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dadsbongos · 2 years

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peak romance

Warnings: none? Summary: You and Yuji have a late night chat to distract him from his late-night thoughts :) Word Count: 1.4 K ~~~

It’s late when you’re shaken awake. The movements are gentle and the hands are soft, but even so, and despite loving your boyfriend you cannot deny the huff that leaves you at having been woken up so deep into the night. You sit up and glance at the alarm clock Yuji keeps on his bedside table,

“Does that say it’s one in the morning?”

“1:07, yeah,” he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his phone shut off but still tight in his grasp. Yuji reaches up and scratches the side of his head, eyes bouncing from you to his phone, “So… I had to shit, right?”

“Riveting,” you attempt to rub the lingering exhaustion from your eyes.

“Well, just listen. So, I was there and I was checking my phone ‘cuz I’m not a lunatic who shits without their phone - and then I… I saw it,” Yuji swipes up to unlock his phone, then shows you the screen. The brightness, despite already being relatively low, burns at your eyes.

Squinting, you lean forward, “Damn, unlucky. Now your chances with her are totally zero.”

Jennifer Lawrence is confirmed to be pregnant. Good for her.

When Yuji can only silently shut off his phone and place it on your nightstand, you continue, “Wanna talk about it? I’m sure that was such disastrous news.”

“No, it’s just… weird,” he shrugs, lying back over your lap, “For some reason it feels weird. Like, I get that she’s a person, it isn’t that she’s gonna be a mom or whatever but it just made me think about fatherhood.”

“You just graduated high school like last year.”

“But still,” he turns his head, and through the darkness you can just make out the furrow in his brows, “I don’t think I want to be a dad.”

“Do you wanna talk about that?”

Yuji had severe baby fever at times. And he enjoyed babysitting. From what you knew about him, you’d been under the impression he wanted children, but perhaps that’s unfair to him. To assume that because he’s good with kids he wants to raise his own.

“Not really, just odd in here,” he brings a hand over to pat at the spot on his chest right over his heart, “to come to terms with that. ‘Cuz it isn’t like I don’t like kids, I just don’t think I’m responsible enough to raise them. How am I supposed to say no to ice cream for dinner when there’s no downsides to it? I’m not fake like that.”

“I get that,” you reach out and lay a hand over Yuji’s forehead, then brush your fingers through his hair, “You’re good with Tiffany Maxwell, so that’s good enough.”

“Tiffany Maxwell, my angel cat,” he chuckles, “I had to scold her again - on not chewing wires… even used the royal ‘we’ so she’d think I have a wire-chewing problem too and wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“As you should,” your stare goes to the ceiling, “She is so spoiled. I love her.”

“I know, right?” he’d dragged out the ‘o’, turning his head to his cheek presses to your thigh, “She has her own Disney+ account to watch cartoons on.”

“We’re such good cat parents, Yuji.”

“Literally, yeah.”

It’s quiet. Your eyes close and you can nearly feel yourself dipping into slumber when Yuji speaks once again,

“Do you remember that guy you dated who just wanted to initiate you into his cult?”

“Shut up - that was before we even met! Why do you even remember that?”

“I think it’s just really funny,” as if to add to his point, there’s barely muffled laughter, “Your exes kinda suck, you really lucked out with me to be honest.”

“Man,” you huff, “enough of this. You dated a girl who posted a picture with the caption ‘I know you think of me when you kiss her’, petty as fuck.”

“Okay, okay - but which one of us tried to ‘suggest baby names’” he shook his head as he enacted heavy air quotes, “just to see if the guy would react to the name of a girl he cheated with.”

“First of all, I was the victim- “

“Never said you weren’t.”

“Second of all, I saw him sweat at the name Taki.”

“And that one guy who managed to kill your pothos plant in like two days.”

“Don’t even.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he kisses the skin of your thigh, “You’re so lucky to have me, babe, it’s crazy.”

“I dunno, man, you still put on chapstick like a fucking baby using a crayon for the first time,” he groans, tossing his head back as you giggle, “Just - fuckin’ - relax your lips! Literally, just relax your lips. It’s not hard.”

“It’s so hard,” he denies, shaking his head, “Impossible, even.”

A hush - a comfortable one - falls over you two briefly as you card your fingers through the mess of hair atop Yuji’s head.

“I used to get told that school wasn’t a beauty salon by teachers when I’d put on chapstick.”

If you didn’t know Yuji better, you’d think that the momentary quiet was him having fallen asleep. But then, you hear it - a snort, followed by his laughter, “You’re joking! No way. No chance.”

“Yeah, it was awful - and then I got to Jujutsu Tech and Gojo would do his entire skin care routine in the middle of an assignment presentation.”

“Say what you want about Gojo but out of all the men, he wasn’t the worst.”

“Ah, right, right. He never used someone’s weight as a comeback in an argument.”

Yuji grins, “Back when you guys were supposed to think I was dead, he would make sure you, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki were asleep so I could check on you guys.”

Your fingers pause running through his hair, “Really?”

“Yeah,” your movements resume and Yuji reaches out to take your free hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, “I just needed to see you guys sometimes. It was hard pretending to be dead.”

“Aw, poor baby,” you lean down and kiss his forehead, “At least you’re not dead anymore.”

“Yeah, that’d suck. I think I’d hate being dead. No Tiffany Maxwell and no you, that sounds awful.”

“Aww, you’re adorable. My scrimblo.”

“Okay, enough of that,” Yuji sits up and moves to sit beside you on the bed before taking your hand in his once again, “Terrible.”

“When you actually die - like years in the future - you should eat a shitload of aromatic herbs and spices before, so that when you’re cremated everyone gets hungry.”

“Oh my God,” he turns and cups your cheek with his hand, “Your mind, it’s so big and juicy, I wanna kiss on it.”

“Thank you,” you lay your hand over his and turn it up to kiss his palm, “So romantic.”

“Speaking of romantic, do you wanna hear a pickup line I’ve been working on?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he releases your hands and sits up on his knees to face you, face falling into stone cold seriousness, “Are you from Mississippi?” when you only tilt your head, he goes on, “‘Cuz you’re the only Miss whose piss I sippy.”

“Ew!” you turn to your phone and take it, holding it up as if to summon the obnoxious AI helper trapped inside, “Google, how do you undo something another person said?”

“No,” he whines despite his own giggling, “You tell me one. C’mon, I wanna hear it.”

“Alright,” you close your eyes, “I’ll get the best one I can think of. Okay, is your partner an organ donor?” you lean closer and whisper to him with a smile, “Say ‘no’.”

He nods, grinning, as he answers, “No.”

You scoff, “Then how’re they gonna give you their heart?”

“Good one, good one,” he murmurs, “Alright - do you like pudding?”

“Huh?”

“Because,” he points at you, with a stupidly large smile that tells you exactly what he’s about to say, “I think you’ll enjoy puddin’ deez nuts in your mouth.”

“I’m breaking up with you,” you pinch his side, “How could you?”

“I’m too funny, I know,” he raises his hands up in mock surrender. Then, he drops the laughter, he tilts his head and scratches at the back of his neck, dodging your stare as he says, “I love you. Like a lot. Like if you wanted flowers, I’d build a garden.”

“Okay, you’re forgiven for the deez nuts joke,” you gently take Yuji by the shoulders and pull him forward until his head is resting on your chest, “I love you, too.”

You can feel the exhaustion pull at your eyes as they flutter shut, your careful hold on Yuji slowly weakens as sleep crawls over you.

And just as you think Yuji’s forgotten his turmoil and passed out as he usually does, you hear him quietly mumble, “Do you think anyone’s invented a virgin edible?”

“Bitch, that’s just food.”

“Oh, shit.”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #yuji itadori x you #yuji itadori x y/n #yuji itadori x reader #yuji x reader #itadori x you #itadori x reader #itadori x y/n #yuji itadori x reader fluff #fluff

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savemesomenachos · 3 years

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Heyy could you do one where Steve and bucky get sick and the reader has to take care of them? And they actually act like big babies and try to convince reader they're fine and don't need the help. ( If you've watched friends, kinda like the one episode where Monica is sick and trying to initiate sex)

Maybe the reader even says " I'm dating two 100 year old babies."

I’ve been waiting for someone to request a Stucky fic coz they’re honestly my favourite ship from the MCU. Hope you like it!!!🌺

You can find my other works on my Main Masterlist.

Getting sick makes me horny

Pairings: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: NON-CANON, fluffffff, talks about sex but no actual smut, Stucky being super cute!!! (as usual)

Word Count:

Y/n’s POV:

“Babe, we’re fine.” Steve said for the seventh time in 2 minutes while Bucky sneezed. Steve turned to glare at Bucky with betrayal written on his face while Bucky shrugged helplessly.

I chuckled at them and pulled the blanket tighter across our shoulders where we were all huddled on the bed. Bucky cuddled further into Steve and for a second I thought Steve would finally give in with how he melted against us. I spoke too soon because Steve immediately shoved Bucky off him while the latter squawked in protest. He scoffed in annoyance and shoved Steve off the bed while cuddling into my side.

“Steve’s right though, we’re fine. We’re super soldiers so we can’t get sick.” Steve nodded in agreement and lifted the laundry basket in rebellion.

“What the fuck are you doing Steve? Put that down!” I squealed as I rolled away from Bucky and toward Steve.

“Language doll.” He said as he held the laundry basket far out of my reach, in the air. “Steve, put that down. I honestly don’t understand why you two are being so stubborn.”

My gaze shifted between them while Bucky knelt on the bed with a smirk on his face. He started to take his shirt off and Steve choked.

“Bub, what are you doing?” I asked as I hid my smile behind my palm. “I’m seducing you of course. I’m horny babe.” He whined and scooted to the edge of the bed while flinging his shirt off to one corner of the bedroom.

He was interrupted by Steve sneezing real big. He winced and apologised before quickly sporting a similar expression to that of Bucky as he started to take his clothes off as well.

I laughed and crossed my hands in front of my chest as they started to inch closer to me. When Bucky realised that this wasn’t working, he grabbed Steve’s chin and started to make out with him. Steve gasped when Bucky’s hand came down to palm at his ass and he slipped his tongue into Steve’s shocked mouth. Bucky pulled away from Steve abruptly and sneezed.

I immediately shifted forward and nudged them into bed. They both whined and pleaded with me to ‘be reasonable’ and ‘sex fixes everything’. I only chuckled and tucked them into bed again.

Bucky turned his annoyed gaze on Steve and said, “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t sneezed in the middle of our make out sesh, we’d be having sex right now, not lying down in bed.”

Steve gasped in offence and turned his equally challenging on Bucky. “If you hadn’t convinced me to go out in that rain, we wouldn’t be sick in the first place.”

“Aha, so you do admit you’re sick?” I said with a smirk while Steve flicked Bucky’s ear. Bucky was about to retaliate when I grasped his hand in mine.

“Now, children. No more fighting. I’ll go make you some soup.” I said as I placed a kiss on each of their warm foreheads while they sighed and snuggled into each other without complaint.

🤧🤧🤧🤧

“How’re the drama queens?” Sam asked as I stepped into the kitchen. I chuckled and responded with a quiet ‘horny’. He choked on his coffee and burst out laughing. I shook my head at his reaction and went back to the soup. “Well, all the best with them.” He said as he waved goodbye with a sympathetic smile. I responded in kind and lifted the tray of soup and started to make my way to our bedroom.

I walked into the both of them making out with no care in the world with Bucky’s hands down Steve’s sweats, fondling his ass and Steve starting to inch his hand down the front of Bucky’s boxers. I had the sudden urge to join them but I couldn’t risk getting sick too. I coughed to get their attention and with a blush on their cheeks, they turned to look at me.

“Can’t you two keep your paws off each other for a whole of 5 minutes?” I asked between a chuckle as I set down the tray on the bedside table and pushed Bucky’s hair out of his face.

Steve, now feeling left out, cuddled into Bucky’s back and pushed his head against my hand.

I laughed and instructed them both to sit up. They followed suit and sat up against the headboard with Steve’s head nestled in the crook of Bucky’s neck and his eyes almost shut. Bucky giggled at his state of Steve and nudged him awake. He whined in protest but sat up nonetheless.

I handed a bowl to Steve who immediately moaned at the warmth from the soup while Bucky begged with a “Feed me!” and a pout. I was about to say no when he jut his bottom lip out and his eyes started to miraculously glisten like in cartoons.

I sighed in defeat and spooned up some soup and lifted it to his lips. He stuck his tongue out at Steve in some sort of victory before lapping up the soup. For a while, it was quiet except for the occasional slurp from either boys which made them both laugh and me, smile.

“Babe, I’m sleepy now.” Steve said after setting down his bowl and tucking himself under Bucky’s arm.

Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve, pulled his face close and planted a kiss on his puckered lips. I nudged them to rest their head on the pillows and pulled the blankets over them. As I got up to go, Bucky’s arm wrapped around my hand and pulled.

“Cuddle us doll.” He said while the both of them sported a pout. “I’ll get rid of these dishes and be right back bub.” I said while turning to leave again.

“Do them later. Please?” he said while Steve whined some more. I sighed and nodded while getting into bed.

“In the middle doll.” Steve said and lifted me off Bucky and in the middle of the both of them.

While I lay on my back, Bucky nestled his face in between my breasts and wrapped his arms around me. Steve laid his head just below Bucky’s; on my stomach and wrapped his arm around my thigh and the other around both me and Bucky. One of my hands rested in Bucky’s hair and across Steve’s shoulders. I pulled them closer into me if that was even possible. Both of them sighed and Bucky started to place kisses on the top of my breasts.

“Thanks for taking care of us doll. We know we can be a handful.” Steve said as he stroked the inside of my thighs.

“I'm dating two 100-year-old babies but I love you both and I love taking care of you. Now get some sleep and maybe when we wake up, I’ll think about following through on your earlier proposition.” I said with a smirk.

Bucky’s head shot up along with Steve’s and with a hopeful voice, he asked “Sex?” I laughed and nodded.

Bucky lightly nudged Steve’s head to rest in it’s previous place while begging him to sleep. Steve was about to protest when I shut him up with a kiss. Without saying a word, he drifted. Bucky smiled and kissed my cheek with a giddy grin. I wouldn’t change this for the world.

@spookyparadisesheep @julyvegan@tenaciousperfectionunknown @mysweetlittledesire @bbl32 @noshame-bb @cece5 @hart-failure @sohoseb @white-wolf1940 @marvelfansworld @jassiejj2118 @Clints-worldavengers

If you wanna be tagged in my works, lemme know here

#stucky x reader #stucky x reader fluff #steve and bucky #stucky au #stucky imagine #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers fluff #stucky #stevebucky #bucky x steve #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve x bucky x reader #steve x bucky

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soft-hcannons · 3 years

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If you're still taking requests, Melony taking care of a sick baby Gordie👉🏾👈🏾

A/N: Hello! Sorry its taken me a little while to get to this! I actually love this idea and I hope I did it justice for you :)

- From my own experiences, I've seen that Mum's tend to be more overprotective with their first child, especially when they're ill. That is definitely the same for Melony!

- At the first sign of Baby Gordie being ill, Melony will be stockpiling blankets, home-made soup, his favourite snacks all to make sure he as comfortable as possible whilst he's ill.

- Melony's pokemon would definitely get involved in looking after Gordie (I feel like they would be very protective over all of her children).

- Melony would leave Gordie with Lapras in her living-room to quickly make a drink or grab something and she would come back to Lapras lowering their neck and Baby Gordie sitting on the floor, playing peekaboo with them by covering Lapras' eyes.

- The day would mainly consist of Melony holding him close on the sofa, watching all of his favourite cartoons while he rests in her arms. She'd sing/hum along to all the theme songs whilst stroking her hand through his baby hair.

- Babies usually don't sleep well during the night when they're ill, and this is definitely the case for Gordie. Melony would stay up for most of the night, just to make sure that he is okay in his cot, which is placed right next to her side of the bed.

- If Gordie was especially unsettled, I think that Melony would lift hin up out of his cot and cradle him in her arms, lightly bouncing him swaying.

- This normally ends up with her sitting on her bed, back resting against the headboard with Gordie lying on her chest, his head snuggled into her shoulder and one arm curling loosely around her neck whikst the other dangles at his side.

- Melony would treasure these cuddles in her bed, the bedside lamp on its lowest setting as she sits there, listening to Gordie's little heartbeat.

- If this does happen, the next day she would obviously be tired and almost falling asleep on the sofa or standing up in the kitchen, but the happiness she would feel fron seeing Baby Gordie crawling on the floor and beaming up at her as he's finally gotten over his illness would be enough to make her stay awake.

Bonus hc:

- Okay so I headcannon that Gordie was a bit rebellious in his teen years and would sometimes play the "I'm ill" card to get out of school. Most Mothers would have a go at their kid for it but I feel as though Melony would smother him in affection and love like she did when he was a baby and would force him to sit on the sofa and watch the baby cartoons that his younger siblings love.

- And this would lead to him never try to pull that again. (Melony knew that he wasn't ill but she just wanted to have an excuse to spend more time with him).

#pokemon swsh imagines #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword #pokemon shield #pokemon swsh melony #pokemon melony #pokemon gordie #pokemon headcannons #headcannon #imagine

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cheri-cheri · 3 years

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[L&N] Impression - Hero in White

🍒 Warning: Contains detailed spoilers from the main storyline of Light and Night 🍒

Read this after Chapter 8!

[1]

The final fragment of his memories consists of raging tongues of scalding fire, an almost suffocating embrace, and his father, who had comforted him gently...

Xiao Yu’s eyes open abruptly. The flames, the embrace, and his father vanish in an instant. Everything in his line of sight is as white as snow.

“Oh, you’re awake?”

An unfamiliar man is standing beside the bed. He’s wearing a white coat, looking over Xiao Yu from above.

His disorganised thoughts are barely making connections when a sudden wave of pain suddenly messes up his train of thought. He struggles to shake his head and lowers his eyes, realising that his right hand and right leg are bundled up like dumplings.

Despite seeing that he’s grimacing in pain, the doctor beside the bed smiles. “You’re pretty energetic.”

He casually tosses the medical record to the nurse next to him. “Look after this kid. Call me if anything crops up. I’ll prepare for the next surgery.”

