an end to their constant bickering.

*

 The next morning, he’s awoken by a monumental crash next door.

“STILES.”

Maybe not.

[welllpthisishappening]

Out of the Frying Pan (17/?)

“Were there extra cookies?” “You literally just ate a plate of onion rings.” “Were there extra cookies?” Henry repeated.

“No,” Killian laughed. “And even if there were, your mom absolutely would have eaten them.” “Rude,” Emma mumbled and Killian’s side moved slightly when he laughed again in response. Mary Margaret looked like she was going to start crying again at the sight of early-relationship-whatever banter.

AN: If you haven’t told @laurnorder how delightful and awesome she is, go ahead and do that now because it’d probably be weird if I just did it, like, all the time. 

Living it up on Ao3 and tag’ed up on Tumblr as per usual. 

“We’re going to take another ten before we film the third, ok?” Regina asked, appearing a few feet in front of them suddenly. She’d seized control of the show again, something about instructions from Zelena and having the most experience with competition shows and no one really seemed to care except for her.

Killian barely even processed the words – taken back a bit by how much watching Emma lose had made his stomach churn.

What a fucking disaster.

She still hadn’t moved – Regina glanced at her warily and Killian met his producer’s eyes. “We’ve got it, Gina,” he said softly, body turned entirely towards Emma. She still hadn’t moved.

Regina nodded and did her best to smile encouragingly and Killian appreciated the effort, even if the final result fell a bit flat. He didn’t say anything else until the sound of Regina’s heels had retreated to the other side of the studio, taking a step towards Emma and wrapping his fingers around her shoulder.

She moved then – shoulder slumping underneath his touch as she took a step back. And he tried very hard not to sigh.

He didn’t succeed.

“They didn’t like it,” she said softly, eyes trained at her feet.

“I heard.” “They liked yours. And Graham’s. They didn’t like mine.” “That happens sometimes, Swan,” Killian said, doing his best to sound reasonable and supportive when his mind was still very much hung up on the fact that she’d taken a step back.

“Not for you.” “Ah, well, we can’t all be quite as fantastic as I am.” She let out a shaky laugh and that felt a bit like a victory – enough to make him take a step back towards her and, this time, Emma didn’t move. Instead, she lifted her head, meeting his eyes with something that almost looked like a smile as she twisted her hands together in the space between them.

“That’s probably true,” she said softly.

“You’re a very close second, love.” “Gee, thanks.” “I know, you don’t have to tell me how overwhelmingly charming I am.” Emma laughed again and she was actually smiling now, tongue darting across her lips as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. “You going to let me try your food now?” she asked, taking a step towards the table and grabbing the plate before he’d even given her an answer.

“Of course.” She leaned against the edge of the table, twirling the fork in between in her fingers before taking a bite, closing her eyes slightly as she ate. And then she beamed at him. “You’re right,” she said, nodding towards the space next to her.

Killian moved where she directed, grabbing the plate of her food as he went. “About what, Swan?” “This is fantastic.” “Look who’s the charmer now. And anyway, that’s half your victory, you’re the one who explained what to do with the beans.” “I’m being honest,” she said and there was absolutely no way to doubt her. “And fat lot of good that did me. Jeez, Henry’s going to be so mad. We had a whole system. I was supposed to repurpose everything.” “You cooked them, Swan. That’s all I did too.” “Not well enough, apparently.” “What are you worried about?” “Would you like an itemized list?” “Just an answer would be good.” She sighed, taking another bite of food before he answered. “I needed this one,” Emma said slowly. “The Cutthroat win has been huge. The numbers have gone up over the last couple of weeks and Zelena had a meeting with Ruby about possibly getting me my timeslot back. So we talked about it, which is all we seem to be doing now, and Rubes thought if I won today and then added a good showing with the Christmas episode, we might get back to 10 by the start of next year. But then I couldn’t repurpose beans with a disgusting name and Henry’s going to be so disappointed.” Killian took a bite of her food so he didn’t have to answer immediately – a dozen different emotions coursing through his system. Mostly he was frustrated with himself and curious how long first-time offenders got for robbing a bank.

Because he’d have to rob the bank.

There was no way around it. He couldn’t beat her at this thing. He couldn’t let her think she wasn’t enough.

And the only way he’d be able to afford the expansion was if he robbed a bank and paid off Gold.

Emma bit her lip, glancing at him and shifting her body where she was sitting. “Anyway,” she said quickly, taking his silence as something entirely different the conflicted mess he was. “That’s my sad, little story. I’m glad you made it through though. That’s a good thing.” “Swan,” he sighed. “Nah, we’re not doing the pity thing. That’s not how we roll.” “I’m not, honestly. I just don’t think one episode of this stupid all-star thing is going to completely change the numbers you’re pulling. You didn’t get chopped first, so that’s good and this food is fucking delicious so I don’t know what the judges were thinking.” She stared at him, eyes going wide and green. “Yeah?” “Scout’s honor.” “I hardly pegged you for some kind of boy scout,” Emma laughed. “I was under the impression you were a ruthless pirate.” “Not ruthless. Dashing, maybe. But never ruthless.” “Good to know.” “You know Henry could never be disappointed in you right?”

Emma’s shoulders sagged and she twisted around, setting down the plate behind her. “That might be what I’m worried most about.” “That should be the bottom of the list.” “You don’t really know him.” “And you’re pulling at straws.”

