#why does heartfelt feel boring? I must just be in a mood.

[ghostofnuggetspast]

Look Forward

They both started lonely and wrong One shards, like glass pieces walked on The other a rock His esprit in a lock But together as partners, they're strong

Yes, the men are a pair, do not separate. More on ao3!

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @weeesi @friday411 @helloliriels

[scremogirl]

★♑︎☆彡𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎✪𝐍!☆♏︎★

Haikyuu boys when they have a crush on you (Ushijima, Kyotani, Iwazumi, Aone, Bokuto)

Bokuto

There was probably a handful of ways Bokuto could have first noticed you. A; been friends before he even realized his feelings. B; been one of the managers on the volleyball team. Or, C; being a classmate mate of his, a deskmate maybe.

Regardless of how he meets you, he knows you're the one for him. Always greets you with his signature smile and a giant hug.

He always asks you to come to his games and practices; regardless if you are the manager or not. He wants to make you feel included, sharing the thing he loves the most with you. Or just wants to show off and see your face when he lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow.

Would show up at your house randomly when you didn't come to school. You didn't answer his texts or calls so he figured something must be wrong. Your parents love him so much that they just let him in.

“Hey, hey, hey! I was wondering why you weren't at school today. Your mom told me you were sick so I brought over some soup and snacks to make you feel better!” you sit up from your bed in absolute bewilderment. You look and feel like shit and here he is telling you how bored he was today without you.

“Oh!” he suddenly gasps, perking up. He walks over to his backpack and pulls out a folder. It's the Trig notes from today, his handwriting is big and sloppy, but it’s the thought that counts.

He hands it to you with his chest puffed out in pride, Man…he really does look like an owl. Cute.

When he's made bad plays and gets into one of his moods, Akashi will call you over. Complaining about how he won’t talk to anyone and just sits under the bleachers hunched over. Feeling a hand on his shoulder he turns around. When he sees you he instantly becomes better, asking *begging* you to stay. That you're his good luck charm and is surely to make all his spikes if you are here to cheer him on.

Will also *beg* ask you to wear his number to games. Will look into the crowd, locking eyes with you followed by a big thumbs up.

Aone

It was a busy day this evening; seeing as it was a couple weeks before Christmas. Meaning, that the trains were packed and full of people. You missed the bus you would usually take on your way home. It was getting dark out and you wouldn’t dare wait for the next bus to show.

You dashed your way to the nearby train station panting and out of breath. You made it just in time to catch one too. Hoping on you see that every place was full. Except for one.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity you scooted your way through the crowd and sat down. It was silent besides the usual businessmen making calls and children playing games on their parents' phones. After a while, you felt eyes on you. Craning your neck up to an almost uncomfortable degree you lock eyes with someone. He was wearing your school uniform. Oh, you know him! He was the middle blocker for your school's volleyball team.

You shot him a sweet smile and a tiny wave. His eyes widened and a blush crept on his pale face. It looked as if he was about to wave back but just then the bell signaling your stop rang. Ever since then, he couldn't keep his eyes off you.

Would leave candies and heartfelt notes on your desk and in your locker

Would try to catch a glimpse of you on his way to the train station, sitting at your bus stop.

Futakuchi notices all of his friend’s strange behavior and forces him to come to talk to you. And that's how you two became friends.

Didn't talk much but was always such a great listener, remembering the smallest things about you. Such as the classes you were struggling in; offering to tutor you and give notes. Keeping rubber bands on his writs just in case (sorry if you have short hair/ are bald 😅). Would even skip practice to walk you to the bus, always wanting to make sure you're safe.

I LOVE HIM SM; people need to write for him more 🙄

Iwaizumi

Very straight forward with his affections towards you.

It’ll take him a while to come to terms with the way he feels about you but when he does he’s not trying to hide it.

The rest of his friends would tease him about it but he’ll just brush it off because there’s no reason for him to be embarrassed about the way he feels.

Like Aone, he will walk you home everyday no matter how late it is or what he has to do. Will buy you all the snacks you want from the vending machine. Will make sure you're doing your best physically and mentally. Would force you to drink water and eat a balanced meal when he notices any signs of fatigue or famine.

Will convince you to go on morning runs with him before school. This one you're not so sure about but after all he does for you, you thought you could thug it out.

“Come on (Y/n), you can do this just a little ways to go,” he says, jogging backwards to try and stay at the same pace as you. At this point you're huffing and puffing for air bent over. He lays you on your back before going ahead of you. He looks back at you with a smirk and this mischievous glint in his eyes before speaking.

“If you finish this run maybe I’ll treat you to more than just breakfast,” throwing a cheeky wink behind his shoulder before jogging off again. You’ve never ran that fast in your life. Maybe if you're a little slick wit it, you can convince him to carry you back home.

Kyotani

A little rough around the edges to say the least.

Surprisingly, unlike his upper upperclassmen, he actually realizes his feelings pretty quickly. Noting the *not so* subtle changes in his behavior when he’s around you compared to everyone else.

He’s never been intune with his emotions, so it’ll take a while for him to make a move.

In my opinion I don’t think he’s the “mean to you because he likes you” type; he’ll most likely just avoid you if he doesn’t know you like that or just keep his feelings to himself if you’re already his friend.

Another anonymous secret admirer. Would leave food, water bottles, keychains, stuffed toys, and things he knows you like laying around for you to find.

Will try and discretely spend time with you. Wouldn’t outright say he wants to and will get all blushy and confrontational if you tease him about it.

“Hey,” you here a deep voice call out to you, already knowing who it is, you turn around with a big smile.

“Hey, Kenny! what’s up?” He makes eye contact with you for what seems like a split second before turning away with pink dusting his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I-uh… there’s… there’s this new movie coming out next Saturday. You said you hadn’t been to the theaters in a while… so, I bought tickets,” he explains, pulling out two tickets from his back pocket, still not looking at you.He shoves one in your direction before talking again.

You just stare at him with wide eyes and slightly parted mouth. He turns around after not getting an answer but as he opens his mouth to say something you fly into his arms.

“Thank you, Ken, really,”

“Ye-yea, don’t mention it”

Would treat you to ramen after you’ve done really well on a test. You have a go to spot, a little mom and pop shop. He’s been going there ever since he was little, so it means a lot to him and is a big sign of his love for you bringing you there. The owners always ask when you two would get together.

You’d just laugh it off while he blushes and stutters about how you guys are just friends. Though the owners can see the disappointment in his eyes at his own words.

Loves having late night convos with you, either at a park or on the phone. Just like how intimate it feels.

Seriously cares about you and tries to tone down his “mad dog” persona. Is aware of how abrasive he can be and doesn’t wanna scare you off. All in all, he embraces the state of vulnerability he can be in with you.

Ushijima

I absolutely hate when people paint him out to be some sort of blunt, unemotional, proper guy.

He’s not dumb. He knows the signs when someone has a crush. Sure he can be a little blunt in the way he expresses his emotions but that’s just because he feels there’s no reason to lie about how he feels. He’s not a robot.

Wouldn’t just come up to you and say he had a crush on you. He knows that’ll throw you a little off guard; he wants to make sure you like him too.

Not much of a talker, but knows how to make conversation. Would purposely start one because he knows you’ll end up getting off topic and start ranting. He loves the sound of your voice and the passion in your face when you talk.

Another one who invites you to games and practices. Would try to convince *demand* you to become the manager of his team.

“But, I don’t know anything about it besides the things you’ve told me,” you try to explain yourself with uncertainty.

“That doesn’t matter. Coach and I will give you a run down of everything if you need it. I wouldn’t mind explaining it to you,” he seems so confident in the fact that you’ll say yes. Tilting his head up a little higher, broad shoulders shifting back slightly, standing tall.

“Are you sure? I just don’t wanna be a burden to you or the rest of the team if I can’t get up to speed-,”

“You could never be,” he cuts you off

“Everyone wants you there… I want you there. So please, consider it”.

GUESS WHOS THE NEW MANGER!🤪

A little worried that a relationship would cut into his time with volleyball. His indifference would cause him to be distant for a while, which leads to you thinking he led you on. The more you think about it though, you know Ushijima isn’t the type to do that so he either lost feelings, or something’s wrong. You know it’s the latter but you can’t help overthinking it.

Would come up to you with a rose one day before you left school. Looks you in your eyes before apologizing about how he’s been acting. All he wants is you to reassure him that his career path won’t get in the way of you two.

Hope y’all enjoyed; let me know if you wanna part two but with different characters or in a different fandom (make sure to look at my ML). Bye guys!

-Love, Sos❤️

[ibijau]

ever since the very brief nhs/jzx in worst engagement, i’ve realized i really like that combination, so... sangxuan, any setting, with “I like watching you. When you laugh, when you smile, when you’re passionately engaged in something you enjoy.” please?

warning for internalised biphobia and homophobia :)

Jin Zixuan isn’t a cut-sleeve because he likes girls, thanks. Sure he doesn’t like his fiancée (she’s plain, she’s boring, her brothers are the most annoying people in the world) but he does like other girls and politely looks at them from a safe distance (because if he got anywhere near a girl who isn’t his fiancée, his mother would have his head). He knows that because of the difficult state of his engagement, and his open disdain for Jiang Yanli, some people like to joke that maybe it’s all girls Jin Zixuan dislikes, but that’s just plain wrong.

Jin Zixuan isn’t a cut-sleeve. He looks at girls.

So it doesn’t matter if he looks at boys too.

It’s just that he isn’t blind. He can tell that the Twin Jades are, indeed, so impossibly handsome that he can’t mind they’re ranked higher than him. And Jiang Cheng might be an annoying brat, but he has very fetching eyes so his place at number five is well deserved.

Wei Wuxian being number four is an aberration, but some people just don’t have taste.

The point being, looking at other boys doesn’t mean anything. Everyone does it. Jin Zixuan has noticed the faint trace of admiration in Lan Wangji’s eyes when Wei Wuxian’s around (again, some people have no taste) and the way Wei Wuxian openly checks out Lan Wangji… and these two don’t even like each other.

And then there’s Nie Huaisang, Grand Purveyor of Porn, who obviously isn’t a cut-sleeve since he has so many prints and books about men and women enthusiastically doing things to each other, and yet is always play-flirting with other boys. 

Nie Huaisang who somehow didn’t make it on that stupid list (possibly because he managed to fail his studies twice already), thus proving again that there’s no accounting for taste because he is so pretty he should be number one.

Nie Huaisang who can befriend anyone, and is on first name basis with a staggering number of Lan juniors, including both of the Twin Jades.

Nie Huaisang who needs to cheat on every single test they’re taking because he can’t memorise a single lesson, but knows entire poetry books by heart and can make near perfect copies of any painting.

Nie Huaisang with his lips so red they look painted, his easy smiles that he generously shares, his eyes always shining with mischief, his delicate hands, the beautiful curve of his neck.

Jin Zixuan might think about Nie Huaisang a little more than he ought to, especially since Nie Huaisang has recently taken a shine to him and won’t leave him alone. It’s probably just because Wei Wuxian was kicked out because of Jin Zixuan, and now Nie Huaisang wants to have someone, anyone, to hang out with (Jiang Cheng is surprisingly studious when he’s alone, Nie Huaisang has complained, and so makes for a poor companion).

It’s fine though. Jin Zixuan likes girls, so he’s not a cut-sleeve, it’s fine that he looks so much at Nie Huaisang, that he can’t get enough of his laugh, that his entire body is burning when Nie Huaisang casually touches him.

Nie Huaisang is a very tactile person.

It’s fine, it’s normal for boys to be grabbing each other’s wrists, or throwing an arm over a friend’s shoulders, or even laying their head on a friend’s lap while studying. It’s normal because Nie Huaisang, who isn’t a cut-sleeve, does it all the time to Jin Zixuan, also not a cut-sleeve.

It’s fine.

It’s normal.

It’s just a friendly thing.

And so today, as Jin Zixuan is sitting on his bed to study, Nie Huaisang laying down with his head on his lap and openly trying to distract him from studying, the two of them completely alone, Jin Zixuan doesn’t harbour any dangerous thoughts.

He doesn’t want to touch Nie Huaisang’s hair to find out if it’s as smooth as it looks.

He doesn’t admire the lighter specks in his friend’s eyes, like stars on an inky sky.

He doesn’t at all, ever, not even for one second, wonder how soft Nie Huaisang’s lips are, what it would feel to kiss them.

Jin Zixuan does allow himself to think that it might be the only way to get Nie Huaisang to shut up thought. It makes him chuckle, which disrupts Nie Huaisang. The other boy glares at him and pouts, as if Jin Zixuan needed the encouragement to be looking at his lips.

“Well, share the joke then?” Nie Huaisang demands.

“It’s nothing,” Jin Zixuan retorts, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Stop bothering me, I’m studying.”

Nie Huaisang looks up at him, his pretty pout turning into a dangerous smile, the one he has when he’s about to make himself particularly annoying.

“No you’re not. You’ve been on the same page the whole time. Are you distracted, Jin-xiong? Is there something on your mind? You can tell me about anything, you know. We’re friends.”

They are friends, even if Jin Zixuan didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

They are friends and friends don’t think like that about each other’s lips.

“There’s nothing,” Jin Zixuan snaps. “Just let me study.”

“Boring,” Nie Huaisang replies. “Ah, I’m really bored, I’ll probably fall asleep like this. You don’t mind if I nap on you, right?”

“You’ll fail your next test again,” Jin Zixuan grumbles, trying not to feel anything at the idea of Nie Huaisang falling asleep on him. It has happened before. It was heaven. It was a torture. “You really need to step up or you’ll fail this year as well.”

“No, I’ve decided I won’t fail,” Nie Huaisang announces, laughing lightly. “It was fun at first to come here again and again. But now I’ve made friends, and I want to be able to go visit them. Can’t do that if I’m stuck in the Cloud Recesses another year. This time, I’ll pass.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is if you know how. And I have motivation now, so it’ll be fine.”