[2]

With great difficulty, Xiao Yu grips a pen with his fist, scrawling out a crooked word - “Dad”.

The doctor holding the medical card gives him a sweeping glance, continuing his own writing. “Your father is in a different ward.”

Why didn’t they let us stay in the same ward? Is he doing okay? When can I see him?

He really wants to ask these questions, but his throat is frighteningly dry, and he can only let out incomprehensible syllables, like a baby who is learning how to talk. At this point, the pen he had taken great effort to grip rolls to the ground. Xiao Yu frantically tries to pick it up, but accidentally exerts pressure on his injured leg. It hurts so much that tears are about to fall.

The doctor’s laughter drifts from above his head, as though he’s ridiculing him. “Does it hurt? I already told you many times not to move around.”

He picks up the pen and tosses it to Xiao Yu. After facing the nurse and saying a few things Xiao Yu doesn’t understand, he turns around and leaves.

Xiao Yu lifts his head, shooting a fierce glare in the direction where the doctor disappeared. He doesn’t like him. He always assumes an air of superiority, and likes to tease him.

The nurse once told Xiao Yu that Doctor Zha is the most incredible burn specialist in the entire hospital, but Xiao Yu doesn’t believe this one bit! In what way does this doctor resemble an “Angel in White” who heals the wounded and rescues the dying? He’s clearly an evil monster who enjoys bullying children!

[3]

One morning, the Monster Doctor arrives while Xiao Yu is watching a cartoon called “The War Between the Hero in White and Monsters.”

“I heard that you can walk now?”

Xiao Yu lets out a proud “hmph”. Unfortunately, his throat hasn’t healed, and he can only write in his notebook: “I want to see my dad.”

It’s as though the Monster Doctor heard a joke. He picks up the crutch at the bedside and gives it a look over. “We'll talk about this again when you can walk independently like me.”

As expected, he shouldn’t have counted on him to agree! Forget it, he’d go by myself!

When night falls, Xiao Yu carefully supports himself with the crutch, heading out of the ward. He walks forward clumsily, and finally finds his father’s ward.

He pushes the door open and hears a slow and steady “beep beep beep” sound. However, it makes his heart leap violently. The hospital bed is surrounded by strange equipment, and the person lying on the bed and wrapped like a mummy is his father!

Xiao Yu’s hands start to tremble involuntarily. He stumbles forward. With a “thud”, the crutch falls to the ground. He finds himself lurching forward uncontrollably. At this moment, a hand reaches out from behind him, scooping him up.

“You rascal. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Xiao Yu stares at his father in a daze, failing to notice that the person hugging him is that Monster Doctor.

[4]

“Is my father dead?”

“Don’t worry, I brought him back to life.”

“But he isn't moving at all.”

“That’s because it’s too painful to move. Just like your leg.”

“Will he get better?”

“He’ll recover very soon, and you will as well. The two of you were really lucky to have met me, because I’m the best doctor here.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I never tell lies.”

Xiao Yu puts down his notebook. With a muffled “mm”, his head droops, and doesn’t even realise when his pen falls to the floor.

The night is quiet, and he hears the tip of a pen rubbing against paper.

After a long time, someone stuffs a tissue in between him and the notebook, his tears being wiped away in stiff movements. Then, his head is rubbed roughly. He purses his lips and lifts his head in frustration, but is stunned in the next moment.

There’s an awkward-looking small figure drawn on the notebook in front of him. If it weren’t for the large “HERO” written on the chest of the figure, Xiao Yu wouldn’t have recognised that it was his favourite Hero in White.

It’s such an ugly drawing... Despite what he thinks, he can’t help but hug the notebook tightly in his arms.

[5]

Xiao Yu is discharged on a late autumn day. His voice is no longer the same as before, and it’s very hoarse. His father has changed too. There’s a thick and hideous scar covering his back, but that’s a medal of a hero. It’s proof that his father had protected him in a sea of fire. Xiao Yu doesn’t find it scary.

After packing his luggage and saying goodbye to the nurse, Xiao Yu doesn’t see the doctor. The nurse says that he’s currently performing a surgery.

As he spent more time in the hospital, Xiao Yu realised that the nurse wasn’t lying to him back then. His doctor-in-charge is a really incredible person, which is why he’s always very busy as patients need him. If his father was a hero to Xiao Yu, the doctor was the hero to all his patients. He followed through with what he said, and cured the both of them.

Before leaving, Xiao Yu slips into the office area with ease, leaving a maple leaf bookmark he had made on the doctor’s desk.

The red maple leaf is akin to fire, yet doesn’t scald anyone, emitting a tender light beneath the setting sun. There are a few words written on the back of the bookmark: “Thank you, Hero in White.”

#light and night

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thorniest-rose · 4 years

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reddie halloween prompt #5 undead

On the sixth night of the third week after they destroy IT, Richie returns to Eddie.

The Losers all try to stop him. On that first night back at the Town House, Eddie breaks down at the bar, telling them that there had to be a way. That there must be a spell in one of Mike’s books that could reverse what had happened. That they at least had to try.

“He died by mystical means... that means we can bring him back,” he begs, while they all look at him pitifully. Even Stanley, who had understood Richie in a way the others never could, turns his face away.

“Think about what you’re saying, Eddie,” Ben says, eyes dark and wounded as he cradles a glass of whiskey. “People aren’t supposed to come back like that. It could go wrong."

“He’s gone, baby,” Bev agrees softly, placing her hand on Eddie's arm so gently it hardly feels like anything at all. It was nothing like Richie’s rough, boisterous touch. “We all have to accept that and move on.”

But Eddie was unshakeable, inconsolable.

He won't let himself be pulled into Bev's hug, and he refuses to take part in the ritualistic sharing of memories. Reminiscing about bug-eyed glasses and skinned knees; about the plethora of voices, or the way Richie had once held a baseball bat so bravely. The little monster slayer. Instead all Eddie could think about was the body that was currently on ice in Derry's small morgue down the street. The body that had once been Richie's, until the clown tore a hole through his chest. Right now his lips were probably turning blue.

The thought has Eddie staggering from the bar with tears stinging his eyes, ignoring the Losers as they call out to him, so he can lock himself away in Richie’s room. In the dark he peels out of his clothes and folds himself into a clean t-shirt from Richie’s bag. It’s an old tour shirt from 2012 and it’s so big on Eddie it almost swallows him whole.

For a single, overwhelming moment Eddie wishes he really could be swallowed up, that he'd chosen to stay down in the sewers with Richie’s body. That they had disappeared into the earth together.

But instead he was here. And all he could do was ache as Richie's body started to slowly disintegrate down in the morgue.

Eddie doesn’t know how much time passes before Bill comes to him. Bill, who knocks on Eddie's door until he answers, wrapped in Richie's t-shirt and nothing else.

After a second's hesitation Eddie invites him in, and the two men stand by the door, the silence between them growing like a cancer, until Bill reaches out and places his hand on Eddie’s tear-sticky cheek.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, voice on the verge of his old stutter. “I need you to know that I love you. I always did, even when we were kids. And I can’t have you leave without you knowing that.”

And Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t consider it. That he didn’t consider letting Bill press him down to the mattress and spread his thighs open. That for a moment he didn’t think about how it would feel for Bill to open him up. First with his fingers, and then his cock. To push inside him in the way Eddie had always daydreamed about as a boy with his bed sheets bunched up between his legs. Maybe Bill could help fill the emptiness that Eddie had felt opening up inside him from the moment they left the sewers.

But then he thinks of Richie’s body, how he looked when he died, what he said, and he pulls away. Out of Bill's warm embrace and back to the bed, the sheets still creased with the imprint of Richie’s slumbering body.

Eddie fixes his eyes on the bed and says, "It doesn’t matter, because I don’t love you."

Behind him he can almost feel the way Bill’s face falls. Can almost feel the hurt noise Bill makes in his own throat.

“Okay,” Bill says shakily. "You need time, I understand that. Maybe we should talk about this again tomorrow."

Sorrow makes Eddie's tongue sharp as he looks over his shoulder and says, “I don’t need time. I need Richie. And I sure as hell don’t need you. You're half the man Richie ever was."

The look on Bill's face feels like a knife, but he can't bring himself to care. All he wants is to be left alone and a moment later he is, as Bill slips out the door as quietly as he walked in. Richie would never have done that, Eddie thinks. He would have made a racket. He would never take no for an answer.

Richie had been the only person who'd never treated Eddie like he was made from glass.

Later, in the dead patch of night just after 3am, Eddie pulls on a pair of jeans and leaves the Town House. He leaves behind most of his things: his clothes, his pills, his toiletries. Suddenly, nothing really matters. Not his last Valium, and not the pot of moisturizer that cost more than Myra’s entire make-up cabinet. Definitely not the sad little life that marked his entire childhood in Derry. He doesn’t even leave a note to say goodbye.

Before heading to the airport he breaks into Mike’s room above the library to rifle through all the books the man had collected over the years. Half wrecks the place to find what he needs, the spell that will bring Richie back. When he finds it he makes a noise he doesn’t recognise, something like a sob but also a groan. Half desperate, half wild. He clutches the book so hard he almost rips the page.

A frantic Mike emerges in the doorway just as Eddie turns to leave. His eyes dart down to the book clasped in his arms and they grow shockingly wide.

“Eddie, stop. Think about what you’re doing.”

“You can’t stop me,” Eddie says, pressing the book tighter to his chest, against the stupid t-shirt with Richie’s cartoon face.

“You need to put the book down. You’re not thinking right. You can’t do this, sweetheart, Richie wouldn’t want you to.”

The sound of Richie’s name breaks through the haze. A second later Eddie’s pulling the gun out of his back pocket. The one he had found hidden in Mike’s old things.

He points it at his old friend and says, “Don’t tell me what Richie would want.”

Mike’s hands dart up. “Eddie-”

"Don’t talk,” Eddie snaps. “And if you come near me I’ll kill you. I’m not joking, I’ll do it."

“Please don’t do this,” Mike says. “This isn’t like you. You’re exhausted, and you’re angry. I understand, and all I want to do is help you. But please put the gun down.”

Eddie doesn’t put the gun down but he does cock it, even with his fingers trembling.

“Don’t tell me what to do. All my life people have only ever told me what to do.”

“You’ll regret it,” Mike says quietly. “You think you can just snap your fingers and bring him back? Things like this always require a price.”

But Eddie won’t be swayed. Not now.

“Step away from the door,” he says. "And don’t even think about coming after me. I’m done with this fucking cemetery of a town and I’m done with you.”

As soon as Mike steps aside, Eddie rushes past him, the book to his chest. He makes sure not to look at Mike’s face. At the hurt and disappointment etched there.

In the cold night air outside, Eddie hardly feels the tears on his face.

Eddie leaves Maine for the last time that morning on the first flight to New York.

When he emerges in the airport, Myra comes to him, her face swimming in tears, her chest heaving. She clasps Eddie to her, cooing over him, telling him how worried she was, how she had called the police, that she thought he was dead. And usually Eddie would feel contrite, would try to comfort her, but all he feels is that emptiness inside him grow.

Eddie can’t wait. The next day he completes the ritual when Myra is out food shopping. He spreads the red sand in a wide circle on their plush cream carpet and sprinkles the crushed animal bones in each key place. In the middle of the circle he places Richie’s glasses, still smudged with his blood. Then he recites the incantation from the book, not once stumbling over the strange words.

Myra finds him an hour later, passed out on their bed, a huge crimson stain half scrubbed out of the living room carpet, and demands to know what happened. But Eddie only mumbles that he can’t remember.

That afternoon Myra makes an appointment with one of the top therapists in Manhattan, saying her husband was suffering from a severe bout of melancholy.

There's no sign of Richie that day, or on the next, or the next. Eddie thought Richie would have magically appeared after the ritual. He’d expected lights and noise, like in a magician’s show, and that in a big puff of smoke Richie would be restored. But nothing happened. And maybe, Eddie thinks as cries into his pillow, he doesn't deserve it. He’d only ever been cruel and callous to Richie, maybe he doesn't deserve to get him back at all.

He waits and he dreams. Every night as he lies next to Mya, he dreams about Richie for the first time in years. He dreams of the two of them as children, touching hands and sharing ice-cream; and as teenagers driving around in Richie’s old truck, his legs draped over Richie’s lap as the other boy ghosted his fingers over his calves. And he dreams of a life they never had. Of first kisses, and love confessions, and slow bursts of love making during that sleepy time of morning when the sky turns milky just before dawn.

Every morning he wakes up with wet cheeks. And the emptiness continues to grow.

Over the next few days Eddie gets quieter and more withdrawn. He stops going to work and he doesn’t swallow any of the pills that Myra tries to force on him, spitting them into the toilet as soon as he can get away from her. She’s worried about him, he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He also doesn't care about all the missed phone calls from the Losers, or the string of texts and voice messages begging him to reconsider, telling him to call. He half types a text to Bev saying, when will it start to feel better? It didnt work anyway, i guess i cant do anything right but it lies half-written on his phone for two days before he deletes it. In the end he blocks their numbers and throws his phone into his bedside drawer.

But then, towards the end of the third week, Eddie wakes up and something feels off.

He can’t describe it, he just feels strange. Tense, the way he always felt before running. And slightly sick. That morning he finds himself watching the news as he chews on his thumbnail. A nervous little tick he hasn’t fallen back into since his late 20s. But there’s no impending catastrophe, no signal of anything ominous. He even scans the local Derry news on his iPad but finds nothing of note beyond a couple of farm cows found brutalised, torn open, their guts hanging out. A local nut job was blamed and arrested.

Just as he’s about to put the iPad down and make his egg-white omelette for breakfast, his eyes catch on a small story: a break-in at the Derry morgue. It’s dated as the same week that the Losers were in Derry, just two days after he disappeared. He realises, with a quiver, that it was the day after the incantation, the ritual to bring Richie back.

Eddie places his iPad down and goes to the bathroom, where he sits in the bath in the way he did as a child, when he was trying to calm the panic attack he felt growing under his skin. He sits there until he feels like his heart isn’t about to burst out of his skin and can go about his day again.

It doesn’t mean anything, he says to himself. Break-ins happen all the time. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

That evening he makes a simple dinner of grilled chicken and asparagus with a white wine sauce. But he can hardly eat. That feeling of unease had stayed with Eddie all day, and as the sky darkened outside it had only grown. Crawling up his throat, seizing his stomach, until he was choking on it.

Across the table he can hear Myra talking, but she’s muffled, like she’s talking underwater.

“A man was killed just a few blocks from us, Eddie, did you hear? It’s awful, apparently he was found ravaged, torn open.”

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs.

Myra frowns. “Are you even listening?”

And Eddie isn’t, but he nods his head.

After he’s pushed his food around his plate for a few more minutes, Eddie tells Myra he needs some fresh air, and before she can argue he slips out into the garden.

He ducks around the veranda outside. When he’s sure he’s completely hidden, he pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out his pocket. They’re not his, of course, they’re Richie’s. A pack he’d taken from his room at the Town House when he left that night. He hasn’t been able to smoke one yet, has only lifted one to his lips when Myra wasn’t around so he could pretend to taste Richie’s lips on it. But he suddenly wants to smoke one now, lighting it quickly so he can take a puff. The first one he’s ever taken. He hopes it’ll help him feel closer to Richie. But all it does is make his eyes water instantly and fill his throat with an acrid burn, bending him forwards to retch. It’s disgusting.

Eddie throws the cigarette away and crushes it into the ground with a grimace, wondering how Richie did that every single day. How that could ever be enjoyable.

But Richie had always been an excruciating anomaly, even when they were kids.

As he turns to walk back into the house, planning to go straight to the bathroom and wash the taste of smoke out of his mouth, the back of his neck prickles. Like he’s being watched. Eddie whips around, expecting to see a figure at the end of his yard. Maybe a dark silhouette half-hidden by the trees. But there’s nothing there. Not a flutter of a bird. Not the bright eyes of a cat skulking in the hedge. Nothing. And after a moment, Eddie swipes a hand over the back of his neck and makes his way back into the house.

Inside, Myra asks him what’s wrong, that he looks like he’s seen a ghost. The saying makes Eddie laugh, forcing out a strange, high-pitched noise that has her reeling back in her chair. But Eddie doesn’t stick around to apologise. He walks out of the kitchen and collapses into bed, suddenly exhausted.

He thinks of the text he’d half-written to Bev. When will it start to feel better? And a voice that sounded exactly like Pennywise's rings in his head. Never, Eddie baby! Haven’t you realised that? It never gets better!!

A noise wakes Eddie up that night. He’d only fallen into a shallow sleep, so the noise is enough to make him bolt up in bed, his heart racing. Next to him, Myra snores heavily, almost eclipsing the noise from downstairs, but Eddie’s ears still prick up, seeking out the source of the noise. He hears it again: the tinkle of broken glass, followed by a loud crunch, like someone is walking over it.

Fear makes Eddie recoil back against the headboard. But he can't ignore it. He slips out of bed and into the hallway, peering into the dark downstairs. After a moment, he swallows the sick feeling in his mouth and descends the stairs, feeling much too like a young woman from a gothic horror film.

It’s cold down in the hallway, and he quickly realises it’s because the front door is open. He pauses by the stairway, his body going taut. No, the door wasn’t open. It was broken, hanging flimsily from its hinges, shards of glass and wood on the floor.

But there was more too: smudged, muddy footprints tracking from the front door into the hallway, like someone had broken down the door and dragged their feet inside.

Eddie’s trying to mentally catalogue how far the phone is, how long it’ll take him to dart into the living room and call the police to report a break-in when the back of his neck prickles again. Behind him he hears the heavy exhale of someone breathing.

He spins around fast, heartbeat ratcheting up like a series of gunshots, and that’s when he sees him. Richie. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching him.

"Richie," he gasps.

And it was Richie, somehow. Despite the blue tinge to his skin, and the black tracing of veins skittering down his neck and arms. Even though he didn’t have his glasses, and his clothes lay in filthy shreds around his arms and legs, revealing large tantalising glimpses of the thick muscles at his thighs, the tendons popping like lines of rock on his arms. He’d look like a centrefold ripped from a woman's magazine if it wasn’t for the mud streaking down his legs and the scabbed chest wound dissecting his chest, right where the clown had pierced him.

“Eddie,” Richie says thickly, like his throat is clogged with dirt. “I’m here.”

