#and then they ruin the couch margaret got him just to turn around and have him ask if natalia would like to help pick out a new one
Text
style - jwy (m)
pairing: wooyoung x fem!reader (interactive here)
words: 6.9k
genre: second chance romance, smut
warnings: 3rd person pov, this is 'based' on style - taylor swift, mentions of old hollywood movies (please watch them bc they're super good), smut with biting, thigh riding, oral (m and f), not my best work but give me a chance pls
a/n: i was supposed to post this on his bday, but i was at taylor's concert and lmao i kind of got depressed after and hated everything i wrote. this is my debut with ateez so i wanted it to be perfect, but inspiration just fucked me up and i decided to post it anyway since it's been too long already :(
Jung Wooyoung remembered it all too well. He remembered how the delicate musky sandalwood of her signature perfume made his heart tug whenever she was near, the way his stomach flipped when their eyes met, and how his fingers always itched to be touching hers.
Autumns and winters were always the worst.
He could hear all the lines of Rebecca (1940), one of her favourite movies, whenever someone tried to make small talk with him about the weather.
‘Most girls will give their eyes for a chance to see Monte.’
Clenching his jaw, he locked his phone and tossed it aside, trying to digest the fact he was the one who took that damn picture and she decided to post it just when it had been two months since they las saw each other. Not that she was as considerate as to block him so he wouldn’t spend hours on her social media, feeding on any crumble of appearance she dignified her followers with.
Y/N was petty like that.
She didn’t block him, no. She muted him and vanished from his life, but she didn’t give him the pleasure of not having to erase her from his world. If he wanted her truly gone, then he had to do it himself… Which, of course, proved to be a failure.
Because he didn’t want her gone. He tried moving on, only it didn’t work.
Wooyoung wondered if she also thought they made a huge mistake.
Turning his streaming service on, he searched for another one of her 40’s TOP5. Clicking on ‘The Shop Around the Corner (1940)’, the Old Fashioned tasted way bitter on his tongue than it should.
With a condescending sigh, he relaxed against his couch, and waited for Klara Novak (played by Margarete Sullavan) and Alfred Kralik (James Stweart – not surprisingly, one of Y/N’s favourite actors) to engage in their enemies to lovers plot as if he didn’t see that damn movie a thousand times already. Only this time, like others during this year apart, she wasn’t around to swoon over any minor interaction and to almost beam in happiness when Mr. Kralik said:
‘Take me out of my envelope and kiss me.’
Oh, there he went again… Quoting old movies like it was part of his personality.
❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆ ❆
A month later
Y/N dried her hair and breathed in the woody scent of her haircare products – a tiny bit of her heart warming at the thought of Wooyoung. He used to love how she smelled.
“Are you ready, sis?” Jongho knocked at her bedroom door.
“Not even close! You can go first, I’ll tag along later.” She yelled back.
“I’ll wait, no problem. I’m afraid I’ll ruin the surprise by mistake.”
“You just wanna make sure you don’t miss his shocked face when he sees me.” She giggled.
“You know me too well.” He sighed in feigned despair. “But do hurry up, please.”
“I’ll try.”
Y/N couldn’t rush everything. She wanted to look so good Wooyoung would almost faint as soon as his eyes laid on her. Not that she wouldn’t almost faint either… Just the perspective of being at the same place he was made her throat dry.
She missed him in ways she never missed anyone else before.
Deciding on the black dress, she admitted that the fact that he loved that colour made her like it even more. The small slit that drew up her right thigh would also catch his attention, and she couldn’t wait to have it all for herself. Her jewellery were ones he gave her over her birthdays, just to poke at their own stupid game. She didn’t spend much time on make-up, choosing to remain simple and classic – eyeliner and red lipstick… Which Wooyoung also liked.
Most men hated being smudged with lip tint, but he adored it.
The first person she saw was Seonghwa. With one of the prettiest smiles that graced humanity, the tall and handsome man approached her with open arms.
“Isn’t this the greatest surprise ever?!” He chuckled, kissing her cheek.
“Glad you like it,” She hugged him tight. “Because I’m back for good.”
“Oh.” Although subtle, Hwa’s smile faltered slightly.
“What?” She frowned.
“Does everyone know you’re back?”
“As of now, just Jjong and you.”
“Right. Makes sense.” He muttered to himself, doing his best not to look over his shoulder. It would be heart wrenching to let Y/N see Wooyoung with his date first thing inside the party.
Of course, she would eventually meet them… There was no way his friend would be as crass as leaving the girl alone because his ex (and the woman he was still in love with) was back in town. Wooyoung could be a little impulsive, but he had manners. And Y/N probably wouldn’t get that hurt from it, but she’d get hurt, nonetheless.
“What makes sense?”
“Oh, the fact that the boys were so quiet. If they knew you were coming, they’d be hyped as fuck.” It wasn’t even a lie, just not exactly the truth. “Let’s grab you a drink and get going, then.”
Hwa’s smile was slightly off, but she didn’t point it out.
Ordering her standard autumn/winter drink – French Connection –, Y/N relaxed against the bar stool. Jongho was nowhere to be seen, which made her a bit insecure. Things were always bit easier when her brother was next to her.
“So, what else is new? How are you guys doing?”
She was fishing for information, obviously. She couldn’t directly ask about Wooyoung because her friends didn’t know they secretly met in Monaco more often than not.
In her defence, the first time happened rather unexpectedly, and it led to a second, and a third… By the fourth, they decided it was better to pretend every time was an accident and keep their friends out of it. Wooyoung normally wouldn’t be this good keeping secrets, however, something in him had shifted. His boyish air had vanished almost completely, leaving his wicked jaw and sharp eyes without the warmth he once carried within him.
He walked with confidence, still. Nonetheless, every move seemed calculated, controlled. The carefree Jung Wooyoung she loved was swept by the future CEO Jung. And while she looked at Seonghwa, she wondered if he had noticed that too.
“We’re fine… We’ll probably be even better with you around now.”
“I hope so.” she grinned as the bartender handed her a glass. “Oh, thank you. Where are the lads? I want to see them. Is everyone here? Hongjoong too?”
With a sigh, he held her hand. “Listen, darling, I’ve something to tell you.”
“Go on.”
“Woo… Wooyoung came here with a girl.”
For a second, Y/N felt the air burning her lungs at the same time someone punched her stomach. Well, she supposed he wouldn’t stay single forever… However, the fact that she had to witness it three months after meeting him was too sour and pitiful. “Oh, I see.” Her voice came out crooked.
“It’s nothing serious, I’m sure. Just a date for the party.” Hwa squeezed her fingers tenderly. “You know he’s still as much in love with you as you are with him.”
But before she could react to his words, her attention laid on the man in question: dressed in a black three-piece suit, his dark long hair was slicked back, only some bangs’ locks falling off from the gel hairstyle. Y/N clenched her jaw, heart thumping so fast she was sure everyone could hear it. Luckily, there was no girl next to him, only her friends.
“Shall we go greet them?” With a haughty pose, one that differed completely from what she felt inside, she tugged at Hwa’s arm, dragging him towards their group.
In slow motion, Wooyoung watched Y/N approach him. When their eyes met, the party seemed to disappear, only the two of them in the ballroom. His fingers flexed on the Old Fashioned glass, demanding a lot of self-control as not to rush to her, hug her tight and kiss her senseless. He couldn’t do that for a thousand reasons, but the impulse was almost cruel.
He still loved her.
He was afraid he’d always love her.
“Long time no see, Wooyoung.” Her smirk was subtle, and there was a twinkle of mirth in her beautiful orbs. The playful tone was laced with politeness, but he knew her all too well.
As if they didn’t see each other a month ago in Monaco, he breathed slowly, letting his lips stretch and mimic hers. “Long time no see, Y/N.”
Straightening her back, her suave pose disappeared as a girl’s hand rolled around his forearm. Then, the jest was replaced by possessiveness, gaze darkening. Jealousy was the lousiest bitch.
“Oh, hello! I’m Lia.”
Well, at least that didn’t come accompanied by ‘His girlfriend’.
“Enchanted. I’m Y/N Choi.”
And since the girl didn’t react at the sound of her name, Y/N supposed she was rather new there. Lia was new enough to not know about her, and wouldn’t stick around enough to do so.
“I can’t believe she’s back!” Hongjoong celebrated, a huge grin on his face and open arms.
“I’m back, Joong.” She agreed, hugging him. “Back for good!”
“That’s awesome!”
“Were you living abroad?” Lia questioned, curious.
Y/N sipped on her drink, cocking her head to the side. “I wouldn’t call it ‘living’, but you could say that, yeah.” It was more like ‘suffering while trying to pretend everything was fine’.
“Why, though?” The quip came from Wooyoung. His eyes were glinting with a mix of grudge and challenge. “I thought you’ve always wanted to move abroad.”
“Where did you live? Europe? The USA?” Lia butted in.
“I spent some time between London and Monaco.”
“Oh my God! Monaco must’ve been a dream! I’ve heard there are some cute guys there, and rich too. Did you meet any? Are they really handsome?”
Y/N chuckled, feeling rather silly for being jealous of that girl. No one would dare to talk about crushes and money in front of a potential boyfriend, so that meant Lia felt nothing for Wooyoung, right? “Oh, I wasn’t feeling like… Meeting new people there.”
Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Why meet any boy if her heart was still set on her ex? Why pretend she could replace him with another rich dude?
She couldn’t, it was pointless.
Not when Monaco screamed them. If she was Taylor Swift, ‘Cornelia Street’ would be called ‘Monte Carlo’. And like Taylor said on her lyrics, Y/N couldn’t walk around any corner of the small principality without being reminded of Jung Wooyoung.
It didn’t help that, although breaking up, they engaged in secret rendezvous more often than not… And each reunion just proved her how any other men paled in comparison to him. It was ridiculous to have an ‘affair’ with her own ex-boyfriend; she always condemned people that broke up and still kept hooking up with each other… Until it happened to her.
To be quite honest, the reason they broke up wasn’t exactly because of bad behaviour. There wasn’t cheating, nor deceiving. They didn’t fall out of love, either – in fact, Y/N was sure she loved him even more with each month apart. However, love alone wasn’t enough to calm her restless mind, and he too seemed eager for… Well, she didn’t know?! Things were just different. The weight of responsibilities and the need to make something, any difference in the world drove them apart.
Wooyoung was taking his position in his father’s business, and Y/N had no idea of what to do with her life (again). She acknowledged her timing was shitty, for he needed something concrete to hold onto while everything changed… But… She was afraid of not being good enough for him. He was becoming the Business Prince he was born to be, and she… She was just the shallow heiress with nothing important on her ‘life curriculum’ that the media thought her to be.
Then, London seemed a good escape.
It was a familiar place, offering her some comfort. Not warm and soothing like Wooyoung’s presence in her existence, but enough to keep her going.
She occupied her mind with a Master’s degree in Creative Writing, and when it was over, she had the overwhelming desire to call Wooyoung and tell him she finally did something about those 68 stories she wrote throughout her writing life.
Now, they were face to face and she didn’t know what to exactly say.
“Right…” Jongho intervened. “Big sis, we should greet some people now.”
And like smoke, Y/N disappeared from his sight for the next hour.
Ordering his third Old Fashioned, Wooyoung recognised the almond-shaped red nails, especially the black onyx ring on her middle finger.
“A Death in The Afternoon, please.” She smiled at the bartender.
“No French Connection?” He looked at her.
“Summer habits die hard.”
“I thought you preferred winter.”
“Any champagne of preference, miss?” The man asked Y/N.
“Veuve Clicquot.” They answered at the same time.
She sighed, biting a faux grin and playing with the gold band on her finger. “I see we still have some stuff in common… Does your date like signet rings?”
Wooyoung was wearing his black onyx signet ring… Y/N’s one twin.
“I’ve no idea; never asked her.” His eyes traced her neck. “No pearls?”
“Not with black satin.” She quoted Rebecca (1940), heart thumping with expectation.
“I thought it was never wearing neither one nor the other.”
Thank God he still remembered the movie!
“You can’t blame me for loving pearls and black satin, I look divine in them.” She jested, flicking her hair in a haughty way. “So, I try not to wear them together.”
Ogling her from head to toe, Wooyoung’s grin was one of a panther, although he felt his stomach tightening and the annoying dryness of his throat. “Cheers to that. You do look divine.”
“Thank you. I put a lot of effort in this.”
“It wasn’t needed. You look good in anything.” ‘Even better if stark naked’, but he obviously wouldn’t say that. Before he could comment on something else, his drink arrived. “Thanks, lad.” Turning to her once more, he kept grinning, although less sincerely. “So, see you around, Y/N.”
“Wait.” She called out before she could stop herself. He just raised his eyebrow, like he used to do whenever giving someone his initial attention. “I was hoping we could talk about my being back home… At some point this weekend, maybe?! Are you free?”
“I’ll be free after the party, if you want.”
“Well, don’t you have other plans with your date?”
“I don’t and you already know it.”
“Why did you invite her?”
“I couldn’t just invite you, could I?” He retorted.
Her jaw clenched, swallowing the apologise. They were in public, not the right place to discuss their relationship. “Text me when you’re ready, and we can meet up.”
“Alright.”
“See you later, then, Woo.”
“See ya, Y/N.”
Wooyoung still lived in the same penthouse. It was painful sometimes, for the whole place had a bit of Y/N in it. He kept their photographs, kept the clothes she left behind, kept everything he could. It wasn’t his wisest decision, however, breaking up with her wasn’t one of them either.
And now she was back.
She was back and wanted to talk about it.
Now, way past three in the morning, he wasn’t drunk, but had the weirdest taste on his mouth – something like hope. His heart was beating heavily against his chest, and he couldn’t wait to smell her again. To touch her, kiss her, set every emotion free.
Dragging himself to the mirror of the entrance hall, he combed his hair with his fingers and smoothed out his shirt, opening two buttons just because.
At the sound of the doorbell, he took a deep breath and straightened his back.
“Well…”
The small, almost timid smile Y/N gave him was enough to make his knees wobble.
“Hi there… Uh…” She opened her arms. “Here I am.”
With a chuckle, one that made her eyes water a bit, for it resembled the Old Wooyoung so much, he let his body cage hers, holding her in a tight hug.
Wooyoung always gave the best hugs.
“Hi there, love.” His voice was slightly raspy, quite full of emotion, the nickname slipping past his tongue before he had any chance to keep it locked.
They remained there for a minute or two, feeding on each other’s presence and feeling each other’s warmth as if the sun was finally out after a fortnight-long storm.
“I’m back, Woo.” She said against his torso. “I’m back for good now.”
“And what does it mean?”
Y/N knew he wanted to hear her exact words, even though he already knew why she was there. And, because she loved him so, she didn’t have any problem laying her chest bare for him.
“It means I’m sorry I backed off when you needed support. Sorry I freaked out and thought lowly of me, and ended up hurting you… Hurting us in the process.” She put some distance between them, trying to be as honest as possible. “All this time apart proved to me that you’re my only one and I was really dumb for thinking I could ever move on from you.” She offered him a shy smile. “I wanted to be worthy of you, but I didn’t understand I could do that while being with you. My mind and insecurities blinded me, and I ran away. I hurt you deeply, and I’m so very sorry.”
Wooyoung nodded, face serious.
“You did hurt me.” He agreed. “I wondered what had happened, why you stopped loving me.”
“I didn’t.”
“This was clear by our second meeting in Monaco.” His grin was slightly off. “But it angered me that, although we kept seeing each other, you never suggested for us to get back together.”
“I still thought you deserved better.”
“Well, turns out I’m the one who gets to decide who or what is good for me, Y/N. And you were it.” He noticed how her expression dropped, probably due to the use of past tense. And Wooyoung had learned to be cruel to others, his job required him to be cold and controlled, but he could never be like that with Y/N. “And you still are, even though you hurt me.” Her beautiful eyes stared at his, hopeful. “When I saw you at the party tonight, the world slowed down. It’s no use pretending I don’t miss you and I don’t love you; we’re old enough to stop playing these games now. It was alright when you were in Europe, but now you’re back, and I’m not in the mood for halves. So, it’s either all of it, or nothing at all. It’s either starting over together, or ending everything.”
She didn’t hesitate, despite the ultimatum. “I want to start over. I want to be with you.”
“So no running away whenever things get difficult, nor making assumptions, ok?! I’m not one of giving second chances, Y/N.” He warned. “And I’m not interested in having my heart broken again. I hate being like this, hate being sceptical and cold. This isn’t me.”
Y/N nodded. “I won't let my insecurities and paranoia hurt you again.”
“You can talk to me, you know? I want to make you happy, see you happy. If things get hard, I’m more than honoured to be your safe-haven… You don’t have to move to fucking Europe to sort it out.” He rolled his eyes, sounding more like the Wooyoung he once was.
“Want me to pinkie-promise?” She stuck her pinkie out, grinning.
“God, how I’ve missed your inability to take things serious!”
“Hey! I’m mature now.”
“Nah,” He shook his head, one hand cupping her cheek. “You’re mine now.”
“I’ve been yours the whole time, and I don’t plan on running away ever again.”
“Thank God.” Wooyoung whispered against her lips, starting a searing kiss.
Y/N relished in his lips, fingers threading in his dark locks. He tasted like Old Fashioned and home; he felt like the rays of sunshine on a spring day; he smelled like the best mix of spiciness and man. She couldn’t get enough of him, and it was pointless trying to pretend so.
“Woo, I…” Her voice was breathy, conflicted.
“You…?” He frowned, brown eyes fixed on hers. “Should I stop?”
“No, don’t!” She sighed. “It’s just… I don’t know if… There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I…” Well, they’d agreed to be back together, right? It was better getting it off her chest quickly, so he wouldn’t doubt her later on. “I love you.”
With an easy smile, one that obviously didn’t mirror the flood of emotions, Wooyoung kissed her urgently, again. She sighed against his mouth, tongue quickly searching for his before she lost her last thinking brain cell. It didn’t take more than a minute before a cheeky and feminine hand found its way down his torso, tracing with pointy nails from his belly to his crotch. Wooyoung pulled at her hair, pushing her face upwards and changing their kiss angle, then, he groped her ass, relishing on the feeling of her plump bottom and the luxurious velvet of her dress.
Y/N gasped for air, pressing sloppy kisses on his jaw and neck. She gave him small bites, sucking on his skin and mirroring how she would do on more private areas. She untucked his shirt off his trousers and fumbled with his belt, patience running thin.
Why the fuck was he wearing a belt, in the first place?!
“Don’t you dare getting on your knees now.” He warned, predicting her actions.
“Pardon?” She hesitated.
“I’ll come so fast if you give me a blowjob, we’ll lose all the fun.” There was an adorable blush on his cheeks, despite his mockery tone and bossy warning before.
Her heart tugged at the sight.