Of course Nie Huaisang has motivation. He got along so well with Wei Wuxian, and he gets along with Jiang Cheng also, for all that he complains about him being too serious. He probably has a standing invitation to Lotus Piers already.

Jin Zixuan wishes he could extend an invitation of his own, but he knows better than to do that without his father’s approval, and he knows his father and Nie Mingjue have a… tense relationship, to say the least. Jin Guangshan has always been a little too quick to find excuses for Wen Ruohan’s attitude toward other sects, which may or may not be because there’s so much money to be made from trade between their territories.

Jin Zixuan doubts he’ll get to see Nie Huaisang much after their time in the Cloud Recesses is over.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Jin Zixuan tries to go back to his book. Maybe skillfully passing exams is a thing Nie Huaisang can turn on and off at will, but he’s not so lucky so he needs to focus.

“Hey, Jin-xiong?”

“What now?”

Jin Zixuan’s tone must have been too dry. Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen in surprise, and he pouts again. It’s unfair how pretty he is.

Jin Zixuan isn’t a cut-sleeve, but he’s sure no girl in the world could ever be half as pretty as Nie Huaisang.

“You’re really in a bad mood today!” Nie Huaisang remarks, sitting up.

The ghost of his warmth remains on Jin Zixuan’s legs.

It is a normal thing to note. It doesn’t mean anything.

Nie Huaisang gives him an oddly calculating look though, and Jin Zixuan feels panic rising in his chest, slowly choking him. He knows Nie Huaisang can’t read his mind, can’t see what’s inside his head, least of all when he’s so careful to not even let himself think these things, but if he guesses somehow, if he realises, if he becomes disgusted…

“Jin-xiong, do you dislike me?” Nie Huaisang asks in a weak voice.

“Why would I dislike you?” Jin Zixuan gasps.

Nie Huaisang shrugs, and gathers his knees against his chest, all curled up on himself. It makes Jin Zixuan want to hug him until he stops feeling whatever he’s feeling.

“You didn’t even want to be friends in the first place,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, hiding his face against his knees. He sounds like he might cry. “I had to force you, and you were always complaining, and… and you’re still complaining about it sometimes, even if you put up with it most of the time. Is it… is it really just that? Are you just putting up with me?”

“That’s not it,” Jin Zixuan protests, stunned to hear and see Nie Huaisang in such a state of doubt. He’s usually so confident in himself, wearing even his failure as badges of honour, always the first one to laugh that he’s bad at studying, that he’s been called annoying by a number of people, that he’s the worst cultivator of their generation.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me,” Nie Huaisang insists with a sigh so heartfelt that it nearly takes Jin Zixuan’s breath away. “I’ll stop pestering you from now on.”

“I like it when you pester me!” Jin Zixuan exclaims, which startles Nie Huaisang enough that he raises his head from his knees. His eyes are shining, as if he might really have been on the brink of tears, and the idea does something to Jin Zixuan. Mostly, it seems to fry his brain. “I like when we spend time together,” he continues, even when his every instinct tells him to stop. “I like that you’re the only person who teases me. I like that you want to be around me, and I like being around you as well. And I like… I like watching you. When you laugh, when you smile, when you’re passionately engaged in something you enjoy. I just… I like you a lot, Nie-xiong, so stop worrying about that.”

It’s too much. Nie Huaisang stares at him with eyes so wide they look like marbles, his face colouring quickly in a way it never does, no matter what shameless thing he’s discussing.

It’s too much but it’s true.

“Jin-xiong,” Nie Huaisang breathes, a little awed. “That’s…”

“It’s normal for friends to like each other,” Jin Zixuan hurriedly cuts him, scrambling to save himself. “It’s not like either of us are cut-sleeves, anyway, so it’s fine. We both like girls anyway, so…”

“I mean, I like boys as well,” Nie Huaisang says slowly, his eyes turning calculating again.

Jin Zixuan’s body goes cold.

It never occurred to him that it was possible to like both. It’s not really something that is discussed at home, except to say that cut-sleeves are a plague on their bloodline who disrespect their ancestors by not having children. His father has strong opinions on the matter. His mother too, actually. It’s the one thing on which they can agree.

It’s always been one or the other, in Jin Zixuan’s mind. And since he definitely likes girls, then he’d figured he was safe, he was normal.

He might not be safe.

He’s certainly not normal, not with the way his heart beats so fast when Nie Huaisang smiles again.

“I don’t just like boys in general,” he says, kneeling, scooting closer. Too close. “I like you a lot, Jin-xiong.”

Nie Huaisang leans forward, just a little. Jin Zixuan wants to run away. He stays right where he is, trying not to look at his friend’s lips.

He fails as that.

“As a friend?” Jin Zixuan asks, breathlessly.

“As a friend,” Nie Huaisang agrees. “But not only. Jin-xiong, I like you so much. I also look at you all the time, you know.”

He continues leaning forward, until Jin Zixuan can feel his breath against his lips. He closes his eyes, because if he can see what’s happening, then it’ll be too much, too real.

Nie Huaisang hovers there a moment, as if trying to give him a chance to put a stop to this.

Jin Zixuan doesn’t want it to stop.

He nearly sobs in relief when Nie Huaisang presses their mouth together, gently, just a little hesitant.

Nie Huaisang’s lips are soft but firm, and they are warm and fit perfectly against Jin Zixuan’s, as if they were meant to be like this.

“Is this okay?” Nie Huaisang asks when, all too soon, he pulls away. “Jin-xiong… Zixuan, it’s okay, right?”

It’s not.

Jin Zixuan’s father is going to kill him for this, or kick him out, or at the very least he will demand that Jin Zixuan act normal again and ask that he marry a girl and have children, as is normal, as is right.

It’s wrong to be kissing Nie Huaisang.

It’d be worse still to not be kissing him, now that Jin Zixuan knows what that’s like.

So instead of answering, Jin Zixuan blindly reaches out toward Nie Huaisang, locking his arms around the other boy’s neck to pull him closer and kiss him again.

It’s okay, it’s fine.

It’s worth the trouble that will follow.

[wormstacheangel]

Almost: Ch 5

Chapter Summary:  Dean hides in Cas's childhood bedroom during the funeral reception. He quickly finds himself having a nice conversation with Mick and - fuck- the dude's actually nice.

Read on tumblr Ch 1 link | Ch 2 link | Ch 3 link | Ch 4 link |

or read it on AO3 link (maybe leave a nice comment?)

Word Count: 2468 More Under The Cut

“Ah, this is where you’ve been hiding.” 

Dean was sprawled across Cas’s old twin bed, one leg swinging off the edge as he laid on his back holding up one of his old X-Men comics. He muttered a “Fuck” under his breath as he put the book down on his chest before looking up at Mick. The happy husbands-to-be walked in and closed the door behind him.

While Dean wasn't a big fan of the Novak clan - they weren’t so hot of Winchesters and company either - Sam and Charlie couldn’t give a rat’s ass. They both stayed downstairs with Balthazar who’s been the only one to welcome them in. Finding them ‘fascinating’. Whatever the hell that meant. But they were having a good time and Dean wasn’t going to rain on their parade just cause he wasn’t in the mood to mingle.

Instead, he hid in a familiar room, Cas’s childhood bedroom, that looked practically untouched. Even their old snack drawer was still filled with old Halloween candy wrappers. 

“Making yourself at home?” Mick asked as he looked around the room. His hands touching the items on the desk. “Oh, didn’t know Castiel read comic books.”

Dean sat up as he ran his hand nervously through his hair. “He - um, well - he doesn’t. I mean he does but he won’t buy them himself. Those are all mine.”

Mick looked at him, eyebrows pushed together as he squinted. “You brought comic books to read?”

“No!” Dean put the comic book he was reading down on the bed as he stood up to walk over to the bookshelf behind the door. He motioned towards the middle row. “These are all mine. I used to bring them so when Cas had to study I wasn’t so bored in his room.”

“Ah.” Was all he said as he looked back at the desk. “So you two spent a lot of time together?”

Dean shrugged, his hands awkwardly digging into his pant pockets. “Yeah, I guess. We did go to high school together.”

“Yes,” Mick looked over at Dean, a bright smile on his face as if he was excited that he knew something about Cas. “His first public school experience! He told me.”

Dean awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, he got in real trouble when Chuck found out he forged his signature.”

“What?” 

“Cas! He um, he forged Chuck’s signature on the school papers.” Dean laughed remembering and walking back to sit on the bed while Mick looked at him, eyes sparkling in curiosity. Dean hated it. “Yeah,” He cleared his throat. “Um, Gabriel and Raphael helped him keep the whole thing a secret from Chuck for almost two years. It wasn’t until Cas got suspended that-”

“Castiel got suspended! He never told me!” Mick grabbed the desk chair and moved it closer to Dean. He looked happy to know more things about Cas and Dean felt himself relax just a little. As much as he was jealous - he was practically hulking out by how damn green he was - he was glad that Mick actually seemed to care about Cas. “Well, go on, Dean.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean blinked a few times to catch his thoughts. His face blushing at the memory. “Shit, well, Cas got into a fight.”

“A fight?!”

“Yeah!” Dean laughed. “Some guys were messing with me. Just some dumb guy shit, you know. And someone must have called Cas cause all I remember is my nose cracking under a fist and then seeing the dude get tackled down. Like Cas full-on body slammed that dude to the ground!” Dean’s face hurt from the big grin that stretched over his lips. “Then he was screaming! Man, it was some sight! Never seen him so damn rabid like that since but I had to drag him off the guy before he really gave the guy a concussion.”

“My Castiel did that?” Mick sat back in his chair, in amazement and shock while Dean tried to hide the flinch from those words. Rolling his shoulders back before rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Sure did.” Dean nodded before slowly standing up. “Well, we should head back down-”

“You know,” Mick sighed as he looked down at his hands. “I always feel that Castiel keeps me at a distance. As if he’s still guarding his heart from me.”

Dean falls back on the bed with a huff. For fucks sake, he really doesn’t want to play counselor to a guy he wants to hate. He could easily do the fake nice guy act and tell Mick that maybe Cas just doesn’t love him. That Cas was just a nice guy who has a hard time saying no to people and while that’s true he really doubts that’s why Cas said yes to him. Cas said yes because he loves this pathetic looking guy and Dean just wants him to be happy. 

Even if it’s not with him. 

Though Mick looked like he already trusted Dean wholeheartedly and it would be so easy - No!

Dean sighed as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Knowing damn well he was gonna regret playing nice but the guilt of being a part of hurting Cas would feel a shit ton worse. “Mick, man, Cas is complicated.” 

Mick looked at him with soft round eyes. He was being sincere as fuck and it was annoying. “Not to you.”

“I had practice.” Dean smugly smiled and gave Mick a wink. “Cas is like - fuck how do you even describe that crazy asshole?”

Mick laughed, relaxing into his chair more. “I guess like that but I wouldn’t say he was an asshole.”

Dean laughed and reached to pat Mick on the shoulder. “Oh, then you really don’t know him! If he hasn’t kicked you out of his car in the middle of a rainstorm because you offended his favorite character then just count yourself lucky.”

“He did that to you?” His eyes widened in shock.

“Twice.” Dean held up the two fingers with a grin. “Had to walk home too because he didn’t come back for me.”

Mick and Dean both laughed. 

Fuck. Dean thought as he saw the guy wipe tears from his eyes from laughing. Mick really is a great guy and now Dean just wants to help him. If it means he could make Cas happy then that’s all that mattered. He can at least do that for his old best friend. 

“He’s an old soul.” Dean continued and pointed at the bookshelf again. “You can check out the rest of the books and see they’re all classics. He won’t admit to it but he also likes cheesy YA books.”

Mick got up to check out the bookshelf, his eyes scanning it up and down before he reached for a random book that caught his eyes. 

“He’s a grumpy old man mostly. He hates being wrong and would fight you tooth and nail to prove his point.”

Mick looked up at him and shook his head. “I think me and you really do know two different, Castiels.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that and hopes his heartbreak doesn’t show on his face. “Kinda curious on what your Cas is like.”

“He’s focused.” Mick nods stiffly at him before his face scrunches up. “That’s a sad first description of my fiance, isn’t it?”

Dean laughed before nodding. “Yeah, dude, it is.”

Mick looked so in love though as he smiled at Dean. “It’s stupid, Dean, but I just...since I met him I can’t think of anyone else.” 

No. No. I don’t want to hear this. Dean kept that smile on his face as he stood up to maybe distract Mick with a book. Cas usually had dumb bookmarks maybe he can talk about the pressed flowers.

“What about you, Dean?”

“What about me?”

“Did you feel the same when you got married?”

“When I got what?” Dean froze in the middle of the room but before Mick could ask again the door swung open. Shielding Mick from view.

Dean’s eyes meet the baby blue’s that made his stomach flip. 

Then Cas smiled at him and it wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be smiling at him like that. Smiling as if Dean was his favorite damn person in the world. As if the hour separation from the last time he saw him was torture for him and seeing Dean was just pure relief. It wasn’t fair. 

“Dean.” Cas sighed, his shoulders dropping as his whole expression softened. He looked so relieved and happy to see him that Dean didn’t know what to do with himself. He just stood there like a dumbass as Cas ran into him. Crashing his whole body against Dean’s own and into a big comforting hug. 

Then Cas did this laugh - fuck it sounded so unrestrained and heartfelt that it made Dean feel like he was floating - as he hid his face against the crook of Dean’s neck. 

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” Cas quietly says and the relief in Cas’s voice left Dean more dumbfounded than he already was. 

“Wow! Am I getting one of those hugs too, sweetheart?” There was a small strain to Mick’s happy tone.

Cas froze in Dean’s arms - he even heard the dumbass cuss into Dean’s skin - before he pulled away to look back at Mick. Then looked back at Dean, his dumb head tilt - thank god that didn’t change - and squinty eyes asking questions that Dean could hear clear as day.

Dean rolled his eyes. “We were just talking. Don’t get your damn panties in a twist, Cas.” 

“I was just asking.” Cas shrugged, a smile in his voice before he walked over to Mick. “I’m glad you two are getting along?”