“What...” Eddie stumbles, breath hitching. “What are you doing here?”

And he knows it’s a stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Because he feels like he’s about to pass out, the pulse at his neck frozen in fear.

“I came back for you,” Richie says. And his eyes are so shockingly blue. Bluer than they had ever been when he was alive. So blue they were almost silver, electrifying the air.

Eddie thinks, All the way here? From Derry?

“But you’re dead,” he murmurs.

But Richie shakes his head. “I’m not. Or at least not anymore. I remember the sewers. The clown. And then nothing. Blackness. Until I was pulled out... by you.”

Eddie feels faint. “By me?”

Richie nods, and starts walking towards him. As he does, the smell hits Eddie. It’s a damp smell, like a puddle of water, or the smell at the bottom of a well. Like mud left behind after a downpour of rain. And beneath that the faint smell of rot, like fruit that had started to turn bad in the basement.

“Yes, by you,” Richie says. “Your voice, it pulled me out of the dark. You were calling to me. I woke up and I knew I had to find you again. That I couldn’t rest until I did.”

The spell, Eddie thinks drunkenly as Richie comes close, it had worked.

“Richie,” he moans, feeling everything well up inside him. Everything he had repressed over the last three weeks. The grief. The rage. The yearning. All surging and crashing over him where he’d forced himself to go numb. It overtakes him completely, and Eddie thinks he might fall to the floor.

He starts to cry as he says, "Richie, I did everything I could. I wanted to save you. But the clown, it was too much. You were already gone and I coudn't- and I wanted to die too, I just wanted to curl up and fucking die-"

Richie shushes him, hand coming up to curl in the hair at the back of his head.

"You did save me, baby, don't you see? I'm only here now because of you."

That’s when Eddie notices the red staining on Richie’s chest. He blinks. And suddenly he remembers the story of the dismembered cows, how their blood had been drained. And the murder Myra had mentioned. The man a few blocks down. He had been found gutted, torn open from his sternum to his groin. How his viscera had been missing.

And Eddie realises it’s not staining at all. It’s a thick layer of gore splattered over his chest hair. His hands are mattered in it too, all the way to his wrists, like he’d sunk his hands into something and pulled out the meat.

“Richie,” he says. “What have you done?”

They’re interrupted by the creak of the bottom stair, and Myra’s voice as she calls out, “Eddie, what’s going on? Eddie, are you all right? I heard voices.”

“Myra,” he says, turning to see her staring in shock at their broken front door.

"Myra, don't-"

But that's when she sees Richie. This strange man standing in her hallway with muddy feet and blood on his chest. With his blue skin and black veins and strange silver eyes.

She starts to scream.

Richie is on her in an instant. He rushes past Eddie, pushing him to the wall as he dashes down the hallway. He knocks Myra down to the floor and as she opens her mouth on a fresh scream, his teeth land at the skin of her neck, tearing it open. He rips her apart, first at her throat, her screams gurgling thick with blood, and then at her chest. His hands come down and he rips her apart like she's nothing more than cellophane. Once she's split open, Richie dips his head down and feasts on her blood and bone. He looks like a starved, feral animal gorging itself on a bounty, and the noises he makes as he rips the meat from the pulsing cavity at her chest isn’t human. Eddie realises, faintly, that he’s eating Myra’s heart, that the blood dripping down his chin is from her arteries, and he trembles.

Mike’s words ring in his head. Things like this always require a price.

Myra dies quickly, her screams stuttering out, eyes going glassy, but Richie doesn’t stop eating for a long time.

Terror roots Eddie to the spot. He can’t run, he can’t scream. He can only lean back against the wall and stare. At the thing that used to be his best friend, the man he loved, eat his wife open from the inside.

The next thing he knows, Richie is rising, and he’s coming towards Eddie, a blue fire raging in his eyes. Eddie tries to scramble away, but Richie’s too fast for him, and the two men tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Richie presses him to the floor, his mouth at Eddie’s neck, weight crushing him down, and Eddie thinks, This is it. This is always how it was going to end.

But Richie doesn't kill him. He doesn’t tear his throat out or drink his blood. Instead Richie kisses him. Presses the softest, sweetest kiss to the base of his neck.

“I love you, Eddie,” he whispers when he pulls back, eyes bright, mouth clotted with gore. “I love you and I came back for you.”

Eddie blinks up at him, his chest heaving. He thinks dizzily, Richie, it’s really you. And before he can stop himself, his hands are flying up to grab Richie by the shoulders and he's pulling the other man down. Their mouths meet in a fierce clash of lips and teeth, more a bite than a kiss, Richie's tongue stabbing into him. And even though Eddie winces at the thick taste of Myra’s blood, at the hint of decay in his mouth, he still tastes so much like Richie that Eddie throbs.

“I waited for you,” he pants in the short gap between their lips. “I waited so long.”

“I’m here,” Richie says hotly. “I’m here and I’m never leaving you alone again.”

And Eddie had imagined what their first time would be like at countless moments over the last few weeks. If it would be fast or slow. If Richie would be rough with him or gentle. But he never thought it would be anything like this, with Richie tearing his clothes off him and touching every inch of his skin. He never knew Richie would look like this, with this dark, hungry expression, as he thumbs Eddie’s nipples to sore pink peaks and sucks a huge, dark bruise over his heart. He never thought Richie would act so desperately, as his hand disappears between Eddie’s legs to open him up, fingers wet with spit and blood. Eddie never knew it would feel this much like being claimed, like being consumed

When Richie pushes inside him, shoving his filthy jeans down and pulling Eddie’s hips up so he can slot his cock against Eddie’s small opening, it hurts. Eddie’s never had a man inside him before, and it hurts so much. It’s agony. Richie’s hard cock tearing up into him in a searing, insistent push. But Eddie still arches his back off the floor, trying to get every inch of Richie inside him, feeling the white-hot pain sealing up all the numb, dead spots inside him. Richie fucks him like that, like they’re animals, hard into the floor as he growls against him. He ruts against Eddie, pushing his cock as deeply as it can go on every thrust, Eddie’s pained moans never slowing him. He fucks Eddie like he’s trying to disappear inside him, and the thought only makes Eddie harder, makes him cum fast as he whines like a broken toy.

In the distance a phone rings. But Eddie can’t hear it. Because between the taste of Richie in his mouth, and the feel of his cock, he can’t bring himself to care. And as Richie sinks his cold teeth into Eddie’s bottom lip and groans, "You're mine, you’re fucking mine," Eddie finally feels okay. He feels something like peace. For the first time in 27 years he's right where he needs to be.

#halloween reddie #zombies #tw body horror #minors dni #reddie drabbles #reddie #kaspbrough #tw depression #tw suicidal thoughts #this is 4000 words and basically a fic #idk what's wrong with me #this is weird and gory btw #just as a warning

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transromansanders · 3 years

Text

We Can Live Forever, If You’ve Got the Time: Chapter One: Roman’s Life Does a Backflip Unsuccessfully

AO3: Link

WC: 3,229

Ships: Rosleepxiety, Intrulogical, Moceit, Pintroverts

Warnings (chapter): homophobia, gun violence, minor character death, blood

A/N: Hey, So this has been in the works for a while. I’m finally in a place motivation-wise where I feel like I can get out at least the second chapter in a timely manner. Also! I’m looking for someone to beta read for errors in grammar and continuity. If you feel the urge to volunteer, please do so, I need help ;-;

Chapter 1 under the cut

"Daddy!" a small voice whisper-yelled. Roman groaned, rolling onto his back from his side. "Daddy!" the little voice whined. Roman managed a sleepy smile, but then little hands and knees were pressing into his bare chest and stomach.

"Oof! Emile, you little monster," he groaned, capturing the three-year-old in his arms and rolling back onto his side with Emile next to him, between himself and Alandria, who was snoring, her dark hair framing her face and haloing out on her pillows. Her steel-grey eyes were hidden behind closed lids, and she smacked her lips when Emile rolled over and poked at her face. Roman wished he loved his wife.

Roman spared a look at the alarm clock on his bedside table, groaning again at the time: 3:43 AM on a Monday. "Can we sleep a little longer, Bud?" Roman asked Emile tiredly.

Emile nodded, turning over to face his dad again and curling up against his chest.

Roman wrapped an arm around his son with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Emile's head. Then he dozed back off again.

----

Roman smacked at the alarm clock as it blared at him, whining softly. Finally, he managed to turn it off, and he began sitting up, rubbing at his eyes.

Next to him, Emile sat up as well with a cute little yawn and Alandria was running a hand over her face, looking at her husband and son with a little smile. "Good morning," she slurred sleepily.

Roman chuckled. "'Morning, sleepyhead."

"Mommy!" cheered Emile, crawling on top of her now.

She groaned a little, sitting up to hold him in her lap. Roman stood, bare toes curling for a moment against the cold white floor. The whole house was cold, cold and impersonal. Roman wished it was warmer. He wished Emile had a home, as a child ought to have.

He lifted the blinds so the sunlight could shine in.

Then he turned back to the bed, smiling. "I'm going to make us some breakfast. How does cinnamon toast sound?"

Emile cheered, and Alandria smiled and nodded. Roman clapped his hands together, grabbed a shirt, and headed to the kitchen, pulling the garment on.

Soon they were sitting around the table with plates of cinnamon toast with fresh fruit in front of them. Emile ate messily, getting strawberry juice and cinnamon-sugar all over his face and hands. Alandria got a wet paper towel and cleaned him up.

Then they were off, Roman and Alandria going to shower and get dressed, Emile sat in front of the TV with cartoons on until one of them got to him to make him put on real clothes rather than pajamas.

Roman showered and dressed first, in a pale red button-up, a black tie, and khakis with black leather shoes. Once he was done, he scooped up Emile, ignoring his protests and wiggling. "Come on, Emmy, gotta get dressed. Then you can ask Mommy if you can watch more cartoons."

Emile let Roman maneuver him out of his pajamas and into a shirt and some pants, giggling away the whole time. Roman poked his nose when he was done. "I bet Mommy's dressed now. Wanna go ask if you can watch more cartoons?"

Emile nodded vigorously and went in search of Alandria, while Roman poured a thermos of coffee to take with him.

Alandria and Emile met him at the door, off to run some errand or another.

"I'll see you tonight," Roman said, pressing a kiss to the top of Emile's head.

"Love you," Alandria said.

"Bye," Roman answered.

----

"Roman!" Patton Casey greeted.

"Morning, Pat!"

That was the extent of his usual personal interactions with the red-haired receptionist, though he relied heavily on Patton for matters of business.

He walked into his shared office, and his partner, Logan Hubbard, was, of course, already there.

"Did you hear about the execution tomorrow?" Logan asked.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "What execution?"

"It's a teenager. They say he was stirring up rebellion among the other youths. And he's openly gay," Logan mentioned. Logan was Roman's closest friend, and one of two people in the whole world who knew Roman's secret. But he had the exact same secret, too.

"Shit," Roman remarked. "Are we going?"

"You are scheduled to be there on behalf of the Governor's office, so yes, you are, but I am staying here," Logan answered.

"Damn, can we trade?" Roman asked.

"Not a chance in hell. Get to work, Picani."

Roman sighed and set about his daily tasks.

One thing that came across his desk caught his eye. An execution order for one Thomas Sanders, age 15… He signed it with a grimace on behalf of his boss, then scanned it and sent it to the other Governors' offices.

Soon lunchtime rolled around. He ate with Logan, and he longed for one of their nights out in the underground gay bars that dotted the bad parts of the city. He and Logan had tried the secretly dating thing, after Logan had started this job, when they'd run into each other at one of said bars. It hadn't worked out; they were better as friends. Today, they talked about how Emile had woken Roman early and different ways Logan had read about to keep kids from doing that. Logan did not have a wife or children; he just liked to read. And, truly, he did want to be a parent one day. That was one thing Roman knew about him from their drunken nights together in Logan's apartment early in Roman's marriage.

When lunch was over, they had a meeting. With Governor Baines. Roman hated those. Governor Baines was a thin, gaunt man with balding grey hair. His skin may as well have been grey, too, with how pale he was.

The conference room was grey as well, unrelentingly so. Roman and Logan each told him the notable things that had been delivered to the office. Governor Baines often asked in a dull voice what they had just said and if they could repeat themselves.

"Oh, and the Sanders execution order came in today," Roman said, trying not to wince.

"Sanders…" Governor Baines mumbled. "Tell me about this Sanders."

"He's fifteen years old," Roman told him. No reaction. Roman sighed. "He's openly gay and has incited rebellion among the kids at his school."

"I presume you signed it."

"Yes, Governor Baines."

"Good lad, Picano."

Roman frowned a little when the Governor got his name wrong. But he didn't correct him.

Then the meeting was over. The next several hours were filled with filing and organizing. Roman talked at Logan about a TV show he and Alandria were watching as they worked. When he finally left, giving a little goodbye to Patton, he was exhausted. It was a good job, but not a fun one.

----

"Daddy!" Emile cried as Roman opened the door, his tie loose around his neck. Roman laughed and bent down to catch the speeding toddler.

"Hi, Emmy! There's my little man!"

"Hi, honey!" Alandria called from the kitchen.

"Oh, let me help!" Roman offered, carrying Emile into the kitchen. "What can I do?"

"Get the chicken in the pan, babe?" Alandria requested.

Emile played on the floor as his parents cooked dinner.

"How was your day?" Roman asked when they were finally sat down to eat.

"Oh, fine," Alandria said. "We just did some shopping, then Emile and I worked some more on the alphabet, isn't that right, Em?"

Emile nodded excitedly. "I can go all the way to 'O'! Listen! A, B, C, D, E, F, um, G, H, I, J, K, um… M N O!"

"You skipped 'L', Baby, but very good job," Alandria said as Roman clapped.

Emile giggled and went back to his food.

Roman didn't know what else to say, nor did Alandria, and Emile was too busy eating to keep up the conversation. So the rest of dinner passed in silence.

When Alandria was finished, she wiped her hands and face on a paper napkin, then stood up. "Okay, Em, bathtime!"

Roman was going to offer to do it, but something stopped him. He wasn't sure what, just that they needed this time together, but he just finished his meal, letting them go. When he was done, he went and got into pajamas and got the show he was watching with Alandria queued up. Finally, he met Alandria outside Emile's bedroom to put him to bed.

They wrestled him into pajamas, Emile giggling and squirming the whole time. Then Roman scooped him up and dumped him on the bed, chuckling. "Okay, Monster. What story do you want tonight?"

"The Tortoise and the Hare!" Emile cried, and Alandria retrieved it from the shelf.

Roman opened the book and began reading in a silly voice. Emile yawned.

By the time Roman was done, Emile was sound asleep.

Roman quietly put the book up and crept out of the room with Alandria.

They sat down on the couch and started their show, the TV on a low volume. Two episodes went by before they decided to go to sleep, wordlessly. They crawled into bed, and Roman was out in moments.

----

"They're having an execution today," Alandria said the next morning after Roman had gotten dressed in his white button-up, khaki pants, dark red tie, and black dress shoes.

He had to wince. "I know. You're not taking Emile, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I? It's a part of life. He has to learn these things at some point," Alandria said.

Roman sighed and nodded. He didn't want to argue. "Maybe I'll see you there. I'm scheduled to go."

The drive to work felt long. He stared at the road ahead of him, feeling irritated for a reason he couldn't place.

Then he was walking into work, coffee in hand.

"'Morning, Pat," he said, voice a bit strained.

"Good morning, Roman," Patton answered, sounding concerned. But Roman had ducked into his office before Patton could ask.

"Good morning, Roman," Logan echoed Patton.

Roman just grunted, sitting down at his desk.

The rest of the morning went along monotonously. Then it was time for lunch. And the execution. He ate, but he didn't taste. He honestly wouldn't have had any idea what he was eating if it hadn't been labelled 'cranberry spinach salad'.

Then he drove to the Execution Courtyard. The parking was a nightmare, as always on execution days. He spotted Alandria's car.

It took him a little bit to find his wife and son, as they were toward the other side of the crowd from the parking lot. "Hi!" he greeted, taking Emile from his wife when the child reached for him with a squeal of "Daddy!"

It was about time for the execution to start. So where…? They were near the entrance where the guards would bring in the prisoner. That's when Roman realized what was happening. There was the boy, Thomas, and another guy, beautiful, with dark hair and sharp features, small and cute, but harsh-looking… and the guards on the ground, and a gun pointed at Thomas. The other guy was trying to pull the teenager away. The gun turned to him. Later, Roman couldn't have said why he'd done it. But suddenly, he was between the man and the gun, Emile gently placed on the ground next to him. And Alandria was between Roman and the gun before the guard had the chance to fire.

Roman, surprised to not be dead, covered in a spray of blood, and largely in shock, picked up his son quickly and cradled him close to his chest, not letting him see his mother on the ground.

"Come with us!" the dark-haired man hissed, grabbing Roman's arm and dragging him and Thomas through alleyways. Roman followed numbly, clinging to his son, who was crying in fear and confusion. They stopped in a dead-end alleyway behind some dumpsters. "Can you get that kid to quiet down?" their savior asked impatiently.

Thomas held out his arms wordlessly, and Roman hesitantly passed Emile over. The toddler quieted pretty quickly, sticking his thumb in his mouth and curling up against Thomas's chest.

"We stay here for two hours, 'til things quiet down, then our ride comes. Get comfortable," the other man said. He looked to be about Roman's age, now that Roman had time to really look.

"Who are you?" Thomas asked slowly.

The man held up a finger to his lips urgently, and several guards ran past their alleyway. A few moments passed, then he said quietly, "Name's Virgil. I work with some people who have a vested interest in keeping you alive, Thomas. Now, I want to know who he is."

Roman gulped. "Um, my name is Roman Picani… I work for Governor Baines's office… except I probably don't do that anymore."

"Probably not," agreed Virgil. "Someone, uh… Someone did get shot back there… Do you know—"

"My wife," Roman said, trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears.

Thomas gasped softly. "I'm so sorry…"

"Can we not talk about it in front of my son?" Roman requested, and Virgil nodded in agreement, looking away.

"Well, you'll be wanted now, Roman. Looks like you and the kid are stuck with us."

Roman nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "I just ruined my life…" he said softly.

"Maybe…" Virgil answered quietly.