“It’s just that I’ve sacrificed a lot for this or something that sounds a little less melodramatic,” she said, pressing her palms into the edge of the table. “And Henry’s only got me as far as parents go and that’s my fault and he’s always at M’s and David’s apartment and I didn’t know about that history test.” “He got an A on that.” “That was because of you. I didn’t know any of those dates.” “I’d be happy to help again,” Killian said, staring at her and doing his best not to blink. She twisted her hands again, toying with the edges of her fingernails and this might actually be the longest ten-minute break in the history of filming.

“I bet he’d like that.” “Good. So would I.” “Really?” “You don’t have to sound so stunned every time, Swan,” Killian said, pulling apart her hands with his own. Her eyes flashed down, staring at them and nodding slowly. “I can guarantee I’m not lying to you.” About that at least.

Fuck. He really was an asshole.

“Believing you is a bit of a work in progress,” she mumbled.

“I can wait.” Emma stared at him – like she was waiting for the but or the list of demands that came along with the promises and her mouth dropped open a bit when she realized neither one of those things were coming.

He could be better.

And he could wait.

He could be someone his brother would actually be proud of – not someone who walked away or didn’t believe in anything or was fairly positive everything he’d ever loved would, eventually, be yanked away from him.

And he’d be enough for Emma Swan.

“Killian, you ready to go?” Regina asked, heels sounding like a jackhammer on the studio floors. Emma tried to move, but Killian’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding her in place as he kept his eyes straight on her.

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” “Emma,” Regina continued, voice almost sounding friendly and Killian would have to thank her for that later. Add an extra olive in the martini or something. “I think they want you to do your talking head now, just to kind of keep things on schedule.” “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Emma said briskly, pulling her hand away from Killian’s and standing up. She glanced back at him, the smile on her face wide and earnest. “I think you should probably make cookies. That’ll totally beat Graham. What does he know about baking anyway?  He’s good at meat and like building his own fires or something.” “Noted, Swan, thank you.” She nodded once, still smiling as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek quickly before calling for Ruby and walking towards the door of the studio.

And, Goddamn, if he wasn’t absolutely going to make cookies now.

“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Regina said, jerking his attention back to the very real cooking show he still had to take part in.

“And you look smug. Save your I told you so speech or whatever, Robin already gave it yesterday.” “So I heard.”

“You two talk about everything?” “That’s usually how relationships work. Good ones at least.” “Yuh huh.” “You tell her about Gold yet?” Killian groaned, rolling his head back and pressing his fingertips into his cheekbones. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” “It hasn’t really come up.”

“Too busy acting like teenagers?” “Your fianc é was the one who asked how kissing worked yesterday.” “Yeah, I don’t think you should be giving him any advice,” Regina said pointedly, shifting her weight on her heels. “He’s been doing a pretty good job on his own for the last five years.” “That’s not something I need to know.” Regina shrugged. “You should tell her about Gold.” “You’re all pro-this now?” “I am, always, pro-you and I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile this much. Or saw Emma smile this much, honestly. So, sure, I am pro-this whatever it is. But you should tell her about Gold and the deal and then you two should stop making out in the pantry while you’re filming because it took me nearly the entire second round to persuade them not to keep that footage.” Killian squeezed his eyes shut – he’d probably have to give Regina unlimited martinis for the rest of the week. And he realized, again, that he might actually be the luckiest bastard in the entire world for the one night she’d decided to walk into his restaurant and decide he was some sort of project she had to take on.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled.

“And how exactly do you think Emma would have reacted if I hadn’t?” Killian sighed. “That’s what I figured,” Regina said, smug look back on her face. “I’m just saying, you two have already sparked some rumors and that’s good for TV, but I’ve got a pretty good feeling that she spooks easily, so unless you want to actually define this whatever and go public, then stop making out while you’re filming.” “How did you know there was no definition?” “Because you’re you and you haven’t done something like this in the entire time I’ve known you.” “What is this? Exactly?” Regina stared at him speculatively and Killian just grinned in response, enjoying the teasing a bit more than he probably should. “You falling in love with Emma Swan. Obviously.”

He didn’t say anything – couldn’t come up with an argument that wouldn’t paint him firmly in obviously territory. So he sat still, eyes falling away from Regina and, somehow, that was worse. She laughed at him, heels moving as she turned back towards the set.

“C’mon,” Regina called. “Dessert time.”

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of sugar and flour and zucchini – which threw Killian off for all of five seconds before he remembered zucchini actually went pretty well with nutmeg and then he was off.

He saw Emma walk back into the studio just before judging, standing on the side of the set with Ruby and Belle next to her. She smiled at him as the three judges took a bite of the cookie and if he wasn’t desperately trying to avoid the melodramatic he would have considered that a better win than beating Graham in the dessert round.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t go with chocolate,” Tink said, laughing as she spoke. Killian lifted one eyebrow, eyes darting towards Emma who was still smiling at him.

He hadn’t used chocolate at all.

He had, however, made frosting – copious amounts, chock full of vanilla and sprinkled with more cinnamon and nutmeg and Tink ate the entire cookie.

Graham’s ice cream had melted in the machine.

And – after being forced to walk down the hallway and then back so it looked as if the judges were deliberating on camera – Killian won Chopped.

Graham groaned when they showed his ice cream soup underneath the plate cover and Killian's eyes immediately sought out Emma on the other side of the studio, green eyes bright and the smile on her face making him drift right back to the melodramatic.