Dean could hear the damn question in his voice and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His heart was still racing from the few seconds of having Cas so close again. Having him look at him like...like that.

Mick pulled Cas from around the waist and reached to kiss his cheek. It was sweet and Dean saw the red prick Cas’s cheeks. 

“We are. I never had a best friend before but I am jealous of your friendship.” Mick looked over at Dean. “Must be nice to have that deep connection with someone.”

Dean looked away. Instead gave his attention to the desk that still had another comic book with a chip bag folded inside to be used as a bookmark.

“Yes.” Cas quietly said before clearing his throat. “Um, why are you both in my room?”

“I just followed Dean here.” Mick quickly answered while Dean nervously ran his hand through his hair.

“You know me, Cas. I can’t stay too long with that creepy vampire clan you have as a family.” Dean winked at him while Cas rolled his eyes.

“Vampires?” Mick asked as he looked between them.

“They’re not vampires.” Cas said at the same time Dean said, “Yeah, you know, bat wings and fangs. The full Twilight!”

“We don’t have...Dean! Stop telling people my family is made up of vampires!”

“I’ll be more worried at the fact that people always easily believe me.” 

“Ah,” Mick awkwardly laughed as he wiggled a finger between Cas and Dean. “Is this like an inside joke?”

“No.” “Yes.”

Mick hummed as he dropped his hand. Clearly uncomfortable but he should try stepping into Dean’s shoes. 

“How was the burial?” Mick turned to smile at Cas, leaning in to kiss his shoulder, and Dean had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. 

Just cause he thought the dude was nice doesn’t mean he wants to see that shit. 

“It was fine. Nobody really talked.” Cas nodded, his eyes far away as he was thinking about it because he was unsure. Then he blinked a couple of times before turning to look at Dean again. “Which reminds me, Bobby and you are invited to Dad’s will reading tomorrow afternoon. Actually, invited is the wrong word. You guys have to be there in order for the testament to be read.”

“What?” Dean shuffled the weight on his feet awkwardly as he tried to process Cas’s words. “What - wait. Why do we have to be there?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Cas shrugged, “But I would steer clear of my brothers for a while. Probably Sam too. While Gabriel may think it’s funny, he is the only one. They already don’t particularly like you, Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas, I noticed.”

“Really? They like me.” Mick proudly said, cheeks high as he smiled.

“Shocker.” Dean muttered but by the look of Cas’s face, he must have not said it quietly enough. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll just get Sam and Charlie and go home.”

Cas tried to step forward towards Dean but he saw Mick’s grip around his waist tighten. Cas made a face but then he gave Dean one of those fake smiles. “Yeah, probably for the best. Don’t want Mike finding you and interrogating you all night.”

Dean nodded, biting the inside of his cheek before he gave them both the same cocky smile. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan then. I’ll head out then.”

Dean made his way out of the room, not wanting to meet the stare that was digging holes into him. He made it down the hall and was on the first step down the stairs when Cas called out to him. Dean turned around just when Cas stopped only a few inches away from him. From this angle, he can just take the next step up and have his lips pressed up against Cas’s skin. Against his lips. Pull him down for a kiss he desperately can’t stop selfishly thinking about. 

At least he can imagine he was brave enough to do that.

Instead, he looked down at the piece of paper that Cas was handing him. “Take it, Dean, it won’t bite.”

Dean takes it and looks to see it was Cas’s phone number written in quick handwriting. That dumbass even drew a little happy face. 

“Call me in the morning so I can give you all the details about tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean puts the paper in his pocket as he smiles up at Cas. “Sure, Cas. Thanks.”

Cas smiles back and Dean swears he blushes. Before Dean could enjoy the handsome sight, Cas ducks his head down to leave a kiss on Dean’s cheek. It was quick but it still felt lingering as it burned his skin.

“Night, Dean.” Cas whispers as he starts to walk away. “Um, and thanks for keeping Mick company. Give your family my best for me!”

Dean sucked in a shaky breath. “S-sure.”

Then he waves back at Cas, who looked like he was almost skipping before he disappeared back into his bedroom. Back to Mick.

[june-louise]

The Telephone Call

Another drabble, Elizabeth/Philip. Set while Philip is away on tour in season 2 of The Crown. Might be continued. 

...

Elizabeth sat in the sofa; one leg crossed over the other as she listened to the reports coming from the television a few metres in front of her. Her mother was as per usual having her dinner next to her, joined by Margaret sitting across from them. Elizabeth had already had dinner, for once having shared the meal with the children who were now in bed.

Ever since Philip had left for the Royal tour, she had felt the need to spend more time with the children, surely to compensate for sending their father away for months on end. Philip had always been the more natural parent of the two, the one spending more time and playing with them. To Elizabeth, playing with the children had never been her favourite activity and with all her work she rarely spent much time with them during the weekdays.

Of course, she loved her children more than anything, but she had never felt like a natural mother as other women seemed to. With Philip gone though, she had felt the connection with Charles and Anne to be something of a comfort personally while she very much wanted them both to be happy and content. So, she had made it into a habit to join them in the playing room, listen to their talks and share more meals with them and help put them to bed. She even read books for them and tried to do silly voices as Charles called it. Because Philip usually did, and the children loved it.

“Your Majesty,” a voice said and interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the court martial approach her. “A telephone call for you, ma’am. The Duke of Edinburgh.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow in surprise and felt the eyes of her mother and sister on her, they obviously surprised as well. She felt a smile spread on her face and could not help the excitement building in her stomach. She had felt quite low lately, finding herself missing the company of her husband more than she had thought she would. Ever since Philip’s speech on Christmas and the film from Antarctica, the emptiness she felt had grown worse. Laying eyes on him after so many weeks and reading his handwriting had made her heart ache for him, and it had not stopped since.

Quickly shrugging the surprise off of her, she spoke to the man. “Thank you.” Standing up, Elizabeth turned to the other women and excused herself. She tried best she could to not let the other two see her vulnerability, holding herself together and making an effort to contain her smile. She knew they both loved Philip, but they had never quite understood him like she did. And her feelings for him had therefore also many times made Elizabeth feel misunderstood, and she had found she sometimes had to act down on them in order to keep their comments to a minimum.

Walking toward her study, she felt the tightness and nervousness grow in her chest. She knew it was a slight anguish she felt, a fear of him not being there on the other line. The last time Philip called the reception had been bad and the line was broken before she had a chance to speak to him. She tried to prepare herself for the disappointment that it would happen again.

“Hello,” she said into the phone, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath to calm herself. She saw the doble doors close behind her and as she finally heard the voice of her husband on the other side of the line, she beamed.

“Hello, darling,” Philip said and she could almost hear his smirk and tried to picture him there on the other side of the world.

“Oh, it’s working,” she let out in surprise.

“Yes,” he said in his sleek voice and she imagined he was leaning against some kind of furniture where he was, making himself more comfortable. She did the same and rested against the wooden desk. “These bloody telephones actually do work from time to time.” He laughed and she chuckled, feeling herself relax.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” she said and got somehow more serious, feeling her eyes water slightly. This small gesture, a phone call, had her feeling as if there was a huge weight lifted from her shoulders, warming her heart.

“Are you admitting to actually missing me,” Philip said in a lighter voice, always the one to lift the mood. Elizabeth did love that about him, how he could make her smile and how life was far from boring when Philip was with. Many times, people around them showed their annoyance at his sarcastic comments, and she sometimes felt that way also, but deep down she knew she could never live without any of it. And she had missed hearing his voice immensely lately, finding herself imagining in her head what his replies would be and smiling to herself while everybody around her was oblivious.

“What if I am,” she replied and soared as she felt their familiar banter come alive. “And what about you, having the time of your life in all corners of the world?” She asked the question in a somewhat playful voice, but also felt nervous about the actual answer.

Ever since Philip had left, she had not heard much from him at all. A failed telephone call, a few telegrams mostly including updates on their whereabouts and well-wishes for the children, but not more than that. Except from the footage from Antarctica, where he had been surprisingly heartfelt.

Philip sighed. “Well, even though parts of the tour is surprisingly interesting and the places we’ve been has been quite incredible, I, too, must admit to missing my wife.” He paused, and she desperately wished she could see the look on his face. “Lately, a bit more than I imagined, actually,” he admitted truthfully.  

“You have,” Elizabeth asked, her voice quite emotional revealing more vulnerability than she was comfortable with.

“Yes,” Philip started in a determined voice, “are you that surprised?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but mostly happy to hear that I am not the only one feeling that way. Five months is incredibly long when all you want if for them to pass by, really. Did you get my letter,” she continued in an attempt to change the subject. 

“Oh, yes.” She could hear him smile into the phone. “Made me think that I should grow a beard more often,” he chuckled.

Elizbeth blushed and cleared her throat, finding herself feel a bit embarrassed. “Really? I wonder what the reactions would be it you came home like that,” she said with a smile as she imagined the scenario. Her mother would be beside herself; Margaret would find it incredibly funny and Michael would uncomfortably try to work out how best to convince Philip to shave. “They were all quite surprised to see it, whereas I thought you looked like an explorer.” She smiled and added, “a very handsome explorer.”

“Five months really is a long time,” Philip sighed, and she felt her fingers go to the pearls around her neck. His words made the conversation shift, and she felt her chest tighten, her pulse quicken. “Trust me, it’s not only the sharing of bed I miss, but I’d really do anything to be with you right now.”

“Philip,” she said in a surprised voice, while blushing more, suddenly very aware of her most private parts. She shifted on the desk, leaning one leg over the other.

“What,” he said innocently. “Can’t a husband share his desires for his wife? I am alone here, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” she quickly said, voice shaky. “I’m alone.”

“That’s it then, good, no worries. Wouldn’t want anyone overhearing this conversation, now would we,” he smirked.

“Philip,” she whispered and felt the need to sit down. Her breathing quickened and she pressed her legs together as she sat on the chair by the desk.

“You sound tense, darling. If I was there, I’d give you a big smooch, but since I’m not, what can I do?”

Elizabeth swallowed, “Philip, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes searched the room, even though she knew no one was there. “You know why not. And besides, I can’t.”

“You can,” he reassured her, like he so often had done when she needed help to escape her up tightness. “Now, if it’ll make it easier,” Philip said, and she could not help but roll her eyes at his determination. “Tell me where you are” he started. “And what you are wearing,” he added before, she imagined, leaning back into his seat and with amusement waiting for her reply.

Her face felt hot and she was sure there was a visible blush on her neck. Though she gave in. “I’m in my office,” she started and looked around at the familiar surroundings. She spent much of her time in here, and often had different people come to her with various notifications.  She sincerely hoped that no one would get the idea to enter anytime soon, hoping the call from the Duke would keep them out until she gave them a sign that she was finished. She continued to play with the pearls around her neck, a nervous habit she had. “And I’m wearing my usual clothes, in blue.” As she spoke the words, she felt quite dull. Not much surprise there.

“Oh, blue, one of my favourite colours on you,” Philip said, seemingly not finding her dull at all, and she relaxed a bit. Philip always made her feel more comfortable, somewhat making her feel sexy through her shyness and sometimes up tight behaviour. “Like those gorgeous eyes I adore.”

Elizabeth shifted in her seat and felt a bit braver. “And you? Where is that handsome husband of mine?” She raised her eyebrow and wettened her lips, eager to hear his reply.

“Well, I’ve abandoned the suit onboard Britannia where the bloody phone does not work. Now in the Falkland Islands, we have loaned a quite nice house with a big garden. I’m in my room, supposed to rest after a whole day of shaking people’s hands and cutting ribbons.”

Elizabeth chuckled and then questioned, intrigued. “And what are you wearing?”

Philip laughed and spoke with playfulness in his voice. “I am wearing my robe, sitting in bed.” She imagined he knew he was teasing her, knowing how she was one of the people who knew he secretly preferred to sleep naked, even though he rarely did it at home in Buckingham palace anymore.

“And you just decided to give me a call before going to bed?”

“I did have a dream about you, actually. And have been thinking about it the whole day.”

“Yeah, what about?” Elizabeth felt warm inside, happy to hear that she had been in his thoughts.

“Traveling together. Yesterday we were greeted into this house and I was reminded of the house we stayed at in Kenya, before your father’s passing. Where we visited Treetops.”

Elizabeth smiled, remembering the wonderful time they had had there. Before their whole world changed. “That was a wonderful trip, before, you know. I was so happy and so in love with you.”

“Me, too. It was just us there, our own special place of the world.”

“It was.” Elizabeth suddenly laughed. “Remember when you saved me from that elephant?”

Philip joined her laugher. “I did do that. It was quite terrifying.”

“It was,” Elizabeth concluded, and gave a sigh. “I miss that time.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed, and a quiet understanding consumed them both. It had been a time before life as they knew it now, with duty and obligations – a time where they could be more of a normal couple. As normal as they could be anyway, given their circumstances. Elizabeth still remembered the incredible loss she had felt, and guilt, for taking away her and Philip’s wonderful life even though she knew it had not been her fault. She seldom let herself think about the what if’s, or imagine what their life could have been. It was not constructive. And there was no going back. They had both signed up for this life together, and in many ways, it was also an incredible life. Only different.

“Philip,” Elizabeth said after a while, interrupting their walk down memory lane, and when he made a sound to let her know he was listening, she continued. “I know I don’t say it much, but I do still love you very much, adore you even. But you must know that, right?”

She thought she could hear his smile over the phone. “Yes, I know,” Philip said, his voice soft and reassuring. Elizabet had never doubted her love and adoration for her husband, she did not remember a time not loving him. The love had never been the problem, even though it might seem like it for anyone else. Maybe she should say it more often, she thought. Yet they were both not very emotional people, and they rarely exchanged words of affection. So, Elizabeth was glad he knew how she felt about him.

Philip continued, maybe also finding that the distance of the telephone made the words come easier. “I feel the same way. Even though I sometimes act like an idiot, I have always loved you, Lilibet. And I believe that it is my destiny that I always will.”