"If it makes you feel any better, I ruined mine a few weeks ago," Thomas contributed.

Roman couldn't help a small, bitter chuckle at that. "So… what now?"

"I'll leave it to Patton to explain that," Virgil answered.

"Patton… Not Patton Casey?" Roman asked.

"Yep, Patton Casey. My big brother," Virgil said. "You already know him from the office, then."

Roman didn't know Patton had a brother. And apparently, Roman didn't know a lot of things about Patton, as he was to find out when Patton pulled up at the entrance to the alleyway two hours later in a non-descript black car.

Patton was surprised to see Roman and his son, to say the least. "V, what happened?"

"Almost got shot," Virgil answered quietly. "Roman here tried to take the bullet. His wife took it instead."

Patton covered his mouth with a hand in shock. "Oh, Roman, I'm so sorry."

Roman just took his son back from Thomas silently as they quickly got into the car.

"Well, um…" Patton said. "I guess… Welcome to The Resistance."

----

The Resistance headquarters was a dilapidated house next to Housing Development Number 1. Patton led them all inside, having put Thomas in a baggy hoodie so he wouldn't be recognized. They stopped in the kitchen. The walls were painted yellow, the cabinets were white, and the appliances were old. The backsplash was a gaudily painted tile, and the countertops were light blue porcelain. There was a battered wooden table with mismatched chairs in the corner.

"Alright, Thomas. You can take the room next to Virgil's and mine. Roman and Emile the one next to that," Patton said. "Sorry it's not that much, guys, but… it's what we have." He sighed. "This is always the hardest part. Settling in, getting all new clothes and things. Don't worry, Roman; we can get some toys for Emile."

Roman nodded, holding the now-sleeping toddler closer to his chest.

"You'll stay here for as long as you like, Roman. Until you're settled into this new life, then we can move you to another safehouse that's not so close to the action," Virgil said.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Exactly how big is this operation?"

"Oh, we have branches all over the country," Patton answered. "This is just HQ for our province's branch."

"Who's in charge here?" Thomas asked.

"You're lookin' at 'im, Kiddo!" Patton said cheerfully.

Roman sputtered for a moment. Sweet Patton was the head of The Resistance in Shaw Province?!

"What?" Patton asked, directing his attention to Roman. He kept up his cheery demeanor as he asked, "Thought I was just the mild-mannered receptionist?" There was a hint of amusement to his tone. "Come on, we'll show you your rooms, then, um… then you can go take a shower, Roman," he said, gesturing for Thomas and Roman to follow him. "Virgil, send Gio or Perce to the store for clothes. Oh! What sizes are you guys?"

Thomas and Roman listed off their clothing sizes, then Roman told them Emile's size as well. Virgil wrote it all down on a pad of paper he grabbed from the table.

"Got it. See ya at dinner, Pat," Virgil said with a little wave.

Patton showed Roman his and Emile's room, and Roman laid Emile down on the bed. The room was fairly empty, aside from bookshelves. When Roman looked a little closer, he realized it was mostly banned books.

He turned back to Patton and Thomas in the doorway, and Patton looked nervous.

"Um, Roman, there's something I haven't told you…"

Roman bristled a little, unsure what to expect at this point.

Patton took a deep breath. "Your brother, Remus, he works with us sometimes."

"Remus… God, I haven't seen him in… years…" Roman mused sadly.

"I know. He told me," Patton said, sounding sad.

Roman nodded. "I… I need to rest…"

Patton nodded. "Of course. But shower first, okay? The bathroom is the door just across from this one. You can borrow some of my clothes for now. Should I wake you for dinner?"

Roman shook his head. "No, no, I'll eat in the morning," he answered.

Patton smiled worriedly. "Okay, well… I'll go get you those clothes!"

"Goodnight," Thomas said before he and Patton left.

Roman kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed, petting Emile's hair; the toddler whined but didn't wake.

Soon, Patton was knocking on the door. Roman stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

"Thanks, Patton," he said as he took the clothes Patton held out to him.

"Are you okay?" Patton asked gently.

Roman nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, I just…" He sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "...What about Emile? What is he gonna do? I can't send him to school, he doesn't have his mother anymore, he can't go home…" The tears spilled over, and Patton was quick to hug him.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be okay, Kiddo," Patton said, rubbing Roman's back. "I know it's a lot, but it's gonna be okay."

Roman wiped roughly at his eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I'm… I'm glad Virgil is okay, I just…" He sniffled. "I've sacrificed my life for his."

Patton nodded sympathetically. "...Roman, do you believe that the government we live under is oppressive?"

Roman laughed bitterly through his tears. "I'm a gay man who's spent my prime married to a woman I didn't have any feelings for. I've signed death warrants for people like me and Thomas for a living for years. I know we live in an oppressive system."

"Maybe you should stay with us, then. Fight it," Patton suggested.

"I'd like to… I have to do what's best for my son… I just need to figure out what that is," Roman bemoaned.

"Well… We're all here to help. You're not alone," Patton assured him. "Shower and get some rest."

And Roman did.

For the second night in a row, he was asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow, exhausted.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #roman centric #virgil sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #patton sanders #thomas sanders (character)#character thomas #remus sanders #i promise janus will be in the next chapter #blood #gun #gun violence #gunshot #minor character death #homophobia #roman writes

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lampscompany · 1 year

Text

Magnetic Rechargeable Night Light

Lamps.Company offers Magnetic Night Light and other gifts for your home or office to make it feel more relaxing with their rechargeable night light changing colors and features a suction mount for anywhere you need a light. Our Magnetic Rechargeable Night Light recreates the romantic feeling of a flickering flame on a fireplace.

#Cartoon Baby Children Bedside #Love Bear Series 3D Light Creative #Magnetic Rechargeable Night Light #Swan Lamp #Touch Cartoon Dimming LED Desk

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voltagesmutter · 4 years

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Victor - Pudding

Just pure Victor fever

No smut but suggestive

4000 words of pure love

You sighed, admiring the stunning bouquet of flowers on your desk as you opened the black box, a diamond encrusted necklace sent sparkles through your eyes. You shut the box and placed it on your desk, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“Another sorry present?” Anna asked, leaning over and looking inside the box, a gasp coming from her mouth, “Dear god this man knows how to say sorry,”.

“This is the third time this month Anna,” You sigh, “My husband shouldn’t be apologising by sending gifts and priceless jewellery,”. You take the necklace box and push it into your bag to keep it safe. Taking your phone you hit the 3rd speed dial button for Goldman, you best believe you have him on speed dial.

“Hello?”.

“Heya Gold’s it me! Look I need a favour,”.

“I’m not paid enough for this,” He mumbles under his breath.

“Look can you just tell me if Victor’s schedule is busy now or if he’s free please?”. A few clicks come from the other side of the phone.

“No, he should be finishing up a meeting now, want me to keep the rest of the afternoon free for you?” He says.

“Yes, thank you Gold’s, you're a gem I'll tell Victor to bump you up a few zeros,” You laugh and hear him laughing down the phone. You knew how much he was paid, he was paid a hefty amount for his work. Grabbing your bag, you angrily storm up to Victor's office, determined to give him a piece of your mind. You smile at his receptionist, her giving you the nod that his office was empty and you push open the doors slamming them behind you.

You look as your husband sits at his desk, buried into stacks of paperwork, a stern look on his face. His cologne hit your nose instantly, it was the same as always but something about it today made you almost drool. Your chest began to rise at a heavy pace as you watched him, he still didn’t look up at you.

“You just going to stand there dummy?” He chuckles as he finally looks up and makes eye contact with you. You don’t know what is was but something about him felt different today, you just wanted to climb into his lap and ride him until you was both spent. You couldn’t even remember what you came up here for, all you knew right now was you had to have him. You hurried make your way to him, undoing your shirt as you make your way to his lap, a slightly blush on his face.

“Whats all this about?” He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you as you placed kisses against his neck.

“Can’t a wife just come and give her husband some much needed love and attention?” You purr, running your hand down to palm him over his trousers. He lets out a low growl and spend the next hour embracing each other's bodies.

“What was that all about?” Victor heavily pants, leaning back in his chair, holding you close to him,

“I came up here angry at you, Victor. You don’t need to keep sending me gifts when you have to cancel our dates, I just want some time with you is all,” You pout, your husband taking your left hand and rubbing his hand over your wedding ring.

“I’m sorry, I just feel so guilty about it, I hate not being able to spend time with you,” He whispers, pressing kisses to your forehead.

“Do you know what will make it up to me?” You hum. You know he already knows what your thinking of. Pudding.

“I promise I will make you a pudding when we get home, but you have to be patient okay,” He presses a soft kiss to your nose and you look up at him with your bambi like eyes.

“Victor,” You breathlessly whisper, giving him that look.

“Again? Did I not satisfy you my love,” He grins, pushing you backwards onto his desk.

That night Victor kept his promise and made you pudding but he wouldn’t let you have it until the next day, claiming there was too much sugar for you to consume that late at night. He even had the audacity to hide it on the top shelf of the fridge where you couldn’t reach it. Pouting after your failed midnight snack adventure you climbed back into bed, sleeping Victor embracing you in his arms.

“Couldn’t reach the pudding could you,” He mumbles against your neck making you giggle.

“I’m literally craving it Vic, like I need it,” You whine and he chuckles against your neck, him arm holding you close to him.

“Such a dummy, so pouty over pudding,” As he presses soft kisses to the back of your neck making you hum against him.

“Victor don’t,” You whine, turning in his arms as his eyes open slowly to look into yours.

“What's up,” He whispers against your lip, his arm around you drawing small circles over your waist. You run your fingers through his arm, your nose rubbing against his.

“I’m feeling really sensitive, if you start doing that I won’t be able to keep my hands off you,” Feeling the arousal within you kicking in again. You felt like when you and Victor first got together, purely unable to keep your hands off of him.

“Are you telling me after all that in the office you still want more?” A light smirk on his face.

“I honestly feel like I could go all night,” You giggle, a very very poor choice of words. You didn’t get to sleep a wink that night, Victor ravishing your body with his hands, mouth and body all night. Thank god it had been a friday. You were finally able to get some sleep as dawn was breaking through, you slipping into a peaceful slumber.

The aroma of breakfast and the sizzling sound wafter into the bedroom, stirring you from your sleep. You drifted into the kitchen, almost like a cartoon character whose feet didn’t touch the floor as you enter into the room. Greeted by your husband as he stood shirtless, fixing up something in the kitchen. You stopped to admire the sight, the red scratches over his back from your previous session this morning, he was just breathtaking.

“Are you going to keep staring or come help?” He teases, flashing you a smile. He opens a packet of meat as you make your way over but the smell hits you with a wave of nausea, your face going green.

“You okay?” Victor asks, noticing the colour draining from your face but you shake your head and run to the bathroom, violently spewing. You can hear Victor pacing outside the bathroom, he wasn’t good with illness.

“Bella?” His voice is full of worry as he knocks on the door after a few minutes.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” You manage, gripping the toilet bowl once more as you feel yourself retching up. You clean yourself up after a few minutes later, before leaving to see Victor sat on the edge of the bed, worry plastered over his face. As soon as he saw you he stood up, pressing a hand to your head as if checking your temperature.

“I’m fine, honestly, the smell just made me queasy,” You reassure him.

“Is it… you know,” His face flustered and he rubs the back of his neck, “That time?”. He got so embarrassed over your womanly issues, the day you had to ask him to go to the shop and buy you pads was a day you would never forget. He was too embarrassed to ask for help in the shop so he brought multiple brands and sizes, returning home with a red glow over his cheeks.

“No, no, you should know after yesterday!” You tease with a giggle until you stop.

“What?”.

“Bella what?”. You stand there for a few moments, blinking in silence, trying to work something out. You run to your bedside draw, you take out your container holding your birth control and check over it, each one taken… all except one that you had missed two months ago. You take out the little notebook you kept with it, feeling the bed dip down beside you, Victor looking confused at what you were doing. You trace through the past few months, your last period was well over a month late and you drop everything.

“Bella, will you talk to me?” Victor asks once more, he had been asking you but you sat there in stunned silence trying to piece everything together.

“I-... I missed a pill over a month ago…” You manage, your face still dumbstruck.

“That's fine?” Victor chuckles, taking your hand, not realising what you was suggesting.

“And I haven’t had my period…”. There's silence as the penny drops. Your heart races as you turn to face Victor, his face matching your stunned one from moments ago.

“Please… please don’t be mad, it was an accident, I didn't-” You start, feeling tears in your eyes. Victor shuts you up with a deep kiss, pulling you close to him.

“We might have had a baby?” He smiles, running his hands through your hair. You nod, “You dummy, how, why, why would you even think I would be mad?”.

“Its just- we haven’t spoken about it before, I thought you might be upset,” Your eyes looking up to meet his loving gaze, a warm smile on his lips.

“Your my wife, I love you, of course I want children with you, this… this is everything,” He softly cradles your face with his hand. He leans down and kisses you deeply with passion, your loving husband almost bursting with happiness at the fact you could be pregnant. He pushed you down to the bed, beginning to undo your shirt when the smell of smoke rose and a sharp beeping noise filled the house.

“Shit,” Victor drops you from his hold and runs out into the kitchen, both of you forgetting the breakfast that was cooking. The smell makes you queasy again and you dash once more into the bathroom.

“I can’t believe you burnt the food, I’ve never seen you burn anything!” You tease, sitting cross legged on the sofa, a big smile on your face as you tuck into your pudding finally.

“I can’t believe your eating pudding this early in the day,” He chuckles back.

“I told you!” You pouted, “I’m really craving it,”.

“Just because you're pregnant, this doesn’t mean you can have pudding all the time,” He makes his way to sit in front of you on the floor, taking one of your hands preventing you from ravishing your food.

“Might,” You emphasise. You didn’t want to get your hopes up too much, just in case it’s not true.

Victor had been called on an urgent business call for two weeks the following day after your initial pregnancy realisation.

“I’m not going,” He protested, throwing the clothes out of the suitcase you were packing.

“Victor! It’s important, you need to go!” Repacking everything he was throwing out.

“What’s important is you, that maybe you're carrying our baby,” His hands moving to press against your stomach. You were about to head out and get a pregnancy test when his phone rang, informing him of the urgent matter he needed to go away on.

“And we’ll know when you come home,” You say pressing kisses to his knuckles, “I promise you I will wait, it’s two weeks,”. He knew he was going to lose this argument with you, in return for your support he made you enough pudding for a few days but you was so emotional over the unknown you ate them all the first night he left.

Everything was going fine, until you started experiencing morning sickness at work, throwing up on the dot every morning at 9:30. The smell of peoples lunch was unbearable, it got to the point you went and sat in Victor's office during lunch. It wasn’t until Goldman walked in on you crying your eyes out at a puppy adoption advert that people started to ask questions.

“So Goldman said you’ve been throwing up? I’m getting the next plane home,” Victors voice was music to your ears that night as you lay in bed.

“It’s fine, it might just be morning sickness you know,” You smile, you missed your husband deeply.

“I can get the earliest flight tomorrow morning,”.

“Victor no! It’s okay, just some smells make me feel really sensitive,” You mumble, “I sit in your office eating lunch now,”.

“Dummy…” He softly whispers, “I’m so worried about you, how are you doing?”.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” You take a bite out of your snack, “I just feel a little tired more than usual,”.

“Are you eating pudding? It’s midnight there…”.

There's a moment's pause.

“You already ate all the pudding didn't you?”.

“I couldn’t help it! I need it,” You whine.

“What are you eating now then?” He asks.

“Ice cream with pickles…” You mumble.

“Right that’s it I’m coming home, my wife is seriously ill,” He chuckles, knowing how much you despise pickles and how much you hate mixing sweet and sharp foods.

“Victor, I really think this might be it,” You can’t stop yourself beaming down the phone.

“I think you need to take a test,” Him always being the reasonable one.

“No, not without you,” You reply instantly.

“Bella-”.

“No Victor, this is our baby, we’re doing this every step together,”. Victor knew you was just as stubborn as he was, “Besides you’ll be home in 5 days, I can wait”.

Dear god it was a long five days, each day your symptoms felt like they was getting worse, you felt so fatigued by the end of the week you had forgotten about Victor coming home. Too tired to walk home you jumped into a nearby cab, almost falling asleep in the car. Getting out as it pulled up at your home, a familiar scent lingered in the living room as you opened the front door.

“Vic?” You called out, walking in and seeing him standing there. You ran into his arms as he twirled you around his arms, pressing kisses all over your face.

“I missed you so much, I’m never leaving you again,” He says between kisses making you giggle.

“I have a present,” He says, setting you down. PLEASE BE MORE PUDDING, “No, it’s not pudding,”. You pouted at his comment, he could read your mind you swear. He reaches into a bag and hands you a pregnancy test. You blink and look at him.

“Goldman got it for me, I- I didn’t know what one to get,” A blush on his cheeks as you giggle.

“You ready?” You ask, squeezing his hand as you walk to the bathroom.

“Always,” He replies.

A week on and you sit in the leather reclining chair, the cold gel being spread over your bump as Victor sits by your side, holding your hand tight.

“And… there we are,” The doctor moving the wand over your stomach, “There's your baby,”. Roughly 9 weeks pregnant, the screen giving you and Victor the first glimpse of the life growing inside you, tears running down your cheeks.

“It’s so tiny,” You cry, focusing on the black and white image on the screen. You had to strain to see the tiny bean that was developing inside you but there it was. Victors hand tightened over yours, a small tear falling from his eye he focuses on the screen.

“Lets see if,” The doctor says, messing with something on the screen and a faint sound of a heartbeat fills the room, “I know this can be very emotional, I’ll give you a minute”. The doctor stepping out.

“Our baby Victor,” You sob as Victor tears his eyes away from the screen to hold you close.

“I love you so much, thank you, thank you for giving us the most perfect gift,” He whispers cradling you close to him, you could feel a tear from his face drop onto your cheek.

You didn’t have a dream pregnancy, you suffered severely with morning sickness to the point you had to announce your pregnancy early due to the growing concern of your colleges. But the best part was what you craved: pudding and Victor. You literally couldn’t get your fill of either. Victor refused to make them you anymore in the house as you literally sat with a spoon ready when he began making them, instead he would make them in a batch at Souvenir and would bring home one a week. Although he didn’t complain once about your increased sex drive, morning sessions, after work, at home, anywhere and time you could get him alone. It got to the point where he had to book out afternoon meetings in his calendar just to satisfy your needs. He also never once complained about your breasts practically doubling every week.