“Congratulations, Jones,” Graham said, sticking his hand out in the space between them.

“Yeah, thanks. Sorry about the ice cream machine.” “Ah, got too fancy for my own good,” he laughed. “And I’m glad you got a chance to show off a little bit in front of Emma.” “Excuse me?” “I won’t say anything, but it’s a little obvious. Almost painfully, all things considered.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “She didn’t tell you?” “Tell me?” “That we went out. A couple of months ago.” Killian’s stomach was on the floor. Or maybe in his throat. And he was more angry than he thought he’d be. And jealous. Again.

“That so?” he said slowly, the sound of Emma’s sneakers approaching him the only thing that kept him rooted to the spot.

Graham nodded. “Yeah, just dinner one night. Ruby set it up. She’s far more interested in you than me.” Killian didn’t say anything else, Emma suddenly next to him, hand falling on his shoulder as she muttered congratulations in his ear. “Anyway,” Graham continued. “Figured I’d let you know. And congratulations again. I’ll see you guys at the next promotion.” And then he was gone and Killian still wasn’t certain where his stomach had ended up.

This was far too much information for one day.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, fingers brushing over his neck, just above the collar of his shirt. “You made cookies.” “As per instructions, Swan.” She laughed, turning so she was standing in front of him, the smile on her face making him wish his stomach would return to its appropriate place so it could flip at the look of her. “There aren’t any left.” “They were a bit of a hit.” “Of course they were,” she said, hands running up and down his arms. He could feel how tense he was under her touch, the way he was glancing over her head as Graham’s words lingered in his head and that uncertainty and lack of confidence returned in full-force. “You alright?” Emma asked. “You won!” “I did, love,” he agreed. “Just thinking.” “What did Graham say?” “How do you know Graham said anything?” “Because you should be thrilled. You made a zucchini cookie that was so good I can’t even have one and you’re not even excited. Now, come on, what did he say?” He took a deep breath, trying to come up with the right words that wouldn’t make him sound like a child. There weren’t any. He was acting like a child. “You went out with Graham.” Emma groaned softly, but her hands stayed trained on his arms, tightening slightly as she spoke. “Yeah. Not really willingly though.” “That sounds vaguely evil.” “It was Ruby’s idea,” she sighed. “And, you know, it wasn’t evil.  It also wasn’t a lot of fun. Which is why I never called.” “No?”

She’d called him.

Granted that had been nearly a month ago, but she’d done it. And that meant something. It had to mean something.

Probably.

Jeez.

“No,” Emma repeated. “I didn’t see him again until we filmed those first promos. And I’ve barely talked to him since.” She narrowed her eyes at him, smile pulling on her lips and Killian tried not to look as ridiculous as he felt. “Why?” she asked. “Are you jealous?” “Look who’s talking – you with your guacamole metaphors and questions.” Emma laughed loudly, stepping towards him and resting her forehead on his shoulder. His hand came up to wrap around her waist instinctively and this was not the under-the-radar Regina had suggested.

At all.

“Even footing,” she mumbled.

“So it’d seem, love,” he answered, brushing his lips over the top of her head without even thinking about the half a dozen crew members still in the studio.

“There just wasn’t...anything,” Emma said, lifting her head back up to look at him.

“Where?” “With Graham.” “And now?”

Emma looked at him for a moment and the seconds seemed to drag. “Now there is.” Killian nodded and it wasn’t a definition and it wasn’t an explanation, but, for now it was enough. “I made more cookies,” he said softly.

“What?” Emma gaped at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He grinned at her, hand tightening until the back of her jacket was bunched between his fingers. “Thought it might be necessary.” “You were that confident in zucchini cookies?” “I was that confident in you wanting to eat my food.” Emma rolled her eyes, as she walked back towards his station and the cookie sheet that still had two extra cookies sitting on top of it. “That ego is really something else.” He shrugged and she bit down on the cookie, frosting lingering on the edges of her lips in a way that absolutely wasn’t fair.

“Well?” he prompted.

“The ego seems warranted,” she sighed. “How come you don’t make this kind of stuff more often?” “What do you mean, Swan?” “I mean why don’t you have a regular dessert menu at The Jolly and why aren’t these cookies in grocery stores across the country?”

He shrugged again. “You’re far too generous with your compliments.” “I’m serious.” “The desserts are for me, Swan. The baking is for me. I told you, it’s what I do when I can’t handle anything else. If I started to sell that, I wouldn’t have an outlet for anything.” “And you need that? An outlet?” His eyes flashed up and God she could read him better than anyone he’d ever met. Maybe even better than Liam had. Better than Milah.

And that was the first time Killian had thought of that name in a very long time – it was usually just her , a refusal to acknowledge everything he lost tied up in one moment and one name and one face.

Emma smiled at him and he got the distinct impression that, maybe, he’d suddenly found something in another moment and her name and face.

Melodramatic asshole.

“Is it because of the expansion?” she asked, thumb pulling across her lip as she licked the frosting off her finger.

“Some of it, I guess,” Killian admitted, suddenly treading on dangerous dessert-ridden terrain. “It’s a much bigger space than I thought it would be.”

“Is that bad?” “Just expensive.” Emma nodded knowingly. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Sure.” “How come you don’t have a restaurant?” “What?” Her foot slid out from underneath her as she pushed herself away from where she was leaning on his station and her eyes went wide.