“Then we do need a new approach, for I was really hoping to choke on your cum as soon as possible.” Now it was her turn to say something obscene with flushed cheeks.
“May I choke on yours first?” He offered, a smirk growing on his lips.
“By all means.” Y/N giggled, shaking her head in agreement.
Wooyoung pushed her against the wall, eyeing her for a brief second before stealing another kiss. At every stroke of his tongue there was a silent promise; he tried to pour both love and lust in it. Then, he got on his knees, pushing her dress upwards and revealing her legs. Y/N helped him by holding on the skirts, bunching the fabric up next to her waist. She felt his hands on her feet, undoing her shoes, then they were on shins, tickling their way to her thighs until they rested on her bum, kneading at the flesh in pure hunger.
Wooyoung kissed her lower stomach, nibbling lightly at her smooth skin. “I’ve missed you so much.” He murmured against her, grip tightening.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“But I’ve missed you more.”
“Is this a competition?” She eyed him in defiance.
“What if it is?!”
Y/N chuckled, combing his hair out of his forehead.
“Then I won.”
“I don’t think so.” Wooyoung touched her panties, his thumb drawing small circles right on her core. He kissed her right there, his tongue swiping up and down the lace and its warmth travelling through the fabric, making her shiver. “You better hold onto my shoulders, love.”
Y/N moaned loudly, feeling her legs bend a bit and skin tingle. She quickly took her dress off and tossed it aside; getting drunk in the way Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled as he looked up, hypnotised by her boobs. She rested her head against the wall with a loud thud, but pain was the last thing on her mind. Slowly, he rolled her undergarments down and launched his mouth on her, sucking and licking in lazy strokes like those that he knew would drive her insane. His touch, his kisses, his presence… She beamed in joy at the sight of him, and she would regret every second of their breakup because it was a waste of time for both of them. As for Wooyoung, he knew no other woman would compare to her; no one else fitted him as Y/N did.
She tugged at his hair, forcing her hips down to create a bit more friction. His short nails scratched her thighs, bringing her even closer. Normally, she would prefer to lay, but there was something rather wicked about that position, especially knowing that they were by the door… It didn’t matter he lived in the penthouse, she wondered if people on the other floors could listen.
His heart fluttered as she came, the most wicked and lustful moan of his name coming from her lips. Y/N felt gooey, her legs begging for buckling down and resting anywhere… Preferable on a bed… However, Wooyoung seemed to have other plans.
Tugging her by the hand, he brought her to the nearest chair in his living room and sat down with her nestled on his lap. He kissed her jaw, delicately biting at the flesh.
“Ride my thigh, love.” He murmured against her chin. It sounded like a suggestion, but Y/N understood the meaning: an order.
“While you’re wearing trousers?”
“Mm-hm.” He shook his head in agreement, finger pads pinching one of her nipples.
“Won’t it stain?”
Wooyoung’s eyes flew back to hers, a mockery gleam fighting its way beyond the lust.
“Are you trying to gain yourself some minutes?”
Busted.
Ugh, how she hated him for knowing her so well!
“I’m just thinking about how embarrassing it’ll be for those doing your laundry.”
“I’ll do it instead.”
“You? Doing the laundry?!” Y/N grinned in pure jest. “Jung Wooyoung, part-time millionaire and part-time CEO, doing housework?!”
“Full-time millionaire and full-time love of your life, as decided minutes ago.”
“What an amazing career.”
“You just gotta focus on what you do best.” He shrugged, putting on a serious expression though his voice was soft, cheerful even.
“Well, God help me, for you do that perfectly.”
Y/N kissed him, shivering when his arms rounded her waist to pull her closer to his crotch.
“Ride my thigh, Y/N.” Wooyoung said again.
Her eyes flew shut after listening to her name falling from his lips. Promptly, she moved, straddling his leg and rocking her hips against his pants. One of Wooyoung’s hands groped on her ass while the other went up, scratching her ribs on the way to her boobs. His head dipped down, tongue darting around the bud, licking and sucking it as he felt her body tensing.
“It’s too much.” She moaned.
He paid her no mind, keeping the assault until she started trembling.
“Can’t you take it?” He rasped against her collarbones. “Can’t you do it for me?”
Y/N gulped, mouth dry and heart beating so fast she was sure Wooyoung could hear it. She was also sure he knew she would do whatever he wanted as long as he kept making her feel good, so she just went back on grinding on his thigh without answering directly to his question. Besides, words escaped her as her second orgasm approached.
“Fuck, love, you’re fascinating.” it came out breathy, Wooyoung’s teeth sinking onto her shoulder. He felt the spot next to his knee wet, noticed her hips losing strength speed.
It was the second bite that undid her truly. She shook, nails leaving red lines on his backs and arms tightening around his neck, bringing him even closer. Then she collapsed against him, panting. Wooyoung peppered kisses around her jaw, smoothing her hair and praising her for being the best of girls, for obeying him and cumming again.
“Wooyoung,” Y/N croaked. “I’ve made a mess of your trousers.”
“It’s ok, love. We’ll take it off.” He smiled softly. “Are your legs working?”
“Barely, but I can try to stand up.”
“No, no, no. I’ll just put you...” He murmured while pushing her to the side and standing up himself, leaving her on the chair. “See? I’ll take it off.”
“Oh, no, wait!” Y/N slapped his hand. “Let me do this.”
Fuck, he could cum on the spot. She really was at his house, the living room’s dim light casting over her while she fumbled with his trousers, and it downed on Wooyoung that she was back.
And she still loved him.
And they were together again.
“Here, sit down, you’re making me uncomfortable.” She gestured, getting on her feet too.
Oh, damn, he knew where that was going.
“What did I tell you about getting on your knees?”
“You choked on my cum already, now it’s my turn. Be fair!” Y/N pouted.
Wooyoung blinked slowly, taking a deep breath.
“Oh, God, the things I wanna do to you.” His thumb caressed her bottom lip. Soon, he forced it in, attentively staring at her mouth while she sucked it inside, cheeks hollowing. “Please, if you could do the same to my dick, I would…”
“It’ll be a pleasure.” Y/N chuckled, bringing his hand to full view and tracing her tongue on the tip of his finger. His chestnut eyes were a shade darker, pupils blown open.
“All mine, I guarantee.”
But before she could dive in, a familiar ringtone erupted from the floor, his trousers vibrating at the rhythm. It startled them, though Y/N’s reaction was only a small grin whereas Wooyoung’s was an annoyed grunt, cussing in a low voice.
“Maybe you should pick it up?”
“Absolutely not.” He refused to move and spoil the moment. His dick was hard, he finally had her back and between his legs (ready to suck the soul out of him)… He waited more than a fucking year for that, whoever called could damn wait too.
“What if it’s important?”
“There’s nothing more important than your pretty mouth around my cock, love.”
“But…”
“On your knees, darling.”
She gulped, slightly annoyed by the fact he could change the mood with only one phrase. It never failed to surprise how much effect he had on her.
Trying not to let his temper rise, Y/N went back between his legs. She caressed his thighs, nails trailing them slightly. Then, she went up, unbuttoning his shirt while he glanced at her with a hunger in his eyes. She pushed off his shirt, being awarded with the sight of his tattoo. Hands palming his torso, she mapped his skin, tracing the Latin phrase, wanting nothing more than to eat him open. She licked her lips, heart thumping loudly against her ribcage.
“Why are you staring?” He wondered. “Do I look too tempting?” He jested.
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “Delicious as fuck and all mine.”
“I like how it sounds.” Wooyoung dipped his head down, pecking her lips. “And you’re all mine.”
“Always have been.” She agreed.
His stomach churned at the gleam of lust in her beautiful eyes. “Suck.”
The order came out simple and serious, a bit like the new Wooyoung he was.
Y/N’s hands found purchase on his thighs, the very ones she rode a while ago. Well, she was already in the rain… Let it all get wet.
Literally.
She gathered some saliva, palming his dick and spitting right on its head. Wooyoung breathed audibly, chest rising in a lungful expanse. Y/N moved her hand on him, spreading her spit and hearing his quiet moan. With a grin, she closed her eyes and sank down on his shaft, tongue circling the tip and tasting the salty pre-cum.
“Fuck.” He groaned.
She wasn’t that good with having dicks on her throat, always gagging and getting teary eyed, but this time she wanted to surprise him. She wanted to make him feel as marvellous as she felt during her two orgasms. Hence, she watched her breathing and swallowed him deeper. Wooyoung said something through gritted teeth, a hand flying to her hair and holding her head in place. Y/N hollowed her cheeks, bobbing up and down for a brief minute, forcing the movement against Wooyoung’s command. His hips bucked, making his cock hit her throat and she feel the burn in her eyes, tears coming almost automatically.
“Fuck, love, you’re gonna…”
He was cut mid-sentence by her gaze and thought he would explode. If there was anything hotter than her sucking him off and his cock was gagging her… Wooyoung didn’t really want to know. He honestly wouldn’t survive it.
Y/N repeated the motion, then she backed off with a gasp, drooling all over him. His hands were shaking, making him slightly embarrassed.
“Don’t stop even if I gag.” She ordered.
“Ugh, the things I wanna do to you, darling…”
“It’ll have to wait a bit.” She kept her fingers busy, caressing him while she took a breath.
Then, Wooyoung watched, mesmerised, Y/N’s wickedness take control: she turned her attention to his balls, licking it up and nibbling at the sensitive skin like he used to do with her clit. Words escaped him, so all he did was let out a raspy moan, tightening his grip on her hair.
Her tongue swirled around his shaft and she swallowed him again, tilting her head slightly so he could start fucking her mouth. He caught on her idea and adjusted his position, moving his hips smoothly, testing the angle. Y/N gagged once again, because that way he hit a spot too close to her throat, and although it was a bit uncomfortable, she couldn’t be hornier. Just tasting him and hearing him moan, knowing it was her own doing… It made her all wet and desperate. Glancing up, she locked eyes with Wooyoung – he looked hypnotised, almost drunk on the scene… On her.
It was all so erotic, so lustful, so right. He couldn’t tear his gaze as his dick disappeared on her plump lips, accepting all of him in as if she was born to suck him off, as if she was starving for it.
“Can I cum in your mouth, love?” He asked, wiping a small tear from her eye, his thumb caressing her cheekbone while he kept thrusting inside. “Or should I cum in your pussy?”
She whimpered, doing her best to shake her head positively, nails clawing at his thighs for support. Her knees were starting to hurt, legs sore and quite numb, but she really wanted to taste him before they properly fucked.
At her consent, Wooyoung’s mind clouded, Y/N being the only thought echoing. He shivered, the orgasm hitting so strong his belly clenched and his toes curled; he spilled inside her mouth, a deep, sexy groan erupting from his own.
Y/N swallowed and wiped her mouth, climbing his legs and sitting on his lap. She caressed his face, drawing all of his angles and mapping them on her mind once again.
“I love you.” She whispered next to his ear. “And I intend to make it up to you every day.”
“You’re a fucking minx.” Wooyoung murmured, a small smile reaching his mouth.
“Full-time minx?” She joked.
“Yeah. And full-time love of my life, so don’t fret.”
“Good.” Y/N stole a peck. “Good.”
They kissed in a lazy, tooth-aching romantic dance. He could taste himself on her tongue, and it was addictive, making him want to ravish her on the spot.
Then, after catching some breath and regaining more strength, Wooyoung hooked his arms around her legs and stood up, grinning at her wide eyes and high-pitched yelp.
“Hold tight, love. We’re going to the couch.”
“You should’ve said that before.” She giggled.
Wooyoung moved as if he was used to carry her all the time. Laying her down, he hovered over her, kissing her once more. This time, it was sloppy, teeth clashing as they touched each other all over – Y/N’s sharp nails digging at his back, leaving red lines on its length, while he groped at her thighs and ass, letting her wet pussy grind against his stomach and hips. She moaned, breaking the kiss and bending her head backwards when she felt his touch creeping down, stopping right at her core. Wooyoung didn’t mind it, kissing her neck instead, and plunging two fingers inside her, moving them slowly.
“Oh, fuck.” Y/N cursed. “Please, Woo, please.”
“What are you begging for, love?” He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mirth and lust, heart beating a bit too fast at her desperation, at the fact that she was his again.
“You.” Her teeth tucked his bottom lip at the same time she tugged at his hair, her pupils blown wide, hungry and desperate for anything he could give her. “Always for you.”
“But I’m already yours, Y/N.”
“But I want more. I want everything, Woo.”
“Your wish is my command, darling.” Setting his fingers free, it was time to fuck her properly.
He thrusted, finally linking their bodies. She hugged him, nails digging onto his back and leaving crescent marks; her legs pulled him even closer. His cock twitched, being devoured by her tight cunt. Wooyoung couldn’t even control his own muscles, so eager for his own release and to make Y/N feel good, like she deserved after repenting.
They were so focused on each other that every movement felt calculated, synchronised. Where she went, he followed, and vice-versa. His belly tensed up when one of her hands held his ass, groping at it while she let out a low, sexy laugh.
“You fucking minx.”
“It’s mine to touch,” She pouted, bathed in feminine power. “All mine.”
Something switched in his demeanour and Y/N gasped in surprise as he pulled her arms up, a strong hand blocking them from moving.
“Well, you’re all mine too. Mine to touch,” He brought another hand up, fingers intertwining with hers. “Mine to kiss,” A hungry, wet kiss stolen. “Mine to please,” His pace quickened, cock throbbing while she clenched around it. “Mine to…”
Love.
He growled, combusting in emotions. Y/N seemed to understand, because her eyes shone in a warm, romantic gleam. She got teary, pleasure so unbearable, so suffocating her body couldn’t take it anymore. She was still sensitive from the other orgasm, which made this one stronger, more devastating. Gripping at Wooyoung’s hands, she found in him her safe-haven.
Feeling her clenching around him just made his dick harder, and he was surprised at the fact… Normally he had to rest a bit before he went from one orgasm to another. Sitting up, Wooyoung hugged her by the waist, bringing her body closer, letting her nipples grind against his torso as she rocked against him in a steady speed. Bouncing, Y/N created enough friction and Wooyoung moved to match her speed, their muffled moans paired up with their hips colliding were the only noises echoing in the room.
They kissed again, messily and hungrily. She held him with such strength, anchoring on him as if her life depended on that. It was intense and raw, her body subconsciously trying to conquer his, claim his as hers… Although she didn’t need that anymore. He wouldn’t belong to anyone else… He didn’t want to. It was Y/N from the beginning.
“I’ll probably leave some red marks on your shoulders…”
“It’s ok.” He kissed her jaw, muffling another moan.
At each sharp and fast thrust, at each moan and kiss, they got further lost on each other. His dick twitched in earnest, feeling her so snug and wet around him. Y/N trembled at the breath denial, causing her stomach to tighten in delight. Wooyoung felt his body giving up and cursed low, unable to hold back anymore.
“Love…” He rasped. “Are you with me?”
Her teary eyes were enough answer. Wooyoung wanted to say a couple dirty things, however, the grip she had on his cock robbed him his sanity, so he just plunged on her violently, guiding both of them to the climax. Y/N shook from head to toe, moaning his name like a prayer and squeezing him like she had claws. He bit on her shoulder again because he knew she loved that. His fingers dug into her skin, also leaving marks.
The only noises were their panting. He rested his face against her neck, giving it small bites and kisses. Playing with his dark, long locks, Y/N sighed in contempt. How could she think it was possible to be happy without him when she was only happy with him, because of him?!
“Why?” She heard his muffled voice.
“What?”
“Why are you sighing?” He moved slightly, so they could look at each other.
“Just because.”
“Perhaps because you’re in your favourite place in the world with your favourite person?”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “God, you’re so conceited!” Slightly tugging at his hair, she shook his head a bit. “My favourite place is Monaco.”
“This still makes me your favourite person.” He grinned.
“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Playfully rolling her eyes, she pouted.
“I’m not tired at all. I suggest we grab a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and celebrate a bit more, hm?”
“Will you help me remove my make-up first?”
“Of course, it’s classic Y/N-Wooyoung behaviour.”
She smiled, knowing that everything would be alright again.
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lotus flower
summary: escaping an abusive relationship was difficult. rushing to a camp in the middle of nowhere to escape your husband shouldn’t have been as terrifying as it turned out to be.
pairing: xavier plympton x reader x chet clancy, reader x abusive husband named roger
word count: 1.5k words
warnings: abuse, physical abuse and mental abuse, mentions of abuse and physical depictions of what happened, ahs 1984, canon typical situations
a/n: idk if i’ll actually continue this bc idk if it will do well. however, i wanted to see the response i would get and i really liked writing this in general soooo. also, for the title, just look up the meaning of a lotus flower :) you’ll understand if you don’t already.
You were running. From him. From your past. From the nakedness that now adorned your ring finger. And that’s how you ended up at Camp Redwood, as a counselor. It was a job, far away from Roger. As much as you had wished you could have stayed and not uproot your entire life, you knew that staying there was dangerous.
The fading bruises on your stomach were proof of that.
You had heard about the position through the newspaper—the only survivor of the 70′s massacre wanted to open it up to try and create some good memories there.
Miles away and deep in the forest was your best bet of avoiding your abusive husband.
So you called and inquired about the job—you weren’t even interviewed hardly. The woman asked your name and said you were accepted. All you had to do was show up the day before the kids were supposed to be there. It would be you and a couple other counselors, but there weren’t that many kids—you wouldn’t be bombarded by everything.
You had hardly been out of your car for five minutes when Margaret led you over to Bertie.
“While we wait for the others to arrive, maybe you can help Bertie,” she said, giving you a smile. “I’ll be back.”
She didn’t wait long before she rushed off, leaving you alone with the chef. You gave her an awkward smile.
“Hi...”
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, balancing her cigarette between her teeth as she talked. “Here,” she moved to grab a crate full of bread. “Take this inside for me?”
You immediately did as you were asked, taking the crate as soon as she handed it to you. She took notice of your shakiness, but she didn’t comment on it, much like she didn’t comment on the multiple scars you had lining your bare arms.
Bertie took in a couple more things with you, only taking a break to light another cigarette.
"And this is Chef Bertie," Margaret said, walking up alongside of quite a few other people. You stood by her truck, looking at the people as they all came around. "A Camp Redwood veteran."
"Dibs," a man with blonde hair and a blue shirt quickly spoke. He smiled over at his friends, clearly joking.
"You wouldn't know what to do with it if you got it, handsome," Bertie spoke, smirking over at the man.
You couldn't help but laugh at Bertie, quickly placing a hand over your mouth.
"And who are you?" the blonde quickly asked, raising an eyebrow.
You averted your gaze.
"She's another counselor. She got here earlier in the day. [Your name]'s car was the one you parked beside of," Margaret said.
"Oh, so the one Xavier here almost hit with his door?" a blonde girl grinned, crossed her arms over her chest.