[pmyournudes]

Moons Over Madripoor Ch 1

“I’m sorry Daddy, I’ve been naughty”

“Wade what have I told you about coming to Hell’s Kitchen”. Matt is exhausted, it’s nearing midnight, and he’d already kicked everyone’s ass in a bar to break up a Maggia gun deal. He’s too tired to deal with any of the Merc’s mouth tonight, and he knows it’s just beginning, “and more importantly what have I told you about staying in Hell’s kitchen.” Matt adjusted his footing. Normally Wade would try to futilely sneak up on him, this time he just came up the fire escape.

“You don’t want to hear my confession? I’m sure I could find some saps to perforate with my guilt.” Wade unholstered a pistol and spun it idly, Matt could tell the gun wasn’t even loaded.

“I’m not a priest but, I don’t like you threatening thugs just to make me bend an ear.” Matt knew Wade was manipulating him, but he also knew Wade only dealt with money and bodies. His emotions were something Wade had a less than tenuous grasp on. “You going to tell me where to find a pile of bodies? You know I don’t appreciate those as favors, you’re not a cat.” Matt leaned against the stonework, Wade’s heartrate was flittering, if Matt knew any better he’d think that Wade had been crying.

“No, I haven’t been in the mood to kill anyone. Well not IN the mood but I just don’t care. Like you ever get a drumstick ice cream and just can’t even bother eating enough to get to the chocolate so you just throw it away? Or you think the taco truck sounds good to hit up but by the time you load all your mags and strap your guns on you realize you don’t even want any mexican? It’s like that” Matt knew Wade must be low. Someone so impulsive and carefree doesn’t just lose motivation for their chicanery. He must have been crying after all.

“Too languid to kill drug dealers or support any taquerias? That’s not the Deadpool I know. I suppose I can hear your confession. I have no idea what it’d pertain to since crimes against thugs and chimichangas normally top that list.” Matt was genuinely curious, this could only mean trouble. Or a headache for him, something he doesn’t need if what he heard with Tombstone was actually about to go down. “I suppose I could spare a few for you but, if anything comes up tonight I’ll need to see to that too.” Matt sat down on the ledge of the walk up, one leg off the side so he could keep an ear on the bar he was staking out.

“Of course, there’s other buildings that could use some brooding on them. Or if any of your gargoyle buddies needs back up catching pigeon shit you should get on that.” Wade jokingly toyed, a little too cavalier for someone trying to have a heartfelt conversation.

“Did you want to talk or did you come here to belittle me? Some of us feel a personal responsibility to doing the right thing.”

“Dont fucking talk about responsibility to me. You know who else does? That shit eating Spider-man. Maybe you should leave and go be responsible too, maybe Queens needs you, maybe my flat isn’t good enough, maybe we can’t take weeks to ourselves as if we don’t need it, don’t need each other.”  Wade grabbed his mouth. He’d said more than he meant. He knew that his team ups with Spidey were public but maybe Daredevil would miss his slip up or not know what he was talking about. Wade crouched down, or maybe he was slumping, his body scabbards kept his back straight, but his head falling let Daredevil know that he was exhausted as well.

“Oh, I meant I have guilt that I’m not doing enough, every person the mob hurts, hurts me too. I don’t like seeing those I care about in pain. You included Wade.” Matt knew what Wade was talking about. As if he couldn’t hear Wade’s pulse rev up like a sportbike anytime he mentioned Spider-Man. It’d been going on for months, Deadpool was so easy to get a hold of. Just mentioning the wall crawler could be there and Deadpool would show up like clockwork. It was a nice ace to have up his sleeve if a volatile situation needed combusting. Normally Wade couldn’t be relied on, but he actually was helpful the past few times. He didn’t even kill anyone the last fight they had at the docks. “Is something hurting you now?”

“Well that’s why I’m here. You ever get told you can’t do the thing you really want? Like if the priest told you that you’d prayed too much and that he wouldn’t hear another Hail Mary?” Deadpool sat down, his guns clattering on the rooftop. His legs splayed in front of him like a child sitting for a story.

“Wade church doesn’t work like that, priests are always there in times of need. I think you and I both know that.” It was a clever dig, even Matt had to admit that Wade’s wit was plenty sharp enough to earn his monicker.

“Ok well I don’t know what else you’d be into or broken up about. Maybe if they stopped sending ninjas to New York and you’d have to only fight mobsters. Yeah it’s like that, you WANT to fight ninjas because it’s exciting and fun and exhilarating and new every time,” Deadpool hugged himself, like he was overcome with joy. “but, instead New York only had mafiosos and petty crooks. Just the same boring thing you can get anywhere else.” his arms dropped and his head hung again. Matt could smell tears on Wade’s eyes, he was on the brink of crying.

“I would be more than happy if I never saw another ninja again.” Matt meant that, the city had enough issues without immortal assassin’s harrying him. The only thing ancient orders brought with them was ancient issues.

“What if it was /her/ though, what if she never showed up again because she didn’t want any part of New York and instead you had to deal with Tombstone or Bullseye.” Deadpool barked at him, his voice hoarsening. Matt faced Deadpool, had he told Wade about Elektra? Who had Matt told about her? “Oh if you’re wondering how I know about Nachos girl, literally everyone knows you two are a thing. I'd hear at poker games how people would bait her out since it would throw you off so badly just smelling her.” Was Matt really that bad when she was around? He remembered Foggy telling him she was trouble but that was just because his court cases backed up. 

“I don’t know who you’re playing poker with, but I don’t ‘lose my senses’ when I smell someone like some pubescent teen.” This was making Matt uncomfortable, but Wade wasn’t noticing. He was lying down, not relaxed, but lackadaisical. Fully off guard and exposed on the rooftop.

“That makes one of us I guess. I can’t control myself, I’ve fully lost who I am trying to make someone else happy.” His voice was straining, he was holding back trying to be strong.

“Are you sure it’s what would make them happy, or what you think would make them happy?”

“I’m sure I know them and what would make them happy, we’ve spent weeks together. Working on assignments and spending long nights together.” Wade’s voice caught in his throat.

“Nights like this? You know this is just a night out, like any other. Sometimes a night is just a night.”

“Don’t be cheeky, it wasn’t some cheap rooftop in a ratty borough. These were nights in Madripoor, that place is enchanted, there’s magic in that air.” Deadpool looked off wistfully. Daredevil was sure he was imagining another night on another rooftop elsewhere. “DON’T even bother telling me I can’t make someone happy either, I can make anyone smile.”

“That’s true, I’d be lying if I said you haven’t made me crack a grin before. But true happiness isn’t made, it’s something you find and you enjoy it while it’s there.”

“I did find it, it was the sun and the moon all in one. I thought it was mine and that I had somehow cheated fate to have it.” Deadpool doffed his mask to wipe a tear from his eye. He sat up and faced Daredevil. “But, it wasn’t meant to last. You want to hear my confession now Daredevil?”

“That’s what I’m here for Wade, whatever you have to tell me, I’ll hear you.” Daredevil turned his back to the street to face Deadpool.

“I’m in love with Spider-Man and he doesn’t love me the same way.”

[kiruuuuu]

Don’t worry, generic or not, I appreciate every compliment, @tubby-custard68! Thank you ❤ And this prompt is fantastic: I love Bandit/Jäger, I can feed @magehir‘s obsession with Blitz/Rook and I seem to enjoy writing about drunk people for some reason. I hope you like it! (Rating T, fluff/humour, ~1.5k words)

.

“Look, is it normal for Germans to be absolute snobs about beer?”

Bandit side-eyes the young Frenchman next to him curiously while he pays for his smokes. He distinctly remembers Jäger telling him to be nicer to Rook despite the fact they’re all at least ten years older than him and the only one who really cares about him is Blitz. Even so, he insists on dragging his boytoy wherever they go which is fair enough, Bandit supposes, he does the same with Jäger as well when the SAS operators go out for drinks, only Jäger isn’t as timid and young and desperate to fill silences as Rook. “Yeah”, he replies in an effort to humour him, “we invented and perfected beer, I’ve not found a single foreign brand that I like.”

“Oh! They have ice cream!” Excitedly, Rook bounces over to the small freezer and peers inside, making Bandit sigh inwardly.

“Make it quick. And are you sure you want to spend all the money you just withdrew on -” He trails off as he turns around, finding the Frenchman with an armful of various popsicles and even a few tubs of Ben and Jerry’s as well as a comically guilty expression. “Jesus Christ, when people ask you to buy a round, they don’t mean fucking ice cream, you moron, put it back. My God, just being in the same room with you must be like herding kittens.”

“Elias doesn’t complain”, Rook chirps, pouting slightly but at least sorting the ice cream and returning it to the freezer, leaving only an almond Magnum that admittedly looks very tempting right now. Rook pauses momentarily before reaching into the cold box once again, fishing out a second one and approaching the till to pay.

“He’d never complain. You could probably piss in his mouth and receive heartfelt thanks for it.” The cashier is now looking at him weirdly so he leaves the store they spotted on their way back to the pub and shakes one of the cigarettes out of the pack, places it between his lips. It’s not that he dislikes Rook, it’s more that he prefers the Frenchman to not be anywhere in his vicinity. Before he can light it, however, there’s a popsicle shoved under his nose. He blinks once, twice, unsure what to do because he does like Magnums. “I hate almonds”, he says and Rook rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be a bitch”, he says which, okay, he deserves that one, so Bandit puts away the cigarette and instead rips open the wrapping. “And don’t pretend your boyfriend is much better. We’re all wearing rose-coloured glasses here and it’s not going to kill you to admit it.”

“Tell yourself that, I’m not the one completely dick whipped here.” The chocolate breaks between his teeth with a satisfying crunch and distracts him from the fact that Rook isn’t walking next to him anymore but rather has stopped, staring after him with an entirely unamused expression. “What?”

“Remember when his car broke and you were unfailingly on time for a week because you offered to give him a lift and didn’t want him to feel bad about being late? Because I do. And you weren’t even together then, that’s how desperate you were.” Bandit scowls at him and earns a chuckle in return. “How do I know about this? You whined to Elias. Endlessly.”

“Now’s the perfect time to shut up, baguette du fromage, it’s not like you’re any better. You hover around him like a mother hen – I get second hand embarrassment just from the way you coo over the idiot.”

“But that’s my point. We’re in the same boat, we both are stupidly in love with a German dork.”

“Speak for yourself”, Bandit grumbles and turns away to keep walking. He’s getting oversaturated with young operators who think they know better than him despite the fact he could theoretically be their dad. A horrifying thought. “I got the better deal, in any case. My dork knows how to suck dick at least.”

“Yeah? You really want to go there?”, Rook asks and tries to sound challenging which gets undermined by his face flushing a cute shade of red. “Why does everything have to be a competition with you?”

“Oh, we can make it a competition. About which of our boyfriends is the bigger dumbass.”

“What does that even mean?”

Bandit ponders his own suggestion for a short while as they both eat their ice cream in silence. “How about… we keep buying them alcohol and the one who refuses first wins. And don’t think it’ll be easy, Marius is wary now because I do things to him drunk that he wouldn’t let me do to him sober, so he’s got a strong incentive not to end up shit-faced.”

Rook grimaces at the mental image. “Really, I don’t need to know what you grandpas get up to in your free time.” And the only reason why Bandit doesn’t immediately retort something equally as snide is because he’s actually looking forward to the challenge now. They negotiate the rules the rest of the way until the youngling finally agrees right before they dive back into the thick, stuffy air of the pub they left about half an hour ago, maybe more. They ended up taking their time, surprisingly. Bandit suspects Blitz and Jäger sent the two of them away together on purpose, hoping they’ll end up bonding over God knows what even though they’re nothing alike and share next to no common interests.

A high-pitched shriek reaches their ears even before they spot Bandit’s teammates and they look at each other dubiously, both of them realising it’s Blitz who produced that noise. They find the two huddled by a corner table, fighting over a phone and sporting wide, goofy grins that immediately spark a feeling of dread in Bandit. “You’ve never been sent to the principal? Really?”, Jäger is asking incredulously as they approach the table, only to completely abandon whatever it is they were doing as soon as he catches sight of Bandit. He basically catapults himself out of his chair and wraps himself all around him, leaving entirely too wet kisses on the side of his neck and face and mumbles: “Hey babe, you were gone forever.” Blitz follows him suit, not to be bested by his friend, and hums contentedly into Rook’s shoulder after embracing him tightly.

They’re wasted. Rook and Bandit exchange another glance, this one decidedly bemused. Even in their shared exasperation, Rook mouths babe at him and smirks. “Hey, croissant, what is it that bees make out of pollen again?”, Bandit wants to know.

“Honey?”

“Yeah? What is it?”, Blitz replies dazedly and Bandit snorts at Rook’s defeated expression.

“The fuck did you guys do while we were away?”

“Okay”, Jäger starts and interrupts himself by sucking so viciously on Bandit’s skin that it actually hurts, “okay, look. We didn’t – Elias found some money after all and we were bored and there’s this Rice Purity Test online and -”

“You’re a depraved human being”, Blitz tells him gravely and the two devolve into helpless giggling again, much to their boyfriends’ dismay.

“How much did you drink?”

The two Germans untangle themselves from their lovers and start counting, correcting each other to the point of having to start over, dropping references to their test results that leave them breathless and holding on to each other for support as they slowly delve deeper into hysterics and it’s hopeless. Nowadays, they rarely get to spend time alone so Bandit can understand the sentiment of wanting to catch up, shoot the shit, whatever, only this definitely went too far. He forgot that they’re notorious for enabling each other. Rook watches the whole thing both resignedly as well as extremely amused, mirroring Bandit’s mood perfectly and isn’t this just great. They get to bond after all, even if it’s over the combined stupidity of two people that unfortunately do mean a lot to them.

“Let’s cancel the challenge”, Bandit tells him with a sigh, “we both lose.”

Rook laughs good-naturedly, making Bandit realise he’s not actually that bad after all. Maybe they can have other competitions in the future – it’s rare enough that Bandit can mock someone else for being as ridiculously infatuated as he himself is. “Yeah. I agree. Let’s just get them home, I think they’ve had enough.”