“You’re good, Swan. And you fall into a rhythm when you cook, all quick movements and everything works . It just seems to make sense.” She stood up straighter, teeth tugging on her lower lip. “I thought about it. A long time ago.” “But?” “But then Ruby showed up and brought me to the network and I got the show and it was doing so well that I kind of forgot about restaurants. I figured this was the safe bet, you know? And now that’s kind of slipping away.” “It’s not,” he countered and Emma made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat. “Honestly, Swan.”

“Look who’s doling out compliments now,” she laughed. “Nah, restaurants aren’t for me anymore. Although, I will tell you that I enjoyed chopping vegetables for you. It was strangely soothing or something.” Killian grinned at her, tugging her closer to him and kissing her softly. And she seemed to sigh against him and that wasn’t fair either.

They were horrible at this.

She pulled away before he was even ready to consider stopping, keeping her forehead rested against his while her fingers brushed over the back of his hair. “We should probably stop doing this on set,” Emma mumbled, still so close he could almost feel her lips move against his when she spoke.  

“Probably.”

“Work in progress.” “An admirable effort.” Emma huffed out a laugh, moving her head back and staring at him with a look that nearly knocked all the air out of him. “You still want to come to Granny’s?” she asked softly.

“Of course.”

She nodded once – like she was convincing herself he wasn’t lying – and leaned forward to kiss him again quickly. “Make sure you order your own plate of onion rings, because Henry’s not good at sharing them.”

“Duly noted.”

Emma smiled at him, hand dropping away from his neck to wrap around his fingers and lead him away from set.

“Killian!”

Henry nearly knocked over several glasses as he practically leapt out of the corner booth in Granny’s, sprinting across the diner floor and earning a low chuckle from the man next to Emma. Who still had his fingers wrapped up in hers.

“Hi Henry,” Killian said, smile threatening to take up his entire face.

Henry grinned in response, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet like he did when he got particularly excited about something and Emma couldn’t even bring herself to be frustrated that her kid hadn’t even acknowledged her yet.

“How was the show? Who won? Did you repurpose ingredients?” Henry asked, rattling off questions like he was being paid by the letter. “Because you have to repurpose the ingredients or you’ll totally get chopped. That’s what we figured out this weekend, right mom?” “Oh, I’m here too then?” Emma joked.

Henry groaned loudly and Emma heard David laugh pointedly from the booth on the other side of the room. “Hi, mom,” Henry replied dutifully and Emma reached forward to brush his hair off his forehead.

“Hi kid,” she said. “You didn’t drive M’s nuts this afternoon, did you?”

“Of course he didn’t,” Mary Margaret yelled, twisting around the back of the booth and only moving when David muttered something about aggravating her back .

“Eventually you’re just going to have to invest in a bubble or something,” Emma laughed, pushing on Henry’s shoulder to turn him back towards the table. Killian followed behind her as she walked, fingers tightening a fraction of an inch when David’s gaze lingered on their hands a few seconds longer than necessary. “Just put M’s inside and then let her go out and take on the world on her own.” “You’re hysterical, Emma, you know that?” David muttered and she grinned at him, sliding into the booth, Henry and Killian on either side of her.

And that seemed like a sign. Or something.

“Years of practice,” she shot back. David rolled his eyes.

“So,” Mary Margaret said pointedly, cutting into the middle of a patented Nolan-sibling fight like they were still sitting in the Blanchard’s living room on Main Street. “Spill, Em, how did it go? Any crazy food?” “Dragon tongue beans,” Killian answered, the disgust in his voice enough to make Emma’s smile widen even more.

“That sounds awesome!” Henry exclaimed. “What’d you make with them, mom? What round where they in?” “Is he always this full of questions?” Killian asked, voice lilting into Emma’s ear and she suddenly realized that his thigh was pressed up against hers underneath the table. And they still hadn’t actually defined anything.

They’d kissed instead.

Again.

“Always,” Emma promised, wrapping her arm around Henry’s shoulders and ignoring the soon-to-come groan at this motherly display of affection. “Alright, kid, let’s start at the top. They were not awesome. They were horrible and they taste horrible and I don’t know why anyone would eat them. I didn’t make anything with them. Killian did something with onions that was unfairly delicious. And they were main course.” “Mom,” Henry sighed, rolling his head onto her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything with them? That wasn’t part of the plan.” “I know.” “But main course seems good, right?” Mary Margaret added, a picture of sunshine and optimism on the other side of the booth. “You didn’t get cut first.” “I didn’t,” Emma agreed, biting her lip as she tried to push of the wave of nerves threatening to drown here right there in the middle of the diner on Leonard Street. “I got chopped second.”

She could feel Henry sigh next to her, his shoulders moving as he exhaled and Emma bit her lip so hard she could actually taste blood. She blinked quickly, trying to avoid the wave or the tide or whatever metaphor she was going with when she felt a hand on her knee and Killian’s eyes on her.

He was ignoring David’s very obvious glare, eyes trained on her – all blue and supportive and not talking about how he’d actually won Chopped that afternoon. And she was in way over her head.

“You did do something with the beans, Swan,” Killian said softly, every other head at the table snapping towards him when he spoke. “You cooked them. Very well, actually.” “How do you know they were good?” David asked sharply and Emma rolled her eyes. “I thought only the judges ate the food.” “Yeah, well, I’ve kind of got an agreement with the chef.” “That so?”