At first you didn’t want to find out the sex of your child but one you was massively impatient and two you wanted to begin buying baby clothes, you couldn’t stop once you started. You had an extravagant gender reveal, everyone having to guess what they thought the baby was going to be. You were adamant it would be a boy, Victor a girl, but neither of you cared as all you wanted was a healthy baby.

“And it's...blue!” You cry, cutting the cake to see the inside of the sponge blue making you sob like the hormonal wreck you were.

“You're doing it again,” Victor was watching you as he sat in his armchair. You were busy cleaning everything and anything you could see, you were currently polishing the knobs on door handles for the fourth time.

“I can’t help it! It irritates me,” You whine, Victor standing up and wrapping his arms around you nuzzling his face into your neck from behind. Your bump was huge, at first you were worried you were having twins. You had just under two weeks until your due date.

“Come on, I’ll run you a bath, massage your feet and you can relax,” He hums as he leads you to the bathroom, waddling your way over.

“He’s so restless,” You say with a slight hiss in discomfort as you feel the foot press against your stomach.

“Just like his mother,” Victor chuckles, helping you into the bath as he rolls up his shirt sleeves.

“I hope he likes pudding like me,” You tease, emerging yourself into the water. You take one of Victor's hands and intertwine it with yours, placing it over your bump where your son was kicking fiercely. A smile glimmering over his face, he looked like the definition of content and happiness.

“Now… If I remember something about a foot rub?” You giggle, attempting to lift your foot out of the water.

“I can not believe you came with me, you should be at home,” Victor was still protesting that you came into the office with him to collect some documents. It was the day before your due date but you refused to be alone in the house incase you went into labour.

“It’s fine! We’ll be here for, what, an hour max?” You say, making your way to sit on the plush sofa of his office. Victor quickly buries himself into the work, wanting to rush everything so he could get you back home where you belonged.

“Ah,” You hiss lightly, Victor running straight to your side.

“You okay?” He asks, panic on his face.

“No, I’m fine it’s just my back, can you help me up I got to pee,” You whine, physically unable to stand up by yourself. He helps you up slowly but you still in his arms.

“Did you sit in something wet?” He questions looking at the seat as you shake your head, feeling the wetness spread down your leggings.

“Victor…”.

“I can’t believe someones been in my office!”.

“Victor…”.

“God I bet it was Goldman and too not clean it, this is expensive leather!”.

“Victor! Shut up about the damn sofa, my waters” You cry with a gasp, shutting your eyes tight as a dull ache starts in your pelvis.

The next few minutes are a blur, Victor frantically calling the hospital as he helps you to the elevator, trying to keep calm. You was so glad you had already put the overnight bag in the car. You grip tightly onto the elevator railing as it stops on multiple floors, Victor frantically trying to stop it from going anywhere but the car park.

“I am not having our baby in this god damn building,” You hiss, a stronger contraction begins to wave over you.

“I mean he was probably conceived here,” Victor cant help but look smug in response but shuts up with the look you glare at him.

You finally got to the car, Victor breaking the speed of time to get you to the hospital, running through your breathing techniques with you, trying to keep both you and him calm. By the time you reached the hospital your contractions were minutes apart and you already at a peak dilation, you was rushed straight into the delivery suit.

“Come on, you got this,” Victor holding your hand as your body curled with a scream as sweat dripped off your forehead. You too dilated to have any medical assistance, your baby boy was ready for you to meet him. He stood by you the whole time, letting you crush his hand, pull him close, push you away, whatever you needed he was there. He didn’t moan when you cried out you hated him for causing this.

“I can’t do it, I can’t,” You cry, falling back against the bed, tears falling from you.

“Yes you can, you can do this,” Victor reassures you, kneeling by your side and stroking your hair.

“It hurts,” You sob.

“Mrs.Li, you need to push, your baby’s not waiting,” A doctor urges you.

“You are so brilliant, just a little longer, I promise I’ll make you all the pudding you want for you and our boy,” Victor chuckles, trying to help you in any way he can.

An agonising, body splitting, few moments and the sound of a whining baby fills the door, Victor now grabbing your hand as tightly as you had been his.

“Congratulations Mr and Mrs.Li, it’s a perfectly healthy boy,” The doctor smiles, cleaning up your boy before slowly cradling him against your chest as you collapse back against the bed. You can’t help but cry looking down at your bundle of joy, Victor wrapping his arm around you and pressing kisses to your head.

“You did so well baby, so well,” He repeats as he nestles to sit beside you on the bed. You move your tiny boy to the other side of your chest, him cradled between you as Victor cradles you.

“Hi baby,” You whisper softly, admiring the purest thing you had ever seen in your arms. You hear Victor sobbing slightly above you and you turn to look at his tear filled eyes.

“I love you so much,” He manages before leaning down and kissing you.

“I love you too,” You reply, a tiny coo coming from the life you had created in your arms.

“And we love you,” Victor adds, gently caressing a finger over your son's face. The feeling of love and cherishment could burst from your room as Victor held his two most precious things in his arms.

Enjoy my work, visit my masterlist here.

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mr love victor #mr love queens choice victor #mr love queen's choice #victor fluff #mr love fluff #mr love victor fluff #mr love #mlqc fluff

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kaylaxwrites · 4 years

Text

A Day in the Life

masterlist // ao3

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader Words: 2700 Request/Summary: A glimpse into your domestic life with Frank and your daughter Annie. (aka the one where we just want Frank to be happy and peaceful.) Requested by anonymous: "can you please write some frank castle fluff ? pleasepleaseplease" Warnings: mild language, pregnant reader A/N: did this end up being a rambling mess? I had no idea. but while I was writing, I got so many ideas for a domestic day with Frank that I had to stop myself from including them all. (if you to see them all, let me know lol) also I’ve never written Frank before, so please let me know if anything’s off or OOC about him. I’d love to hear your feedback!

(ps send me your requests pls)

You woke up to the smell of coffee. Though your back was turned, you could feel Frank sitting on his side of the bed, probably reading a worn paperback as he sipped his black coffee. (“None of that fancy creamer shit,” he once told you. “When I want coffee, I just want coffee.”) You smiled to yourself as you burrowed deeper into your covers—the bed felt warm and safe with Frank by your side.

Your bladder wouldn’t let you enjoy the feeling for very much longer.

Sighing, you stretched deeply before sitting up and blearing sleepily at Frank. “Morning, baby,” you said quietly, running your hand over Frank’s bare shoulder.

“Shit, did I wake you up?” His voice was still rough around the edges with sleep.

“Nah, more like this baby pushing at my ribs.”

Neither you nor Frank intended on having more children, not after his past and your complicated pregnancy with an ex five years ago. But after seeing the way he took to your daughter, Annie, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret this happy little accident. You hoped Frank felt the same way, if the smile in his eyes every time he looked at your daughter and growing belly was anything to go by.

Frank set his coffee mug and book on the bedside table in order to place a warm hand over your stomach. “Baby girl givin’ her momma trouble?”

Another kick to the bladder had you pulling away from Frank’s touch and out of bed. “He is a pain in my ass,” you said, pressing a kiss into Frank’s hair. “Just like his father.”

You and Frank had a running bet on the sex of your baby. (Annie was betting dinosaur.) Knowing wasn’t a big deal to you and you didn’t want to be like one of those gender-obsessed moms on Pinterest, but it was fun picking light-hearted arguments with Frank. It made you happy to see him joking, to see the tension ease from his shoulders even slightly. You knew the idea of having another child weighed heavily on his chest, so you knew how big of a step it was for him to make light of the situation, for him to even allow himself to become close with the daughter you already had.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, Annie was awake and curled next to Frank who was reading aloud from his book. Annie’s huge pit bull of a dog named Hulk (named after her favorite Avenger as well as an apt descriptor) had followed and laid his head protectively across her lap. (For the record, Hulk was not your dog. Hulk was not Frank’s dog. Hulk was one hundred percent, without-a-doubt Annie’s dog. She found him scared, cold, and alone in an alley one day last winter and they took to each other like ducks on water. Hulk followed you and Annie home that day and refused to leave her side ever since.)

“Morning, Mommy,” Annie said sleepily, still tucked against Frank’s side.

“Good morning, Annie,” you replied, running a hand over her hair to smooth her bedhead. “You hungry?” Annie perked up excitedly at that and nodded her head frantically. “Why don’t you and Frank take Hulk for a walk and I’ll get breakfast started?”

Annie nodded again and Frank swooped her up in his arms, setting her gently on the ground. “Help me tie my shoes?” she asked Frank, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“Sure, kid, I’ll help you,” Frank replied. He smiled as she ran out of the room as fast as her little legs could carry her. Hulk trotted behind her. Frank followed slowly behind them both, but stopped to spend a second with you. He slid his hands down to your hips and pulled you close. You rested your hands on his biceps, leaning back a little to look into his eyes.

“You good with her?” you asked, unsure if he was okay watching her by himself or if he wanted you to go as well.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Frank leaned down to kiss you, but stopped short when Annie called out from the other room. “Frank! I got my shoes on! I need help!” You let out a breath that was half exasperation, half laughter, leaning your forehead against Frank’s.

“Duty calls?” You chuckled.

“Duty calls,” Frank agrees, kissing you once more before stepping out into the main room, where you could see Annie kicking her feet against the couch. You smiled as you watched Frank kneel down and help her with her shoes. “What’s the first step? Tie a knot, right.” He tied the first shoe for her before having her show him how to tie the other one. “Attagirl,” he said proudly once she had finished. “Now go get Hulk’s leash, yeah?” Annie darted off again on her new task as Frank moved to lace his own boots.

You stepped to stand next to Frank, arms crossed, as you watched Annie try to figure out the latch to the leash. “You know she learned how to tie her shoes a week ago?” you said quietly so Annie wouldn’t hear across the room.

“That right?” he asked, peering up at you as he made his last knot on his boot before standing up.

“Mhm. I think she just likes asking you for help.”

Frank huffed, the corner of his mouth hitching towards a smile. And—was that your imagination or did he have a tinge of red across his cheeks? Before you could dwell on it further, Annie was in front of you again, this time hiding the leash behind her back.

“Hulk says he doesn’t want to wear the leash,” she said, rocking up and back on her toes.

Frank crouched once more to get on her level. “He did, now did he?” Annie nodded. “Well tell Hulk if he wears his leash today, we’ll go to the dog park tomorrow.” Annie’s face lit up and she ran off to tell Hulk the news. How this girl was so active this early in the morning, you’d never know. It was barely seven on a Saturday morning and she was already bouncing off the walls.

You headed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast as you listened to Annie and Frank banter back and forth. A few moments later, you caught a glimpse of them out the window. Annie skipped along the sidewalk with Hulk dutifully trotting next to her. Frank followed behind, carefully keeping an eye on the little girl.

By the time they returned, breakfast was nearly ready. Frank’s plate with eggs, sausage, and toast was set in front of his seat at the table. You placed the finishing touches on Annie’s smiley face pancakes before fixing your own plate and joining the two of them at your little kitchen table. “How was the walk?” you asked, pouring Annie a glass of juice.

“Good!” She smiled, syrup already covering her chin. She continued to talk around mouthfuls of food. “We stopped at Mrs. Hall’s bodega and I got to pet her cat. Then she gave me a piece of candy.”

“Candy before breakfast?”

“No,” she pouted. “Frank said I had to wait. He put it in his pocket and said I could only have it if I ate all of my strawberries.”

“Well, you better eat up, then,” you said, pointing at her untouched strawberries.

Annie continued rambling on about the walk, mentioning how many pigeons she saw and who she said hi to on the street. By the time she had run out of things to say, the three of you had finished eating. You cleaned up her face and hands before sending her to the living room for some Saturday morning cartoons. The distraction would last long enough for you and Frank to do the dishes and, if you were lucky, allow you time to take a shower in peace.

Frank had already started washing dishes when you joined him and you took the dish towel off of his shoulder so you could dry them. You completed the chore with relative ease and in peaceful silence. Occasionally, you’d bump Frank with your hip, causing him to smile at you.

“Got any plans for today?” you asked, drying off the last dish and placing it in the cupboard.

“Not yet, I don’t,” Frank said, turning to lean against the counter. “Why?”

“I was thinking of taking Annie to the park today and maybe running to the store afterwards. I was wondering if maybe you’d wanna come with us?”

“Yeah.”

“Great!” You reached up to place a kiss against Frank’s bearded jaw. “Can you watch Annie for a minute while I take a shower?”

Frank ran a hand through your hair and returned your kiss. “Yeah, go.”

“You’re wonderful!” you called as you hurried into the bathroom.

The warm water against your skin felt nice and you were tempted to take longer than you needed to in the shower to enjoy it. But you figured you’d need to be quick before it got too late in the day. As you were rinsing out the conditioner in your hair, you felt movement against your stomach. Looking down, you saw nothing and shrugged it off. But you felt it again a few moments later. And you realized.

You threw the shower curtain open. “Frank!” you called. “Frank! Come here!”

Frank barreled into the room a few seconds later, nearly throwing the door off of its hinges. His eyes were wide as he searched the room, looking for a sign of danger or anything out of place. He was already breathing heavily. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping towards you.

As soon as he was in reach, you grabbed his wrist and placed it against your stomach, not even caring about getting the sleeves of his shirt wet. Frank stared at you, confused. He opened his mouth to question you further when—

Kick.

“Is that—?” he started. You nodded, grinning. Frank’s jaw went slack and he moved his free hand to the other side of your belly. The baby kicked again. “I never thought…” Frank trailed off, staring deep into your eyes. Before you could realize what was happening, you were up against the cool shower wall and Frank’s mouth was heavy on yours.

When you and Frank stumbled out of the shower a little while later, you found Annie asleep on the couch. The TV was still blaring her favorite show. You let her nap while you finished your morning routine. Half an hour later, you woke her up and helped her get dressed while Frank took Hulk for another lap around the block. Soon, the three of you were in your building’s elevator and venturing out into the world.

“Now, remember,” you said, fixing Annie’s hat over her curls, “what do we call Frank when we’re outside?”

“Pete,” she quickly answered, sucking on her lollipop she received that morning. You and Frank hadn’t told her much about his past, but you made sure she knew (in a kid-friendly way) that bad guys were after Frank and they couldn’t find out who he was. She was confused, but usually followed the rule anyway. Thankfully, her slipups happened mostly when no one else could hear her.

After a short walk, you arrived at Annie’s favorite park. As soon as you entered the fenced-in area, she sprinted towards the jungle gym. You turned to Frank as he shut the fence behind you. “This okay?” you asked, taking his hand. You knew sometimes parks like these, filled with screaming and laughing children, could set him on edge and remind him of his family.

“I’m fine.”

Before you could question that further, Annie was calling for you. Well, more for Frank, actually. “Pete! Come help me across the monkey bars!” Annie was standing on the ladder, but the first bar was out of her reach.

You watched Frank walk over and picked her up so she could reach and smiled when he held her by the waist to help her across. Then Annie made him help her three more times. (She sure was bossy. Frank once joked, “I have no idea where she gets it from.”) Soon, she was dragging Frank by the arm to some other part of the playground. You followed closely behind, occasionally taking pictures of the pair. You laughed when she had Frank go down a slide that was clearly too small for him. You regretted laughing when you, too, were made to go down the slide. Eventually, Annie made a friend and you moved to sit on a swing to watch her play.

“You’re really good with her, you know,” you said to Frank. He was leaning against a pole of the swing set, his arms crossed, as he kept a close eye on your daughter. “I’m really glad you’re in our lives.”

“Yeah, only I shouldn’t be,” he muttered. “Everything in my life goes to shit—”

You stopped him short. “I’m not here for this ‘I don’t deserve any of this’ bullshit tirade. Annie adores you. I adore you. I don’t even know where we’d be without you. I’m so thankful you’re in our lives and I don’t want you thinking you don’t deserve every little bit of the good headed your way because you do. Annie and I will worm our way into your heart whether you like it or not. We’re here to stay.” You stood and wrapped your arms around his waist. He didn’t return the gesture, but he didn’t push you away either. “Please let us love you.”

Eventually, Frank lowered his arms to wrap around your shoulders. He remained silent, but you would take it. You hoped eventually he would learn to accept the love of your little family, but for now, you were willing to leave him to his thoughts.

As the sun drifted closer to the horizon, you decided it was time to head back home for the night. After playing at the park, Frank treated you and Annie to ice cream cones and the three of you spent the afternoon wandering around the city before stopping for dinner at your favorite little restaurant. You decided to forego the trip to the grocery store today, pushing it off for tomorrow after eyeing Annie’s droopy, sleepy eyes. At some point on your way home, Frank started to carry Annie. You smiled as she drifted off to sleep in his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

Your heart warmed even further when Frank softly laid your daughter in her bed. He was so careful and gentle with her, it was hard to imagine him as the notorious Punisher. He slowly pulled her shoes off and you helped him change her into her pajamas. Once finished, he eased her back down on her pillows and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

“G’night, Daddy,” Annie murmured, burrowing further into her pillow.

You froze.

Shit.

What were you supposed to say? What would Frank think? All of those parenting books you read years ago, and none had any solution for a situation like this. What were you supposed to do?

But Frank hesitated only for a moment before pulling Annie’s blanket up and over her. “Night, sweetheart,” he said, laying one hand on her forehead before standing and leaving the room.

After a moment, your brain finally caught up and you followed him out of the room, closing the door softly behind you. You found him staring out the window of the living room, hands on his hips. “Frank?” you called softly. You slowly walked over to him and ran a hand up his spine.

Frank sighed and ran a hand roughly over his face. “If-if anything happened to you, happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to us.”

He pulled away from you. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. Because I know you. I know you would give your life for us. And I trust you. You won’t let anything happen.” You paused. “If…if you want me to tell Annie not to call you that anymore, I will. Just… I know you think you should run away from us, but Annie would be heartbroken if you left. So, please…just give us a chance. I promise you we’ll be fine. Just stick around for us, yeah?”