Xavier's eyes widened and he looked back at her. "I did not!"
Bertie rolled her eyes, holding up a crate of eggs. "Put those scrawny arms to work and help a lady fill her pantry. All of you, grab a crate. This heat is a killer," she spoke, sighing softly as she removed her cigarette. "You don't have to carry anymore, [Your name]—"
"—I can," you smiled over at the woman. You moved to take a crate which looked as though it had been filled with bottles of spices, sugars, and flour.
The man beside of Xavier had taken the crate of eggs.
A guy with brown hair came up beside of you, his arm brushing against yours as he grabbed a crate himself. He blushed but couldn't help himself from smiling at you.
"Sorry," he said.
You gave a hesitant smile, moving to walk back into the dining hall when Margaret began to speak again.
"Chef Bertie here worked here when I was a counselor. We are so blessed to have her with us."
Bertie continued to talk while everyone else carried in crates. You stayed inside, putting things where they needed to go—it wasn't that hard to figure out things. Of course, you avoided putting up things like spices. You didn't know if she liked them organized a certain way. As you walked back out, you couldn't help but overhear Bertie.
"I'm sorry that one bad apple ruined it for everyone. Minute I heard Margaret was reopening this place," she said, waving her hand, "I was the first to volunteer."
Margaret looked at everyone and breathed through her nose. "Alright. Let's continue with our tour. [Your name], come along with us. You haven't seen everything yet."
You gave a small nod and hesitantly followed along, looking at the group of people. They all seemed pretty friendly with each other.
The lot of you walked along towards the showers. Margaret was set on showing you all everything.
"Girls shower in the AM, boys in the PM. Same goes for counselors, too."
Eventually, your walk lead you to the cabins.
Margaret eventually left you all alone, and you stayed in the girls cabin. The boys ended up sticking around, talking with the girls that they clearly knew. You sat on your claimed bed, looking through your suitcase. You purse your lips, half-listening to their conversation, half-not even paying attention to what you were looking for.
“Hey,” the same boy who bumped into you earlier spoke. “[Your name], right?”
You looked up, seeing him standing right in front of you. Your eyes widened but you nodded.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’m Chet,” he grinned. “Mind if I?” he pointed to the spot beside of you.
You nodded in response. Chet sat down beside of you on your bed, handing you an unopened can of beer.
“Uh, no thank you,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve... seen enough alcohol to last me a lifetime.”
“Seen—“ he stopped himself, nodding slightly as he watched you. “Alright. Well, why don’t you come join us? I promise, we don’t bite,” he chuckled softly. “We’re gonna turn on the TV. Don’t be a loner,” he said. “We’ll be here all summer anyway. Might as well get to know each other now.”
You nodded, knowing he was right. “Uh, okay,” you said, nervously biting the inside of your cheek.
Chet continued to smile in your direction. He stood up, holding his hand out to you. “Come on,” he said.
A feeling in your gut was screaming at you to just stay put. But you reached out to take his hand, knowing that for the first time in several years, you could do so without someone waiting to ridicule you for it.
Chet smiled even more once you took his hand and he lead you over to the couch.
Everyone introduced themselves to you, making sure they knew your name correctly as well.
The flirtatious blonde looked over at you, his eyes set in a glare.
“You better not think about stealing Bertie from me.”
Your eyes widened and you felt your cheeks burn. “I would never—”
“Mhm,” Xavier rolled his eyes. “I saw how you looked at her. If I were her, I would have looked at you the same way.”
“Wow, Xavier,” scoffed Ray. “Give it a rest, will you?”
“What?” Xavier laughed, keeping his eyes on you. “I mean it, though. You’re like super fucking hot,” he said.
You averted your gaze, guilt swelling in your chest. This was wrong. You were married. To a piece of shit asshole, after all. Your marriage to him didn’t matter. Especially now that you were so far away. You didn’t have to feel guilty. You didn’t have to feel like you were going to get in trouble. No one here knew of your past, and they would never know as long as you never said anything.
After a moment of thinking of what to say, you looked back up at Xavier with a smile.
“You’re not too bad, yourself,” you said.
Xavier let out a triumphant laugh, grinning. “Sweet,” he breathed out, looking you up and down. Montana slapped his arm and he leaned back where he sat, rolling his eyes at her. “Can you not hit me again? Please? That kind of hurt.”
Chet cleared his throat as he looked at you. You quickly turned to face him, hoping that he didn’t think it was wrong of you to say so.
“He’s definitely not lying,” Chet spoke. “You’re super fucking pretty. I, uh, don’t want you to settle on him just yet,” he grinned, leaning against his hand as his elbow rested against the couch.
You couldn’t help from your own laugh escaping you. “Don’t worry, Chet. He’s not the only cute guy here,” you said, locking eyes with his. You noticed his blush right off the bat, but you didn’t say anything about it.
You were glad you were here. This was good. It would be good. It had to be good. But what you didn’t know was that your hopeful thoughts were far too good to be true.
#xavier plympton#chet clancy#chet clancy x reader#xavier plympton x reader#chet x reader x xavier#xavier x reader x chet#ahs#ahs 1984#american horror story#american horror story x reader#american horror story 1984#xavier#chet#xavier x chet#reader insert#x reader#multi-part?
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Sneak Peek—Through the Rising Tide
Chapter 15
Emma places a hand on her belly and turns to observe her side reflection in the mirror, releasing a deflated sigh. It’s only been eight weeks since she had Arabella and she’s not expecting to look like a supermodel or anything close to that, but still, she’s nervous as hell. She's hoping that if the night goes well and she and Killian make it back to their bedroom (for more than just a goodnight snuggle), he won’t be repulsed by her or disappointed. Deep down she knows Killian never would be, or at least would never let it show that he wasn’t attracted to her physically, but the butterflies in her mushier than pre-pregnancy belly are trying to convince her otherwise.
Thankfully, the dress he got for her fits like a glove. Well actually she's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one. Her breasts look fantastic but her stomach not so much. She just hopes her boobs don't leak and ruin the dress. But at least it fits. She'd been worried about that. She'd been worried it would take her some time to slim down to her pre-baby weight and fit into the dress, and she was hoping to be able to wear it tonight. She has to wonder how Killian knew her current dress size though. She doesn't know if she should be happy he nailed it, orildly insulted. Since he easily has access to her closet full of clothes, and therefore her dress size, he could’ve guessed she’d be a size or two bigger after giving birth. Or worse, he could’ve noticed how much bigger she is.
Emma shakes away the negative thoughts and takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the positives. She’s going on a date for the first time since Liam died. She’s spending time with the man she loves. She has a night free of changing diapers and breastfeeding and not waking up every single hour. She absolutely loves and adores her baby girl, but she desperately needs some time to breathe. Or everyone keeps telling her she does, at least.
Emma adjusts her hair once more and is reminded of the bracelet on her wrist when she catches its reflection in the mirror. She glances at it and fingers the charms, smiling a little when she sees Liam’s name and his birthstone. She wonders what he would say about her going on a date with Killian, but she tries not to think about it too much. She wants to enjoy tonight. And it’s bad enough, she can’t stop panicking over not being with her daughter for a night.
She was freaking out at first at the thought of having a night away from Arabella, and Mary Margaret had to literally pry the newborn out of her mother’s arms, per Emma’s request, but Killian helped calm her nerves a bit after they left. She trusts her brother and sister in law with her life, she really does, but being without her daughter is like being without a limb or oxygen. She doesn’t feel complete without her. But she knows she has to learn to be away from her every now and then.
Emma finally turns away from the mirror, smoothes her hands over her dress and takes another breath before pulling open the bedroom door. She’s wearing high heels, which took some time to get used to after not wearing them for months. She heads toward the living room, searching for Killian. He’s sitting on the couch, watching TV, patiently waiting for her. He doesn't know she’s standing there behind the couch until she speaks.
“I’m ready.”
He quickly turns around in his seat on the sofa, and when he lays his eyes on her, his jaw drops.
He gets up from the couch, somehow without taking his eyes off of her. Her cheeks feel warm when his gaze slowly slides up and down her body, taking in every inch of her, from her stilettos to the top of her golden blonde curls.
She raises her hands to give him the full view. “So, what do you think? Do I scream new mother who’s spent the last eight weeks taking care of a newborn?” Despite her light, playful tone, the expression on his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Not at all, sweetheart.” He rounds the couch, still not taking his eyes off of her for one second. And damn, he looks good. He’s wearing a black tux, a black dress shirt with a red paisley vest made of jacquard silk and a matching tie. And his hair is perfectly tousled per usual, his bright blue eyes scanning every inch and curve of her as he approaches her and takes her hands in his. “You look…” He can’t even finish his sentence, and as he bites his bottom lip, he seems to make love to her with his eyes.
Good lord. She flushes under his hungry gaze.
This is not the first time this man has given her adoring looks, not even close, but even when she’s feeling her worst when it comes to her appearance, he looks like he wants to devour her.
“You look so fucking stunning.” Winding his arms around her, he pulls her close and whispers into her ear. “Christ, love, I wanna eat you up.”
Her cheeks warm and her skin tingles at his words as his his hands roam over her back. She smiles against his ear as she runs her hand over his tie. “I can say the same about you.”
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Red Alert
Thanks to @youneedsomeprompts for this prompt! Color Symbols: Angst: Red: Danger
On a side note, Tumblr PLEASE stop ruining my formatting from google docs to tumblr.
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Sam and Natasha both make a suggestion for Steve to talk to a new therapist that might be more on his level of understanding his situation.
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LINK
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There was a prickle in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite shake. An itch that he couldn’t quite scratch. Nothing he did would stop it, even for a second. It practically lived in the back of his head, active every second of the day. It didn’t care if he was on a mission, running drills, helping citizens, out with friends, or trying to relax at home.
Steve Rogers always felt like he was on guard. That there was constant danger around him. That he couldn’t quite relax fully. That prickle in the back of his head never allowed him to relax either. At the slightest noise, rather it was the ice settling in the freezer, a cough down the hall, or an odd-sounding car passing by his apartment, Steve felt like he had to investigate the noise. He had to check it out and make sure the ice wasn’t a bug listening in on him or the cough wasn’t an intruder trying to attack him.
It interrupted him at all hours of the day, never allowing him to truly sleep. He slept, a few handfuls of hours here and there when his body allowed it. When he was truly exhausted, when the serum was on its last legs and scraping the bottom of the barrel, Steve found he would pass out for hours. Days even, if he was exhausted enough.
He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a true, peaceful night's sleep. Actually, he could. He’d just rather not remember it and feel the hallow guilt and pain erupt in his chest. He’d rather focus on the here and now because that’s all he’s had left.
It’s Sam who approaches him about it when Steve shows up after a group therapy session to join him for lunch. He looks exhausted, he knows he does. There are bags under his eyes, he’s pale, and his focus is waning. He has to force himself to listen to what Sam is talking about, watching his mouth move and taking in the words without truly listening.
“Steve!”
Steve jumps as fingers snap in his face, blinking. “I-I was...I was listening.”
“Uh-huh.” There’s no frustration or anger on Sam’s face, just concern as he settles back against the metal seat. He watches a few people walk by, fingers drumming on the table. “You haven’t been sleeping again, have you? Feelin’ on edge?”
Steve shrugged, which was his way of saying yes without truly saying it. It was hard to ask for help, but he didn’t need help. He just needed to rest.
“Figures. You’ve been watching that office window for the past ten minutes.”
“I...wasn’t,” Steve tried to weakly defend, but it fell on deaf ears. “I was just… There was a blinking light up there. Thought it was…” He shrugged, letting the sentence hang off.
“Morse code or something? I get it. You’re stuck in danger mode. You’re on edge. You’re strugglin’ with so much, Steve. It’s okay.”
There was no arguing with him, he was right and Sam knew he was right too. Steve just couldn’t think of anything to counter it, to help his friend not worry so much about him. “No, you’re right. I just...I can’t sleep. I can’t relax. I find myself waiting for the danger, constantly on edge. Nat says I had a panic attack the other night when Bruce accidentally flashed a light in my eyes. I don’t remember it.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like being you, Steve. You got this...superhuman abilities. Your strength is one thing, but your senses? They’re so advanced and even for back then, all the new sounds and smells and sight. But compared to today where it’s all flashy and you didn’t grow up with it. It’s overwhelming. You’re overwhelmed, you’re…” He paused and looked up at his friend, trying to find the right words before settling on being blunt. “You have PTSD, Steve. We’ve talked about this, remember? Can’t keep workin’ yourself stupor. You deserve a break.”
PTSD - yeah, Steve knew all about it. Once Sam had told him it, in the kindest manner possible, Steve looked up everything he could. Everything matched - the symptoms, the exhaustion. How he was constantly on edge. He’d talked to a few people about it, even a therapist that Pepper had recommended but how could he get to someone’s level who wasn’t him?
Who didn’t understand him? Someone who had lived through one of the worst wars in history, who’d lived and lost hundreds of people he considered friends, crashed a plane into the ocean, and woke up in a new century? He’d lost everything. His sense of a home, his friends, his family.
Nothing could compare to that. No one could get on his level to understand beyond the war. Yet his understanding of war differed from others and while they’d matched on a level about it, it wasn’t fully. It wasn’t to a full degree that Steve could latch onto.
“You know,” Sam was saying, drawing Steve out of his thoughts. “There’s someone in Shield that Nat was talking about that might be able to help you. You might want to ask her about it.”
“Sam, no offense, but I’m not sure there are many who can help a hundred and one-year-old soldier from World War Two.” Sam rolled his eyes at him and Steve shrugged again. “I just need a break. I need to try to relax. Get out of my head. Get this stupid prickling to stop.”
He’d scratched the back of his neck raw a few times because of it, just to have it heal over an hour later.
“The options are there, man, alright? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just...just call if you need anything, alright? You gonna be good?”
There was the concern, the near pity in Sam’s expression as he got up to leave, coat was thrown over his arm. Steve squeezed his hand and forced himself to nod. “Yeah, man, I’ll be fine. Go back to work.”
Three missions later, two training accidents resulting in him breaking a finger, three sleepless days, and five skipped meals later, Steve found himself staring at an office door with the placard reading Dr. P. Carter.
She came highly recommended by Natasha who refused to say more on the matter of who this P. Carter was. He’d tried to google this Peggy but got nowhere with results beyond obituaries.
This was ridiculous. There was no way she could help him. Or anyone could. He’d just needed to go, making take that horse tranquilizer Tony was teasing about and go to bed.
The second he went to turn away, the door opened. Steve almost kept walking until he heard her clear her throat.
“I was wondering if you were going to come in, Mr. Rogers. If that’s...okay I call you Rogers?”
The accent is what caught his attention. Enough to make him curious to turn around. Peggy Carter was...gorgeous. Sharp high cheekbones, honey-coated eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, brunette curls running down her shoulders. She looked amazing in her jeans and a white t-shirt - the last thing he expected a therapist to wear.
“You knew I was out there?” he mumbled.
That was a stupid question, of course, she did. She possibly had cameras and it’s not like he was a quiet person in this big body. Sometimes he felt so huge in this body, wishing he’d been smaller. Just without the ailments.
“I heard some muttering and you were my only appointment today. I figured it was you.” She replied gently enough, leaving him a little more curious about her. She didn’t treat him like others had like he was a sleeping bear about to be poked.
Something about her eyes told him she understood him. Or he was imagining it so much because he was desperate to have someone who could understand.
He had to give his friends credit. They tried. They fully tried to help and he was grateful but if something didn’t work out for him, Steve almost instantly lost hope.
It was always Cap or Captain. Rarely was he called Steve outside of his friends. Everyone saw him as this guy on the mantle and not himself. Not Steve Rogers, a man who's hurting and doing his best to pack it all in for another day.
“Didn’t realize I muttered. I…” He swallowed, tongue darting out as he looked her up and down. She was a few inches shorter than him and posed herself in a manner that was inviting. She wasn’t dangerous, but she could be, he figures. “How do you know Natasha? She...recommended you.”
“Natalia? Oh, she’s a personal friend of mine. We’ve worked on a few cases together.” Peggy’s hand held out to him, an invitation. “I’m Margaret, by the way. But my friends call me Peggy. Would you like to sit down? You look like you’re about to fall over.”
He could run, he could bolt out to his bike and run for the hills, but he didn’t want to. Strange enough Steve found himself taking Peggy’s hand and giving her a firm shake, just as she did him. “My friends call me Steve.”
“Well, Steve, it's a pleasure to meet you. Let’s get you to sit down at the very least. We don’t even have to talk. I just don’t want you riding that death trap like this.”
Steve snorted as he followed her and eased into a comfortable couch in her office. “It’s not a death trap. It’s my pride.”
“Oh, I can certainly see that. Personal custom work to resemble a bike you must’ve used before? Very rarely do you see that, but it’s still a death trap. Excuse me for liking the cushion of walls when I’m speeding down the highway.”
Peggy’s red lips twitched into a smile at his snorting laugh, handing over an unsealed bottle of water. Steve took it without question, taking a few sips.
“No wonder you like Natasha...she says the same despite loving a bike herself.” Steve sighed as he took a few sips, grateful to have something to do with his hands. “Look, Miss Carter...I’m unsure of what Natasha told you or what you want to do with these sessions but they never...end well for me. Sure, the other people are great, but they don’t understand. ”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Steven, but you do make a great point. They don’t understand because they’re not on your level. Your closest group of friends outside of those you serve with are the vets down at the center, right? Men you served with but perhaps were not close to?”
At Steve’s nod, Peggy smiled. “I’ve been there - I mean I see you there. I…”
She looked almost frustrated, eyes darting to the window and closed-door before pulling out an old file from her drawer. It was stained with coffee and yellow with age, a familiar symbol stamped on top. SSR.
Steve’s heart leaped to his throat as he looked down at it, but didn’t dare touch it when she held it out to him. “What is...this?”
“I figured to get you to trust me, we need to be on the same level, correct? I need to be open and honest and while I haven’t lied yet, Natasha and I haven’t been fully honest.” She sighed when he didn’t take the file and opened it up, handing him a page stamped with a date, shortly before he joined the military.
“I don’t understand,” he mumbled, looking over the information. “You were an SSR Agent, but... you’re…” He waved his hand over her. “You have to be ninety-eight!”
“Excuse me, ninety-seven, thank you,” Peggy snorted. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to comment on a woman’s age?” Oh, she shouldn’t find that blush attractive, but she did.
“But to answer your question, Steve, yes, I am...old. I was an SSR Agent. You see, shortly before you joined Project Rebirth, I was the prime candidate. After rescuing Doctor Erskine from Schmidt’s clutches, I received the serum in private. Colonel Phillips, Erskine, and Howard Stark, and I all agreed this shouldn’t be public because we were unaware of the consequences, and well - you know how they saw women in those days.