Mary Margaret’s hand landed on her husband’s shoulder and she widened her eyes in warning. David huffed out a deep breath, eyes, finally, pulling away from Killian’s to stare at Emma. “What’s he talking about?” he asked.

“We’ve kind of been stealing each other’s food after rounds,” Emma explained. “They’re long days, you know, and the catering table is horrible for a network built on food. He’s a far better option.” “Wow, Swan,” Killian laughed. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about my food. Glad to see I’m just your best option.” Emma grinned at him and he answered her in kind and she didn’t even care how uncomfortable David was. “Seriously, Uncle David, you should try some of Killian’s food. It’s really good,” Henry added and Emma tried not to slump down in the booth “When have you had his food?” David asked sharply.

Henry glanced warily at Emma, eyes wide and she glanced up at the ceiling of the restaurant, wondering if Granny was actually avoiding the table because they were arguing so loudly. “Couple of weeks ago,” Emma answered. “Killian helped Henry study for an American history exam.” “What?” “David,” Mary Margaret sighed, but he just shook his head quickly.

“No, no,” he muttered. “Why didn’t I know that happened?” “Because it’s none of your business?” Emma asked, voice rising of its own accord. “I don’t have to give you a detailed description of where Henry and I are going every night.” “Weeks ago, Emma. That was weeks ago. And it never came up once? Not even at Halloween? I tried to tell you something I thought was important and you brushed me off. Is that why? Because you were nervous that you’d already involved Henry in all of this?”

“You’re being an ass again,” Emma hissed.

David made a face, eyes landing on Killian again with a look that made it all too clear he had something he desperately wanted to say. Emma didn’t give him a chance. “And, as previously mentioned, David, none of that is your business. Henry got an A on that exam, so, honestly, that’s all I’m really concerned about.”

She chanced a look at Killian – smiling softly at her out of the corner of her eye – and David deflated slightly. “An A’s really good,” he mumbled. “Good for you, Henry.” “Killian helped with the dates,” Henry added and David looked like he was about to argue something, but Killian cut him off.

“That was all you,” he said quickly. “I didn’t take the test.” David didn’t know what to do what that.

“Did you study history, Killian?” Mary Margaret asked, hand still on David’s shoulder.

“They don’t have majors at the Academy,” David muttered and Emma nearly sagged against Henry. Killian’s hand tightened around her knee.

“Actually,” he countered, “they do. It’s still a school, you know. And, to answer, your question, Mary Margaret, I did.”

She nodded quickly, fingers tracing along David’s spine as she tried to keep the conversation on track. Emma appreciated that – until her next question. “At the Academy? What Academy are we talking about here?” Killian’s eyes darted towards Emma and she tried to apologize without actually saying anything. “He was in the Navy,” Henry answered, voice picking up again. “He told me he knows how to shoot a gun. Kind of like you, Uncle David, only like on a boat.” “Ship,” Killian corrected softly and Emma’s heart did something stupid at that.

“Ship,” Henry repeated reverently.

“You were in the Navy, Killian?” Mary Margaret asked. “How did you end up on Iron Chef? And with your own restaurant?” “It’s kind of a long story,” he said. “One David apparently didn’t go into much detail about.” “I didn’t really want to know. Figured it was kind of like cheating.” Killian laughed and stared at Mary Margaret like he’d never quite seen anything like her. He probably hadn’t. She was too nice for her own good. “I appreciate that,” he said and Mary Margaret just shrugged softly. “I was in the Navy, for about five years before I left.” David scoffed and Emma kicked him underneath the table. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Unfortunately it wasn’t a very positive end for either us – me or the Navy. My brother had died in action and without him there, there didn’t seem to be much of a point to serving anymore. So I left – without much permission. Any really.” “You left?” Henry repeated and Killian’s jaw flexed.

Emma was going to kill David. Right there in the booth. And then they’d never be able to come back to Granny’s.

“Wasn’t my finest moment,” Killian said quickly.

“Is that how you lost your hand? When your brother died?” “Henry!” Emma, Mary Margaret and David spoke at once, voices sharp in the restaurant. Emma was positive she saw Granny turn around and walk back into the kitchen when she heard the three of them yell. She kicked David again.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian said softly, thumb moving in a small circle across the bottom of her thigh. “And you don’t have to keep kicking your brother.” She glared at him pointedly, David muttering under his breath on the other side of the table. “Sorry,” Henry said quietly, but Killian just shook his head.

“Don’t be. It’s a fair question.” He took a deep breath, glancing at Emma once before leaning around her and meeting Henry’s curious gaze head on. “I didn’t lose my hand in the Navy. About a year and a half after, actually.” “How?”

“Henry,” Emma whispered sharply, shaking her head. Killian pulled his hand off her leg and moved it back up to her shoulder, squeezing slightly in silent contradiction. She didn’t say anything else – ignoring the way her mind raced at the feel of his hand and the admission that he hadn’t lost his hand in the Navy.

David looked a little nervous and she could hear what he’d told her in the kitchen two weeks ago –  And, probably, who that woman tattooed on his arm is.

She didn’t know how she knew, probably something about being an open book to each other or some other absurd nonsense that made her feel more connected to Killian Jones than just about anyone else in her life, but Emma was positive it had to do with her – Milah. It was all about her, somehow, his hand and the way he seemed to kind of hate himself sometimes and that, admittedly very attractive, determination to prove himself.