“Yeah…” He stepped into your outstretched arms, pulling you close. “Yeah.”

dividers by @writeyourmindaway

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher x reader #frank castle imagine #the punisher imagine #frank castle #the punisher #mcu #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #i didn't proofread this #by the end I was so frustrated with trying to figure out how to wrap things up I just said fuck it #sorry it took me a while #hope you like it!#pls send me more requests

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aleksandermorozovaa · 4 years

Text

Over Cookies? - Part 2

Since you all seemed to love the first part, which thank you for the love and support btw (each of your asks meant so much to me! I read them all and my heart melted tysm)! If you want to be tagged in my writing or have any requests please let me know!

Part 1

AO3 Link

Tags:

@commanderbensolo @direnightshade

He’d sat at the top of the stairs for what felt like an eternity before he’d given up and made his way back down stairs, but not before telling Henry he was there when he wanted to talk, that he wasn’t mad, that you weren’t mad. That he wasn’t in trouble.

Charlie suspected there was more going on inside Henry’s head than just burning cookies. He just needed to make sure that Henry knew he was there for him, that he’d listen whenever he was ready to share. None of that helicopter parenting Nicole and her mother insisted on. He knew from experience that the more you hound someone to open up to you the more they turn inward, hide their feelings. So he’d stumbled downstairs, turned off the oven which had still been on.

He’d put his laptop away not long after getting it out, deciding work was pointless when every little noise drew his attention, to the front door and your missing coat and then to the stairs, hoping Henry had come out his room.

But everytime, there was nothing. You were still gone and Henry was still upset. He’d sent you texts, asking you to let him know you were okay, you’d replied quickly reassuring him. He was thankful for that, that you didn’t leave him filled with anxiety.

Eventually he’d heard the tell tale jingle of keys as you slid your key into the lock. You’d often jingle as you walked, with your mass of key chains you had attached to your keys. It was beyond him why you did it, other than making it easier to find your keys in your purse. When he’d asked you you’d rolled your eyes and told him each one held a special memory that you wanted to keep close to you, you’d talked him through each of them, ending on a shard of tigers' eyes. A brown and almost honey gold precious stone.

You’d told him you’d seen it at a street stall and the colour had reminded you of his eyes, the little card next to it explained that tigers' eyes was supposed to make you feel confident, free from anxiety and safe. The exact way he’d made you feel; so you’d bought it and it had quickly become your favourite key chain. Letting you carry his presence around with you no matter how far away he was.

It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. That had been the first time he’d told you he loved you and not a day had gone by since where he hadn’t repeated those words.

The door clicked shut, he watched you shrug your coat off, in your hands was a little paper bag and the tray filled with three coffee cups from the independent coffee shop a few blocks away, you claimed they made the best coffee in the entire world, he hadn’t bothered to argue with you about it.

He shot from his chair and moved over to you, taking the tray from your hands so you could slip your arm from your coat and hang it. You smiled up at him, thankful for the help.

“How is he?” You ask with a small frown. Your concern for Henry always blew him away. The way you knew and understood that Henry came first in his life, that Henry's well being and happiness was his propriety.

It was a relief honestly he'd heard stories from other single fathers in his directors social circles. About the women they dated post divorce, they were clingy and easily jealous of anyone else in their lives. Charlie thought they made these poor women out to be like cats or children not girlfriends. Either way he’d been relieved when you were anything but. He was the one that had become clingy, wanting to spend as much time with you as possible wanting to fill the loneliness in his heart and the emptiness in his home. He wanted to surround himself with only you.

"He's not speaking to me. He won't even unlock the door to let me in." Charlie sighed and opened his arms slightly hoping you would take the invitation to let him hold you.

You did, moving forward and wrapping your arms tight around his middle, your cheek pressing into his chest, the hand not holding the drinks tray wrapped around you in return. You smelt of cold crisp air and the perfume he'd gotten you for your birthday a few months ago. He could never really pick up what the notes were, it wasn't exactly his area of expertise. But it was a scent he'd never forget, he'd come to think of it as home.

“Can I go up?” You ask, pulling out of his embrace. Charlie nodded, he wasn’t sure Henry would open up to you but if you wanted to try he wouldn’t stop you.

“I got you coffee.” You said gesturing to the cup tray in his hands. “Oatmilk just like you like.”

“Thank you.” Coffee always helps to calm him down, there was something about holding a hot cup that brought comfort and peace. You take the smallest cup from the carrier, he notices a tiny cartoon drawn on the side, he wonders briefly if you did that or if you asked the barista to, but then the unmistakable lines of your handwriting catch his eye.

You lean up to kiss his cheek before making your way up the stairs. Charlie hangs about at the bottom, resting his hands on the banister and his chin on top.

“Henry.” You say softly, you don’t knock like he had. “I know you’re upset with me right now.”

You pause as if expecting Henry to tell you to go away, Charlie expects it too but Henry stays silent.

“I’m not going to ask you to speak to me or anything like that, but I got you a hot chocolate. And one of those little tomato and mozzarella pastries you like. I even asked them to take the basil off. I’ll leave them outside your door for you okay?” You came back downstairs after that, back to Charlie’s waiting arms.

Sleep struggled to claim him that night. He’d tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. He knew he was keeping you up with it so he’d gone back downstairs to get a glass of water. Hopefully giving you time to get to sleep without his restlessness. He’d stopped outside Henry’s room to pick up the empty paper food bag. The cup was probably sitting on his desk half cold. He’d picked up his mother’s annoying habit of not finishing drinks. But that's okay. At least he’d eaten.

He’d spent some time sitting at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, after putting the cookies in the fridge with the leftover dough. He’d of course eaten two of them, unable to stop himself they’d crumbled in his mouth, they’d tasted a little over cooked but it didn’t ruin how nice they were.

He’d made some notes in his notebook and then ended up doodling instead so he’d refilled his glass of water and carried it back upstairs.

"I don't hate you Y/N,"

"I know." The conversation caught his ears as he reached the top of the stairs causing him to stop in his tracks. The door to Henry's room was wide open as well as the door to tour shared room. You'd turned the bedside lamp on, the light gently illuminating the room and the landing.

"You're nice and kind and you tell the funniest jokes." Charlie smiled at that, you had a little joke book stores away sometimes the week leading up to Henry's visits; he'd find you sitting highlighting jokes or writing them down from the internet. Every morning when Henry came down for breakfast you'd tell him and he always loved them.

"But what if I'm like the cookies."

"What do you mean bug?" you'd called Henry bug since the first day you'd met him. The first thing Henry had done was show you the tiny ladybird that had landed on his hand. Together you'd counted the spots and told each other facts about ladybirds. Henry's were all simple little things he'd learnt in school but you'd always act like it was the most exciting thing.

"You said that we could just make some more because they're not perfect. What if you do that to me? What if you replace me?"

Charlie's heart was in this throat, tears pricking his eyes. Finally understanding the cause of all this. He stepped into the bedroom placing his glass of water and the dresser and then climbing into bed, sandwiching Henry in.

He saw how that Henry was pressed right up against, your arms wrapped around him. you his eyes rimmed red. He'd been crying.

"We'd never ever replace you bug. Ever.”

“Zola’s dad had another baby and she never sees him anymore.” Charlie reached out to his son then stroking his hair. He thought that he was replaceable? That’s where this had all come from.

“That’s never going to happen.” Charlie said, holding back the sob in his throat. “Henry I’d never ever not love you.”

“Really? Henry turns to face him, the tears now visible on his cheek. “Even if you had another baby? One that was better than me?”

“Nothing could be better than you bug.” You say with a smile.

“Even if me and Y/N did have a baby,” Charlie pauses then to look at you, neither of you had ever really mentioned children yet, he had thought about it, what you’d look like pregnant. How much of a good mother you would be. He knew it was something he wanted eventually, but not yet. He could tell just by the soft encouraging smile on your face, that this was something you’d considered too. In any other situation he’d have celebrated, been so happy that you were committed to him enough to think about children. But it wasn’t the time.

“You would be just as important, I’d never leave you Henry. I need you to know that. I love you more than anything.”

Henry nodded and moved closer so that he was wrapped in Charlie’s. You shuffled closer as well your arm coming to rest over Henry and rest on Charlie’s waist.

“Dad?”

Charlie hummed.

“I love you.” a pause. “I love you too Y/N.” To his knowledge that was the time he’d said he loved you. Your eyes were closed but he saw the grin spread across your lips.

“And we you bug. Now get some sleep, we’ve got a long day of cookie decorating tomorrow.”

Charlie wasn't a fan of co sleeping. But tonight, just this once it was okay.

#charle barber x reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber #my writing #wife me charlie barber YOU FUCKING BEAST #Love of my life #adam driver #shatter my knees you fuckable redwood

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 3/11

So this is where things really start to shift from the original, and this is probably one of my favorite chapters. I probably worked harder on it than any other! This is also where Neverland mythology begins to come into play. Right before starting the rewrite-a-thon, I re-read J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan to my eight year old. The famous line “all children, except one, grow up” really hit me for the first time. Wait a second, all children except one? Every version of Neverland I had ever seen, from the cartoon, to Spielberg’s Hook, to Once, portray Neverland as a place where no one ages. But that’s not what the novel says!! Then, later on, the book casually mentions that the Lost Boys are constantly changing because some get killed in battle or - get this - Pan “thins them out” when they get too old. Umm . . . say WHAT? So here’s where my story gets dark with a super sadistic Pan . . . and I’m not sorry. At all. (mwhaha)

If you haven’t noticed, all chapter titles come from Peter Pan. They are either chapter titles in that book or phrases from the book. This one, mocking kisses, actually refers in the novel to Mrs. Darling who has a “mocking kiss conspicuously in the right hand corner of her mouth” which it says not even Mr. Darling or her children can get from her. There’s tons of interpretations for that, none of which have anything to do with how I’m using it here. Here, it has to do with growing up and awakening sexuality, and of course - you know - actual lip locks. So it’s not all dark in this chapter . . .

I’ll stop being an English Lit teacher and shut up now. Except to thank, once again, the incredible mods for the @captainswanbigbang and to my betas - @shippingtheswann , @optomisticgirl , and @distant-rose . This chapter especially deserves massive thanks to Ro for her pirate expertise! And be sure to follow the Captain Swan Rewrite-a-thon because ALL of the fics are incredible!

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and eventual positive Millian

Words: A little over 7k in this chapter (all chapters will be rather lengthy from here on out)

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 16

Emma lies in bed, wide awake, staring at the wardrobe across the room. It looks eerily familiar, though she tries to tell herself that’s crazy.

Her new foster family seems incredibly nice. Even the two boys who are the couple’s real children seem excited to have her here instead of jealous. The mother even seemed embarrassed when she showed Emma her room, explaining that it used to be an office, so it didn’t have a closet. She hoped Emma liked the wardrobe she had found at an antique store.

Emma stares at the wardrobe now and thinks of Martha. Another kind foster mother and another wardrobe, almost identical to the other? Happy coincidences like that don’t happen. At least not to Emma Swan.

She huffs and rolls over on her side, and tries not to think about the little boy with the soulful blue eyes. He was just an imaginary friend. A figment of her hurt soul and bruised heart. Her hand hovers over her cheek, and she inwardly berates herself. It was just a peck on the cheek, and she was ten for heaven’s sake! Correction, there was no peck on the cheek because it wasn’t real.

Because now that she’s 16, she knows better. Friends don’t just fall out of the sky – or wardrobes. And real kisses are an enormous disappointment. Like Tom Pierce when she was 13, her first kiss playing spin the bottle at a Halloween party. All she can say about that is that it was wet and sloppy, and he had bad breath. Then there was Robby Eddleston at the school dance last year. She thought he actually liked her when he asked to talk privately behind the bleachers. Then she was pinned against the wall while Robby shoved his tongue unceremoniously down her throat. But a quick knee to the groin had quickly taught Robby that she wasn’t an easy score.

Emma punches her pillow now in irritation. It’s ridiculous that an imaginary kiss to the cheek has been her best yet. Pathetic, Emma. She decides to push thoughts of the wardrobe and that pair of blue eyes from her head.

She’s just drifting off when a familiar creak reaches her ears. She ignores it, assuming she’s already dreaming. But then she hears footsteps padding softly across the hardwood floor. Emma squeezes her eyes shut tighter. Is someone standing over her, or is that her imagination? Then a hand softly touches her hair, and her eyes fly open as she sits up quickly. Her green orbs meet blue, and she gasps in shock. It startles her so much, her hand seems to act on its own and she slaps him across the cheek - hard.

“Bloody hell, Emma what was that for?”

“Killian?” She swallows hard. “I thought . . . I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, you’re real?”

He smiles, even as he rubs his red cheek, and it lights her up inside. “Liam didn’t think you were real either when I finally told him about you. But when I saw that wardrobe in the captain’s quarters, it looked so much like the one from when we were kids, I had to try.”

Emma winces. “Sorry I slapped you.”

Killian shrugs. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.”

Emma stares at him unabashedly by the light of her bedside lamp, taking in how much he has changed. Gone is the scrawny little boy, though he is still of slender build. Just like last time, he’s wearing a nightshirt that hangs to his knees, but she can still see defined muscles in his arms and legs. His chest is broader, and his shoulders are squared back, stronger and more confident than when he was ten. His hair has gotten darker, and it’s longer, hanging down in his eyes so badly, Emma itches to push it back. It also hangs down so close to his shoulders, that he could pull it back in a low ponytail if he wanted to. His freckles are less noticeable, and his complexion is more tanned, making his azure eyes spark even more than she remembered.

“I hope the Captain doesn’t catch me. I could be whipped for being in his quarters. Though it will be worth it, now that I’ve seen you again.”

He ducks his head as he realizes that he’s been chattering on and on, and Emma feels bad for him because she knows she ought to quit staring and say something already. He pushes his hair back from his face, and when he does, Emma notices his ears. They are slightly pointed, almost elf-like. They’re adorable.

He’s adorable.

He’s also cold, she realizes as he rubs his arms and curls his toes into the hardwood floor. Emma lifts the edge of her blankets. “Come here, you’re freezing.”

Those adorable ears of his turn red at her offer and he gapes for a minute like a fish. “That would be bad form, lass. Liam says I should always be a gentleman.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “First off, if you’re that worried, you’ll definitely be nothing but a gentleman. Second, I can take care of myself. If you get handsy, I’ll just put you in your place like I did with Robby Eddleston.”

“Who’s he?” Killian asks as he slides under the blankets next to her.

“Just a jerk who shoved his tongue halfway down my throat without permission.”

Killian’s eyes darken to a stormy, steel tinted cobalt. “He did what?”

Emma shoves him in the shoulder, “Calm down, jeez. I told you, I can take care of myself.”

“What did you do?”

“Kneed him in the jewels,” she says with a shrug, trying to come off as nonchalant.

He grins at her with obvious pride, “That’s a tough lass.”

They fall silent for a moment, and then Emma finally whispers into the dark, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came back.”

“No need, love,” he quickly assures her, “though I was worried what had happened to you.”

Emma picks at the comforter spread across their laps, “Martha died of a stroke, and I had to go someplace else.”

Killian reaches for her hand, and her movements still. “I’m sorry. I know you said she was a good woman.”

Emma nods, swallowing down the pain. She turns to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Did you get my bunny?”

“I did, thank you,” he nods, “though I regret to say that he ended up in Davy Jones’ locker. My master at the time called me a baby for having it and tossed it out to sea.”

Emma cringes at the word “master,” but Killian doesn’t miss a beat in the telling of his story. “Davy Jones locker?” she asks. “People really say that where you’re from?”

Killian looks confused. “Seamen do.”

“Oh . . . “ she trails off, her brow furrowed as she tries to make sense of the difference between his world and hers.

“Nevertheless,” he continues, “I can’t tell you how much that small gesture meant to me. It had been so long since I had a plaything. Anyway, how has this new home been?”

Emma looks around her at the still unfamiliar surroundings. “Well, I haven’t been here long, actually. I’ve been bounced around a lot of places since Martha, and most haven’t loved me as well as she did. Except Sarah, until I found out she was crazy.”

“Crazy? How so?”

Emma groans at the memory. “She thought I had magic!”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Why is that crazy?”

“You can’t be serious! I mean, she almost got me killed.”

Killian shrugs, then gestures with his hand at the wardrobe. “I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, okay, yes, you and I . . . that’s hard to explain. But me being like Hermione Granger or something? No way.”

“Hermione who?”

Emma laughs as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You know, Harry Potter.” He just blinks in confusion. “Books. About wizards and witches.”

“Oh,” he says with a nod, but she can tell he’s still a bit confused, and no wonder. When they were ten, he didn’t even know what a movie was. Emma finds his confusion surprisingly endearing.

Emma leans against Killian’s shoulder with a sigh. “Can we not talk about me and my pathetic life? What’s been going on with you?”

Killian secedes to her wishes and begins to speak. He tells her about discovering rum for the first time at thirteen, and then gambling with dice and cards at fourteen. “I’m pretty good,” he brags.

Emma tilts her head up and grins at him saucily, “I’m sure you are.”

He swipes his tongue along his lower lip in a way that is simply unfair, then continues telling her about letting Liam down at every turn. He weaves a story of a storm at sea where all hands are lost but he and Liam; a story that has her hanging on his every word. This leads to him and his brother joining the Navy at 15 and 17, respectively. Emma turns her head again, her eyes wide.

“Isn’t fifteen awfully young for that?”

Killian shrugs, “Some join as powder monkeys at 11 or 12,” he tells her, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His words remind her once again that their wardrobe connects two very different worlds. She also still wonders if Killian travels through both space AND time. His world seems so old-fashioned compared to hers. “I’ve caught on fast, though. So has Liam. He’s a lieutenant already, and many of the sailors think he will be the youngest yet to make Captain. I’m still just a cabin boy, but my Captain says it’s only because he likes the fine job I do. He’s talking of promoting me soon. This time, I won’t let my brother down.”

They both fall silent for a moment. Emma’s not sure what to make of their bizarre situation. Emma doesn’t want to contemplate what it means if he’s actually 300 years old or something and no longer living in the 20th century, so she decides to change the subject. She turns her hand so their palms are touching and laces her fingers with his.

“What kinds of things have you had to learn? Like sailor’s knots and star charts and stuff?”

“Aye, and other things, too. I’ve had to learn cartography and geography. And languages, too. Greek was the hardest.”