“Are we going hooome?”, Jäger picks up on the most important part of what they just said and melts against Bandit once more, all eager and loose limbs. “Are you going to do the thing again?”

“Of course I’m going to do the thing. You look so pretty when you cry.”

“Oh my God”, says Rook and this is an added bonus to keeping him around because Bandit thoroughly enjoys the scandalised expression on his face that only worsens when Blitz starts whispering in his ear as well.

[lodsamone]

A Sennight Past

The weather was fair, given the season. La Noscea was not immune to the chill of winter, especially now with the cold winds of Coerthas drifting across Merlthor. Yet it was not so brisk as to call for the heavier garbs Edda had grown so used to as of late, and so she happily left her coat behind as she took leave of the house.

She was not much in the mood for a walk, but from her bedroom window she saw the unfamiliar - a pop-up tent pitched upon a nearby hill, just close enough that she could see it was in use. It was rare to find her father outside, and she found her curiosity could not be abated.

The purpose of the tent became clear as she drew closer. Beyond the crest of the hill the encampment of Ogul Dataaq could be seen - close enough to be observed, but not so close that the smell of horse became overpowering. What entertainment could be gleaned from watching them Edda did not know. She took a seat next to her father, the presence of a spare chair telling enough.

The two sat in silence for some time. She knew she need not voice her question, and waited patiently, until Eamon removed his fingers from his temple and motioned to the camp before them.

“Given their limited space, I’m surprised that uppity lot allowed them to stay as long as they did. Compounded with the scent of chocobo, it must have been unbearable.”

“The stables were far enough from their home, I believe.”

“I wasn’t talking about the horses.”

Edda sighed. “Father, please.”

Eamon turned to look at her now, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m surprised you were willing to speak directly to that beast of a man.”

“And I’m surprised you agreed to let them stay at all.”

It was his turn to sigh, the sharp angles of his face pinching into distaste. “Mm, yes, well, you know how it is with the Maelstrom. Ever desirous for more of my land. You would think fronting the costs for new barracks and offices would be enough to keep them from nipping at my heels.” He took a sip of water, the looming shadow of his valet behind him silently serving him and his daughter both. “Given their shift to a more… welcoming foreign policy as of late, perhaps hosting this rabble at no impact to their coffers will silence them for another moon. Or two.”

“Is that all?” Edda looked at her father curiously. In truth, she had expected more.

“No,” he said. “Even now, I struggle to think of a more fitting use for them. But I hardly know these people - do they even recognize the concept of debt? How can I trust them?” He paused, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I had wondered if the Maelstrom might be interested in anything they might have to offer, but I think not. Their funds have been stretched thin, as of late.”

Edda watched him carefully. That he was smiling at this own words was obvious to her, even if it did not show on his face. It was a look she knew well. She dared not pursue the thread he had laid out for her - it seemed pointless to do so now. They had spoken little about those events, and the memory of it still left a stale taste in her mouth.

The silence between them grew, and seeing that it might stay that way, Eamon continued. “You’ve been rather busy as of late.” It wasn’t a question. “What was that stunt with the other Xaela? The merchant?”

She hummed in thought, searching for an answer. There had been little effort on her part. A few words in the just the right ears was enough to turn a complete social disgrace into a display of good will, or a test of the nation’s resolve as a practically new state. It did not gain as much traction as Edda might have hoped, but it did more than she expected, and that would have to be enough. As to why she did it - well. She hardly knew the man, but he seemed to get on well with Verad and Nihka and the like; and the more she thought on it the more it felt a favor to them rather than the Bolir himself.

“It felt like the right thing to do,” she said.

“The right thing to do,” Eamon repeated. He looked entirely unconvinced.

Edda shifted in her seat. “Yes. It didn’t go exactly as I had intended. And,” she hesitated. “It would have been nice, to watch the lot of them force themselves to be gracious to one they would normally toss out onto the streets without a second thought.”

“That is unexpectedly nasty of you.”

She frowned. “You know how I feel about that place.”

“I do.”

She could feel his eyes on her, boring into the side of her head. He did not have to stare so, in order to strip those thoughts from her mind and lay them bare before him. He knew full well it was more than Carteneau now, and though they did not speak on it anymore, she had told him enough. Just enough.

Eamon continued to watch her as she looked ahead, resolute. The Xaela at the bottom of the hill milled in and out of their tents, preparing food, sparring. Those closer to the foot of the hill stared back, but never for too long.

“It was not my main intent,” Edda said.

“No,” Eamon conceded. “But you would be better off not involving yourself with his ilk. People like him can do nothing for you, regardless of what generosity you bestow upon them.”

The gift had been nice enough, she thought, even if it was a lucky guess. “I think you are quick to dismiss him, father. That there are no obvious benefits now does not mean it shall be so forever.”

“And so we are to keep him in our good graces in the hopes that he might prove useful… eventually. Such short sightedness will be your downfall. Even your little dog has more obvious use than that churl.”

Edda sucked air in through her teeth. She hated that phrase, which her father knew well, so she swallowed, and let it pass. “...He is close with Ser Deauxbois.”

“Ah, Ser Bronco Grease. The very picture of Ishgardian nobility.”

She furrowed her brow. “Are you still on about that?”

“I imagine I think of it far less than you do.”

That was enough to silence her on the matter, as well as on all other matters that might have come from it. The memory of it lashed within her mind, it lacerated her, the familiar pit of dread and fear forming in her stomach, colder than the winds of Ishgard. Still she could see it so perfectly in her mind, the memory of her face in the mirror, those hands, and she had deserved it. She had. And so she deserved to be reminded. That her father would go so far did not surprise her, but that knowledge did little to abate the sting of it.

They fell into silence for some time. The sea was not terribly far, but at their distance and height it could not be heard, the faint smell of salt the only reminder of its presence. Eamon busied himself with the tray of food between them, having gone untouched for some time. Cherry tomatoes, cheese, olives - anything that did not produce too much noise when chewed. The Xaela began to pay them less and less attention.

“I read your letter,” he said after some time. “Quite the unexpected missive. Very interesting.”

Of course he had. Edda knew that he read most, if not all, of her mail. There could be no reason that he would remind her of this other than that he wanted to speak on it. She received plenty of mail, but very little of it was ever very personal, and so she did not have to think long and hard about what he was referring to. Still, she played along.

“Oh? May I ask you opinion on them, then? Those documents did not seem very telling to me, on their own, but perhaps you saw something I did not.”

Eamon ignored her. “It was surprisingly earnest, the letter.” Yes, the letter. Only that was what he had a mind to discuss. “Heartfelt, even. Should I be on the watch for poetry in the post?”

Edda only looked at him, her nostrils flaring. He continued.

“Did you write him a response?”

“...No.”

“Good.”

She frowned. “Why should it matter, whether I respond to him or not?”

“Well,” he began. He shifted in his seat, his chin tilting upwards as he considered. “It doesn’t. You could stand to benefit from having someone like that under your thumb, I suppose. Just take care you don’t…” He trailed off, and looked at her pointedly, as if expecting her to draw her own conclusion.

“What?”

“Don’t become sentimental,” he finished. He waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, he’s much too-”

“I know,” she snapped. It was rare for her to hold such a tone with her father, but the subject, his words, the very thought of him reading that letter agitated her to her core. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He did not rebuke her for speaking to him so, and instead gave her a long, long glance out of the corner of his eye. There was a look on his face that was quite rare, an aporetic expression, nearly playful in a way, as if he had a mind to tease her. Tease her for what, exactly, was of course the question, and one Edda did not prefer to dwell on.

“In any case,” Eamon said with a sigh. “I’m surprised you’ve gotten yourself so involved with that family’s affairs, given your disposition. Are you so desperate, to see them shamed?”

“It’s not about that,” she said, looking down at her lap. “Not anymore.” Looking back on it now, she felt only shame at having such a basic motivation, and a childish one at that. But being treated with kindness from one she did not expect, and seeing Faetrix in a situation that Edda was not wholly unfamiliar with (though she would never give it voice), even had she steeled her heart to the best of her ability she would not be able to stand idly by and do nothing. The words of Ogul Dataaq, of Kiht and Nihka and Verad - still he had difficulty in understanding their concern. It was a situation alien to her, to be in danger from one’s own family, the very people meant to nurture and protect their own. But it was not Vylbrand, and she was not willing to take any chances. A family that only masqueraded as such deserved only ruin.

Eamon hummed in thought and looked anything but convinced. “As you say. Take care to not involve yourself more than you already have, however. It is not just my reputation at stake, you know.”

Edda had nothing to say to that. Her silence was as good as an agreement to her father. Yet she thought on it, and wondered if something so intangible as a reputation was all she had to worry about. If any headway towards unraveling the skein of that family was going to be made, a family given towards such desperate and deplorable means, something as inconsequential and repairable as a reputation would be meaningless to consider. She would have to be willing to risk more than that.

[swan-archive]

some fig tree wereverse content, nothing much to see here. takes place maybe a month or so after the events of “crawl til dawn on my hands and knees.”

You end up having a lot of mending on your hands when you’ve got a werewolf pup in the house, it turns out. Scuffed trouser knees from going on all fours too early, claws torn through the toes of stockings, buttons torn away from a daring wriggle through a just-barely-wide-enough gap under a fence, you name it, Alexander has done it to his clothes, and with a vengeance. Hence the small mountain of clothes in need of patching lying there on the settee next to Rachel.

She hasn’t been avoiding doing it, not really, not actively, but the task has been picked up and then put down again more times than she can count in the past few weeks. Always some slightly more urgent fire to put out, something that needs her hands on it immediately, until this morning Alex had come out to breakfast wearing breeches with a great rent torn in one leg. She’d been obliged to cut a tail-hole in his last good pair of trousers so as not to leave him wandering around looking like a beggar.

So: this is the emergency that requires her attention now. She pricks her thumb with the needle, curses softly and sucks away the bead of blood before it can stain the shirt in her hands.

At least she has the house to herself, so she can work without interruption. James is off at work, Jamie and Alex are both out playing—the neighborhood kids have finally gotten over their fear of a wolf in their midst and welcomed Alex back into the fold. Thank God. Alex is a bright child, more willing than most to entertain himself with a book or practicing his letters, but Lord, the energy in him now, the way he tears around the house when he grows bored of his lessons. It’ll be good for him to be around other children more. Give him a chance to burn some of that off.

Lost in her own thoughts, it takes Rachel a few long minutes to process the squeak of the side door’s rusty hinge. Someone in the house. She sits up straight, heart kicking into a sprint, but no creak of boots on the floorboards, no intruders appearing in the doorway. She relaxes a little. The house settling, maybe. That’s all.

After a moment, a soft rustle and a scraping sound from the kitchen, like a chair being bumped. Then silence.

…Or maybe not. “Jamie? Alex?” Rachel calls into the back of the house. No reply. She sits still for several seconds, listening.

Another scrape, and then a quiet play-growl.

“Alexander,” Rachel says. “Alexander, you had better not be where I think you are.”

Silence again.

Rachel sighs and rises and walks into the kitchen. She nearly treads on Alex as she steps through the doorway, where he’s lying sprawled out on his belly on the floorboards. He squeaks and flinches away with a look of abject guilt on his face that would put a real dog to shame. “I didn’t do it,” he yelps, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Rachel raises an eyebrow. Looks down at the chair nearest the door. One of its legs has fresh little toothmarks in it, and is still wet with saliva.

“I didn’t,” Alex repeats, trailing off in a pitiful whine. She’s not sure when he picked up the kicked-puppy act, but he performs it to an almost alarming degree of perfection. Even Rachel is tripped up by it, the way it pings the part of her brain that says poor little animal, poor little hurt creature before the part that can analyze what’s actually been done here.

She can’t encourage this sort of behavior, so when Alex starts in on another whimper, she interrupts as quickly as she can. “That’s it, up, out of the kitchen,” she says, catching Alex up and lifting him to her shoulder. He squirms unhappily, and it’s not like holding a child, not this time of the moon; he’s all thick fur and loose skin underneath that, wriggly and roly-poly like a baby animal. His limbs jut out at odd angles, not quite settled into the orientations that will leave Alex stuck on all fours. It’s all Rachel can do to keep him from slipping out of her arms.

“I can walk—I don’t want—”

“No, I am not letting you out of my sight,” scolds Rachel, carrying Alex back out to the front room with her. “What have we told you about chewing on the furniture, Alexander?”

“Not to do it,” Alex mumbles.

“Right. So I think, if you’re going to be in a chewing mood, you’d better stay in here with me, where I can keep an eye on you.” Rachel deposits him on the settee next to where she’d been sitting, and he turns himself around in a little circle before sinking down to the cushions with a sulky expression on his furry face.

“I don’t need…” he begins, but Rachel just looks at him, her no nonsense now, my boy look, and he trails off. Sighs, the heartfelt sigh of an inconvenienced dog, and drops his chin to his paws—to his hands. Rachel suppresses her own sigh and picks up her mending again, keeping one eye on Alex.

It’s getting worse.

Not that she ought to have expected any different, but she’d hoped, maybe, that her son was bright enough and clever enough and special enough to resist the pull of his own body, to stay himself despite everything. Which—no, that’s cruel, cruel to say he’s beyond recognition, and a lie besides. He still has his wits, his stubborn will, that smart mouth that has gotten him in trouble more than once. Still that love in him that astounds Rachel even now with its fierceness. Still the right face, a few days a month, if not right now. Plenty there to make Alexander.

As for the rest, though. Well. He’s her son, her baby, but he howls out the window at the dogs in the street and pisses off the neighbors, digs in the garden, shoves his nose into foul filthy things and makes a mess of the house like an ill-trained pet. Doesn’t understand what’s wrong with any of those things when reprimanded, or does, but too late to make any difference, just soon enough for Rachel to see the confusion and horror bloom on his face as he stands there to be corrected. And the very next day he’s off again. Can’t help himself. The curse is too insidious, the instincts taking root in his brain are too strong.