“Car accident,” Killian said simply, not breaking away from Henry’s gaze. “I was 27 and I got in a cab one night and we didn’t realize the driver was drunk. It all happened kind of fast, honestly. He was driving back uptown and tried to take a left and didn’t see the car coming right at him until it was too late.” Henry bit his lip – looking so much like Emma she had to blink a few times to stop herself from actually starting to cry at the sight – and the entire table sat silent for what felt like several decades.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said softly and before Emma could stop him he reached around her, hand resting on Killian’s forearm, just above his brace.

And he didn’t pull away, didn’t move an inch – just looked slightly stunned at the twelve-year-old kid in front of him and Emma was absolutely on the verge of hysterics.

“I, uh, I didn’t know that part,” David said suddenly, making Emma’s head whip towards him.  Killian hummed questioningly in the back of his throat, fingers dancing along the bottom of Emma’s head as they pushed into her hair. “I didn’t know there was a drunk driver involved. In the accident, I mean.” His hand stopped moving and Emma held her breath – that was a David Nolan sorry-I-was-a-dick-but-I’m-just-trying-to-protect-my-sister apology. And she wasn’t sure anyone except her and Mary Margaret would figure it out.

“Looks like you need better background checks then,” Killian said. “I distinctly remembering filling out an obscene amount of NYPD paperwork when I woke up. Luckily I’m right handed, so it wasn’t a big deal.” Emma’s whole body nearly fell over with slightly-manic sounding laughter and Killian grinned at her, moving his eyebrows quickly. David nodded slowly, smile spreading across his face as he stuck his hand out over the table. “I’m sorry,” he said and it sounded like he meant it and Emma couldn’t figure out if she was going to faint or start to cry.

“What is happening?” she muttered, mostly to Mary Margaret who just shrugged in response.

“I like him,” David said, nodding towards Killian. “And if he can get Henry an A on an American history exam, then that seems pretty good. Even if I do have a minor in history.” “European,” Emma pointed out. “And only because you had too many AP credits when you got to school and walked in with a minor. That doesn’t count.” “Whatever.”

And then it was fine – or as fine as a quasi-family dinner in an otherwise abandoned diner could be on a Tuesday night.

Granny, finally, showed up at the table, bringing a pre-dinner plate of onion rings for Henry. And he only objected slightly when Killian moved around Emma to grab one off the plate, claiming he had to test them before flashing a smile at her that went straight to her toes.

And she was so goddamn happy her face hurt from smiling.

“You know,” Henry said once their food arrived later, chewing on a grilled cheese in between syllables. “You never told us who actually won today.” “Chew, kid.” He rolled his eyes in response and Emma bit into her grilled cheese, earning herself a frustrated groan from both her kid and her brother. “You’re both horribly impatient. You know they put the show on TV.” “And why would we do that when you’re here to tell us?” David asked.

“Don’t do it Emma,” Ruby said sharply, walking into the diner with a frustrated look on her face.

“Where have you been?” Emma asked, sitting up a bit straighter as her producer marched into the restaurant, only pausing long enough to grab a bear claw off the display on the counter. “I thought you were on your way out like hours ago.” “I was,” Ruby said, wrapping her foot around the bottom of a chair to drag it to the end of the table. “But then I ran into Regina and she was on the warpath because someone,” she glared pointedly at Killian, “walked out without filming his talking head. You need to answer your phone.” “It’s on silent,” he muttered and Emma bit back a laugh. “And I can do it later. It’s not like they’re putting it on TV tomorrow.” “You know what I just did?” Killian shook his head slowly, holding an onion ring halfway in front of his mouth. “I just spent the last hour with your producer explaining to Zelena why everything wasn’t filmed yet and how no one had managed to stop the two of you from walking off set together. Jeez, I thought this morning was bad, but this is worse. You’re not even official and you’re already messing everything up.”

“What happened this morning?” Henry asked, a picture of curious innocence. Emma waved her hand quickly in front of him, trying not to kick Ruby under the table as well.

“Official, huh?” David repeated, laughing slightly under her breath and Emma couldn’t quite deal with the whiplash of that. Killian looked slightly overwhelmed – for someone who claimed they didn’t have a family, Emma certainly appeared to have plenty of people ready and willing to butt their way into things that weren’t their business.

She opened her mouth – not certain who she was going to answer first or how she was going to explain any of this when she couldn’t quite figure it out herself. Except she never even got a word out.

“It’s a boy!” Mary Margaret shouted and every head at the table turned towards her, each mouth hanging open slightly. “What?” Emma muttered, tears pricking her eyes almost immediately.

“It’s a boy,” Mary Margaret repeated, ignoring David’s frustrated groan.

“We weren’t going to tell them yet,” he said. “Yeah, well, you weren’t supposed to be an asshole to Killian again either and yet here we are.” David’s open-mouthed stare quickly turned into a smile and he leaned forward to kiss Mary Margaret quickly as Henry groaned loudly. Emma might have groaned a bit too.

“They do that all the time,” Henry said, turning to look at Killian who just smirked at the overwhelmingly family moment in front of him. He still had his fingers wrapped around the back of Emma’s neck and, for one moment, she let herself lean into the touch – ignoring her brother’s happiness for a second or two of her own.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world,” Killian muttered.