“You know Greek? Like Zeus and Poseidon and all of that?”

The smile he gives her almost seems teasing, “Of course.”

Emma pokes him in the side and grins when a laugh spills from his lips. “Say something in Greek for me.”

His face turns suddenly earnest as he gazes into her eyes and says, “Omorfi kopella.”

“What does that mean?”

He blushes and ducks his head. His unfairly long lashes brush the top of his cheeks as he answers. “I said you were beautiful.”

Killian brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb and then leans towards her. Emma meets him halfway. His lips are soft and warm against hers, and their touch makes her heart soar in her chest. This is what she had always imagined a kiss should be. It’s nothing like kissing Tom Pierce or Robby Eddleston. Killian tilts his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers thread through her hair, and Emma sighs into it. When he pulls back, his eyes are a midnight blue as he rests his forehead against hers.

“The thoughts I’m having right now aren’t very gentlemanly,” he confesses huskily.

Emma chuckles. “Good,” she tells him, thumbing his lower lip, still moist from their kiss.

A bright shaft of light falls across her bed and Emma groans. Killian cups her face in both his hands. “I wish I could stay, but –“

“Your brother,” she finishes for him. She looks long into his eyes. “I get it. You’re all each other has.”

Killian nods and brushes one more brief kiss across her lips as he rises from the bed. He bows to her, taking her hand and brushing his lips across her knuckles. She giggles, and he gives her a slightly roguish smile.

The last thing she sees before he disappears inside the wardrobe is the look of longing in his blue eyes.

“They remind me of Martha’s forget-me-nots,” she thinks to herself, “but sad, too.”

Killian: Age 16

“Get up here, little brother!”

Killian grabs his naval jacket and dashes up the ladder to the deck, grumbling under his breath about it being “younger” brother not “little.” It especially bothers him when Liam is speaking as Lieutenant Jones and not just family. Yet it seems Liam isn’t the only one loose with naval order at the moment. When Killian climbs out of the hold, he finds the rest of the crew chattering excitedly, gazes tilted upward.

“Killian!” Liam calls, racing to his side. “You almost missed the excitement!”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but the captain gave me a new sextant to plot our course, and it uses star charts I’ve never seen before.”

Killian’s eyes scan the ship’s deck, his eyes landing on the men wrestling to hoist an unusual sail. He blinks, thinking surely he must be seeing things, but as the sail rises, he finds it is, in fact, made of feathers. In the center of it is the symbol of a horse with wings.

“This sail,” Captain Roberts announces from his place on the quarter deck, “is made of feathers from the wings of the famous mythical horse Pegasus.”

“Captain!” the gunman shouts breathlessly. “Enemy ships off the port bow!”

The Captain ignores the announcement and turns to Liam Jones. “Lieutenant, plot our course!”

“Should we prep the canons, sir?” the gunman asks, confusion clear on his face.

“There will be no need,” Captain Roberts dismisses with a mysterious smile, “where we are headed, they can not follow.”

Killian glances at his brother, who heads for the ship’s wheel, but Liam looks just as confused as he. Killian rushes to the railing along with several other men of lower rank. They lean forward to watch the cannonballs from the enemy splash with a mighty roar into the water a safe distance away: warning shots.

Killian almost loses his balance as the Jewel of the Realm creaks and sways, his stomach dropping. His eyes widen as he sees the ocean fall away below. He and the rest of the men gasp as the reality sets in - the Jewel is airborne.

“Quit gaping and man your stations!” Captain Roberts shouts. “We’re heading to Neverland!”

There’s a quiet murmur after the announcement, even as the men scatter to their duties. Most have never heard of such a realm, while others whisper excitedly of a place they once visited in their dreams as children. The whispered tales seem far-fetched to Killian: a place where your dreams come true, where you can eat chocolate cake all day long, swim with mermaids, and even fly? Even at ten, he would never have believed it.

Of course, a magic wardrobe that takes you to the girl of your dreams seems far-fetched, he supposes. He grins as he remembers Emma’s lips on his, her soft cheeks beneath his calloused fingers, her silken hair tickling his jaw. He has to find a way to get back to her - hopefully tonight. He isn’t sure what this mysterious mission is all about, but surely the captain’s personal cabin boy won’t be needed for whatever it is. He only has to figure out a way to sneak into Captain Roberts’ quarters when the man isn’t there -

“Killian!”

He startles at the sound of his name, and Liam chuckles, clapping a hand to Killian’s shoulder. “Everyone else is mesmerized by our journey to the skies, yet here you are daydreaming.” Liam cocks his head as he regards his younger brother. “Oh no, it’s a lass, isn’t it?”

Killian blushes as he shrugs and returns to his work. “I’m just thinking.”

“If you say so,” Liam laughs as he tugs on Killian’s arm, “but don’t let your brooding cause you to miss this.”

Killian lets his brother drag him over to the railing. The ship cuts cleanly through the white, billowy clouds, with none of the swaying he’s become used to at sea. The air is crisp and a bit cold this high, and a particularly thick cloud suddenly envelopes them.

“Incredible,” Killian whispers.

“Brother, look,” Liam whispers back.

The clouds part, and the Jones brothers gasp as the world of blue and white becomes dark and gray. An island shimmers in the distance, surrounded by a blue-tinged glow. They lean further over the railing as the ship dips and begins its descent.

The Jewel of the Realm has arrived in Neverland.

******************************************

In front of Killian, over his brother’s shoulder, is an inviting beach with palm trees that sway in the warm breeze. Behind him, the Jewel of the Realm is shrouded in an unnatural fog.

“Don’t worry, little brother, it’s a simple mission.”

Killian doesn’t even bother correcting him on the “little” part. “Aren’t you the least bit suspicious? A ship full of navy men, yet only two boys can fulfill this task?”

Liam narrows his eyes. “At eighteen I am hardly a boy.”

Killian chuckles. “You better hope you’re wrong if the superstitions of the rest of the crew are to be believed.”

Liam scoffs. “I think it has more to do with the simplicity of the task. We get the plant, row back to the ship, and we’re heroes.”

Killian hopes his brother is right. Captain Roberts had Killian in mind all along to retrieve the plant, but it was supposed to be twelve year old Jim Hawkins in the row boat, not Liam. Unfortunately, the lad had broken his leg and had to be left behind at the last port. Killian tries to tell himself that the captain is just being cautious, like Liam said, tries to agree with his older brother that the tales about this place are just stories nursemaids tell to their charges at bedtime. Shadows that take you away to the island in your dreams, pixies who blow their dust on children to make them fly, mermaids that drag lazy children to their deaths - it’s all surely nonsense.

They beach the row boat, and Liam slings his satchel over his shoulder. Inside is a sketch of the plant they are looking for. Killian narrows his eyes at the shadowy jungle before them. How are they ever to find one single plant in all this vegetation?

He and Liam hear the movement at the same exact moment and spin as they draw their swords. Standing before them on the beach is a lad about Killian’s age, dressed in a tunic made of green leaves and breeches crudely made of animal skins. The smile he gives them is full of mischief and something a bit more sinister. Killian’s spine crackles with suspicion. He glances at Liam, and it’s clear his brother doesn’t see the boy as a threat at all as the elder Jones casually lowers his sword.

“Is there a king on this island, boy?”

The lad smirks. “Just me.”

Killian narrows his eyes, and the boy glances his way with a knowing grin. Liam pulls the sketch out of his satchel.

“We’re looking for this plant, do you know it?”

The boy’s eyes widen. “Dreamshade? Of course I know it. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with it. It’s the deadliest poison.”

Liam scoffs. “It isn’t poison, it’s medicine.”

The boy crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Who told you that?”

“My captain.”

“He lied. This captain must be quite the ruthless killer. Nothing causes suffering like dreamshade.”

“What’s your name?” Killian asks.

“Killian, don’t waste your time, he’s just a child.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “I’m about his age. Am I just a child?”

“My name is Peter,” the boy tells them, a gleeful laugh spilling out of him, “and if you’re tired of them trying to turn you into men, you can come and play with me and my lost boys.”

“We don’t have time for games,” Liam mutters.

“Suit yourself,” Peter tells them with a shrug, “if it’s dreamshade you seek, then you’ll have no trouble finding it.”

Then, with a crowing laugh, and to the utter amazement of both Jones boys, Peter launches himself into the sky and speeds away upon the clouds back into the recesses of the forest.

“Okay,” Killian says slowly, “clearly that particular rumor was true.”

“Let’s just get this plant and get the bloody hell out of here.”

“I agree to the getting out of here part, but maybe we should proceed with caution about the plant.”

Liam’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Surely you don’t believe that boy over our own captain.”

Killian’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never trusted Captain Roberts completely, and besides, Peter is a native of this island. Perhaps we should -”

“Killian,” Liam cuts him off, “you don’t trust anyone.”

The smile his brother gives him softens the words, and Killian smiles back. “I trust you.”

“Then trust me in this,” Liam says with a slap to Killian’s shoulder. “Without order, without discipline to your superiors, this navy life won’t work.”

Killian wonders, not for the first time, if that’s the very reason this navy idea is a better fit for Liam than it is for him. Nevertheless, he sighs in resignation. “I’d follow you anywhere, brother, you know that.”

And with a nod of understanding and trust, the two of them plunge into the deep woods. The jungle is dark and damp, and Killian only has the trust in his brother’s navigational skills and his compass to find the way. Killian grips said compass in his sweaty hand, pushing aside the tendrils of fear that seek to grip his heart. There’s something ominous in this jungle, and he has the feeling they’re being watched.

Liam squints down at the sketch in his hand. “I thought the boy said this plant was abundant here.”

“Perhaps we’ve -”

Before Killian can finish his sentence, a crowing shout fills the air, and filthy boys drop from the branches above them and burst from the thick foliage on all sides. Some have arrows notched to the bows they carry, others have spears resting upon their shoulders, while still others grip daggers in their fists. All of them have smeared their faces with mud and are garbed in either bits and pieces of the nature around them or tattered remains of clothing. They snarl and gnash their teeth more like animals than humans. He and Liam pull out their swords, but they are completely surrounded. Some of the boys only reach as high as Killian’s hip, clearly only eight or nine at the most. The last thing he wants to do is kill children, even if they do appear savage. The circle of boys part to allow their leader through.

“May I introduce you to my lost boys,” Peter grins. “This island is ours with no grown ups to tell us what to do.”

Liam shakes his head. “All we want is the plant. We told you.”

Peter tilts his head as he steps closer. “You’ve already grown up.” He turns to Killian. “But you - you could join my crew. I can tell you like to play.”

For one, dreamlike moment, Killian wants to tell Peter yes. No expectations, no responsibilities - it sounds wonderful. Playing sounds nice, too. He hasn’t played since his mother passed, and when was that? How old was he? He can’t remember anymore. The parents who were supposed to be there for you and protect your innocence left, leaving you at the mercy of rough hands and sinister eyes. Grown ups were the people who stole your childhood, who tossed your plaything into the deep, dark sea. He thinks of the stuffed rabbit Emma gave him, pure white and soft, bobbing farther and farther away from him. His mind can almost see it, with that bright pink ribbon. His heart beats wildly, he sways where he stands, and -

Liam steps closer, his shoulder brushing up against Killian, and it’s that contact that snaps the sixteen year old out of it. Yes, his brother. He can’t let Liam down.

“Never.”

He expects Peter to scoff, get angry, or turn on him. Instead, his gaze takes him in and a slow, sinister smile plays across his face.

“We’ll see.”

Casually, Peter turns to one of his crew and takes the spear the lad holds. With a subtle gesture, he gives the boys a command, and they all relax their postures, holding their weapons loosely. Pan spins the spear playfully as he turns back to Lieutenant Jones.

“You still trust your captain, lieutenant?”

“Always,” Liam insists.

Peter lifts the spear and taps it gently against Liam’s chest. “Let’s test that, shall we? That plant you seek? The tip of this spear has been coated with its sap. Your captain says it is medicine, I say it’s poison. Who should you trust?”

“Liam,” Killian pleads.

Liam lifts his hand to still his brother. “I have no reason to trust you, boy.”

Peter’s eyes flash with a mixture of bloodlust and glee as he slashes the spear brutally across Liam’s chest. Liam cries out and stumbles to his knees, hand to his chest as blood stains his shirt. Killian shouts and falls to the ground beside his brother.

“Just a scratch,” Pan laughs, practically bouncing around them. The lost boys join in his revelry, spinning and giggling maniacally.

Liam groans and falls back, his body shaking. Killian catches him in his lap. Through the gash in his shirt, the wound on Liam’s chest is turning black around the edges and vines of black extend outward, spreading across his torso.

“What’s happening to him?” Killian shouts at Peter.

“Dreamshade poison. I told you. He’ll be dead in minutes.”

Killian goes pale as he looks at the boy in shock. It isn’t so much the casual way he spoke the words, but the spots of red in his eyes and the pleasure curling his lips.

“K-Killian,” Liam gasps, reaching towards his little brother with a trembling hand. Killian takes it and clasps it as tears stream down his face.

“Stay with me, brother,” Killian weeps, then he looks frantically at Peter. “Save him! Please!”

The boy shakes his head. “No one can be saved from dreamshade.”

“Killian,” Liam says again, wincing against the pain, “I’m sorry, little brother. I’m so sor-”

His voice cuts off and he goes limp in Killian’s arms, his hand slipping out of its hold and falling to the ground.

“No!” Killian screams. “No, no, no!”

He cradles Liam’s still form to his chest, rocking back and forth. Sobs wrack his body. He doesn’t know if the lost boys are still there or what they are doing. The whole world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really. I tried to warn him.”

Killian’s head snaps up at the sound of Pan’s voice. Anger fills his veins, but when he speaks, only despair colors his words. “He was all that I had.”

“I know,” Pan replies in a voice that almost sounds sympathetic. He crouches down next to where Killian still clutches his brother’s form. “And now that he’s gone, you finally have the look that all my lost boys share. The look of someone who is completely and utterly alone. An orphan.”

********************************************

Killian watches Pan through the flickering flames of the campfire. The branch of a sapling rests in Killian’s lap, and his fingers twist a vine around each end to make a bow. Pan plays a song on his pipes, and several of the lost boys dance about to its melody. The song calls Killian, urging him to cast aside his pain and join the dance.

But he won’t let himself.

He squints up at the sun. He guesses it’s been about thirty three hours and . . . around twenty minutes since the lost boys tossed Liam’s body into the sea. Thirty three hours and twenty minutes without Liam. His entire life, Liam has been there, and now he’s gone.

Yesterday at dawn, he snuck down to the beach. The rowboat was still there, but the Jewel of the Realm was no longer a hulking form shrouded in the fog. He had taken the rowboat out - not for long and not far - and the ship was nowhere near shore. Surely they hadn’t flown away on the Pegasus sail. Surely they would wait longer than that before giving up on the Jones brothers. He guessed they had simply sailed out of sight or found a cove to hide in. Yet despite his hopes, it’s obvious that his captain cares little for mere boys. No search party has been sent, and Killian doubts it ever will.

Peter reminds him often that Liam’s death is the captain’s fault. The fault of every grown up on that ship, actually. They never cared about you. They never believed in you. Did you really think they would let you be a hero? There’s truth to Pan’s words, Killian knows this, and he’d be lying if he said hatred for his captain didn’t burn within his breast. But he’ll also never forget that it was Pan who sliced the spear laced with dreamshade across his brother’s chest. He’ll never forget Pan’s gleeful smile of satisfaction or the spots of red in his eyes as Liam’s blood seeped his naval shirt.

Killian eyes Pan across the fire now. The dance has reached a feverish pitch, and Killian already knows, in just thirty three hours as a lost boy, that the dance will soon fall apart into a wrestling match. Killian also knows that his only hope for survival is to play the part of a lost boy. Yet despite the naval blue ripped at the knees, despite the way he crowed when they set his naval jacket on fire, despite the mud smeared across his cheeks, Killian will never stop hating Peter Pan.

“Has Peter showed you how to lace that with dreamshade?”

Killian turns to the boy who has plopped down next to him. They all have names, but he can’t remember this one. His black hair is curled tightly against his head, his teeth seem white despite their filthiness against his dark skin. Freckles are barely visible across the bridge of his nose, and his brown eyes seem different somehow from the other boys.

“You forgot my name already didn’t, you?” he chuckles. “It’s Starkey.”

“Right,” Killian mutters, biting off the end of the vine that holds the arrowhead in place.

“There’s a trick to the dreamshade so you don’t nick yourself,” Starkey continues despite Killian’s unfriendliness. “Pan doesn’t always warn the boys. Thinks it’s funny.”

Killian casts a curious glance Starkey’s way. There’s definitely something in those mahogany eyes . . .

“He’s a bit sadistic, isn’t he?” Starkey asks, and Killian gets the impression he’s testing the waters somehow. The lad swallows, glancing nervously to where Peter is crowing over the inevitable wrestling match. “All boys but one grow up,” Starkey almost whispers.

Killian’s heart beats faster as he stares into the flames. “You mean,” he whispers back, not looking at his companion, “the others do?”

“I’m near thinning time,” Starkey replies, “so are Nibs and . Some are oblivious though. Ruffio, for example, he’ll no doubt stay faithful to the bitter end. I hate the look in their eyes when we turn on them.”

Killian turns his head in shock, but Starkey is slipping away into the jungle already. Starkey has obviously told him these things for a reason. But why?

As the next few weeks go by, he and Starkey have more whispered conversations, and Killian is surprised how quickly they become friends. Starkey’s tale is similar to his own, having spent time as a slave on a schooner. The only difference is that his parents were murdered and he was kidnapped, a trauma that Killian is sadly able to imagine now that Liam bled out in his arms.

Slowly, as the days go by, Starkey brings more boys into his confidence: Nibs, first, then Jooks, Noodler, Cecco, and Curly.

A hunting crew returns with a boar to roast, and that night there is a feast and a wild rumpus to follow. Though there is no alcohol, the whole thing reminds Killian of how he used to act when he’d drink too much rum. Killian feasts, he dances, even plasters a smile upon his face, but it’s all a show for Peter Pan. He can’t stop thinking of his brother for one, but there’s also Starkey’s cryptic words : thinning time.