The serum, we thought, did nothing. I was shipped off to war shortly after, so we had never met. It seems fate kept it that way, even as I joined Phillips and helped the 107th. I’ve met other Howling Commandos - Dugan, Jones, even Barnes. Yet, somehow never you.
Still, the serum, before I ramble off. We thought it did nothing until after the war. I wasn’t aging. I could...heal faster than normal, but it wasn’t to your level. I had been shot with one of Schmidt’s weapons, it should’ve vaporized me on the spot, but instead, it activated the serum.
Then...then you died. Or so we thought. Howard used me as a near experiment to see if you could survive and I agreed because you deserved to be found, dead or alive. You deserved some sort of burial at the very least, but we...as you can tell, it went nowhere.
So time went on, we went on to form Shield. I left shortly before you were found - as fate would have it seem so we did not meet. I left because...I wanted to do things outside of Shield. I wanted to help people. Of course, if they need me, they call me, but I would rather not play Director at this moment. I enjoy doing my own things - I rather ask for forgiveness than permission. When the Battle of New York happened, I was out of town. Once again, fate decided we shouldn’t meet. When Natasha found me, she wanted to introduce us right away. She thought...I could be of assistance. I could be friends with you but I didn’t want this forced. I wanted to meet you, Steve but I wasn’t sure how without fate deciding we aren’t worth it.”
Steve sat there, stunned, pillow in hand. He found himself kneading it, staring down at the files. Every single thing matched up with what she said. The serum, a more watered-down version. Going to war. He could remember Dugan pouting because some lass named Carter ‘stole’ his whiskey - aka won it in a bet. He could remember Barnes insisting he meets this Carter. He could remember a red dress in a bar, a kiss of fire whiskey on his lips. Her soft body…
“We had sex,” Steve spat out, blinking down at the paper. He heard choking and his head snapped up, watching Peggy cough into her arm.
“Excuse me? I think I’d remember if we had sex, Rogers!” Peggy half-shouted, her face turning a shade of red.
“Apparently not. It-it was...it was before I died. The only time I’d truly slept in years. The night before I died. We met at the bar, but both of us were so tipsy. I’d have...something Howard invented that...that got me feeling a bit tipsy. We shouldn’t have done it, I should’ve said no but your kisses were so addicting. It’s not that I didn’t want you. I just...didn’t want you under the influence of alcohol for us both. I wanted to remember it clearly.”
Peggy stared down at the cold coffee, red nails drumming on the table in thought. “I remember now. It was your first time. You were so...so awkward. In the most charming manner. I had to teach you everything, including how to undress me. It was...It was charming, Steve. One of the best nights I’ve ever had. If I had known it was you…”
She gave a weak laugh and shook her head. “You were so loving and careful, especially for your size. I wanted to protect you, strangely enough.”
Steve found himself standing, the papers falling to the floor. He found himself standing in front of her, mind racing. She understood him on a level he’d thought he’d never find. They were the same, they had the same serum. They’d lost and loved. They just weren’t destined to meet until now.
“I know this is supposed to be a therapy session,” he mumbled, still standing awkwardly in front of her. “But can we drop that and...and just go talk? Outside of here?”
“Because you want to nail me on my desk?” Peggy teased, making Steve’s cheeks heat up. That wasn’t a no. She stood and held his hand, being gentle with her touch. “Of course, darling. I think we have lots to catch up on. I’m glad for once fate has decided we deserve to meet and it wasn’t with one of us dying on the battlefield.”
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I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader
Masterlist
Part 5
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Warnings: None, other than some yelling and negative self talk.
Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner
~~~~~~~~~
Ever feel like the world just hates you? That everything around you is crumbling? Yeah. That's what you felt right about now.
"Mother?"
"Y/N I have had it with these shenanigans of yours! You promised your father you'd take over the family business! We raised you for this!" The woman scolded, storming up to you and getting into your face.
"H-hey, leave her alone." Spencer spoke up, pushing your mother away from you slightly. The woman then grasped his wrist torturously, yanking him forward.
"You! I don't know what you see in my stupid daughter, but you need to leave her alone! She has a life, a future! A fiancé! She doesn't have time for you!" Your mother screeched. You felt the blood in your veins boil almost instantly. You had to physically restrain yourself from hurting the woman who gave birth to you.
"You don't know me, Mother! You never have! I never wanted the damn business! It's what you and dad wanted! Me? This is what I wanted. For years! But no. No, I just have to take the business." You growl, shoving your mother off of Spencer. He didn't deserve to be in the middle of this.
"What you wanted? Pah! This isn't about what you want! It's never been about what you want! God you're such a selfish child! Always have been! And yet here I thought Peter was a good fit for you-"
"A good fit?! Mother do you know the contents of those creepy-ass letters he sent me? If I was in the BAU back then, I would have sent these to my director to get him arrested for harassment!" You seethed, your fists clenched at your sides.
"Oh boo hoo! You have an admirer! He was set to marry you! Do you blame him for wanting you?! The children you two will produce will be the future of our company. And you will listen! You are coming with me back home and you will marry Peter Calvin! And you will finish business school to take over the company-" your mother reached out and grabbed your wrist instead, beginning to try and drag you out the door. You feel a sudden panic enter you, and before you can realize what you're doing, you have your mother pressed against the hard tile ground.
"I said, NO." You hiss. "I changed my last name because of that bastard. I left home. I got my own schooling. I made a life for me. Not you. And I'm not about to give into your empty threats again." You have your face close to her ear, pulling at her arm. She grunts from underneath you, about to open her mouth and most likely make herself out to be the victim.
But instead you pulled harder on her arm. "No. Don't you dare. Everyone in this room knows now how much of a bitch you are. Now, I'm going to let you up from this floor, and you are going to lose my number. I will only come around to see Arthur on his birthday and Christmas. He has my number. He can call me. I never want to speak to you or my father again, understand?"
"You bitch… do you know what you're subjecting your brother to? What responsibility that you're wasting on him? You are a selfish, no good brat. He doesn't deserve the position. You were born to meet this purpose! Not him! He was an accident-" your mother began to snap, standing up once you let your foot off of her.
"A happy one at that. He was the only solace I had through all of your lies and all of the pressures you put on me. I wish I could forget you. Forget you even exist. But unfortunately you do. But I will live like you don't, just to spite you."
"Why you little bitch-!" Your mother screeched at you, beginning to make an attempt to lung at you.
Then Spencer side stepped in front of you, glaring down at the woman who you called your mother. "I think it's time you leave. If I hadn't stepped in, we could have charged you with the assault of a federal agent. Do you know how many years in prison that is? Approximately 8 or more years, depending on the circumstance." Spencer practically spat, glaring harshly into your mother's e/c eyes. The only trait you shared with her.
"You can't lie to me! She isn't even past being a secretary-!" Your mother insisted, attempting to shove Spencer away. However, he was an immovable force, despite your mother's unrelenting determination.
"Actually, she just graduated from the academy, making her a federal agent. She works alongside my teammates at the BAU. And in my opinion she has done more good to this world than being the business woman you tried to make her." Spencer expressed, catching you off guard. Did he really feel that way? After only one case? You felt a thumping in your chest, proving your heart to be nervous.
"But she's-"
"A valuable member of our team. And I believe we would be sorely mistaken to not take her on as a full agent at the end of her shadowing period." Spencer interrupted, a slight smirk on his face. He crosses his arms, blocking your mother further from getting to you.
"You-you-!" She growled, knowing she had lost. She snarled harshly under her breath, turning her hellfire-like gaze towards you. "This isn't over-"
"Yes, it is, Margaret." You hurled back.
And with that, your mother turned and stormed out of the building.
It felt like a massive weight was lifted from your shoulders, making your legs feel numb. Spencer turned around and managed to catch you before you fell, letting you brace yourself against his arms.
"Are you okay?" He asks. You sigh. Bless this man for being so selfless at a time like this.
"Does it look like I'm alright? My controlling ass of a mother just tried to force me back to a life I hated." You snap, squeezing Spencer’s forearms to steady yourself.
"S-sorry… I-I meant physically."
"No, Spencer…" you sigh, shaking your head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. I just… it's a long story. And I didn't expect her to have been able to find me. I did enough hacking to be able to hide myself and my paper trails. At least from the people who used to know me. I'm fine, physically. But emotionally and mentally? That's a whole other story." You felt exhausted. It was like after a long and tiresome journey, the hero had to fight one last monster.
"That's alright, I completely understand. Do… Do you want me to take you home? I don't think I'd trust you behind a wheel right now." Spencer lightly chuckled. You feel a gentle smile form and you look up at Spencer teasingly.
"What? Is my amnesia really that bad, doc?" You tease. He rolled his eyes, a smile forming onto his face after seeing yours.
"If I say yes, will you be a good girl and let me drive you home?" He asks. You feel your cheeks immediately brighten at his words. You had never been called a 'good girl'. Much less had you ever been called it by someone other than your parents. So why the hell did it make you feel certain things? Make you feel tingly?
You give him a nod, unable to fathom just what the hell he just said to you. He smiled at you warmly, helping you to stand straight as he helped walk you to his car.
What the hell even was this day? This entire week?
○●♡●○
"S-sorry it isn't much." Spencer apologized, unlocking the door and holding it open for you. You smile at him and walk into the apartment.
It wasn't massive, but it was damn sure fancier than the apartment you and your friends rented. It wasn't without color, but it wasn't overly decorated, like a bunch of rich apartments you'd seen on the way up the stairs. Let's just say some people didn't know how blinds worked.
"'Isn't much'?" You asked in a scoff, looking around the apartment in a slight twirl. "Reid, it suits you. And you are more than 'isn't much'." You insist, stopping where you were standing. "Besides, it was you who insisted on taking me here instead of my own place."
"Spencer."
"Hm?" You asked, confused by his sudden mention of his name.
"You… can call me Spencer. It's only fair now." He added, his voice obviously full of nerves. You feel your heart melt just a little at his indication. You smile at him, happy that he trusted you enough already to let you call him by his first name. Even though you were so hesitant about sharing yours.
Then that brought about a long, and awkward silence. This had not been how you planned on telling everyone your name. Especially Spencer. And now of course, your mother had to ruin it.
"Look I-" you sigh, unable to finish your statement. You put your face in your hands and groan, gripping at the roots of your hair. You walk to Spencer’s couch and take a seat, hoping that you wouldn't produce anymore tears.
Silence passes over the both of you, making it possible to hear the creaking of the floor as Spencer made his way to your side.
"So… (Y/N), huh?" He asks, taking a seat beside you.
"Yeah… my mother wanted to name me Gwenevere. But my grandfather was sick of the medieval English names and put his foot down. So they settled on (Y/N) instead." You explain, a slight smile curling on your face as you think of your grandfather.
"Well… I think it's pretty. It suits you." He says, flashing one of his smiles at you. Yet again you feel the butterflies start to flutter around in your stomach, making you nervous to even speak.
After a small moment of silence, you were about ready to just stand up and try to get comfortable. Try to sleep. But it seemed Spencer didn't get the memo.
"(Y/N)... I…" he began. You swallowed a sigh, closing your eyes tightly as you braced yourself for this conversation.
"It's okay. I get it. You're curious. I'm the 'Mystery Girl'. But there are some things I think you would be better off not involved in." You assure, laying a hand on Spencer’s shoulder.
"Is there… anything I can know? I know it isn't my place but-"
"Of course. Just… don't ask about Peter, okay? Or...what made me change my last name." You promise, giving him a half smile.
"Thank you, (Y/N)."
"Please, call me (Y/N/N). It feels better than (Y/N)." You admit, raising a hand and rubbing your neck.
"(Y/N/N)..." he ponders for a moment. " I like it." He flashes a smile, making you giggle slightly.
"I'm glad you do." You joke, finding you had moved impossibly closer to Spencer and his lap. You clear your throat and scoot a little away. "I...I'd like to get those questions done and over with. Make reliving everything willingly easier to get over with." You give him an unsure smile, looking down at your fidgeting hands.
"Oh...heh, well…" Spencer too let out a nervous laugh before he began, trying to figure out what to even say. To ask.
"What's your family's business? Why did you leave?" He asks. You take a deep breath and begin your reply.
"It's been in my family for what feels like centuries. Really it was founded by my great-grandfather. It got started as an oil company, and then became a stocks and loans company. It's really boring. I never enjoyed looking over the statistics, or any of the graphs my father would try to get me to understand. I… I left for a multitude of reasons. But, one that I can tell you was my parents and their 'dream' for me to own the business. They wouldn't let me go to college unless I went for business. That's why I have the business minor. I had to put up a front, even if I was on multiple scholarships. I just feel bad I'm putting this all on Arthur. If I leave, they're going to try and groom him into taking on the company. Last time I saw him, he was barely old enough for high-school! " You exclaim, your nails now digging into your palms.
Spencer immediately took your hands in his, making you stop clenching your fists so tightly. He rubbed his thumbs against your palms gently, encouraging you to continue if you needed.
"Spencer-" you start, attempting to pull back your hands. He held on strong despite your attempt, shaking his head. "I thought you had a thing for germs-"
"I do. But I can always wash my hands after this. You need this. And you were hurting yourself. If you need to talk, I'm here." He insists, squeezing just enough to make you feel it.
"I'm sorry…" you exhale tiredly. "You didn't deserve to have to get involved today. She… she was always under the impression that I left for a boy. That I discarded everything that I 'wanted' for a city boy. And that my goal to work for the Bureau was a fever dream. A fib."
"That does explain her behavior towards me. But still, she shouldn't have tried to drag you away like that." Spencer expressed, still gently rubbing the indents on your palms. You hadn't noticed it yet, but they had begun to bleed from how hard you were pressing.
"I know. But she's headstrong. Always has been. Once she's made up her mind, god help you if you try to change it." You chuckle, looking away from Spencer for a moment.
"Sometimes…" you begin, getting Spencer to refocus his gaze on you and, in his opinion, your beautiful features. "I-I begin to think my mother is right. That I'm just some selfish brat who couldn't settle for all the 'good' she was given. That I was just hungry for more privilege than I had."
Spencer furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head. "No. (Y/N), everything about that is complete bullshit and you know it. You belong on this team. It's where you want to be. There are many studies that show workers who feel a higher calling to their jobs are among the most content in the world. You deserve that, (Y/N)."
You widen your eyes as each sentence came falling from Spencer’s mouth. Where did this come from? Not that you didn't enjoy this. No, it was the fact that no one had ever told you something remotely similar. With or without the statistics. No one had told you that you belonged. And that did wonders on your heart.
You feel tears build up in the corners of your eyes, making the world begin to swim for a few brief moments until you blinked them away.
Spencer reached up and wiped the two stray tears from your cheeks, smiling down at you. "I'm going to make some tea. Does chamomile work for you?" He asks, patting the couch behind you as he begins to get up. The smile you hadn't realized was on your face just grew brighter as you nodded.
"Yeah… yeah that's fine. As long as you sit here with me. I… I don't want to fall asleep alone tonight." You begged, feeling a slight pang of embarrassment for having asked.
"Of course, I'll head back down and get your go bag from my car." He assures, placing a steaming cup in front of you. It currently had a tea bag in it, but the smell was comforting already.
You nod to him in understanding, watching as he went. Once the door was closed, you grabbed the cup and pulled your knees close to your chest. You blow gently on the steaming liquid, letting your mind wander.
Before you could venture too far into your mind, your phone began to ring. You raised an eyebrow and pulled out your phone, answering with a hesitant "Hello?"
"Hey yourself my queen! So, I was thinking, the rest of the girls and I have been wanting to go out on the bar scene. We were thinking in about a week. If we don't have any new cases overlap it. Wanna go?" Penelope rambled, obviously excited. You giggle slightly and smile a little.
"Sure, Pen. Is it gonna be a girls night?" You asked.
"It can be! You want it to be a girls only night, then it'll be a girls only night! We'll talk all about Mr. Junior G Man. And your little crush~"
"Pen-!" You playfully scold.
"No take-backsies! Anyway… how are you? I heard what happened during the case. You couldn't have changed the outcome Sugar." She comforts, making you feel cared for for the second time that day. First Spencer and now Penelope.
"I… I know that. It just hurts is all." You sigh.
"I know. It hurts me to see all these pictures when I have to pick a case. Sometimes it's so hard to choose because I want to help them all." She confides. "Also, this is kind of unrelated but I love 'Pen' as a nickname. Keep it, please!"
You finally find the strength to giggle again, smiling wider. "Will do. I should probably go though. I'm tired and I just want to get some sleep. I didn't sleep for four days. I think I deserve at least 9 hours." You snicker.
"Yes ma'am! I'll call you again in the morning! Rest up my queen! Garcia out!"
You close your phone and toss it onto the coffee table in front of you, and on top of the copy of Edgar Allen Poe's poems.
You pick it up gently, moving your tea so as to not get any on the book. You then begin to look through it, finding a few that you enjoyed.
About 5 minutes later, you hear the door open again, and the wooden floor creaks as you can hear Spencer walking towards you.
"You read poetry?" He asks. You turn your head and see he was very much go-bag-less.
"Y-yeah. It-s something that has a different meaning every time I read it. It never gets boring." You answer. "Where's my go bag?" You ask.
"W-well… I took a moment to see if you had anything to sleep in, but you didn't. So…" he paused, handing you an outfit from your go-bag. "I'll just let you borrow one of my shirts."
Immediately warning lights flashed in your head. Fuck. Was this too soon? No, he was doing this out of kindness, not because he wanted a damn relationship.
You took the outfit, grateful he had been kind enough to be sure you were comfortable and that you had clothes to change into.
"No… I really shouldn't-"
"It's no problem, promise. I have an extra blanket you can use too." He settles, not giving you time to even respond or think about it.
You sigh, finally giving in and chuckling to yourself. You took a few sips of your tea, waiting for Spencer to return with whatever shirt he had picked out for you to wear.
He soon returned, carrying an old, navy blue t-shirt that had the words
written across the front in worn down orange text.
"This is the only one I could find that would be long enough." He informs, handing it to you. You hold it out and look it over. You felt off for accepting this. You felt like he was your boyfriend and you were stealing his clothes. But he wasn't. And you were just borrowing.
You smile to him and put the cup of tea down onto the coffee table, making sure not to put it on any of the books. Then you stood up and began to look for the bathroom.
"If you're looking for the bathroom it's down the hall and to your left." Spencer informs as you get up. You turn your head and smile once more at the genius.
After a couple minutes in the bathroom, you walk back out, absolutely drowning in Spencer’s t-shirt. And here you thought you were somewhat close to his size.
Spencer looked up from the book you had been reading before and his eyes landed on you and ceased to move afterwards. If he were to be honest, you were beautiful. And seeing you in his shirt made him feel a sense of… well he didn't know. But he had been told it was like companionship. And partially ownership. Like she was actually partially his. But not, in the same way.