Henry groaned again. “I guess.” “Let’s pump the brakes on that conversation real quick,” Emma said and Henry nearly slid down the back of the booth as Killian nodded and kissed the top of her head. The whole thing was overwhelmingly domestic. “When did you find out?” Emma asked, trying to refocus the conversation on anything that wasn’t her. Or her relationship.

If that’s the word they were using.

“Couple of days ago,” Mary Margaret answered, pulled flush against David’s side. Emma was positive she’d never seen her brother so happy.

“And you didn’t say anything?” “You’ve been busy.” “I wish everyone would stop using that as an excuse.”

“It’s true,” David shrugged.

Emma pressed her lips together and shook her head and she absolutely wasn’t crying. She wasn’t. She was just kind of overwhelmed. But not crying. A boy.

They were going to have a boy.

“Em, are you crying?” David asked, voice tinged with surprised laughter.

“No,” Emma said quickly and she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. “Of course not. Being emotional about you having a kid, a son , is totally out of the question. Whatever. I don’t care at all.” “I thought you didn’t want to know,” Ruby cut in. “Weren’t we all instructed to purchase gender neutral gifts? Because I was all about decking that kid out in red from head to toe.” “Is red gender neutral?” Emma asked.

Ruby just shrugged. “I honestly don’t care. It’s a good color. I had a whole plan, so it better at least be good enough for tiny-Nolan because that’s what he’s getting from here on out.” “I’m sure tiny-Nolan will appreciate whatever you buy him,” Mary Margaret said. “And we might not have to call him that much longer either.” “You are just chock full of secrets today, aren’t you?” Emma laughed, grabbing an onion ring off Henry’s plate and grinning at him when he cried in disbelief of what she’d done.

“Not secrets really, ” Mary Margaret countered. “Just previously unheard information.” “Sounds a lot like the definition of secrets.” “We might have a name picked out?” “Might?” Mary Margaret nodded, glancing at David. “Leo,” he said softly and Emma was absolutely crying now, fingers rubbing roughly at her cheeks as she tried to get rid of the evidence as quickly as possible.

“Oh,” she muttered softly, a half-eaten onion ring still in her other hand. “Of course.”

“Who’s Leo?” Henry asked and Emma took a deep breath through her nose, lifting her head back up to find that Mary Margaret was crying too.

Killian probably thought they were all crazy.

“My dad,” Mary Margaret said.

“I’ve never met him.” “Yeah, yeah, you wouldn’t have. He, uh, he died when I was in college. But he was the most important person in my life for a really long time.” “It’s perfect, M’s,” Emma said, meaning every word.

Emma had been fifteen.

Mary Margaret and David were sophomores and it had all happened incredibly fast – too fast for anyone to really be able to process any of it. Mr. Blanchard had been diagnosed in August and he was gone by Christmas.

Just days before.

The funeral was two days before Christmas.

Mary Margaret didn’t cry at the funeral. Her voice didn’t break when she gave the eulogy. She hardly even nodded at the line of Storybrooke residents filed out of the church, shaking her hand and telling her how sorry they were for her loss.

She didn’t cry until the end, until they walked away from the grave site and turned their backs on the casket. And then she nearly fell against David, his arms wrapped tightly around her while Emma tried to do something , rubbing circles on Mary Margaret’s back while she cried until she couldn’t breathe anymore.

And that was when Emma knew – there was no one stronger than Mary Margaret. Not in Storybrooke and, likely, not in the entire world.

She paid for college on her own from there on out – worked two jobs during her final two years and then got a GA position so she could get her masters. She student-taught in the Bronx and held after-school reading groups for her students and Emma had all but forced Henry into her class when he’d been that age.

Mary Margaret was, at times, painfully positive, certain the world would just work the way it was supposed to and Emma’s natural cynicism fought against that more often than not, but no one deserved some sort of metaphorical happy ending more.

And no one would ever be loved more than the soon-to-be Leo Nolan.

“Don’t waste all your tears on that quite yet, because I’ve got one more secret,” Mary Margaret warned.

Emma nodded, sitting up a little straighter as Killian’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Ok,” she said. “Do your worst. Or best.” “We picked a middle name too.” “I don’t know what you guys are talking about with me, you’re the busy ones. Do we have other relatives to honor with names?”

“See, that’s where we kind of need your permission?” “Mine?” Emma repeated, stunned slightly. “What for?” “Well, you and Henry actually,” Mary Margaret answered, smile nearly taking over every part of her face. “Tiny-Nolan’s full name will, we hope, be Leo Henry Nolan.”

Emma’s head landed on Killian’s shoulder before she could stop herself and the tears were just absurd at this point. She felt him laugh softly underneath her, hand moving up and down her arm and making her sleeve bunch against his fingers.

“You want to name him after me?” Henry asked, nearly screaming the words.

“Kind of,” David said. “We just thought it’d be cool if he knew who his heroes should be from the get-go, you know what I mean? And, well, we can’t really use Emma as a middle name, although we considered it, so we thought Henry kind of got both of you in one fell swoop.” “What do you think?” Mary Margaret asked quietly, eyes wide when she looked at Emma.

“I think it’s perfect,” she said, not entirely sure how she managed to talk when she couldn’t really breathe. That seemed to be a trend for the day.

Mary Margaret reached across the table, ignoring David’s protests about stretching too far and squeezed Emma’s hand tightly in hers. “Me too,” she whispered.