Killian plops down, exhausted, and grabs a coconut to guzzle some of its milk. As he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, he sees Pan at his side, leaning forward and scrutinizing his face. It takes all of Killian’s willpower not to startle back. For a long moment Peter studies him, and it causes a chill to run down Killian’s spine. When Pan finally speaks, his voice holds barely contained anger and a trace of shock.

“You have a mocking kiss in the corner of your mouth.”

Killian blinks. “Wh-what are you talking about?” His mind goes to Emma, of course, not that she is ever far from his thoughts. Especially now with Liam gone, he longs for the wardrobe in Captain Roberts’ cabin and fears he may never see it again.

“There,” Pan accuses, pointing with a dirty finger, “perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. How did I not see it before?”

Killian glances around nervously as the party noises have gone silent. Several lost boys have drawn closer, concern furrowing their brows.

“He has a kiss, Peter?” one of the boys asks.

“Kisses are dangerous!” another one gasps.

“Yes,” Peter answers, his eyes narrowing with a faint glimmer of red, “a mocking kiss, and one he’s very fond of too.”

Killian swallows hard as he rises to his feet. The lost boys seem to be closing the noose around him, and he looks around frantically. There seems to be no choice but to fess up, hope for mercy, though Peter doesn’t seem the merciful type.

“So I’ve kissed lasses. So what? I’m 16!”

“No,” Pan hisses, “not lasses. One lass. A special lass.”

Killian clenches both fists, his face flushing at the way Pan spits out the words. Emma is special, and he won’t deny it. Ever.

“We don’t like girls,” Peter snarls, “they fancy themselves your mother, making you wash before meals and putting you to bed at a proper time.”

Killian narrows his eyes. “Um . . . I think you’re a bit confused.”

It was the wrong thing to say. He couldn’t help his sass, has rarely been able to help it.

“Your brother was obvious. He’d already chosen to grow up. But you, you tricked me. You can’t be a lost boy with that kiss always mocking me.”

Killian knows a heartbeat before it happens that the lost boys will fall upon him. What he doesn’t expect is to find his old naval sword in his hand or for Starkey, Nibs, and several others to fall in line just behind him. He glances at Starkey right before the two sides clash, and the other boy winks at him knowingly.

Those on Killian’s side are all older, but they are fewer in number. And Starkey was right, not all the other boys close to thinning time are willing to turn on their leader. Rufio is the oldest and fiercest fighter, his loyalty to Pan clear in his gaze and his willingness to die. Killian guesses he is seventeen, and he’s broader and taller than Killian. Nevertheless, Killian has naval training with a sword. He holds back, however, unwilling to slaughter little boys, no matter the situation. Yet when he finds himself face to face, blade to blade, with Rufio, something shifts. Pan may not want his boys to grow up, but Rufio fights like a man. Unrefined and a bit desperate, but with strength and muscle behind it.

All skirmishes cease as the sound of the blades clashing draws everyone’s attention. Ruffio fights dirty while Killian has been taught to fight like a gentleman. At first, Rufio’s style seems to be winning when he trips Killian then flings sand in his face. Yet Killian’s training has given him muscle memory, and even with his eyes burning, he acts instinctively.

Killian’s blade pierces Rufio’s heart. The boy’s eyes widen in shock before he hits the ground, blood spreading quickly across his chest. The lost boys are silent. Chest heaving, Killian turns towards Pan, lifting his blood-stained sword.

“I have a crew of my own now,” he tells the demon child, “and we’re leaving.”

Pan narrows his eyes, and before Killian can register what’s happening, he’s taken flight and making circles around him. Pan lands just behind Killian and startles him when he speaks.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow mutiny in my ranks.”

Killian turns to face Pan, ready for a fight, but is unprepared when Peter plunges his hand into his chest. Killian gasps and chokes as Pan squeezes. Then he tugs and with a sharp pain, yanks Killian’s heart out. Killian’s mouth hangs open in shock as he presses his hand to his chest. There’s no blood. How is there no blood?

Pan lifts a glowing red object and holds it in Killian’s face - his heart. It pulses, bright red, with tiny swirls of dark flitting through it.

“Look at this, Killian Jones, you have a touch of darkness in your heart.”

Killian doesn’t know what to do, he can scarcely comprehend what is happening. He’s heard rumors of witches and warlocks who could steal a man’s heart. He never expected it of this boy, however. Killian drops to his knees as Pan squeezes his heart.

“I could crush it right now and end you,” Pan mocks gleefully, “but since you attempted to steal my crew, I’m thinking of a more fitting punishment.”

Pan leans forward and slams Killian’s heart back into his chest. In the same moment, Peter’s other hand snatches Killian’s abandoned sword and he brings it down upon Killian’s wrist, slicing off his left hand. Killian screams in pain, holding his severed appendage to his chest as he falls backwards. Starkey catches him and helps him to his feet, Nibs supports him on the other side.

Pan kicks at the lifeless hand where it lies upon the ground. “They say a vein runs from the heart right down to the tip of your left hand. Fitting don’t you think?”

Pan and his loyal followers melt into the jungle, and Killian doubles over in pain. “Leave me,” he grits out to Starkey and Nibs.

But the two former lost boys in addition to the few others who had stood at Killian’s back refuse to leave him. They drag him through the jungle in the opposite direction of the rest of Pan’s crew.

***************************************

Killian Jones stands at the top of the highest peak in Neverland. The last month has been a time of healing for him. Healing from losing his hand. Healing from the loss of his brother.

But the thirst for revenge? That hasn’t waned.

Killian looks down at the curve of metal at the end of his left arm. His jaw clenches as he gazes upon it, then back out to sea. His new crew had taken him to a couple of fairies - Tinker Bell and Tiger Lily. They had enough pixie dust between them to help him heal, though it was still a long, slow process. No amount of light magic, however, could give him back his hand.

“Hook?”

Killian turns to where Starkey stands further down the hill. That’s what his crew calls him now: Hook. His blue eyes gaze back out to sea at a familiar speck of white on the horizon.

“Get the crew together,” he tells his faithful friend. “We have ourselves a ship.”

**********************************************

For only the second time in his life, Killian Jones has bloodied his sword. Killing Rufio had been largely in self defense, and he had felt sick as he watched the boy’s life blood stain the ground. He doesn’t feel sick now as he strides amongst the naval crew he used to be a part of. He and his new crew had fought ruthlessly, and now their remaining enemies have been tied and gagged.

“If you don’t want to die today,” Killian announces, “you can pledge allegiance to me, Captain Hook.”

A choking laugh escapes the gagged mouth of the Jewel of the Realm’s captain. Killian’s eyes flash when he hears it, and he strides to Captain Roberts. He leans down and yanks the gag from the man’s mouth with his hook.

“Is something funny?” he snaps.

“You are still nothing but a boy.”

Killian leans close to the man’s ear and speaks to him in a whisper. “Really? Is that why you sent my brother and I like lambs to the slaughter? You sent mere boys to retrieve your poison?”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you joined the navy.” Roberts turns and spits in Killian’s face.

Behind Hook, his new crew of former lost boys gasp in shock. Their new leader stands erect, calmly wiping the spittle away with his handkerchief.

“What about loyalty, Roberts? When my brother and I didn’t promptly return, you sailed away and left us.” Killian clenches his jaw. “I see Hawkins is back on board. Were you returning to send him to this accursed island? Still a coward?”

Killian doesn’t need the man to answer; he knows it to be true. Hawkins stands behind him, shoulder to shoulder with Starkey, his arms crossed as he coldly assesses his captain. Killian catches the boy’s eye and Jim nods his approval before Killian hefts his sword and plunges it into Captain Robert’s shoulder. The man flings his head back and screams. Seeing the blood spill upon the deck as he pulls the sword back reminds Killian of Liam, and filled with rage, he stabs the man in the other shoulder. Whimpers color the man’s grunts of pain.

“What do you want?” he manages to choke out.

Killian raises his hook and plunges it into the man’s chest. “I want my brother back, you son of a bitch.” He twists his hook viciously before yanking it out, and the man’s lifeless body crumples to the deck.

Silence reigns on the deck as Captain Hook calmly straightens, wiping his bloody hook clean on his handkerchief. “Raise the black flag!” he shouts to Starkey. “This ship is now the Jolly Roger!”

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs

#cs ff #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #cs neverland au #cs canon divergence #magic wardrobe #soul mates #childhood sweethearts #angst #slow burn

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bungou-stray-dingus · 4 years

Text

Musical Headcanon

Song : Blood // Water - Grandson

Character Pairing : Atsushi x Reader

Warning : angst; descriptions of blood; murder;

(I got home from work and wrote this when I was exhausted but I had been thinking of writing this for a while, so enjoy my sloppy, sleepy writing ❤️)

He pulled the photo out of his wallet, it was a candid shot that made him smile whenever he looked at it. His thumb brushed over the three smiling faces, and he couldn’t help but smile back. You were kneeling in the sandbox, next to your son and your daughter, Hideki, who was five years old, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up at the camera, and Hiroko, who was his pride and joy, his three year old baby girl. The picture had caught her as she was throwing sand up in the air, the biggest smile on her face.

Atsushi looked up from the picture as Tanizaki and Kenji ran into the office, out of breath, looking over to Atsushi. “What?” He stood up from his chair. What could have them looking like this, panic was written all over their faces.

“It’s Y/N and the kids. They were in an accident.” Tanizaki said, and Atsushi felt like his legs were going to give out. He gripped onto his desk to keep from falling.

He ran, ran as fast as he could, taking back alleys in his tiger form to get to the scene. He felt the wind whipping through his fur, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, he wouldn’t stop until he got there.

When he finally did he wished he could unsee it. The cargo van crashed into the drivers side of your car, it was still there, the doors on the passenger side were taken off to remove you and the children from the car, but he didn’t see you or the kids anywhere.

“Where are they?” Atsushi ran to the cops who were taking pictures of the wreck. “Who was driving the van?”

“Sir we need you to stay back.” The cop said, trying to push him out of the way. He was trembling, no, he couldn’t go off right now.

“You don’t understand. That’s my family. Those were my kids. Where are they?” He shouted, his voices breaking at the end.

The cop sighed, shaking his head as he looked at Atsushi. “They were taken to the hospital, but sir...” The cop called after him, but Atsushi was already running.

Hideki had been sitting behind you in the car, he was in critical condition, as were you. Hiroko was on the passenger side, but the force that the van had hit the car had caused whiplash, but she was awake.

“Dada.” She said as Atsushi walked into the room, it was painted with butterflies, flowers, and pictures of smiley faces were taped to the walls. He ran to her bedside, dropping to his knees on the floor next to her.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, and her bottom lip jutted out, shaking as she remembered what had happened.

She pointed to her neck, “Ouch.” She said, and she sniffled quietly. “Momma? Deki?” She questioned, and Atsushi sighed, running his hand through her hair, trying to soothe her.

“They’re okay. When you’re all better, I’m gonna take you, momma, and Hideki out for ice cream.” He promised, and he felt like he would cry seeing her smile.

“Otay Dada.” Then she focused her attention to the television that was hanging in the corner of the room, playing bright and happy cartoons.

“I’ll be right back.” He said, kissing her forehead before he left the room.

You and Hideki were in intensive care, he visited his son first. He was unconscious, he had an oxygen mask over his mouth, cuts and bruises on his face. Atsushi crumbled to the floor next to his bed. The heart monitor was steady and quick, reassuring Atsushi slightly. “You’ll be alright. You’re strong.” He murmured to his son, brushing his sandy blonde hair out of his face.

He walked down the hallway, finally getting to your room. He wished that they would have put Hiroko, Hideki, and you in the same room, he felt awful leaving his children, but he couldn’t just not visit your room.

When he walked in a nurse was checking you over, a clipboard in her hand, she was scrawling something on the paper. “I’m sorry.” Atsushi mumbled, standing in the doorway.

“It’s okay.” The nurse said, giving Atsushi a warm smile as he walked further into the room. You had a neck brace on, and your face had cuts and bruises much like Hideki, but you were awake, and he saw your eyes light up when you saw him.

“Atsushi.” You whispered his name and he sighed with relief when he heard your voice.

“What happened?” He asked, wiping your tears as they fell, listening intently as you told him everything.

“It was a red light, and the van, it came out of nowhere. It was going so fast, I didn’t know what was happening, then it hit us. The kids, are the kids okay? Where’s Hideki? Where’s Hiroko?” He eased you back down as you tried to sit up, he didn’t want you to hurt yourself.

“Hiroko is fine, I just seen her.” He said, and you smiled slightly.

“What about Hideki?” You asked, knowing that he was on the side that was hit full force. Atsushi swallowed the lump in his throat, his son, your son, who was the light of his life, who was a shell of himself at this point, how could he tell you?

“He’s alright.” He lied, and the sigh of relief that came from your mouth made him feel awful.

“Oh thank goodness. Tell them both that I love them, please.” You smiled, and he nodded, leaning over to kiss your lips.

“I’ll tell them.” He murmured, his lips still against yours. He kissed you once more before turning to leave.

“Oh... Atsushi.... did they get the person?” You asked, and he turned around to look at you, confused about your question. What did you mean, get the person? “They ran...” You mumbled, and Atsushi saw red.

“They’ll get them.” And by they, he meant he would. Whoever did this, they would deal with him, one on one, face to face.

We’ll never get free

Lamb to the slaughter

What you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

The price of your greed

Is your son and your daughter

What you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

He worked for weeks with the ADA, it was practically a witch hunt trying to find the person who caused this. He didn’t care that you and the kids were already home, someone was going to pay for it, and he would be sure that they did.

“Atsushi, it’s over.” Kunikida had told him one night as Atsushi sat at his desk, the picture of you and the children was his reason to keep going, to keep looking for clues that would help him figure out who did it.

“It’s not over. Not until I say so.” Atsushi said flipping through the manilla folder full of pictures and the report.

Hideki was traumatized, he didn’t like being in the car anymore, he barely ever went outside. He didn’t smile like he used to, and he woke up many nights, screaming and crying. Hiroko was luckily young enough to not have it affect her so badly, but she was adamant about not getting in a car. “No ouchies.” She’d say, and how could he blame her? You and Hideki had scars from the cuts you received when the windows shattered, and they were a constant reminder of what had happened.

“They won’t get away with it.” Atsushi mumbled, slamming the folder shut and pushing away from the desk.

Beg me for mercy

Admit you were toxic

You poisoned me just for

Another dollar in your pocket

Now I am the violence

I am the sickness

Won't accept your silence

Beg me for forgiveness

The man had finally been tracked down, he was a hit man for the port mafia. Atsushi had him cornered in an abandoned warehouse, the man was covered in blood, barely breathing, but Atsushi would keep him alive, make him suffer a little longer.

“Why did you do it?” Atsushi growled, taking another step toward the man.

“They said they’d pay me, that you’d give up, and I would get paid.” The mans words were jumbled, he had his hands held up in front of him, thinking that it would protect him.

“What do you mean, that I’d give up?”

“If... If they died, you wouldn’t have a reason. You’d let them take you.” The mans words were coming out so fast, he was cowering against a stack of dusty boxes as Atsushi took the last steps between him and the man.

“You were trying to kill my family? For money?” Atsushi asked, he was stoic, his voice flat. It was almost as terrifying as his anger.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” The man said, he said it over and over, but Atsushi wasn’t listening. All he heard was the blood rushing through his body, he heard his heart beating in his ears, His vision was gone, all he saw was red. This man was better off dead, for what he did to his family, he’s going to wish he was dead.

The change was quick, standing on two feet one second, then the next he was in his tiger form, mauling the man completely. He could hear the mans bones breaking beneath his paws, the flesh tearing as his claws ripped through his skin. The screams of agony, Atsushi wouldn’t kill him quickly, he would pay for what he did, he would make this last.

By the time he was done, there was nothing left of the man except his clothes and tiny chunks of human flesh that were torn off. Everything was still red, except this time it wasn’t from Atshushi’s rage, no, he had done damage, and the pool of blood from the man was starting to run, creating a trail that went out of the warehouse, dripping into the Yokohama port. As he looked at the remains of the man, he didn’t feel much of anything. He had gotten his revenge, he had made the man suffer, he had quite literally ripped him to shreds.

He walked slowly back to your shared apartment, it was close to the children’s bedtimes, he hoped he would make it home before they were tucked into bed.

Walking through the door, he saw you sitting on the floor, running a brush through Hiroko’s blonde hair. Your eyes shot up, taking in his blood stained clothes, dropping the brush to the floor.

“Atsushi?” You were up on your feet in a matter of seconds, running over to where he stood at the door.

“Dada ouchie?” Hiroko questioned, peering around you to look at Atsushi.

“Go... uh... tell Hideki that momma said to read you a book, okay?” You said, looking down at her, giving her a pat on the back before she ran off toward her brothers room.

“Where were you?” Your whisper between clenched teeth shocked him.

“I found him, the man who hurt you.” He said, and he didn’t know what to expect, what your reaction would be.

You sighed, shaking your head. “You’re crazy. What if you would have gotten hurt? We made it, but what if you didn’t?” Your voice was low, but he heard the hurt in your voice as your mind filled with the thought of him not coming home, finding out from someone at the agency that he hadn’t made it, that he had put his life on the line just to get back at the person who had almost taken you and the kids.

“But I did, and no one will ever hurt you, or the children, not anymore.” He pressed just lips to your forehead, he felt all of your tension ease.

“Go clean up so you can help me tuck the kids in.” You said, and he finally realized that he was covered in dirt, grime and blood.

Once he was done showering he walked into the bedroom that Hideki and Hiroko shared. You were sitting on Hirokos bed, and the smiles that greeted him as he walked in, those were the smiles that made his life worth living.

“Alright, who’s ready for bed?” Atsushi said, sitting on the edge of Hidekis bed. His world was complete now, his life had meaning. He could see the world in his children’s eyes, in your eyes, because the three of you were his world, and if he were to lose any of you, he would have nothing, his world would be gone.

As he tucked the kids in, kissing their forehead softly, making sure not to wake them, he knew he would do it again. If anyone were to hurt you or the children, he would find them and make them suffer the same fate as the last man.

He wasn’t a bad man, not at all. He didn’t like hurting people, not in the slightest. But when it came down to this, if he were put in the same situation, he’d do it again without hesitation.

#angst #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #bsd headcanons #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bungou stray dogs #atsushi nakajima imagines

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