All Rachel can do is watch them do their work.

This is what comes of thinking you’re a special case, Rachel, my girl, you get your heart broken in the end every time, Rachel tells herself viciously, snipping off a thread like it’s done her a personal injury. How many people over the centuries must have been inflicted with the wolf-curse? When, in all that time, had wishes or prayers or denial or bargains ever done a lick of good to break it? Never. Not once. Stupid, Rachel, stupid stupid stupid.

Alex curls himself up in a ball. Licks at his hands and mouths them absently. And that’s a bad sign, Rachel knows from experience that he’ll chew them raw if he’s not paying attention. She reaches over and taps him on the nose.

“Don’t do that, love.”

“Mmff—sorry, Maman.” He licks the cleft in his upper lip, flexes his fingers. Wrinkles his nose in displeasure, in a way that suggests he’s going to find something else to sink his teeth into in a few minutes. Redirect that.

“You don’t need to stay right there next to me, Alex. We can fetch you your toys, and you can play, but I want you in here with me, okay?”

Alex grumbles something indistinct and curls himself up tighter, comically small. Not interested.

“What were you even doing back here so soon?” Rachel asks, more gently. “I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you were still out playing with your friends.”

“I…I didn’t wanna play anymore.” He tries to give this an air of nonchalance, but he’s even easier to read than he was as a human boy—his ears droop and he glances away from her, caught in a lie. He pouts a little harder at Rachel’s skeptical look. “Well, I didn’t! I wasn’t having fun. Why should I play if it’s not any fun?”

“Hmm.” Something else there, an undertone to his voice that needles at Rachel. Ought to tease that out before it manifests itself in more furniture-chewing. She lays the shirt she’s mending aside and holds out her arms. “Baby, can you come here for a second?”

Alex puts his head up and looks at her with ears pricked suspiciously, but the offer of physical contact is too much for him to pass up, and he crawls over into her lap. Puts his arms around her neck after a moment, as if remembering that that’s how a child ought to cuddle, waggles his tail side to side as he gets comfortable. Rachel runs a soothing hand down his back and feels the tension coiled there, like he’s about to spring at a rat or a bird. No wonder he’d needed to get his teeth in something.

“Do you want to tell me what happened out there, Alex?”

“Nothing! Nothing happened—”

“Alexander.”

Alex will fuss and grouse and put on a brave face until the cows come home, if you let him, Rachel knows this, recognizes her own stubborn pride in that. Where gentling him won’t work to tease out the truth, sometimes a bit of extra firmness will. Show him he’s not fooling anyone, and let his talkative streak do the rest.

It works. Alex huffs, bumps Rachel’s chin with his cold little nose in a last-ditch attempt at the cuteness defense, and finally says, “Nothing happened. Really. I don’t care. It was just a game. It doesn’t matter.” Alex nestles himself a bit closer to Rachel, and adds, in a very small voice, “I’m tired of always dying though.”

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“It’s—I—they always make me be the monster. Because I roar better, that’s what Peter said, but that’s stupid, I don’t roar, I’m not a lion, it’s called growling, that’s what I told him—anyway. Um.” Alex swipes at his face. The fur under his eyes a little matted, a little damp, Rachel can tell from this close, scrubbed-away tear tracks faint down the sides of his muzzle. “They made me be the monster again. And I didn’t want to, so I said, I wanna be the knight for once, it isn’t fair, but they told me you have to, it’s not as good when someone else is the monster, you do it best, and besides you can’t hold a sword when you’re crawling around on the ground like that. And then, and then Anders said, he, he said…” Alex trails off, his voice gone inhuman-rough with a snarl of anger and shame. Tears pooling again in his eyes.

“What did he say, love?”

“He said,” Alex chokes out, “well, you can’t be the knight, but maybe you can be the horse. And then he laughed. They all laughed. Like it was a really good joke.”

Oh.

Rachel’s stomach churns, searing rage and cold, leaden pity both clawing at her. How dare he, how dare that child—how dare his parents tell him that was—how dare they treat her son—

She clutches at Alex, who babbles on, unable to stop now that he’s gotten himself going. “And I, I know you said not to get mad at people, because it might scare them, but I got a little mad and I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to growl for real but then Anders’ mom—we were playing in front of his house—she came out and yelled at me and called me a—nasty word, and told me to go away and it wasn’t fun anymore anyway so I came back here. But then I was bored. So.” His shoulders quiver with one sob, another. No kicked-dog whine in his voice now, just the hitching of a hurt child. “I’m s-sorry. Sorry I chewed the chair. I shouldn’t have done it. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Alex, baby—” But what is there to say to him? You didn’t deserve that is true, but it’s  cold comfort, Alex has heard it already a thousand times, and the words trip on the fact that he acted out against another child. Not worth the reaction he got, but he should know better, it’s not safe for him to behave like that anymore, what if it had been Anders’ father home instead of his mother, and he’d had a gun—

Catastrophizing, Rachel, she thinks, reining herself in, deal with the problem you have, not the one you’re making up to scare yourself. Not useful. Not useful. Crying child in her arms, and another one out there somewhere who’s seen a monster—figure out, maybe, which of them is hurt more. God forbid it’s the other boy, but she has to be sure.

“Alexander,” she asks, as carefully as she can, “you didn’t—no one was hurt, were they—?”

“No!” Alex yelps, pushing away from her, shocked through his tears. “No, no, I said, didn’t I say all I did was growl? I wouldn’t, I’d never, I promise, I’m not bad, I know not to bite, I’m not like—like him—”

His face twists with horror, and he shakes his head hard, squeezes his eyes shut against the flood of tears, and oh, God, like him. Only one him Alex could be referring to. “No, no, no, Alex, that’s not what I meant, you’re not like that at all,” Rachel says desperately, wrapping her arms around him. Alex bares his teeth, lets out a harsh painful noise that sounds like neither child nor wolf, but in the end has nowhere else to go. He collapses against Rachel with a wail and lets her enfold him.

“I’m not like that,” Alex sobs into her dress. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m not, I wouldn’t…”

“I know, baby, I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to growl. I know it was wrong. I know I was bad.”

“Shh. Shh. Later, love. Don’t worry about that now.”

“I’m n-nuh-not…” The rest of the sentence is lost in another wave of sobs. Rachel strokes his ears, strokes the scraggly remnants of his hair, mostly gone to fur by now, and says nothing.

Alex weeps stormily for a while, trembling and clinging to Rachel like he’s expecting her to to shove him off her lap any second. She rocks him like she’d done when he was a tiny baby, whispers little nothings against the tips of his ears. I’ve got you. I’m here. I love you, my darling, oh, I love you. You’re still my baby. You’re still mine. Nearly misses him gnawing at his paws again until he squeaks and twitches with pain in her arms. Sharp white puppy teeth digging into the pad of his thumb, when Rachel draws away to look.

“Alex, what did I say?” She tugs his hand away. He drags it back up to his lips automatically.

“Not to,” he says against his knuckles. An awful note of hopelessness in his voice, eyes dull despite the tears still glistening there. “I know you said not to. But it’s hard. I don’t know how to stop.”

Redirect, redirect, Rachel tells herself desperately. He doesn’t deserve to tear into himself for this, not for a playground disagreement. She’s not a fool, and her baby is hurting. There must be something she can do for him…

An idea occurs. She shies away from it on reflex—no, no, animal, condescending, not my baby, can’t subject him to—but all she’s got right now are bad options, and this is the most palatable. Worth a shot.

“Alex, I’m going to fetch something for you, okay? I won’t be gone five minutes. Wait for me here?”

Alex mumbles assent and permits Rachel to shift him from her lap to the settee again. He splays himself over the cushions, and she gives him a quick rub on the velvety bridge of his nose before hurrying out of the room. Back through the kitchen to grab a clean-ish rag from the shelf above the hearth, and from there out through the side door into the alley. It’s almost comically simple when she looks at it now: Alex has a chewing problem, she’d made a stew just the other day, point A to point B to point C. Still, she wishes she’d thought of it a little sooner, before she’d thrown the kitchen trash out for the neighborhood strays to take care of.

Rachel approaches the garbage heap, and it’s their lucky day, because there are still a couple of chunks of soup bone resting at the top. She picks up the largest one gingerly between thumb and forefinger. Must be a reason it hasn’t yet been carried off, Alex could probably tell her what makes it a less desirable tidbit, but it’s what they have to work with. With a grimace, she dunks her rag in the rain barrel standing nearby and scrubs the bone off as best she can—luckily, it hasn’t been sitting out long enough to pick up a particularly foul stench—and carries it into the house.

Alex perks up immediately when she walks back into the front room, hops down off the settee and lurches toward her on all fours, sniffing the air. Rachel holds out the bone awkwardly and the flash of mute unthinking delight in his eyes cuts her to the core, but he recoils just as quickly from her hand and ducks his head.

“I thought…you said I wasn’t allowed. Not from the garbage heap,” he says, and of course a quick wash wasn’t enough to hide the smell from him. He tugs at one ear, his gaze flicking from the bone to Rachel’s face with the nervous energy of an animal that’s scented a trap.

“We can make an exception. Just this once.” Rachel kneels down to his level and brushes her fingertips against his muzzle. “I’m going to give you this, okay? It’s for you to chew. But I want you to promise me that as long as you have it, you’re not going to go after the furniture, or your own hands. Can you do that for me, Alex?”

“Yes, Maman,” he chirps, nodding hard enough to make his ears flop about, his tail already up and wagging again. “I can, I will, I swear I’ll never ever do it again.”

And how many times has a man told her that particular lie? More than enough for her to know better than to believe it, that’s for sure. Never again. I promise. I’ll never hurt you. Never leave you. Never let you down. This was the last time.

Alex isn’t James, though, isn’t Johann. Isn’t even George. He’s just a baby. Too young for willful malice and too young for the little white lies told to soothe a cut that’s already bleeding. He means exactly what he says in the moment, and maybe he’ll even keep his promise for a while, until the next time he’s bored or hurting or angry and he doesn’t think, he just acts. It hurts a little less, knowing he’s sincere. Just a little less, though.

Rachel could probably extract a better promise out of Alex if she were made of sterner stuff. Scare him into compliance, scold him until his canine brain understands this is not how we behave, not be shaken by his big sad eyes or the face of a baby animal, something that needs to be cuddled and cosseted and protected. Make him safe, no matter what it takes.

But Rachel is already made of, pardon her language, pretty fucking stern stuff. Wouldn’t have made it to this point if she weren’t.

This is the way things are. The wolf demands concessions, one way or another, and denying it the small things now only means it’ll need more from her when she finally caves. So.

She waggles the bone tantalizingly, ignores the twist in her gut. “Go ahead, then.”

With a yip of excitement, Alex snatches the bone out of her hands and settles down on the floor before the settee with it, his crying jag all but forgotten. Easier for him to keep a grip on it, with his stubby fingers and thumbs, than it would be for a dog, but he sinks his teeth in with the same half-starved gusto as you’d see in a stray, rumbles out a happy growl that makes Rachel’s hair stand on end. The growling is hard to bear. Whines and yelps could almost be child noises, and any old hound can bark, but the growl is a predator’s sound, too deep and too wild for a little boy.

Alex puts his head up, cocks it at her, and Rachel realizes she’s staring. She gives him a small wave to cover. His tail frisks, back and forth.

“Thank you, Maman,” he says. “It’s good. Better than the chair.”

“That’s…I’m glad, baby,” says Rachel, forcing a smile. It is good. Really it is. Not such a difficult fix, in the end. She can start saving the soup bones after she cooks with them. No big deal.

Rachel scoots over so her back is against the settee, sits there on the floor with her skirts spread around her like she’s a girl. A girl and her dog. The soup bone creaks a little under Alex’s onslaught, and it might be worth it to fetch the other scraps on the trash heap for when he finishes with this one. Later, though. Later. Alex flashes a wolfish grin at her, his tongue lolling out, and she reaches over to scratch at the side of his neck. Drool on his chin. Rachel ought to wipe that away, chide him for being messy and uncouth. Doesn’t.

With a sigh, she pulls her sewing basket down onto her lap and picks up the half-mended shirt again.

[swanandapirate]

and I want to run as far as I can with you 2/2 (CSSS Gift)

Soooo... early January became early March but here’s part two of my gift for @smittenkillian Merry... (I’m trying to think of a holiday but are there even Holidays in March?) I’ll go with: Happy OUAT is almost back week! Here is some more road trip CS.

~6500 words

part one

ff.net

Disclaimer: I still have no knowledge of how America works, everything in this fic is idealized and Emma never went to Phoenix

Some cared, but only a few people never failed to offer encouragement, to give love and support. And then there was one lucky bastard who managed to change every aspect of Emma Swan's life, every part of the routine she had built over the years, and he got away with it. That lucky bastard in her life bore the name of Killian Jones. And Emma had no idea what she did to deserve him.

Rutledge, Georgia

They had chosen Emma's car for their road trip, not only because the yellow and quirky character mirrored their free spirits perfectly, but also because Emma couldn't just leave her behind. They had gone through so much together and it felt wrong to not include her first and only car in such a pivotal time of her life. The Bug was a tough one, but she was of a certain age as well and things tended to unexpectedly go wrong with her.

"Killian, wake up!" Emma shouted to the back couch where Killian lay asleep.

The shock that had vibrated through the car had not had any effect or impact on him, so she had no other choice than yell. Slowly returning from the land of slumber, Killian blinked, clearly not understanding why Emma had forced him to wake up. He sat a bit straighter while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Huh?" he said, or murmured, asking her what was happening or what had happened with that single sound.

"We ran out of gas."

Though the Bug had its flaws, she couldn't be blamed for breaking down. This was Emma's fault. She should've checked the fuel meter more often and she shouldn't have missed their original exit, prolonging the travel time and she shouldn't have let the music bring her into some sort of a driving trance.

Killian's dark hair was a mess and his eyes still looked sleepy as he leaned over the seat separating them and peered at the red blinking light.