“Now, come on,” David said, pulling Mary Margaret back against the booth as both Emma and Ruby rolled their eyes at the absurdity of it. “We told our secrets or news or whatever. Now you’ve got to tell us who won today.” Emma glanced questioningly at Ruby who just shrugged. “Fine,” she sighed. “But no specifics or anything. We’ve got to at least act like we play by the rules on this.” “To be fair,” Killian added. “Regina absolutely tells Robin everything that happens on set. And probably my hostess too. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were talking about it now.”

“I knew she would,” Ruby hissed, scowling. “I knew it! And she acted like it was all under lock and key and..” “Guys,” David cut in sharply. “Who won?” “Oh,” Ruby said flippantly, shaking her hair off her shoulders, the light of the diner’s overhead bulbs practically reflecting off her red highlights. “Killian did.” “For real?” Henry exclaimed, nearly tackling Emma as he moved to look at a slightly-embarrassed Killian. “What’d you make for dessert? Who’d you beat? Was there something super crazy in the final basket?”

“Breathe,” Emma laughed, pushing Henry back into his seat.

Killian held up three fingers, making sure he didn't miss any of Henry’s questions. “Cookies, per your mom’s request. Graham. Zucchini, but that’s deceptively crazy because it actually works pretty well with dessert-like spices, so I’m not sure that there’s an actual answer to the final question.” “Were there extra cookies?” “You literally just ate a plate of onion rings.” “Were there extra cookies?” Henry repeated.

“No,” Killian laughed. “And even if there were, your mom absolutely would have eaten them.” “Rude,” Emma mumbled and Killian’s side moved slightly when he laughed again in response. Mary Margaret looked like she was going to start crying again at the sight of early-relationship- whatever banter.

“I can’t believe you ate the extra cookies,” Henry groaned at her.

“They were good!” “I’ll make you a deal,” Killian said, looking at Henry over the top of Emma’s head. “You stop texting while you’re in class and the next time you’re at The Jolly we’ll make some kind of dessert again, ok?”

“Like the cookies you made for the team?” “I seem to remember I promised brownies before.” “You did.” “Then brownies seems fair.”

Mary Margaret sniffed audibly and Ruby practically fell out of her chair when she started laughing. “What is your deal, M’s?” Emma asked, eyebrows rising close to her hairline. “We still on names?” “No, no, I’m fine,” she said, looking like the freaking sun in the middle of the diner as she beamed across the table. “Pregnancy hormones.”

Emma didn’t respond, positive it absolutely wasn’t pregnancy hormones, but that wasn’t a conversation she was willing to have in this suddenly very-crowded booth. She stole another onion ring off her kid’s plate instead.

They were waiting for Granny to wrap up half a dozen leftover baked goods for Henry half an hour later when David walked up to Emma at the end of the counter, holding his hands up as he moved towards her, an apologetic look on his face.

“What?” she sighed, not quite able to stay mad at him.

“You know what.” “I’d love to hear you say it.” “I’m sorry. For being an ass. You know, again.” “I don’t get why,” Emma said, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. She glanced to the other end of the restaurant, Killian next to Henry with his hand on his shoulder, talking about the soccer game he’d had over the weekend.

“I worry about you,” David answered, like that explained everything.

“You worry about everything.” “Especially you though. I wouldn’t have thought he’d tell you about the Navy.” “You kind of backed him into a corner.” “He tell you anything else?” Emma sighed, exasperation written across her face. “Sorry, sorry,” David muttered. “I know I’m doing it again.” “I need you to let me figure this out. I don’t have any answers for you yet and I’m not going to push him to talk to me until he wants to. So, frankly, take your background check and shove it.” David laughed loudly, shaking his head as he wrapped Emma in a hug, hand wrapping around the back of her head. “I can do that,” he agreed. “He seems like a good guy. And Henry really seems to like him.” “He does, but that doesn’t change anything you know. No one is encroaching on your status here.” “What do you mean?” David asked and Emma just stared at him – he wasn’t a very good liar either.

“Henry will still want to hang out with you. And you’re just as important as ever. This is all still really new and really undefined and I need you to stop trying to scare Killian away.” “That is the opposite of what I’m trying to do,” David promised. “You’re happy, Em. I just want to make sure you’ve got all the facts. “I can get ‘em on my own.” “I don’t doubt that.” “You ready to go, Swan?” Killian asked. Emma spun around, vaguely terrified at how much he heard, but the smile on his face made her believe he was more focused on her than he was on the discussion she’d been having with her brother.

“You don’t have to walk us back,” she said. “It’s only a couple of blocks.” “And my restaurant is three blocks away from where you live. I should probably acknowledge them at some point today, make sure it hasn’t burned down or anything.”

“I doubt Ariel would let that happen.” Killian nodded solemnly, but his eyes were bright and Emma needed her brother to move . “Mom,” Henry said, skidding to a stop next to Killian, a paper bag clutched in his hand. “If we’re going to go back to The Jolly, you think I can get one of those root beer floats again? It was really good the last time.” “School night,” Emma said, shaking her head. Henry’s shoulders drooped, but Killian nudged his side, glancing at him with a smirk on his face.

“Next time,” he promised.

“Alright,” Emma muttered, ignoring whatever her pulse was doing. “Come on, let’s head home.”

They’d made quite a trio – walking the ten blocks from Granny’s back downtown and if Emma let herself, it almost felt like something . She wouldn’t use the word, couldn’t let herself think that when they hadn’t even defined the whatever.

Her mind, however, had different ideas.

It felt like a family.