"I know, it's huge." You comment, walking over to Spencer’s couch and taking your previous seat.
"I wasn't...I wouldn't say that…" Spencer fumbled, sitting back against the couch with the book in his hands. His eyes were on you though. The whole time. They had followed you the entire time since you had walked out. He couldn't keep his eyes off of you.
"Then… what would you say?" You asked out of temptation.
Spencer felt a slight wave of panic rush over him. This wasn't too early, was it? He wanted to get to know you better. Especially before he tried anything. But it just felt… right. How could he explain that to you without scaring you away?
"That… I uh, I'd say you look good. It suits you. The school, I mean." Spencer adds at the end, making you laugh.
"That so? You trying to get me to go back to school, Doctor?" You teased.
"That's up to you. Though school is good at opening opportunities to its students. At least college is." Spencer replied.
You laughed and leaned closer to Spencer, yawning softly. You looked over his shoulder at the poem he had opened, and you smiled.
"Read me one?" You asked.
"You...want me to…" he asked, unsure of the clear question you just asked him.
"Read to me. Please?" You asked, yawning again. "It'll help me sleep." You say, batting your eyes pathetically. He laughed gently and nodded.
"Okay okay… let's start with this one." He says, adjusting the book so that he could read it and let you get comfortable.
You snuggled closer on instinct, yawning the biggest yawn you had yet that day.
Spencer hummed for a moment, before he began to read. "Romance, who loves to nod and sing, with drowsy head and folded wing, among the green leaves as they shake, Far down within some shadowy lake, To me a painted paroquet." He began, his voice like honey for your ears as you rested your head against his shoulder. You couldn't help but wonder what it would be like, listening to him read every night with your head on his chest or with you sitting in his lap.
"Hath been, a most familiar bird, Taught me my alphabet to say, To lisp my very earliest word. While in the wild wood I did lie, a child, with a most knowing eye." He continued, almost a spell like trance he was casting upon your eyes. You could barely even keep them open as your body finally was able to catch up with you and encourage some well deserved rest.
"Of late, eternal Condor years so shake the very Heaven on high with tumult as they thunder by, I have no time for idle cares, through gazing on the unquiet sky." You wanted more than anything to stay away for the last part of the poem, but you couldn't. Once you had let your body rest, and finally relax, you were a goner.
However, he still continued, wanting to finish your request even though he knew you were asleep almost immediately. "And when an hour with calmer wings it's down upon my spirit flings, That little time with lyre and rhyme to while away - forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime unless it trembled with the strings."
He gently closed the book once the final syllable left his lips. He placed the book gently down on the coffee table in front of the two of you, and grabbed a second book. He had read it already, but it gave him something to say he had been doing instead of getting up and disturbing your sleep. But also, to insist that he hadn't watched how peaceful and beautiful you were. And how he hadn't made sure to count the rise and fall of your chest to be sure you were alright.
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Cake By The Ocean: Eight.
If you were to ask Georgina Ferguson what her last full day in Mykonos would consist of, never in a million years would she say a day at the beach with her boyfriend followed by a night on the town with her closest friends. As the bars began to close, the gang made their way back home. Mags and Jenna held hands and gossiped. Jamie, Keith, and Niall were singing some song from the early 2000s. Georgina trailed behind everyone reminiscing about her time in Greece. She was drunk off sangria and the smell of a certain Irishman’s cologne. This trip was exactly what she needed. Her heart was happy and her love meter was full.
“Ferg, wait until we’re home to undress the poor boy.” Dave said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“Heart wants what it wants, David.” Georgina smiled as she took her eyes off her boyfriend.
“He truly thinks the world of you.” Dave said.
“Assss he should.” Brittany slurred as she slipped her hand into Georgina’s.
A moment of silence passed between the trio. It wasn’t very long until the house they were staying in came into view. Georgina gave her best friend’s hand a squeeze as the rest of their friends filed inside.
“You two should come over for dinner when we get home.” Brittany said. “It’ll be like old times.”
“But now we know they’re shaggin’.” Dave teased.
“The kids are in love. Leave ‘em alone.” Britt said.
“Doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s probably sat on his face by now.” Dave said smugly.
“David!” Brittany and Georgina groaned in unison.
The gentle giant placed a quick kiss on the top of Georgina’s head. “Only taking the piss, babes.”
“We’ve talked about this, what she does in the bedroom is-is-is her business.” Brittany said.
“You birds take everything so seriously.” Her boyfriend sighed.
“Oi, what are they on about, Davey?” Niall asked from inside the house.
“Nialler, settle a bet for me—“ Dave started to say before Georgina cut him off.
“We aren’t in neutral territory anymore.” She said stepping inside. “Use your indoor voice.”
Marco, Ashlee, and Mar had declined the invitation to go out with everyone. No one understood why but they were not fond of the Terrible Threesome. Everyone was counting down the days until they said goodbye to them for good.
Dave kissed her head once more before peeling away from her side. “Yes, Mum.”
“I’ll have a talk with him when we are alone.” Brittany said to her best friend as her boyfriend walked away.
“He’s only doin’ it to push me buttons.” Ferg sighed.
“Y’alright baby?” Brittany asked.
“It’s probably because I’m drunk but I really don’t want to go home.” Georgina said. “It’s just going to be work and deadlines and I’m not gonna see everyone as much as I’d like.”
“I don’t know if you agree with me but this — as crazy as it sounds — has been the best trip we’ve been on and like I just don’t want things to change. You know?”
“It definitely has been one for the record books.” Brittany said grabbing onto Georgina’s other hand. “But you know you aren’t in this alone, right?”
“Yeah—“ Georgina said but Brittany shook her head.
Britt looked up at her best friend. “We’ve all decided that we’ve got you. You aren’t in this alone anymore. We all talked and we aren’t letting any outside influences mess this up because—“
“He’s The Baby.” Georgina blushed.
“And you’re you.” Britt smiled.
“Yeah but—“
“Oh fuck off Georgie.” Britt rolled her eyes. “They love you more than they love him most days.”
Georgina could feel her cheeks grow warm. Her friends truly meant the world to her and knowing they were fully supportive of her relationship with Niall meant everything. She truly didn’t know what she would do without them.
“Fergithica and Brittania we need you over here. ASAP!!” Jenna shouted from the living room.
“Where my bitches at?” Mags said through a microphone.
“Oh god.” Britt said with her eyes closed.
“I thought we hid the mic.” Georgina said wide-eyed.
“Who the fuck gave her a mic?” Jamie cackled from the kitchen.
Georgina and Brittany made their way into the living room while the rest of the boys joined them. Standing center stage were the drunkest members of the Hen House.
“We wanna do karaoke!” Jenna said leaning against Margaret.
“You lot can’t sing while sober.” Keith said taking a seat beside Georgina on the couch. “Who says you can in the state you’re in.”
“We have a thing called talent, Miller.” Mags slurred into the mic. “Might wanna look it up babes.”
“Yeah, as much talent as two cats in heat.” Keith mumbled making Georgina laugh.
“Also, stating this now, Niall Horan is not allowed to sing.” Mags said pointing to the brown haired man.
Niall threw his hands up in defense. “Whatever you want, babes.”
“Who wants to be the DJ?” Jenna asked, scanning the crowd that had formed.
“What song you ruinin’ first?” Dave asked as he pulled out his phone.
“Hmm… ‘Chandelier’ by Sia.” Jenna said causing the room to erupt into laughter.
“Oh fuck right off you dicks.” Mags glared.
As David cued up the music on the television, Jamie carefully walked in the room with a tray of drinks.
“We are gonna need these.” Jamie said as his girlfriend got ready to sing her drunken heart out.
The two women cleared their throats. Niall took this as a sign to make his way towards the couch. Not only did he want a front row seat to the show about to be performed but he wanted to be closer to the woman he loved.
The Irishman had tried his best to keep his hands to himself when they were out in public. He didn’t know how comfortable Georgina was with showing any display of affection in front of their friends. He had made her keep their relationship a secret for months. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable by forcing too much affection too soon.
Although he tried to keep his distance, the alcohol in his system and the way Georgina looked had his mind racing. He couldn’t wait until they were alone later. Niall leaned back in his seat before resting a hand on Georgina’s leg. This was exactly how he wanted to end their trip.
“This one is specifically dedicated to Keith Reginald Miller.” Mags said with a wink. “My biggest fan.”
Keith rolled his eyes. “You wanker.”
“Woo! That’s my baby.” Jamie cheered as he took a seat on the floor.
The next couple hours were filled with goblets of sangria and very poor renditions of some of the greatest songs ever created. From Robbie Williams to Lionel Richie, Fergie and the gang sang their heart's out in the middle of that Grecian villa.
While Jamie and Davey belted out a Bob Seger banger, Niall decided they needed food to sop up some of the liquor they had consumed. The Irishman made his way into the kitchen to see what he could come up with. Naturally, Georgina followed in suit.
The pair decided on grilled cheese sandwiches. They hoped the bread would bring everyone down a notch. Fortunately, their flights were in the evening so they had time to sleep off the hangover that was sure to take form once everyone headed to bed.
“Britt wants us to come over for dinner when we get back.” Georgina said as she pulled a piece of cheddar cheese away from the paper packaging.
“Just us four?” Niall asked, pressing a spatula into a slice of bread making it sizzle in the pan.
“Just like the good ol’ days.” She said with a nod.
“That’ll be brilliant.” Niall smiled as he looked up at her.
The kitchen grew quiet as the couple worked in peace. Their system had become second nature. Niall was in charge of grilling while Georgina took take care of all the prep work. A pile of sandwiches started to take form on the plate within minutes. It was just further proof that they were in fact a good team.
“Babe, are you sure we---” Niall said, flipping over one last sandwich.
“We’re gonna be good.” Georgina said reassuring him. “I promise.”
“I love you.” He smiled. “Like a lot.”
Georgina leaned against the counter. “I love you too.”
Once the last sandwich was finished, Niall walked over to where his girlfriend was standing. He rested his hands on the counter beside her. He leaned in close.
“Just so we are both aware, I’m fucking you as soon as that door closes tonight.” He said softly.
Georgina’s face lit up at the husky tone of his voice.
“You can’t just look like an absolute goddess and get away with it.” Niall winked.
“Unacceptable, right?” She whispered as he pressed up against her.
“Completely.” He said.
“Am I going to be punished?” She smirked.
“Fuck, Georgina!” He said squeezing his eyes shit. “Please don’t give me a hard on in front of our friends.”
Georgina giggled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Niall rolled his eyes making her laugh more. Without thinking, Georgina grabbed his chin and placed a very deep kiss on his lips. Niall’s heart wanted to explode. All he had wanted to do that night was kiss her. Now that he finally had the opportunity to he wasn’t going to stop. A slow and steamy make out session began.
What the young couple didn’t know was that their every move was being recorded from the doorway of the kitchen by a very despicable human being. Every kiss that was shared in that kitchen was strung together in a short video that could ruin them.
Marlene truly was the worst person on the planet.
With a smug look on her face, the young American stopped the video. She turned slowly but slammed right into the chest of a very angry looking man.
“Delete it.” He said.
“I-I-I- don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stuttered nervously.
“Delete the video.”
“I don’t kn—“ She started to say as she attempted to get away. He wouldn’t let her past.
“Delete the video or I will ruin your life.” He stated.
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The Suicide Queen (part two)
[Ice Skater AU]
Part 1
The Sixtended characters that cameo in this chapter belong to: Mary Boleyn- @marygrey, Meg Tudor- @me-tizi, Jane Parker- @altairtalisman, Christina of Denmark- @the-queen-of-the-castle, Anya Askew- @thenicestnonbinary, Anne Parr- @inquisitive-mess
TW: Referenced self harm
-------------------------------
Bessie’s eyes were stinging when she woke up that morning. She groaned, draping an arm over her face, and knew it was going to be one of those days.
She hauled herself out of bed and gazed around her small dorm room. She always thought it was rather dull compared to some of the others she had seen, simply having a bunk bed with a black couch underneath it, a desk, a single shelf for her belongings, and a venus fly trap that she took care of better than she took care of herself. Thick grey blackout curtains were drawn tightly over the single window; she preferred to use light from the lamp sitting nearby or the fairy lights strung across her ceiling. She never turned on the overhead fluorescents if she didn’t have to.
On her way down from her bunk bed, Bessie stumbled on the last rung of the ladder and nearly hit her head against the wall directly behind her. She wished she had. She longed for her skull to shatter and for her brains to ooze out, signaling that she was no more in this horrible world.
Her bare feet sunk into the fluffy white carpet in front of her couch. The softness brought on an odd sense of comfort and she sighed softly.
“Another day,” She said to the taxidermy crow sitting on her desk.
She wondered if the reason why nobody liked coming into her room was because of all the vulture culture stuff she had. Her shelf was full of various animal skulls and bones, she had a bottle full of fangs, a jar with peacock feathers sticking out of it, and even a real kangaroo fur she bought from an antique store hanging up on the wall. A lot of people found it creepy and ‘cruel’, but she found it all fascinating.
After watering her venus fly trap, which she had named Jackie, she grabbed some fresh clothes and her shower supplies and stepped out into the hallway.
Her dorm building was notorious for its decorations during the holidays. It was always set up, regardless of what season it was. Right now, black and orange fairy lights were suspended across the ceiling, with little rubber bats and spiders hanging freely, signaling Halloween. There were even a few skeletons and zombies standing around in the corners, which never failed to scare the absolute shit out of Bessie when she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Several girls were already awake and mulling around, getting ready for the day. Mary Boleyn and Meg Tudor were chatting loudly outside Mary’s dorm room, talking about something some idiot said in their political science class. Margaret Dymoke was waiting impatiently outside of Christina of Denmark’s room, yelling at her to ‘hurry her ass up.’ Jane Popincourt was whisking out of the bathroom, shamelessly swathed in a pure white robe. Bessie shuffled past her with her head down and entered the bathroom.
Along with Jane Parker and Anne Parr, The Beast was there to greet her inside.
“Good morning, darling,” It said from the reflection of the mirror.
Bessie used to have a mirror in her room. She had to get rid of it after she punched it while having a mental breakdown and shattered the entire thing. She remembered all the heads peeking out of the other rooms as she walked the broken thing to the dumpster outside.
Bessie felt Jane and Anne’s eyes on her as she trudged into one of the open showers. Their conversation resumed after she turned on the faucet, thinking the sputtering of the showerhead would drown out their words, but Bessie could still faintly hear them.
“…She’s so weird.”
“…Yeah. I’m surprised the counselor hasn’t called her in yet.”
“…They haven’t already? Damn. I thought literally everyone telling them about how she cries herself to sleep at night would be enough.”
“…Clearly it’s not. I kinda feel bad for her.”
“…Yeah, me too.”
Their gossiping whispers disappeared as they seemed to exit the bathroom, and Bessie was left in silence once again.
But only for a moment.
“You wanted attention, didn’t you?” Said The Beast. Even with the spraying water, Bessie could still hear it so clearly. Probably because its voice came from inside her head, and it wouldn’t quiet down no matter how hard she covered her ears.
“Not like this,” Bessie muttered. She stared down at her naked body, at the slimness of her sides, at the sunkenness of her stomach, at the cuts marring her stomach and thighs. She splayed her hands open in front of her and looked at the scoring on her wrists, the point system of her constant losing battles. She clenched her fists.
“Be grateful,” Said The Beast. “They could ignore you. And don’t say you would want that because I know how you react to being shunned.” Even though she couldn’t see it behind the curtain, Bessie knew it was smirking. “You would be alone with me.”
Bessie grit her teeth. “Shut up.”
She roughly grabbed a bottle of vanilla milk and papaya shampoo and squirted way too much into her hand. She began scrubbing it violently into her hair, making sure to rake her nails down her scalp so she could feel the pain.
Hey, at least she was bathing. Her hair had been a greasy mess for about two weeks now.
“They can ignore you, but you can’t ignore me,” The Beast said. “I’ll always be here, darling. I’m your best friend. I’m your only friend.”
“Shut up!” Bessie yelled, yanking back the shower curtain and flinging the shampoo bottle at the mirror The Beast was reflected in. At the same time, Anya Askew entered the bathroom with her showering supplies and gave Bessie an extremely confused and concerned look.
Bessie jerked the curtain back so only her head and shoulders could be seen. “Umm-- S-sorry, I was--” She glanced at the mirror, and Anya’s eyes followed, but she knew she couldn’t see The Beast smirking in the glass. “Thought I saw a spider! G-guess I was wrong! S-sorry!” She wrenched the curtain shut completely and backed up against the wall, covering her face with her hands.
“I don’t even need to ruin your life,” The Beast said, sounding like it was right behind her. “You do it for me. You make my job so easy.”
Bessie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a few tears stream free. She sniffled and swiped them away quickly. She couldn’t cry this early in the day. She needed to retain some shred of dignity.
Turning her attention back to the shower, Bessie began scrubbing her body with apple-scented soap, wincing when any open cuts on her skin stung in reaction to the chemicals. The scars, those that hadn’t scabbed over yet, were still gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. The faint paint they caused brought a dull sense of clarity within Bessie.
God. How much more of a freak could she be? Was she some kind of masochist or something?
No… No, she only liked pain when it was self-inflicted. She didn’t like when it was put upon her by someone else. He proved that.
She shook her head, sending a scatter of water droplets flying throughout the small space. She twisted underneath the hot water, washing off all the soaps and suds still clinging to her frame.
She was clean once again.
“Or as clean as a teenage whore could be…”
Bessie just barely managed to bite back a yell, remembering that Anya was still in there with her. So, instead, she just closed her eyes and breathed out heavily.
After drying herself off and wriggling into her clothes for the day- grey sweatpants and a plain black sweater- Bessie stepped out into the rest of the bathroom. Even with the mirror completely fogged up, she could still see The Beast’s red eyes glinting at her hungrily as she walked to one of the sinks.
“You’re beautiful,” The Beast cooed, materializing in the mirror over the sink she was using.
“Shut up.” Bessie growled, thinking that Anya couldn’t hear her because of the running water.
“I’m just complimenting you,” The Beast said innocently. “You should thank me.”
Bessie glared down at the sink as she began brushing her teeth with so much force her gums began to bleed. She spit bloody toothpaste foam into the drain before washing it out, gathering her things, and storming out of the bathroom. She faintly heard The Beast chuckling deeply before the door shut.
Once back in her door room, Bessie put her showering supplies back in their place and set her pajamas on the couch for later. She brushed out her long black hair, not caring if it was dripping wet, and then gathered her school supplies, put on her glasses, and left the dorm building.
Upon stepping outside, Bessie’s glasses instantly fogged up. She took them off while walking forward, wiping away the cloudiness until they were clear again. She put them back on and saw a black truck sitting by the curb.
Bessie froze.