"Where are we?" he slightly rumbled, before clearing his throat.

"Somewhere in Georgia, I think an hour from Atlanta."

The road they were driving on was tiny and looked quite deserted. There was long grass adorning both sides of the road and trees stood alternately with tall lampposts. Emma had driven past their original exit and the fastest way to reach Atlanta was to follow this road. Downside of her impromptu change was that the close vicinity was completely void of gas stations.

To keep herself from frantically fidgeting, Emma ran her hands through her hair, her breathing rushed and distressed. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. "Calm down, Swan. I'm sure we'll find a way to fix it."

Pulling the handle, Emma got out of the car and reclined the car seat so that Killian was freed from the back. As elegantly as he could, he crawled out and firmly planted his two feet on the concrete of the hard shoulder.

After both of them obediently followed the safety rules, putting the orange triangle in front of their car and wearing the abhorrent fluorescent jackets, Emma and Killian sat on the Bug's hood, peering around for anyone, a car, bus or even a motorcycle. Anyone who could help.

Emma rested her head against his shoulder.

"Swan, don't feel guilty," he said to her.

"I never said I did."

Killian's dark eyebrow arched a bit as he gave her that look. The look that told her he knew her like no one else. The look that reminded her why they were best friends.

The moment Killian had suddenly appeared in her life had been the perfect one. She needed someone. Mary Margaret was great and amazing and every other positive adjective Emma could think of, but she was also vastly different from her. In a way, their opposed personalities were what made their bond so strong but Emma yearned for someone who understood. Completely, without needing an explanation or a heartfelt conversation. When she looked back at that time now, she realized she simply needed Killian.

"It could've happened to me as well."

Emma grunted in reluctance. He was actually going to make her pretend that this wasn't all her own dumb fault.

"Uhuh," she said, but nor her face, nor the way she said it resembled anything remotely close to agreement.

Killian chuckled. The sound was domestic, it made her relive a compilation of moments back in Storybrooke, back in her apartment, moments with loud laughter and friendship. Disregarding the homesickness that was burrowed somewhere inside of her, it made Emma feel good.

He had been in a mood recently, quiet and distant in a way. It started somewhere in New York but she couldn't put her finger on what caused it. He was more distant and brusque, far from the Killian she knew. Emma had wished he would just talk. They had reached a consensus; no more demons. So why did Killian keep the thing that was bothering him a secret?

"There's a car coming."

Emma slid off the car, steadying her weight back on the ground. His hands pushing himself off of the hood, Killian followed the movement.

"Maybe I should be the one asking for help," Emma suggested, "If it's a male driver, chances of him stopping would increase considerably."

Killian contorted his face in disgust but Emma saw the agreement creep upon his expression. He had to admit that she was right, even though if the reasons for it were completely wrong and disgusting.

"Go ahead, Swan," he sighed with reluctance as he went back to sit on the yellow Bug.

Raising her hand, Emma waved at the incoming car, fervently hoping that the driver would stop and not race by in a flash, ignoring their existence completely. At first, it seemed like that was exactly going to happen and she was about to turn back around and rejoin Killian, but suddenly the blue car slowed down and halted by theirs. Emma nearly cheered in excitement.

She approached the car and the light blonde woman sitting at the wheel. The window lowered with a zooming sound and Emma bent to address her.

"Hi," she started, "Thank you for stopping. We ran out of gas and now we're stuck here. Would you mind helping us?"

"Oh, of course not." The woman's nose and forehead creased as she thought. The crinkle smoothed and she spoke. "There's a gas station about 6 miles from her. If you want, I could drive you there and back."

"That would be great!" Emma turned her head away from the window and spoke to Killian. "Killian! Killian, she's going to help us." Their savior peered through her other window, trying to see the person Emma was addressing.

"That's my best friend Killian," Emma aided. "I'm Emma, by the way." She extended her hand and the pale woman shook it.

"Elsa," she introduced herself.

"Could we both come with?" Emma asked her question hesitantly.

"There's enough room in the back, so sure," Elsa agreed.

Emma called Killian and motioned for him to come. He closed the door and locked the Bug before walking over. Emma seated herself next to the driver's seat and Killian dove into the back. The radio softly buzzed, playing a Mumford & Sons song that Elsa lightly hummed to. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; Elsa's tendency not to pry in their business by asking where they were going or anything remotely personal felt familiar to Emma. Of course, Killian, the curious guy that he was, did do exactly that.

"So Elsa, what were you doing on the road before picking two very distressed people up?" He propped his head between the two chairs. Elsa briefly turned her head towards him before letting her eyes return to the road.

"My sister lives in Savannah with her husband and son and I went to visit," she answered.

It perplexed Emma that Elsa immediately opened up by telling something, that she replied to the question without any aversion. The woman seemed a bit distant, wary of strangers as Emma always called it when describing herself.

During their first encounter, Emma had told Killian the same thing when he had wondered why she wouldn't talk to him. He'd laughed, actually laughed in response and told her his name while bowing, actually bowing. The idiot.

"Must be hard to live that far," Killian sympathized.

"It's alright," Elsa said. "I can still drive to her and we see each other every two weeks. I'm the one who moved for a job, so..."

"Oh, what do you do?" Emma asked, joining the conversation. Her interest was sparked.

Elsa's lips perked up for a second.

"I'm the CEO of an ice cube factory."

It was strange to meet someone who was around their age and actually had their life in order. Not just in order, but who had an important and impressive job. Working at Granny's or in a shipping/touring company seemed so bleak in comparison.

"That is one unusual job. Tell me, Elsa, how does one become CEO of an ice cube factory at such a young age?" Killian asked with amusement.

"I worked my way up." Elsa belittled as if her achievements were not impressive at all. "I started in the factory itself, then supervisor, manager and now CEO."

"Wow," Emma reacted. "I don't think I could ever work in an ice factory. I'd be cold 24/7."

"You really would be," Killian agreed with a chuckle.

She couldn't handle cold very well. As soon as the temperatures dropped below fifty-five degrees, she reverted to thick, wooly sweaters. She still couldn't understand how Killian did it. He wore open shirts in the middle of a Storybrooke winter, while she was dressed in four layers of clothing. And Storybrooke winters were like really snowy with lots of wind, basically twice as harsh as other winters. Those were very accurate observations Emma had calculated starting from very scientific proof.

"It's never bothered me." Elsa shrugged and Killian agreed with her, leaving Emma as the odd, only sane one may she add, one out.

They continued to chitchat until they reached the gas station Elsa told them about. It wasn't very big but that didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that they had gasoline to revive her beloved bug. Killian left the car to take care of the purchase, leaving Emma and Elsa inside.

"So, what were you doing on that road?" Elsa inquired.

"Killian and I are on a road trip together. A quest to find ourselves, you could call it."

Emma expected Elsa to laugh, to find their goal stupid and immature, but the woman didn't. For the third time in a couple of weeks, Emma was met with understanding again.

"I know the feeling," Elsa responded. "I had the same problem, didn't really know who I was either, so I left my hometown too. Traveled around for a bit, discovered the things I liked and the things I didn't. Eventually, I just stuck in Atlanta."

The corners of Emma's lips curled as she listened to Elsa. She understood. She really understood and that feeling made her feel better. She had always wondered if she wasn't being selfish, if she hadn't just exaggerated when she wanted to do this.

"That's exactly why I am doing it," Emma said.

"What about Killian?"

"I think he's just here to support me, but I'm so happy I have him," she admitted with a broad smile. "I don't think I could've done it with anyone else."

"He seems great."

"He really is," she agreed, nodding her head. Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Killian approaching and reaching to open the door. "Sometimes a bit overconfident, but overall he's tolerable."

"Swan, I heard that," Killian intervened, his tone indignant. "If anyone has to tolerate someone, it's me and your terrible eating habits."

"Oh shush. Did you get the gas?"

Killian lifted the red jug next to his face and posed next to it, his teeth exposed, making Emma roll her eyes.

"You're welcome, Swan." Killian set the jug next to him and reached for the seat belt behind him. "I say we return to the fair maiden in need of gasoline."

"Like I said," Emma faux-whispered to Elsa, "Tolerable."

Elsa laughed openly for the first time, tilting her head back and causing her braid to fall off her shoulder. She ignited the car's engine and drove back onto the road.

"Thank you, Elsa. For the drive," Emma specified.

Killian had assured her that he could handle filling up the tank by himself and getting the car to live again while she stayed inside of Elsa's car.

"Don't mention it. Have you eaten anything recently?"

"No." Emma shook her head. "Our plan was to eat in Atlanta, but, as you can see, that didn't really happen, nor did we actually get there."

"It's only about a forty-five-minute drive between here and Atlanta," Elsa calculated and turned to Emma with a faint trace of a spark in her expression. Emma's lips curled as she tilted in curiosity. "I'm quite hungry as well, so if you'd like, we could eat together. My treat," she added a bit later.

How come every person they encounter is so incredibly kind and generous towards them? They all want to help and spend time together and share stories. Elsa was a lot like Emma and Emma sensed a certain connection, like a bond between sisters. Clearly, she did not want to part from someone she felt such kinship with, but they couldn't take advantage of her in such a way.

"We can't possibly."

"I'm a CEO of an ice cube factory," Elsa reminded her. "You know how much that pays? A lot," she emphasized when Emma did not attempt to guess.

"If you insist," she began, "I suppose we can't refuse."

"No." Elsa smiled. "You cannot."

"I'll inform Killian."

***

Austin, Texas

The temperatures were extremely high. At first, it was fun; they rolled the windows down, put their sunglasses on and let the wind play with their hair. But after a while, the lack of proper air conditioning started taking its toll. The two large water containers they had in the car were empty after only twenty minutes of driving. Beads of sweat formed on their foreheads and slowly made their way down.

They took a break at a highway stop. Killian locked the car and walked around, stretching his legs. After nearly downing her entire supply of water, Emma really needed to use the restroom.

"I'll be back in a sec."

She hastily made her way to the toilets, that seemed very unhygienic but Emma couldn't seem to make herself care. The blinking fluorescent lights illuminated Emma's face as she scrutinized it in the mirror.

Her face no longer bore the pale skin color she thought so characteristic of herself. Somehow her freckles stood out even more against the slightly darker tone. Whereas the sun had tanned her skin, it had also lightened her hair.

With a creaking sound, the tap opened, letting out a cascade of clear water. Emma's hands captured some of it and splashed it over her face, cooling off and cleaning at the same time. She shook the drops on her hands off and returned outside. Killian sat on a picnic bench, a buffet of the shop's snacks on display.

"Take your pick." He beamed proudly.

"What a feast," Emma complimented. "What does the chef recommend?"

"The chef would suggest the ham and cheese sandwich-" Killian pushed the plastic box to her side. "-with a side dish of crisps- sorry chips," he corrected himself, "and as a dessert chocolate covered Oreos."

"Wow." Emma raised her eyebrows. "You've got a whole menu planned out, I'm impressed."

Both Killian and Emma commenced their feast, opening the crackling wrappers and munching on the temporary stomach fillers. Mary Margaret would definitely not approve; too many fast sugars, too much salt, too little vegetables. That reminds her.

"I think I'm going to call Mary Margaret. It's been a while," Emma said once they're done eating.

"It has," Killian agreed," Go for it."

Lifting her legs, Emma turned on the bench, the wood chafing her bare legs. She dialed the number as her sandaled feet walked on the dusty ground.

"Hi, Mary Margaret!" she said when the ringing abruptly ended.

"Hey, Emma," Mary Margaret greeted her as excitedly. "I miss you guys so much."

"We miss you too. A lot," Emma emphasized.

It had been over a month since they had crossed the town border and parted with their friends and the absence did sting.

"How are you?" her friend asked.

"Great," she answered. "It's amazing. We are seeing so many things and meeting so many incredible people." A smile lit up her face. "This is definitely worth it.

"That's good. Where are you now?" Mary Margaret inquired.

"We are in Texas and we're nearly in Austin. Did you get our postcards?"

Like Killian had promised to Mary Margaret, the two of them bought and sent a postcard in every big city they halted. Each one had a short story or description on it, telling the couple about their adventures on the road. It was difficult sometimes; it was a one-way form of communication, there was no instant reaction or feedback and when the cards eventually did arrive, they had long left the place depicted in the picture, crossing another state border. David and Mary Margaret couldn't send anything back to them as they were not anchored to one place or address.

"I did. The last one I got was the one you sent from Jacksonville. All of your cards now hang proudly on our fridge. But I think we're going to run out of space at some point." She laughed.

"Awesome," Emma chuckled. Her fingers played with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and releasing it. "You can expect one from New Orleans in a couple of days, I think. How's David?"

A soft sigh crossed the line. "It's been hard for him. He misses you and definitely Killian, more than he cares to admit," Mary Margaret said sadly.

"Tell him that I had to do this." A pause. "And that I love him. And give him a hug."

"I will," she promised. "I have to go now. Call me soon, sweetie, and say hello to Killian."

Emma said goodbye and hung up the call. With a bittersweet feeling locked in her chest and throat, she maundered back to Killian, who had an expectant look in his eyes and an arched brow.

"And?"

"Mary Margaret says hi and they're doing well." Her teeth created a dent in her lower lip. "Although you might want to call David because apparently he isn't really coping well."

"I'll call him right away," Killian said with a worried expression, hands immediately going to his pocket to grab his phone.

"Maybe you should wait until we're in Austin-" Raising her hand, Emma stopped him and tried to slow him down. "-because it's going to be a bit suspicious that you call right after I've finished a talk with his wife."

"True. I'll call him tonight. Back on the road?"

"Back on the road."

***

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Traveling was amazing but it was taking its toll on Emma. She was getting tired of constantly sitting in the car, arriving in new places and having to orient herself over and over again. She was missing Mary Margaret and David and her other friends. Killian was being perfect and he tried to make her feel better but it simply wouldn't take.

"Emma, you want to do a sing-along?" he proposed, a small smirk on his lips while the radio blasted some nineties classic.

"Nope," Emma responded, staring out of the window. "I'm in a bad mood."