All the dorm buildings on Princeton University were further away from the main campus, fenced in by brick walls and a gothic-looking gate. That meant that, unless Bessie wanted to try and scale the walls, she only had one way out. And she would have to pass the truck to do that.
Gathering up all her courage, Bessie began striding towards the gate. There were kids already outside in the courtyard, surely He wouldn’t try anything…
Her confidence disappeared completely when she crossed the threshold, and Bessie fought the urge to turn and run back to the safety of her dorm. She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry as she walked by the truck. The windows were so tinted that she couldn’t see inside, but she knew He was looking back at her.
The truck rumbled to life upon her crossing the street. Bessie didn’t run, knowing that running would only make Him chase her. Maybe He would just go away if she moved slowly and acted like she didn’t care…
A tear ran down her cheek as the truck began rolling along behind her. She turned sharply and walked up a short flight of stairs that led up the curve of a small hill. Princeton University’s sprawling, plant-filled campus was then stretched out to her, but not even its thriving beauty could calm her nerves.
Bessie walked faster, keeping her head down. She knew she should be monitoring the truck, but she didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t want to risk seeing Him.
She tried to distract herself by looking around. The lush, healthy emerald green grass was sprinkled with early morning snow, glinting softly in the pale light slipping down from the blanket of grey clouds in the sky. It was too dull for shadows to be cast, and yet a dark shade grew from her feet and smiled at her wickedly.
“Come to me, darling,” The Beast said.
Bessie jerked sideways and ran right into someone without even realizing it. She heard a grunt and instantly tottered backwards, apologies spilling from her lips.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry! I-I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Please don’t hurt me…
The person she had rudely bummed into stepped back, blinking brown eyes that were so dark they looked like pieces of ebony infused in their skull. Bessie realized it was a woman a year or two older than her, and she was the most beautiful person she had ever laid eyes on.
Internalized homophobia had always been one of the many problems Bessie had, but not even THAT could disagree that this was the most gorgeous human being to ever grace the earth.
She was a dark-skinned woman, tall and muscular, looking like she was capable of crushing Bessie’s skull between her thighs like it was a watermelon, and Bessie found herself longing for that to happen, and not just because she was suicidal. Her short dark brown hair was cut into a style that screamed ‘I AM NOT STRAIGHT!!’, tucked gently into a vermillion beanie, which only fueled Bessie’s hope that her gaydar wasn’t messing up. She was dressed in black jeans and a red-and-black flannel, which had its ends tied together over her stomach. When she spoke up, her voice was husky and warm, tinged with a German accent.
“You’re good,” The woman said. “No worries!” She smiled down at Bessie, but it disappeared in almost an instant. “Hey, are you alright?”
Bessie sniffled, and she realized there were a lot more tears than she had thought. She opened her mouth, lips quivering, and pointed to the truck nearby without even thinking her decision through.
“Th-that truck,” She whimpered out. “I-it’s following me.”
Bessie expected the woman to dismiss her panic, saying something like, ‘there’s trucks everywhere!’ or ‘how do you know for sure that it’s following you?’, but instead she glared at the truck and flipped the driver off as it sped away.
“Fucking creep,” The woman muttered. She turned back to Bessie, looking concerned, and set a hand on her shoulder. When Bessie flinched at the contact, she respectfully pulled her arm away, and Bessie cursed her instinct to recoil at any touch because she really wanted this woman to touch her (just not like that, not like that--). “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Bessie said, quickly wiping away the tears that were still on her cheeks. “Th-thank you.”
The woman smiled that beautiful smile again. “No problem!” She seemed to sense that Bessie was still on edge because she then said, “Would you like me to walk you to class?”
Bessie looked surprised, but nodded fervently. “Y-yes. Please.”
The woman nodded and began walking with Bessie, scanning around the area as if she were a guard dog. “I’m Anna, by the way.”
“Bessie,” Bessie said.
“Bessie?” Anna echoed.
Bessie blushed faintly. “It’s silly, isn’t it? It’s the 21st-century, who names a kid ‘Bessie’ if they aren’t a cow?” She gave a small laugh, shifting her belongings in her arms. “Umm-- My real name is Elizabeth.”
“I think Bessie is cute.” Anna commented.
The blush turned from a light pink to a deep, dark red in an instant. Bessie’s pale skin definitely didn’t help make it any less noticeable.
“R-really?” Bessie stammered, wide-eyed.
“Yeah!” Anna nodded, grinning. “It’s impossible to create a nickname for my name unless it’s the dumb ‘Anna Banana’ one.”
Bessie giggled. “What about ‘Annie’?”
Anna thought it over, then tipped her head at Bessie with a smile. “I like Annie, actually. Good thinking, Bessie.”
Bessie’s ears felt like they were on fire, but, for once, it was in a good way. She couldn’t help but smile back shyly.
“Okay, so I actually have no idea where we’re going,” Anna admitted. “I’ve just been following you. I’m new here.”
“Oh,” Bessie said, nodding. “That explains why I’ve never seen you before. Where’d you come from?”
“Düsseldorf, Germany,” Anna said, which explained the really attractive accent. Bessie’s face burned even hotter. “I’m living in an apartment down the road. I prefer to have my own personal bathroom.”
Bessie giggled. “I get that. Living in a dorm has its perks, though.”
“Really? Like what?”
Bessie was silent. “Hang on, I’ll think of something…”
Anna laughed loudly, and Bessie couldn’t help but join in.
“You’re funny, Bessie,” Anna said as they got near the math building. “I like you.”
Bessie faltered. “R-really?”
“Really!” Anna said, then tilted her head. “You seem surprised.”
“Oh, no, I-I just--” Bessie trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to spill stupid stuff and ruin her friendship with this woman. She shook her head. “Nothing. Nevermind.” She looked at the large building looming over her. “Well. This is my stop. Thank you again for helping me. I had a really good time talking to you.”
“I did too,” Anna smiled. “See you around, Bessie.” She gave a saluting goodbye before turning and walking down the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets.
Bessie watched her go, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Not even the frigid wind could cool down the heat on her face.
“Bye,” She whispered long after Anna had walked away.
#ice skater au#six the musical#six the musical au#six the musical fanfic#six the musical fanfiction#six the musical fic#bessie on the bass#anna of cleves#banna#bessie x cleves#cleves x bessie#mary boleyn#meg tudor#jane parker#christina of denmark#anya askew#anne parr#sixtended verse#tw: self harm
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Just Roommates. Chapter 27.
Series Summary: These two college friends have had years to grow together. Each being the others support system, adventure buddy, movie night partner, and dorky roommates. That is until things start coming to a new light in their relationship. At least for him… Is there something else there? Is it possible? Were these feelings always there?
Pairing: (Modern) Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warning: Fluff, Adulting, sexy-times mentions, language.
Word Count: 2700+
A/N: This is a very simple chapter, but I needed it for the next chapter:) Hope you enjoy!!
Chapter 27:
"That's perfect right there! Thank you!"
Y/N was instructing the movers bringing in the last of their furniture while her and Wanda started unloading items for the kitchen. Steve, Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Vision had all pitched in their cars as ways to help with moving the smaller boxes from their flat. Nat and Maria were going to be there within the next hour.
Bucky was out by the cars with Steve bringing in a few more hauls of the boxes.
"So, when's the engagement party?" Steve asked.
"I honestly think Y/N's just going to count this move in party as the engagement party. She's not one for all the formal events. Which I'm perfectly fine with," Bucky smiled, re-adjusting his grip on the larger box as they walked up the porch.
"Really? How are we supposed to get you two gifts if we didn't know this was the engagement party?" Steve asked.
"Don't act like you guys didn't all bring some housewarming gift. I saw you all casually trying to hide your little gift bags and stuff. Horrible hiding by the way," Bucky chuckled as Steve opened the door for to the two of them.
"Housewarming gifts are different from engagement gift," the blonde countered.
"I guess, but we really don't need anything. We just want to hang out with you guys in our new home. That's enough for us both," Bucky shrugged, putting the boxes down and turning to see Wanda and Y/N laughing in the kitchen.
"You know, Bucky, just a year ago you would be all over the material things. Something I think Bonnie would have played a part in and also been ecstatic for," Steve smiled looking at his friend. "The fact that's not even a thought for you shows how lucky you got Buck. You and Y/N both got lucky."
Bucky couldn't looked away from Y/N. She was in her 'moving overalls' as she called them since apparently she had so many they all had a special purpose. Her hair was in a messy bun with a head scarf wrapped keeping her wayward curls out of her face. Failing at at its job, but still cute nonetheless. One of the overall shoulders wasn't hooked and was hanging off her shoulder. She was laughing and pointing something out to Wanda in the living room.
"I did get lucky. The woman has taught me more things than I cared to know existed. And because of that I'm a lot more content and happy with my life." Bucky sent a single nod and smile after making eye contact with Y/N who blushed and winked back at him. "I'm on a high Steve, and I haven't fell from it in 6+ months."
"I feel you brother," Steve said squeezing Bucky's shoulder.
"You feel me?" Bucky said with a small laugh knowing Steve was as single as could be. "How do you-" When Steve's reaction was just a dopey smile as if he were lost in space, Bucky's eyebrows shot up. "You punk! You're seeing someone and you didn't tell me?!"
"Hey, hey. Quiet!" Steve said, putting his hands out in surrender. "I-I just wanted to see how things would go and didn't want anyone to get their hopes up, but... Yeah... There's a girl."
"Steve, that's amazing!" Bucky said, pulling him into a hug. "How long?"
"Remember Dr. Erskine from your charity gala?" Bucky nodded. "One of his shadows for his work happens to be in the geriatric field, and he mentioned the senior home to her. She came by for a visit to see the home for some research and we kinda hit it off." Steve had a blush creeping up his neck and was rubbing the back of it in nerves.
"Well, what's her name? What was she doing research for? How old is she? Blonde or Brunette? Or maybe redhead-" Bucky started spouting out questions.
"Her name is Margaret, but she goes by Peggy. She does different funding for senior homes and is doing research in veterans history. She's trying to write a book right now about different stories of WWII vets and Vietnam vets. She's just a few years older than me," Steve answered with a laugh. "And brunette. The most beautiful brown hair and brown eyes I've ever seen on a woman..."
Bucky watched as Steve once again drifted into a dream world. He knew how that went considering it happened to him practically every time he thought of Y/N.
"I'm happy for you Stevie. And don't worry, I'll keep it on the down low. I know how important the beginning of a relationship is, and with our friend group, I'm not going to chance ruining that," Bucky laughed half joking, half being serious.
"You can tell Y/N. Just Y/N though," Steve laughed.
"Ok, good. That was my next question..." Bucky grinned.
"Come on. Let's get you moved in," Steve nudged as they went back outside for another load.
___________
"Y/N, this place is going to be beautiful!" Nat said, raising her glass as the group of friends sat in the living room on the new furniture.
There were boxes scattered everywhere in their designated rooms, some opened but not unpacked. Only things out were some coasters for the end tables, and a few accent pillows that came with the couches today.
"It's true. I saw some of the decorations you have boxed up, and just by the looks of it this place is going to be stunning," Maria nodded, taking a sip of her wine.
"How many bedrooms?" Clinton budded in.
"Four including the master. So enough for you guys to crash if you ever get too drunk to leave," Bucky winked wrapping his arms around Y/N's middle on the chair they were snuggled into.
"Careful to make that offer. I may never leave," Sam laughed with a smirk.
"Everyone but you," Bucky said with a fake glare.
"You see how he treats me, Y/N? So mean and for no reason," Sam fake pouted.
"Oh, quit it you two. Always teasing the other until someone actually gets their feelings hurt," Y/N waved them off. "Sam, you are more than welcome to stay here when you want."
"Thank you," he said in a proud tone as if he won.
"Of course after day 3 there will be a rent fee," Y/N added with a smirk of her own as she took a long sip of her drink.
"Hey!" Sam said, choking on his drink a little.
"That's my girl," Bucky laughed.
"So what did you guys decide on for the flat? Are you going to sell it or..." Wanda asked turning to them from where she was sat by Vis.
"I'm going to rent it out for cheap to some college kids. No point in bumping the price when I don't really need the extra money. I remember how hard it was for people to find affordable housing during that time, and that way I can still keep it. It's already paid off," Bucky answered.
"That's a good idea and sweet of you. College me would have jumped for a place to stay like that for cheap," Nat nodded.
"Y/N thought of it. I was going to sell it, but made better sense to just rent it out," Bucky shrugged.
"Ok, enough boring adult talk! Tell us how it happened!" Maria jumped in.
"Gotta be more specific sis," Y/N laughed.
"The proposal! We've all seen the ring! Now give us the details!"
"Ok, ok. You wanna tell it or me?" Y/N turned to Bucky who just smiled and shrugged.
"We both can, but you start."
"Ok," she smiled before turning to the group. "So we came out here just to set up some lights and see the finished product of the house."
The rest of the story later, the girls were ooing and aweing at the sentiment. The men just grinning and sending smirks to Bucky for the romantic kind of man he apparently had been hiding from them.
After some more catching up, Y/N giving the girls room tours as well as sharing her decor ideas, while Bucky took the guys out and showed them the land and what they planned to build, the crew started packing up.
Bucky and Y/N said goodbye to everyone as they packed into their cars, and waved to them until they were out the driveway and headed back to the city.
Y/N let out a sigh and turned back to the house. Bucky followed and wrapped his arms around her as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
"We have a lot of unboxing to do," she said.
"Yep, but we unpacked a lot tonight. Let's save the rest for tomorrow."
"Yeah, ok." She turned back and gave him a hug as she fell into him. "I love you."
"I love you even more Y/N. Let's go to bed."
________
The next night, Bucky got a call from work saying they had a business trip that Stark had set up for the two to travel and speak with a few investors on some new projects. Something that was bound to take place in the merger. It just so happened to come up when the two were moving in and had a shit ton of boxes to unpack.
"How long?" Y/N asked once Bucky got done explaining Starks travel plans, and they unboxed some items for one of the guest rooms.
"Sounds like a couple of weeks. No more than two, hopefully only one," Bucky sighed. "I can see if I can make it shorter. I don't want to leave you to unpack all by yourself, and maybe the investors-"
"What are you talking about?" Y/N laughed, stopping and turning to Bucky from the bedside table she was organizing. "You don't have to make your work shorter just because I need help unpacking some boxes."
"Well, no, but-"
"I know what you're doing B. It's not going to work."
"I'm not doing anything..." Bucky mumbled, looking down at the bed frame he was currently screwing in the last few pieces into place for.
"You don't want to travel with Stark for up to two weeks, and you're using moving as an excuse. Nope. Nuh uh. You're going mister," she said matter a factly as she plugged in the bed side lamp and brushed her hands off.
"And what if I don't want to go cause I don't want to leave you?" Bucky said with a raised eyebrow standing up.
"It's your work Bucky. You're going to have to leave sometimes to take care of business." Her hands were crossed over her chest and hip popped. Bucky places his hands on his hips in an attempt to mock her sass.
"You want me out of the house or something?" he joked.
"No... I've just noticed you've been pushing work to the side, and trying to distract yourself from it and using the house as an excuse."
"I'm not-"
"James Buchanan Barnes. You have a huge, crazy busy, growing, multimillion dollar business to run. You can't keep distancing yourself from it just because you don't like Stark all that much," she said, taking a step closer and Bucky matched her.
He paused. She was right. He had been finding any excuse to work from home, or only going in during times Stark wasn't there. He still was extremely annoyed by the man, and the less time he spent with him the better. On the other hand he had been really excited about living with Y/N and being with her more now that they were engaged.
Screw knowing each other for years. The man was in the honeymoon phase still, and hadn't even glimpsed outside of the puppy love he had for her.
"But what if I don't want to..." he pouted moving closer and putting his hands on her hips as he pulled her in.
"Sucks. You're the big boss man whether you like it or not," she shrugged, still crossing her arms with a playful gleam in her eyes.
"You're kinda scary. You know that?" Bucky chuckled tilting his head to her.
"When I need to be, yes. That's not new news," she said with a sly smirk. "So on that note. Let's get you packed for your trip."
"But-"
"Nope! No excuses bossman!" she said walking out the door to their room.
_________
Y/N was right. This was a big opportunity for the business, and even though Bucky was getting comfortable spending his time with Y/n in their new house, and as a newly engaged couple, he did need to get out and actually work.
The trip ended up being a week and half. Y/N having to stay behind to handle some housing things like plumbing, gas, land surveying and all that fun stuff. That and she still had her job as a personal trainer/ yoga instructor, so she couldn't just up and leave with only a day's notice for almost two weeks.
The two facetimed and talked every night and day. Y/N showing him new places she had got around to decorating and layouts and ideas for the land.
What Bucky didn't know was that Y/N had the girls over almost every night to help her finish up unpacking and decorating before he came home. Sometimes Steve and Sam too if she needed some more heavy duty help.
"Y/N, this is all so stunning. He's going to be so surprised when he gets home," Nat smiled as they all stood looking at the newly decorated home.
"Really? You think? It's not too much is it?" she questioned bringing her hand to her chin as she examined the room they were currently in.
"He's going to love it Y/N. Anything you do he loves, but this is crazy impressive," Steve added as he packed up his tool box. "You ever thought about interior design?"
"That's what Bucky said," Y/N laughed. "And now that I have so many people asking me that," she looked at Maria, Wanda, and Nat who had also been commenting on it all day, "It's starting to sound like a possible fun side-job."
"Well, I'll pay you to come revamp my apartment if you do anything close to this," Maria grinned, taking a swig from a beer bottle.
"You got it," Y/N laughed. "Ok, I need to go pick him up from the airport in about an hour, so I'm going to go get changed and do a few last minute things. Thanks again you guys for coming out here and helping."
"Anytime! Maria and I love the scenic drive here, and it gives us a chance to see your fucking gorgeous home," Nat smirked bumping her hip with Y/N.
"That and you know you can always call if you need a handy man when Bucks not here," Steve added, picking up the tool box.
"Thanks for that Stevie. I appreciate you," she said giving him a small peck on the cheek.
"Yeah, I'm just here for the free alcohol," Wanda teased as she downed the rest of her beer. "Helps when Nat's driving."
The crew laughed at the red head and started heading for the door.
"Let us know what he thinks! And when you guys are ready, we can have a housewarming party since it's all done!" Nat shouted as she walked to the car.
"Will do! Love you guys! Drive safe!" Y/N shouted and waved from the porch as they loaded up and made their way down the long driveway.
Once they were out of sight, Y/N turned to look at the finished product of their home. The lights on the porch were hung and turned on. The inside was lit up and bringing life and a sense of comfort to it.
"How did I get so lucky?" Y/N sighed as she thought about the life that was to come with her special person. All she had to do was pick him up from the airport, and yet another milestone would be made.
(Ok pictures are coming next chapter!)