It always helped to put that out there, to not mask her current state; this way no misunderstandings could appear. She was in a bad mood and his attempts to uplift her wouldn't work. Killian understood and left her alone, usually.

He tore his gaze off the road and tilted his head to her. Emma determinedly avoided his eyes, knowing that he'd try to read her and ask what was wrong and how was she supposed to answer that when she didn't even know herself.

The car braked near a little forest and Killian extinguished the engine and consequently killing the last sound that was left. The silence lingered, acidifying the atmosphere and creating an awkward tension.

"Remember how we met?" he asked, preventing the situation to spiral out of control.

A sigh left Emma's lips.

"Yeah."

"It was on the beach and-" Killian chuckled, "-you were singing an atrocious song at the top of your lungs and completely froze when you saw me, minding my own business."

"I know, Killian."

Normally, he was quite observant. He always bragged about how he could read her like an open book but Killian was so immersed in the memory now, that he did not notice her irritation. Or that she didn't feel like reminiscing right at this moment.

"You started yelling about how I was spying on you and that I should've said something instead of letting you embarrass yourself," he continued talking.

"Killian." Her voice was court. "Stop. I know how we met, alright? I was there too."

It was one of her favorite memories but it wasn't going to help with her annoyance of just about everything.

"Emma," Killian retorted. "Just let me finish." His eyebrows rose with his request. Emma let out another breath. "I was taking an honest walk on the beach and out of nowhere, I get accused of all sorts of bad form. You were a marvel, Swan. You still are. I knew that there was no way I wouldn't fall in love with you. And I was right because here I am. I love you."

It felt as if someone had just knocked all of her breath out of her. As if someone had pushed her into deep, freezing water, paralyzing her entire body and mind.

"What?" she managed to ask him.

"I'm in love with you."

So she hadn't misinterpreted his previous statement, okay. Well no, not okay. Her best friend was in love with her. That was a lot of information to process. Her best friend that she was making a road trip with. Why would he tell her this now? He could have chosen a lot of better moments. Like before they left on a road trip that forced them to spend time with each other for months.

"And you tell me this now?" Her face was writhing, the anger slowly rising inside of her and overwhelming any other sentiment and emotion. "While we're stuck with each other in a confined space for a couple of months?" Her sentence started as a normal one but the end was yelled towards him. Killian looked taken aback, what was he expecting? Did he think she would just jump in his arms and kiss him and tell him I love you too? Because that was not about to happen.

Before Killian could say something, question any of her reactions, Emma opened her door and walked away with a determined strut.

"Emma," he yelled. "Where are you going?"

She continued to fast walk, keeping her eyes directed at some sort of park hidden in the forest.

"I need to think," she shouted, making sure it was loud enough so she didn't need to repeat.

She paced around the forest for about fifteen minutes. The outrage rose, disappeared only to appear again when she rethought what had just happened. If she returned Killian would want to talk about it and Emma did not. She was in a bad mood before and instead of ameliorating, he had worsened it and brought it to a level Emma hadn't even deemed possible. She grabbed her earbuds out of the pocket of her jacket and forcefully pushed them into the hole of her phone. She shoved them into her ears and chose the loudest music she had in her music library, blasting the sound to vent.

Returning to the car, Emma spotted Killian sitting on the hood, fiddling with the rings on his hands. He jumped off as he saw her and approached her. Emma swerved to avoid him and settled into the Bug, clasping her seat belt and passive-aggressively showing him that she wanted to leave.

Killian got into the seat next to her and addressed her.

"Swan, we need to talk about it."

She could barely hear him over the music screaming into her ears.

"No, we don't. Just focus on the road. I'd like to get to Arizona as quick as possible and maybe not arrive in the middle of the night for once," she bit.

Killian's shoulders sagged in defeat, his left hand combed through his hair while his other one turned the key and ignited the engine. Emma closed her eyes and focused on nothing but the music.

***

Phoenix, Arizona

"The only room we have left is one with a queen-sized bed," the man behind the motel counter told them.

Killian quickly looked over his shoulder to her and Emma averted her gaze.

"That will do." Killian extended his hand and accepted the keycard from the balding man.

"Room 102."

"Thank you very much," Killian thanked him and grabbed his bag off the floor. Emma stayed where she was in the beige sofa. She didn't move an inch, not even when Killian told her he was going upstairs and left a spare key for her on the coffee table.

It was late and Mary Margaret tended to go to bed early and there was a two-hour difference between Arizona and Maine. But Emma was also going through an emergency and she wouldn't consider it too late to call someone for an emergency. Especially when one of two only people who could calm her down was also the cause of the distress. Wishing her friend was still up, she dialed the loft's number and nibbled her lip as the dial tone sounded.

"Hello?"

Emma was about to cry of relief when the sound of Mary Margaret's soft voice found its way to her ears.

"Hi, Mary Margaret. It's Emma."

"Emma," she greeted her enthusiastically despite the late hour. "It's great to hear you, honey. How are you?"

"I'm alright." She wasn't actually, but if she blatantly admitted that Mary Margaret would probably instantly hop on a plane to help her in person. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, no. David and I were just out to dinner. Is everything alright?"

Her friends knew her too well. Three sentences over a phone call that connected two people three thousand miles away and Mary Margaret had already figured her out.

Emma filled her lungs with oxygen and let air escape again through her lips.

"He said he loved me, Mary Margaret," she said straight to the point.

"And what did you say?"

She didn't need any specifications as to who said he loved her nor did she seem surprised about the recent event in her life. The first thing wasn't really remarkable, the second definitely was.

"Nothing," Emma responded. "I ran away and he wants to talk about it but I don't."

"But you love him too right."

"Yeah, of course."

It started out platonically and then suddenly it wasn't anymore. A different light was cast upon him, highlighting every aspect of him that Emma used to like and then suddenly loved. She had known long enough for her to go from discomfort to a sense of assuredness. Emma was in love with Killian and she could live with that.

"Then what's the problem?"

She couldn't live with the knowledge that he loved her too.

"I don't know," she admitted. Because she really did not. The reasons for her anger were idiotic, even she realized that, but her head was a blur of emotions. "It would be real, I guess. What if it doesn't work out? We're stuck with each other."

"Honey. Why on earth wouldn't it work out?" Mary Margaret questioned. "You love each other. You're two peas in a pot and you've already survived three months on the road."

As usual, Mary Margaret was right. Why would taking their relationship from platonic to romantic change anything drastically? She loved him as a friend and she'll love him as more than that. And as he professed earlier, so would he. After a moment of silence, Emma changed the subject.

"How's David?"

"Fine, good," Mary Margaret added after a short pause. "I mean, we're both good."

Instead of her best friend's usually calm and serene voice, her answer came a bit rushed. As if Mary Margaret was guilty of something Emma had no knowledge of.

"Mary Margaret?" Emma said, prompting her to spill what was wrong.

"He proposed," she shared. "And I said yes."

So nothing was amiss. The strange thing, however, was that the announcement lacked every ounce of cheerfulness Mary Margaret normally carried, it was like it was something to be sad about.

"But that's great, right?" Emma wondered.

"It is." The short answer did nothing to reassure Emma and she was about to ask another question when Mary Margaret resumed talking. "I know you think we're stereotypical, that we're boring. Vanilla. And that' you left because you got sick of us, but, Emma, this is how I want it."

Emma's heart contracted as a response. Of course, that wasn't the reason. She loved Mary Margaret and David. They were so important to her and she owed them. Maybe she hadn't been appreciative enough of them, of what they meant to her. It wasn't new information that she could be lousy with telling what she felt but at least she thought Mary Margaret knew all of this.

"No, Mary Margaret. That's not true," she disagreed. "You don't know how many times I wanted to give up and return to be with you two again. But I needed to do this, for myself. I needed to discover who I was. Because I couldn't get any further than an orphan and a waitress and that's a pretty pathetic way to sum up twenty-five years." Her eyes became blurry as tears took over. "I respect you both so much and part of that is because you know exactly who you are. Wonderful people, an astonishing couple. One day, I want exactly what you have. I want the stereotype."

There. She said it. Emma Swan yearned for a house to call her home, the white picket fence life with all its bells and whistles.

"With Killian?"

"Yeah," Emma sighed, rubbing her hand over her cheek and under her eyes to get rid of the tears and of the exhaustion. "With Killian. I should go talk to him, shouldn't I?"

"You should," Mary Margaret advised in her Mom voice.

"Thanks, Mom." Her joke was accompanied by a watery laugh. "And I'm so, so happy for you and David."

"You better make it back on time because I can't do this without my maid of honor."

Even though it was quite a logical pick, Emma still felt the emotion swirling inside of her. She was a long way from being that small orphan without any friends and loved ones.

"I will," she vowed. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Emma finally went upstairs. Quietly, she opened the door and dropped her bag next to Killian's. Killian was lying on the bed, eyes shut and head buried in the white pillow. She heard his breath hitch as the door closed with a soft thud and saw his shoulders tense. Even though it looked like it, he was not asleep yet. Toeing her shoes off, her socked feet walked on the carpeted floor, crossing the distance between the two of them. Emma lay across him, her hands folded under her head.

"Hey," she whispered cautiously, afraid of waking him in case she did read the signs wrong, in case his earlier movements were subconscious or as a reaction to something that happened in his dream.

There was a moment of quiet with only steady breathing, a heartbeat or five before his eyes opened, before the blue irises shone in the dimmed light. They scanned her face, most likely looking for clues as to what the subject of the following conversation was. Emma understood that. She'd treated him abominably before, for no valid reason and it was time to apologize.

"Hey," he replied, with a whisper too.

For a small moment, the fear emerged again, scaring her from starting with the topic they've been dancing around for a day. So she chose something less scary, something that she could predict, their reactions and the things that were going to be said.

"Mary Margaret and David are getting married," she announced.

Killian's eyes lids closed as he let out a sigh before his lips twitched into a carefully crafted smile.

"I know," he replied. When Emma's brow furrowed in a question, he elaborated. "David called me this morning with the news that he was going to propose this evening, I take it she accepted."

Her head moved on the pillow, a rustle coming from the nod.

"She did."

"Good," he stretched the word out as long as he could, probably suspecting that there wasn't much to say about the upcoming event anymore, not before Mary Margaret and David really started planning and left the happy bubble they were in now.

"Killian, l-" He watched her and from under her eyelashes Emma gazed back at him. She put a lock of hair behind her ear, the motion perfect for the hesitance she was experiencing. It was her task to incite the conversation. He definitely wasn't going to take the initiative, his former attempts were deflected by her and he knew better than to push her.

"I'm sorry, Killian," Emma said, finally addressing the elephant in the room.

"I'm sorry as well," he immediately responded.

That was unexpected. Why was he apologizing?

"For what?" she questioned.

"Telling you." His face contorted with remorse. "Ruining our trip." His guilt drenched every word, creating Emma's own guilty shame inside of her.

"You didn't." Her hair moved back onto her face because of how heavy she was shaking her head. Killian did not ruin the trip. If anyone was going to be successful in turning it all into a nightmare, it was definitely going to be her. "I was the one who was acting horribly and very unfair towards you."

"It's alright," he reassured and seemingly forgave her instantly. "I get it if you don't reciprocate what I feel. I won't mention it again, but, Emma, I don't want to lose my best friend."

She didn't answer. She thought about what she was going to answer, formulated a sentence or two and then mentally scratching them off the sheet of paper in her head. This was the moment she was supposed to make everything alright and better again.

"Emma?"

"I love you too," she blurted out.

His eyes widened in shock.

"I have known it for a while but when you suddenly said proclaimed your love for me I became overwhelmed and I became afraid of what it meant and I am sorry," she rambled.

A tiny tear escaped before Emma realized it but Killian noticed and caught it with his thumb. After wiping it away, his hand stayed on her face and his thumb kept making the caressing movement even though it wasn't necessary anymore.

"You love me too?" he asked, even though she had just told him so. Killian had to be sure.

She gazed into his eyes, connecting the both of them so he could see she wasn't lying or making something up or saying it to show her pity. It wasn't just a platonic I love you, it was an "I love you and I'll happily spend the rest of my life with you but I'm also kind of scared what this means, I'm so glad you are here" I love you.

"I do."

The meaning of those two simple words wasn't lost on Killian. Maybe in a couple of years, she would tell Killian those same words, tying their relationship for eternity. It was far too premature to start talking about weddings when they hadn't even kissed yet, but the very clear image kept on looping inside of Emma's head.

It seemed as if Killian was going to cry as well, but eventually, instead of little beads of water, a striking grin broke out on his face.

"I love you, Emma Swan," he repeated and this time Emma stayed exactly where she was, she didn't run. Killian opened his arms and she shuffled closer until her ear was placed over his heart, the steady thudding a comfort. His arms embraced her, holding her tightly and Emma felt his lips bury in her hair.

They loved each other.

"When you say you've loved me for a while," Killian mumbled against her locks, "how long exactly do you mean?"

Emma thought for a second.

"I guess two years or so. Maybe a bit longer."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you?" Shifting on the bed, Emma looked upwards to him, a smile on her lips. "You've been in love with me for a longer time."

"I suppose you have a point," Killian admitted with a smile of his own before kissing her forehead.

"So now that we've established that we love each other, what are we going to do?" Her hand trailed along his arm, drawing random figures on his skin with her nails.

"I suggest we continue our trip, simply with a little less bickering and a little more making out."

Emma playfully swatted him on the chest as he smirked.

"Hey!" he shouted.

In the silence that followed, Emma thought of something.

"If David called you this morning, did he ask you to be his best man?" she asked.

"He did." Killian nodded. "You're maid of honor?"

"Uhuh," she hummed in reply.

"I suppose we have an official first date, Swan."

"Yeah… I don't think so," Emma declined, moving out of Killian's embrace. "I'm not going to be able to wait that long." The worried look on his face disappeared as she leaned over him, placing her lips against his.

Going on a road trip with your best friend was great, but going on a trip with your best friend/ boyfriend? Fucking extraordinary