Just Roommates:
@starfirerules @buckys-blunders @alexxcorona113 @tcc-gizmachine @vrgelivvvv @nighttwingg @firefly-in-darkness @mizzzpink @poppunkdork @nerdygirlwithacrush @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @ellaenchanted91 @sebbbystaaan
Marvel Tags:
@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @zeilenkrieg @lizzymacy555 @iheartsebastianstan @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd
My Lovelies forever:
@natura1phenomenon @lauravic @traceyaudette @kakakatey @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @snffbeebee @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @naomi02hook @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes au series#justkending#bucky barnes roommate su#marvel#marvel au#marvel roommate au#Winter Soldier#winter soldier au#bucky barnes x reader
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Bad Decisions
Reader x Francis ‘Ajax’ Freeman (Deadpool)
Summary: You were one of ‘The Workshop’s’ experiments however all that was behind you until you come home to find a certain manufactured mutant bad guy sitting on your couch looking for information.
Author’s note: So I recently rewatched Deadpool and had forgotten how much I loved Francis/Ajax in this movie and then this idea took hold and I couldn’t let it pass. Sorry if you are subscribed just for the Steve content but I’m experimenting with branching out a little. If you enjoy this and would like more please let me know. Suggestions for content are always graciously accepted.
You had never expected to see him again. After all, you had kept up your side of the bargain.
Five years.
Five years chained and collared to a purpose you couldn’t care about. Five years fighting a battle in which you had no vested interest, except to make it back each time in one piece.
When your time had finally come and your debt repaid you bent that silver collar until you had felt it snap-in on itself with a satisfying crack. Freedom had never felt so good.
But as it turned out old habits were hard to break and despite the yearning, you felt to return to the normal life you found yourself feeling something missing, and that was how you had found yourself dipping your toe into that life again. You lied to yourself that it would be just one more job, just enough so that you had enough money to set yourself up then you would return to normal. You told yourself that this was different. You had the choice of what jobs you would take on, you were no longer anyone's puppet. You were crafting your own path and direction, just not the one you had ever thought you would.
Besides ‘normal’ was no longer part of our vocabulary, and when curiosity had gotten the better of you you had discovered that 6 years missing was as good as dead to those you had left behind. You didn’t belong there anymore.
You closed the door of your apartment behind you eyes closing as you leant your head against the door. All you could think about was running your bath and slipping into the warm water, allowing it to ease your aching muscles. Perhaps even opening that bottle of wine you had been saving, a thank you of sorts from a pleased client who happened to own a renowned vineyard as a side project.
But it seemed that there was to be a change of plans when you saw the very man who had started this all, sitting casually on your sofa as if he owned it.
Fucking Ajax.
And he had opened that bottle of wine.
Your eyes flicked to the knife block that sat on the kitchen counter, while your hand remained on the doorknob. He took his time taking a sip from the glass in his hand before placing it calmly on the coffee table, your coffee table.
There were two clear options, fight or flight. Neither one was particularly appealing. But you were damned if you were going to let them take you in again, turn you back into a slave.
“I’m not here for a fight, Sweetheart.” He said calmly, as he rose from the couch and instinctively you edged your back against the door.
He held up his hands, showing that he had no weapon. Like he needed one. You had seen first hand that his body itself was enough of a weapon. You had wondered whether lacking the ability to feel he had become more machine than man.
“So why are you here then?” You ask, trying to steady your breathing as he continues to advance towards you, his stance open and inviting as if you were friends. But you can see the calculation in his eyes, watching your movements closely, ready for you to run.
“Can’t a doctor check-in with his favourite patient?” He asks with a quirk of his eyebrow and you let out a laugh. Unable to remain silent on the absurdity of the whole situation. “Share a drink reminisce?”
“One, calling yourself a doctor is a little generous don’t you think? And, two, I am far from your favourite patient.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” he replies with a smile, his eyes roaming over your body in a way you haven't noticed before. A way that creates a tangle of heat in the base of your stomach.
You focus again, pushing any of those ‘notions’ from your mind and coming back to the fact that he has advanced again, only a mere steps away and you still don’t have a plan, your gaze was drawn back to the knife block, out of reach.
“But maybe it is a little more than that.”
Of course, it is.
“Someone has been looking for me,” his jaw clenches and you revel a little in the thought that something has managed to get under his skin, “a frustrating little worm in a black and red suit.”
Now that rings a bell, in fact, the other night while you had been at Sister Margaret’s a man in one of those ridiculous superhero costumes had been asking around for someone. Swearing about revenge and retribution for what someone had done to him. You hadn’t paid too much attention, the bar usually attracted a few crazies in amongst the regulars but this one had been particularly determined to find a man called ‘Francis’.
“Wait, you’re Francis?” It was starting to come together now. He must have been part of the project as well, it was not surprising that Ajax was on someone’s kill list. You ruin numerous lives it is bound to catch up with you sooner or later.
“You’re the guy he is looking for?”
With that last question, the smirk is wiped from his face. His enhanced reflexes allow him to move quickly to box you in, his arms braced on either side of your body up against the door. His eyes dark as he stares you down.
Your heart is beating wildly and you struggle to maintain your focus. If you are to have any chance of surviving this encounter you need to remain calm.
“He was here?” There is a distinctive edge to his voice now, the casual friendliness no longer present.
“No,” you say, quickly shaking your head. “Not here. At that bar on the other side of the city, the dodgy one with the smart-arse bartender. It’s a good place to pick up jobs.” You explain quickly your mouth running away from you. Hoping that once you let him know that his trip to your apartment has proved fruitless that he will leave and you can start to immediately look for another apartment.
But he doesn’t shift his stance, leaving you blocked and trapped. His head tilts as he looks over you, and you feel even more nervous under his gaze.
“Still making use of those gifts then,” he smiles as his finger traces over your shoulder, travelling down your arm in a movement so slow and delicate it’s intention is explicit.
"Maybe you should give me a little demonstration?" He cocks his head to the side, examining you looking for a sign of weakness or hesitation, you refuse to give him the opportunity.
"How do you know I'm not already?" you quirk your eyebrow as your fingers twist just slightly. Your breathing remains controlled as you speak, taking satisfaction in the confusion in his eyes.
"Sometimes I forget that you can't feel anything. Not even the knife I've currently got pointed at your back. In between your L1 and L2 vertebrae if I 'm correct, but then again I'm not the doctor here. Now maybe this knife isn’t sharp enough on it’s own, but I’m sure I can put enough telekinetic energy behind it to sever your spinal cord."
Instead of retreating or freezing in place, he lets out a laugh.
“You have changed haven’t you?” You freeze as his fingers trace across your cheek, “Where is my timid little mouse?”
You turn your face away, breaking the contact as it stirs feelings you are not in the mood to confront tonight.
“She was lost after that first kill.” You admit, even though it was a blur, you remembered the look in their eyes as life fled their body as the results of your actions. A simple twist of your fingers had been all it took to snap a neck.
“Would you kill me?” amusement tinges his voice which makes you blood boil urging you to push the knife further.
“If I had to.” You tell him, even though the simple answer should be yes. Those years were stolen. Even though they were years that you would have never had otherwise. Ajax or Francis had always been an enigma to you. Never giving anything away of himself during your sessions.
You rise to your toes so that you can attempt to match his height. “You don’t hold the power here, not anymore.”
A smile broadens across his lips as he looks almost impressed.
“You know it wasn’t a complete lie when I said you were my favourite patient. Quiet, yes, but one of those spirits that are hard to break, I had to work hard to trigger that mutation. I had thought maybe after your mutation that you may work beside me, at the Workshop.” He sighed, “But a telekinesis mutation, much too valuable on the private market. Not that you have suffered for it. It looks good on you. And now that you are a free agent.”
You search his eyes for what was the truth and they were just as cold and unreadable as ever. Could he actually be deluded enough to think that you would join him?
“Drop the knife, Sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear and you are reminded of all the times he would call you that, even before he snapped the cold metal collar around your neck as you were delivered to who would be your handler.
‘That’s it, Sweetheart, hold still for me.’ The last thing you heard until your surroundings before everything became faded and blurred.
“Or I can make you drop it,” he warns.
You want to laugh at his continued blind confidence in his own abilities even in his vulnerable position. But you are cut off by his lips pressing against your own.
Even though you could feel the tension in the air, his kiss takes you by surprise. It may have been unexpected but it is in no way unpleasant, and you can chastise yourself later on your poor decision making as you move your lips against his.
You hear the knife clatter to the floor, your concentration is broken, as his hand grips your hip.
You can still taste the wine on his lips as your tongue darts out to trace across his bottom lip.
You should stop this, should push him away from you with your mind or body, whichever feels like cooperating, but there is a part of you that craves this. Perhaps the part of yourself that was twisted and moulded by the Workshop itself.
Besides, it’s been a while since you made an epically bad decision. You are well overdue.
#reader x ajax#reader x francis freeman#francis 'ajax' freeman#ajax imagine#francis freeman imagine#deadpool2016#imagines
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Good Things Come to Those Who Talk
It’s been a long time since I’ve written, but the muse visited this week, so here is a fluffy and smutty Captain Swan one shot. I’m sure this trope has been written one millions ways, here is one million and one. Hope you like it. Although I am not around as much as I used to be, CS still remains my OTP and always will.
ao3 ffnet rated M 8.9K
Summary: Emma Swan is so over her brother, he warns every cop he knows to stay away from her. She's pined for so long though, she wants Killian Jones, it's just double bad luck that he's a cop and he happens to be David's partner. She decides her brother's wrath is worth the risk to find out if there's something more for her and Killian. Now all she needs is a new dress and a plan.
“Emma Swan, you little slut! What has gotten into you?” Ruby screeched as Emma pulled the door to her home open.
“Is it too much?” Emma asked with just a touch of hysteria coloring her voice. She hurried back to her bedroom to give herself the once over… again. Running her hands down the newly purchased, skin tight, black mini dress, she followed each and every curve that was on full display.
“Girl, I would do you if I didn’t already have a girlfriend.”
“Not helping, Ruby!”
“Emma, you look fucking hot, there is not a man on earth that could turn you down in that.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she mumbled under her breath. Tonight was the night. She’d danced around the longing and heat between her and Killian Jones for long enough. She’d been pining for this man for longer than she could remember, half the time they spent together felt like they were a couple anyway. She already knew her stupid brother, David, had warned Killian Jones to stay away from her, but there was nothing stopping her from putting the moves on Killian Jones. She just hoped Ruby was right, that no man would be able to resist her, including the one who’d been threatened with death if he so much as laid one finger on her. Emma was undeniably hoping for far more than one finger. A shiver jolted through her and she was brought back to the present.
“Someone’s got it baaaad,” Ruby teased. “You gonna make your move tonight?”
“That’s the plan,” Emma said as she grabbed her knee length black leather jacket and tied it closed. She pulled her flowing, golden tresses from the jacket and tossed them over her shoulders.
“Well then let’s get this party started!” With that, Ruby grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her back to the front of the house and out the door.
The Rabbit Hole was their favorite local pub, and the only place to celebrate the hot shot detectives who’d made the biggest bust this city had ever seen. Of course it was the hot shot team of Detectives Nolan and Jones to bring down the infamous Robert “The Deal Maker” Gold and his outfit of miscreants. Earlier this morning, both men had received the Medal of Valor, for extraordinary acts of bravery and heroism, performed in the line of duty at extreme life-threatening, personal risk, their Captain had said.
Emma remembered that day three weeks ago, when she’d received the call from her sister-in-law. The baby had been wailing in the background as Mary Margaret had tried to tell Emma, through choked sobs that David was in the hospital. No doubt the little guy had been so upset because his mama was having a justified meltdown.
When Emma had arrived, Killian was in the waiting room, a little bloodied, bruised, and banged up, but he’d insisted on waiting for her before letting the doctors examine him. He’d wanted to let her know that David was in surgery, but he’d be okay, and Mary Margaret had just left to drop her two year old off at Belle’s so he didn’t have to wait in the ER. It wasn’t until Killian’s body had slumped against hers that Emma realized he wasn’t doing as well as he’d pretended. She’d found out later, Killian had been hit by Gold’s car as the fiend had tried to make a run for it.
Emma doesn’t like to think about the panic she’d felt as he was hauled behind the swinging doors of the ER. She doesn’t like to remember the tears that had fallen when the thought that she’d never gotten to tell him how she felt for him, crossed her mind. She especially doesn’t like to think about how he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks now, and she’d still been too chicken shit to even ask him out on a date, let alone tell him that she’s crazy about him.
Once Killian’s internal bleeding had stopped and he was cleared to go home, she’d helped him convalesce through a dislocated shoulder and severely bruised ribs. He’d gotten remarkably lucky considering he was hit by a car. Hours of flirting and bantering, movies on his couch, meals together, and she hadn’t scraped together the courage to tell him how she felt. She’d picked him up and attended the medal pinning with him today, and still she couldn’t find any words to tell him how she felt. When he’d come down off the stage, walked toward her and scooped her up into a bear hug, all she’d come up with was how proud she was of him. Even though it was true, there was so much more she wanted to say. And she’d known long before any of this had happened, she’d just never considered moving past her fear of rejection or risking their friendship for a chance at something more until she’d felt like she might lose him.
That thought made her feel pretty shitty. But that’s when she’d decided a few things. Emma Swan was shit with words. Actions speak louder than words. Tonight was the night. And she needed a new dress.
Taking a deep breath as the car pulled into the parking lot, to center her thoughts, fortify her determination, and get her collective shit together, Emma stepped out of Ruby’s car with something akin to hope.
Upon entering the noisy bar, she searched for the woman who’d be lending her an assist tonight. Regina and her husband Robin, a retired police officer, now owned this bar. They were close personal friends with Emma’s brother’s family, as David’s former partner, and by extension, with the whole group. Regina would be the one taking care of their party tonight. Emma needed to square some drinking details away with the woman and then she’d be mission ready. After talking to Regina, she glanced around the crowded bar, searching for the man of the hour. Whatever confidence or hope had been building, promptly deflated as she located Killian, only to find him sitting at the bar with some handsy redhead whispering in his ear.
“Emma!” She heard Mary Margaret’s voice call out from across the bar, but she couldn’t turn, she was transfixed, watching as the woman ran a finger along Killian’s jawline. It gave her just an ounce of pleasure when he removed her hand from his vicinity and placed it on the bar. The mystery woman was undeterred though as she placed her hand on his chest next.
Mary Margaret called her name again, louder this time, and Emma noticed it caught Killian’s attention as he began to scan the bar. When his eyes met hers, they immediately lit up and he mouthed the word help, with desperation in his every feature. Emma’s confidence restored, she sashayed toward him with renewed determination.
Goddamn, she thought as she appreciated how Killian’s royal blue button down shirt and black slacks were tailored to his body. She bit down on her lip when she noted that he definitely had his customary one too many buttons undone and was displaying that magically delicious thatch of chest hair she’d imagined running her hands through just a couple times. Sauntering right in between the two, she settled in the spot of his perpetually manspread legs and placed her palms on his thighs, leaving her back to the other woman.
“Hey Sexy, where’ve you been all my life?” she asked in the sexiest tone she could muster while also trying not to crack up as she laid it on thick for the woman trying to steal her man. What?
“Right here, waiting for you, love,” Killian answered, wrapping an arm around her waist. The man didn’t miss a beat.
Emma couldn’t be bothered to feel bad as she rubbed her palms over his muscular thighs which currently rested on her hips. She had a mission tonight, and this floozy behind her had been throwing herself at Killian.
“I’m so lucky someone didn’t come and scoop you up before I got here.”
Emma almost melted when he came right back with, “No one else is you.”
She knew this man, had known him for several years. She knew when he was playing a long con, when he was bullshitting, when he was joking, when he was serious, and when he was sincere. Her heartbeat stuttered as his earnest expression dared her to believe him. Just at that moment, the drinks Killian had ordered arrived. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the three beer bottles in one hand and taking his hand in her other.
“Let me order a couple more, now that the rest of you are here.”
Emma leaned in to whisper in his ear, “And leave you at the mercy of Hands, I don’t think so.” If she wasn’t mistaken, Killian actually shivered, and she wondered how bad it had gotten before she’d arrived. When she stepped back though, she noticed a bright flush along Killian’s cheeks, and she wondered if she wasn’t causing that shiver and blush. “I’ll order when the server comes around.”
Emma was positively rippling with anticipation of what Killian would think of her dress as they walked over to the private room Mary Margaret had reserved for tonight. The bar had several private rooms off each corner of the bar, they were a little less noisy, and perfect for celebratory drinks. This one had a large round booth and table in it, so Emma slid in next to her brother, pulling Killian in behind her. Strategically speaking, she was hoping David couldn’t stare daggers at Killian from this angle, like he always did when Emma and Killian were hanging out and getting too close for his comfort. She didn’t need her stupid brother ruining her plans.
“Here love, you can have this beer,” Killian offered as they sat down.
“That’s okay, I can wait for the server.” Emma was not in the mood to get drunk, at least not drunk for real. “Are Will and Belle still coming tonight?” Emma asked as she untied her jacket and leaned forward to take it off while still seated in the confines of the booth.
Killian audibly choked on the swig of beer he’d been taking when he caught a glimpse of all the skin Emma was now showing. One false move and there could be a nip slip, really.
“Hey, Jones, you okay there buddy? Emma, quick, give him mouth to mouth, he’s choking,” she harassed.
Emma shot her a look before slapping Killian on the back a couple times. “My ribs,” he croaked once he’d finished hacking and coughing.
Emma preened as she noticed he still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You gonna be okay?” she asked, turning fully toward Killian as she soothingly rubbed her hand along his rib cage.
“Love your new dress, Ems,” Ruby exclaimed, adding fuel to multiple fires.
“New dress? Are you sure you got the whole thing?” David fumed. “Looks more like a tank top to me. And yes, to answer your question from before, Will and Belle are coming, their Lyft was running late.”
Emma looked over her shoulder to scowl at her brother, and he scowled right back. “I happen to like this dress, David,” she said, saying his name as pettily as any sister could, “what about you Killian. Do you like my new dress?”
Killian’s hand immediately shot up to scratch behind his ear, but before he could even speak a word, David leaned forward, peered around Emma and stared those oh so familiar daggers at Killian.
“Oh stop it, David,” Mary Margaret chided her husband.
“Oi mates, hope you didn’t start the party without me,” Will shouted as he and Belle entered the room. He and Belle scooted into the booth next to Ruby and Mulan, and Emma was thankful they’d arrived before David could start ranting about not wanting his sister to date a cop.
Emma, Mary Margaret, Belle, and Ruby had all been promised a play by play of the Gold bust now that the case was finalized, Gold had been sentenced, and everyone was healed. Will and Mulan hadn’t been injured, but they’d been part of the task force, and instrumental in the take down. Emma tried not to concentrate too hard on the fact that she was the only female here who wasn’t technically a significant other. Besides, maybe that would change after tonight.
A round of shots was ordered to start the evening and Regina brought them to the table, handing a shot of rum to each guest. They toasted to the takedown of the felon who had run rampant like a virus, for far too long. The story was intense to be sure, and a second round of shots was ordered to toast the health and safety of David, Killian, Mulan, and Will.
When the live band started, they headed for the dance floor and Emma was thankful to have a bit of privacy, albeit in the middle of a crowded dance floor, with Killian. “You cut quite the figure in that dress,” he whispered into her ear.
The band was covering a latin number and Emma melted as Killian pulled her in close. His left hand was on the small of her back and the other held her free hand. Her free hand rested on his chest, right at the juncture of his too unbuttoned shirt.
“I don’t know exactly how to do this… dance,” Emma mumbled as Killian began to move his feet. They were connected at their hips as they swayed with the beat.
“It’s called a mambo; there’s only one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”
She’d danced with him before and it never ceased to amaze her how well the man could move his body. If he was this fluid and skilled while dancing, what could he do in bed?
“I can see your mind working, Swan. What are you thinking about?”
Emma tried to stop the blush, but she’d definitely been caught ogling him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Perhaps I would,” he admitted while sweeping a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You are blushing,” he added as he trailed the finger down her cheek.
“I was just thinking, if you’re this good on the-” Emma’s breath was knocked from her as David and Mary Margaret careened into them.
“Hey guys,” David shouted over the music, “time for shots.”
Emma just barely stopped herself from yelling at her brother to stop being a cockblock. Instead, she settled for stomping on his foot as she led Killian off the dancefloor. They all lined up at the bar and Regina doled out more shots.
“I’m ready to go home,” Emma slurred into Killian’s shoulder several hours later. “Take me home?”
“Aye, love.”
“I thought Ruby was your ride,” David interrupted.
“No can do, Davey,” Ruby mumbled. “Me and my baby are staying at the hotel across the street so we don’t have to drive and we don’t have to come back for the car tomorrow.
“We will take you home,” David proclaimed, as if someone had died and made him king.
“That’s ridiculous, we’re already taking Belle and Will home,” Mary Margaret told her husband. “Killian hasn’t been drinking for the last two hours, he can take Emma home.”
“Bu-” David started.
“I know we have five seats, but we don’t need to squish five adults into them, when Killian can give Emma a ride.”
Emma snickered at the way Mary Margaret effortlessly handled David.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” David muttered.
After the group said their goodbyes, Emma let Killian lead her to his truck. She pretended to need much more help getting in than she really did. Under the guise of being drunk, Emma found she was much braver. If he turned her down, she could always pretend she was so drunk she didn’t remember, and if he was a gentleman, which he was, he’d never mention it.
Reaching across the space between them, Emma brushed the hair away from his forehead. “I was so worried about you when you were in the hospital,” she whispered, making sure to slur a word here and there.
“I’m sorry I worried you, lass, but you needn’t worry about me.”
“I do worry about you, Killian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well, in your inebriated state, I’m sure it��s hard to imagine, but I am sure you’d manage.”
“What a horrible thing to say! I would not be okay if I lost you, I would never be okay.”
Killian clasped his hand over hers, which had been idly stroking his cheek. “Shhh, love, there’s no need to discuss this topic anyway. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s surviving.”
Killian pulled into her driveway and hastily exited to help her down from the truck. She definitely put more weight on him than was strictly necessary and sloppily handed him the keys to unlock her door.
“Someone is going to be feeling like shite in the morning,” Killian laughed.
Emma played it up, and allowed Killian to get Tylenol and water for her as she stripped out of her dress and hopped into her bed.
“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” he checked as he set her hangover supplies on her nightstand.
Emma caught his hand as he went to put it in his pocket. “Stay with me?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Please,” Emma asked sweetly, looking up at him with all the hope she felt inside written clearly on her face.
Killian exhaled a long sigh as only a man who knows he’s lost can. Circling around the bed, he started to climb in behind her.
“You’re not going to sleep in jeans, are you?”
“I don’t exactly have sleepwear at my disposal, Swan. And you’re sleeping in your dress.”
Emma laughed at that, that’s what he thinks. “Take off your jeans, boxer briefs are just like shorts.” She grinned triumphantly as she heard the metal of his belt and the rustling of pants being dropped.
Once he was settled in her bed, she turned over and snuggled against him. The groan he emitted when she did so shot a bolt of heat straight to her core. She knew he was just as affected as she was, and that was hot.
“Emma, please, you’re making it very hard fo-”
“That’s kinda the point,” she giggled, pressing her body against his and snaking her free hand into the opening of his shirt to rake it through his chest hair.
“Fuck me,” he muttered.
“Yeah?”
“Poor choice of words,” he corrected as he scooted away from her advances. “We can’t do this.”
Emma immediately felt the sting of his words in her chest, like someone was gripping her heart, or worse, like someone had taken it and she was hollow. A flurry of emotions ran through her as she tried to assure herself she still had her failsafe of “being drunk”. She searched for words. “Why? Because of my stupid brother?” she demanded, her voice a little more watery than angry.
“This has nothing to do with your brother, Swan.”
“Then… why?” Emma sat up in bed and pulled the blankets tightly around her body, as if they’d protect her from whatever hurtful reason he had for not wanting her.
“Because you’re drunk and-”
“Well-” Emma interrupted.
“No, wait, let me finish. Before I lose my nerve.”
Emma frowned at him, but complied by sitting quietly.
“You’ve been drinking all night love, and I would never forgive myself if I took advantage of you in this state and then you regretted it in the morning, if you regretted me. I… I’m crazy about you Emma, I have been for a long time. I don’t want a drunken one night stand with you, hell, I don’t want any kind of one night stand with you. I want… more.”
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she asked softly.
“Short answer? I’m a coward.”
“What if I want to know the extended version?” she asked as she patted the seat next to her and offered him part of the blankets so he could join her.
Killian got back into the bed and sat up against the headboard as Emma was. “I guess I’ve hid behind your brother’s warning to stay away from you. I mean, he’s not wrong, it can be a hard life being with a cop. Look what happened with Gold. I also worried about jeopardizing our friendship, especially if you didn’t feel the same way about me.”
“Why now?”
Killian chuckled before answering her. “You being drunk gives me the courage to say how I feel, because you might not even remember this in the morning.”
Emma dropped all pretense of being inebriated and leaned forward so she was looking straight into the depths of the eyes she dreamed about almost nightly. “Let’s get something straight, okay? I could never regret you, Killian Jones.” Placing a hand softly on his cheek, she smiled at the awestruck look on his face. “And also, I haven’t had a drink all night. I paid Regina to fill my shots with apple juice. I just needed the cover of liquid courage to try and seduce you because I am shit with words. And I figured if you didn’t feel the same, I could always pretend that I didn’t remember the next day.”
Killian’s warm laughter startled her a bit, but then she was laughing with him. “I usually have a flair with words, Swan, you just do something to me that brings me to my basest form. I’m a goner for you, and I wish I’d have told you sooner.”
“Well, get used to me not being great with words. I’m sort of caveman-like. I mean, I’m not gonna point and grunt, but I definitely use action over words. But if I can paraphrase a great wordsmith, ‘I’m crazy about you, Killian, I have been for a long time’.”
The smile that lit up Killian’s face, dimples and all, was worth the hell she was going to go through with David.
“In the spirit of full disclosure, I never got a chance to answer you at the bar. I love your new dress, may I see it again,” he asked, gently tugging at the blankets she’d wrapped around herself for protection a few moments ago.
“Hmmm, sorry, not right now...” Killian immediately dropped his hand from the blanket and began to tell her it’s okay, when she peeled away the blanket, and continued, “because I’m not wearing it anymore.”
“Fuck me,” he murmured before biting down on his lip hungrily.
“Still the plan.”
♡~♥~♡~♥~♡
“Stand up, love, let me see you.”
Emma complied, standing up and bearing herself to him. She was clad in nothing more than lacy, black panties and a matching bra. Watching as he perused every inch of her body, from the swell of her breasts, to her lean torso and soft belly, then down to the apex of her thighs, she could see his length swelling under his boxer briefs, and every part of her wanted him. Crooking her finger, she beckoned him to her, and it was his turn to comply.
Once Killian stood before her, Emma unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, to the floor. Then she did something that shocked her a little bit, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him close and just held him; he immediately reciprocated, both arms encircling her and bringing her close. The feelings they’d just spoken floated around them and flowed between them.
Threading her fingers into his hair, she guided his mouth to hers and kissed him, softly and exploratorily at first. But as lips gave way to caressing tongues, and roaming hands, heat built and Emma found herself panting and breathless.
Killian unclasped her bra and pulled it away and she was never more grateful for that barrier to be gone, as his chest hair delicately tightened her nipples and sent sparks shooting to her core. She wanted more and made it known by grabbing his ass with both hands and hauling him firmly to her. Killian glided his hands down her back and over her firm ass while sucking a nipple into his mouth. She moaned his name at the sensation of his wet mouth laving at her breasts, and his fingers and palms caressing the smooth expanse of her ass. Emma wanted that last barrier gone, she reached between them to remove first her panties and then finally his boxer briefs.
She was not disappointed when she finally got a look at what her Detective was packing. Emma licked her lips as his cock stood at full attention, straining with the need to be touched.
“See something you like, darling?”
There was that hint of cockiness that she loved so much. “Yeah,” she breathed as she dropped to her knees. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, Emma stroked up and down a few times, relishing in the hiss that left Killian’s mouth. When his head dropped back, she pounced, taking him deep and swallowing once, before pulling back and then setting a slow rhythmic pace.
Killian lifted her from her knees and attacked her mouth with kisses, between trying to speak, “You don’t have to do that.”
Emma pulled her head back to stare at this man in front of her. What guy turns down head? “I know I don’t have to, I was enjoying myself,” she said, then she pushed into his frame, guiding him backwards until he could sit at the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees again, and smirked before descending on him once more, but before she could even set a rhythm, he was halting her ministrations again.
“Okay, that’s twice. What’s up, Jones? Do you not enjoy getting head? Do I suck at it, and not in the good way?” Emma sat back on her calves, folding her arms around herself.
“On the contrary, you are magnificent at sucking my cock, Emma.”
She grinned mischievously at the compliment, a swarm of relief flooding her mind. “Then what gives?”
“I haven’t...” Killian trailed off, and an actual blush colored his cheeks as he tried to find the words he was looking for.
Emma put her hands on his knees and gently squeezed. “What is it? You can tell me.”
“I haven’t been with anyone in a while, I’ve kind of been saving myself for this brilliant lass I know. Plus, I’ve been hard since you took your jacket off at the bar and I don’t wish to finish before you,” he admitted. He rubbed nervously behind his ear as he waited for her reaction.
Emma was a little speechless. At no point in her life had she ever been with a man who was so dedicated to her gratification, he would deny his own. She’d definitely never been halted in the middle of a blow job so that her needs could be met. She stood up, taking Killian with her and then turned them around so that she could lie down on the bed. Holding her hand out to him, she pulled him down next to her and then scooted so that they were laying face to face. “Make me come, Killian.”
Needing no further guidance, Killian captured her lips in a fiery kiss while situating her on her back. Their tongues slid together effortlessly until he broke the kiss to blaze a trail down her body. She would definitely have marks, but he was careful to leave them where only they would see. As he paid special attention to her breasts again, delighting way too much in the noises she made, Emma finally caved, begging for more.
Scooting down between her legs, Killian took stock of the pretty picture splayed out for him. “Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured. Ever so gently, he ran the tip of his finger along her glistening folds, parting them as his finger ran further down, exposing her clit to the cool air.
“Please Killian, touch me.”
“As you wish.”
Emma keened in half relief and half need as his tongue finally made contact with her clit. She thrust her hips, needing nothing short of penetration, and again, she was obviously hoping for more than just one finger. She wasn’t disappointed when Killian filled her with two digits as he worked her clit with his tongue.
Emma fisted a handful of Killian’s dark hair as he brought her a pleasure like none she’d experienced before. It was hot as hell to have him watching her with those devilish blue eyes gazing up from between her thighs as she fucked his fingers.
Emma had never been much of a talker in bed, but she found it easy with Killian to ask for more, to ask for it harder, and because of that, he had her falling over the edge of oblivion quickly.
“Get up here, now,” she panted, once her mind came back from the haze of post orgasmic delight.
“Gods, you taste divine,” he praised as he moved over her body, settling between her legs so they were face to face.
“You are really good at that, better than I could ever have imagined.”
“Oh, Emma,” he began as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently before letting it go, “do elaborate on ‘imagined’,” he smirked before grinding his hips down so his thick length slid through her folds and over her clit.
A breathy moan rushed past her lips as he teased her. “Yeah? You want to hear all about how I get myself off while thinking of you?”
“Aye, lass, tell me.”
“Mmmmm, sometimes it’s quick and dirty, fucking my fingers, wishing they were yours. Other times I imagine you bend me over your desk at the precinct and take me roughly. But the best is edging while wondering if you’re lying in bed thinking about me, stroking your hard cock. I always finally make myself come, pleading your name as I picture you making yourself come all over your chest, calling out my name.”
“Christ, Emma, I’m going to come all over your chest if you tell me any more.”
In a flash of motion, Emma flipped them so she was on top, staring down at Killian. “We can’t have that.” Leaning down, she kissed him roughly, demanding his tongue, while situating his cock so she could sink down on it. “Oh… fuck you feel so good,” she gasped as his full length hit a depth she’d never felt without toys. Her hands found purchase on his chest as she adjusted to his size.
She let Killian set the pace after he grasped both her hips and guided her along. He was mesmerized by the way his cock slid in and out of her wet heat. “You feel so good wrapped around me,” he praised.
Killian pulled her down for a kiss again, and flipped them so he was on top. Emma whined as he withdrew from her completely and sat back on his haunches. “I’ve just realized I don’t have a condom,” he said defeatedly.
“That’s okay, I’m on the pill and I’m clean. You clean?”
“Aye, lass. On my honor.”
“Then put every inch of that cock back inside me,” she demanded as she pulled him back into the cradle of her thighs.
Emma laughed lightly as Killian groaned loudly while pushing back into her. “Just so you know, love, this feels so much better than any time I’ve ever taken myself in hand while thinking of you. And I always come with your name on my lips.”
Her answering smile turned into a low moan as Killian pulled out and then thrust back home. He changed the tempo, long deep passes, quick pounding thrusts, grinding his hips into her sometimes, and pumping shallowly others. She made sure to let him know what felt good and what felt better, and especially what was, “Oh fuck, yes, right there!”
Despite never having been together before, the combination of Emma knowing what she liked, being comfortable enough to ask for it, and Killian listening to her and taking care of her, had them riding the same wave, feeling, exploring, loving.
In the end, Killian had both her legs pulled up high around his waist, arms under her shoulders, and his face buried in the crook of her neck as he methodically drove into her, determined to make her come again.
Emma had her legs wrapped tightly around his torso, her arms around his neck, and her head thrown back into the pillow. They were a hot sweaty mess, and she was sure she’d never been wound this tight, she’d never been this turned on,maybe there was something to sex with feelings. His hot breath against her neck caused a tightness in her nipples and a tingling in her clit. Killian’s thrusts were punishing, hitting her deep, and she was so close and she knew he was close and she really wanted to come again.
“Touch yourself, Emma, I want to feel you come all over my cock.”
An errant bit of relief flooded her as she realized Killian was not intimidated in asking for what he wanted either and he wasn’t too macho to ask her to help get them there. Now was not the time for reflection though, and so she pushed those delightful thoughts to an area for later. Reaching down between them, Emma gathered the arousal that coated her thighs and started rubbing her fingers over her clit. “Almost, Killian, almo- Oh, Ooooh,” Emma cried.
It was almost ridiculous how in sync they were, each gracing the edge of ecstasy before plummeting off one after the other, calling the other’s name like a benediction. She’d been right, his moves on the dance floor had definitely foreshadowed his performance in bed. And just like the attentive gentleman he was day-to-day, he was the same in bed, making sure to guide her through every aftershock, and hold her as she came down from on high.
“Bloody Hell, why did we wait so long to do this?” Killian panted against her neck, before rolling off of her. “Come here,” he said, pulling Emma against his side.
Instead of nestling into him, Emma stood up and stretched deliciously. “So, I guess, I’ll umm... see you around?” A mixture of shock, disappointment, and embarrassment crossed his face before he quickly jumped out of bed. The look was priceless, she really did feel heartless, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.
“Right, love,” he mumbled as he turned from her and grabbed his slacks off the floor.
Emma tiptoed behind him and circled her arms around his waist, his whole body was taught. “I’m fucking with you, Jones,” she said gently, pressing her cheek to his back. “Join me for a shower?” As his body relaxed, she placed a few kisses between his shoulder blades causing him to shiver.
He turned in her arms and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. “You are a devilish little minx, aren’t you?”
“I couldn’t resist,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Come on, let’s go get clean… and dirty.”
“Do you promise to tell me more dirty little fantasies?”
A blush ran up her body as she remembered telling Killian her favorite fantasy about him.
“Don’t get shy now. For someone who says they’re shite with words, you were certainly very chatty in bed.
“Oh my gosh, Killian.” She rolled her eyes and smacked his chest as mortification coursed through her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shower, but found herself being swung back into his chest.
Killian wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his front to her back in a sensual embrace. “Don’t you dare ever feel ashamed to tell me exactly what you want, love. If you want it harder,” he thrust his hips against her ass to elaborate, “if you want it deeper,” he growled, sucking at the lobe of her ear, “if you want my mouth between your thighs…”
Emma moaned as Killian continued rutting his hips against her ass and caressing her with his strong hands. She hung on his every word.
“If you want to watch me stroke my cock,” he said huskily, “just say the words.”
“Fuck, Killian. I want you to fuck me again,” she responded breathily. Taking his hand and pulling him toward the shower again, she met no resistance this time.
Reaching into the shower she turned the water on full blast and then turned around and jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist to kiss him while they waited for it to warm up.
He took her again, against the wall of her shower, then they made out until the water began to cool, before they both fell into bed, sated and exhausted.
♡~♥~♡~♥~♡
Emma hummed happily as she stood at the stove making pancakes. Killian was still sound asleep in her bed, the hint of a smile playing at his lips, and a hard case of morning wood if the slight tent of the sheets was anything to judge by. As much as she’d wanted to wake him up with salacious activities, she’d also wanted to let him sleep in. So she’d silently slipped into her black silk robe and headed to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. Her mind kept jumping to different parts of their evening together, and how much she hoped for a repeat performance.
An unadulterated smile broke out across her face when Killian’s husky voice broke through her morning musings. “Something smells delicious.”
The way he nuzzled into her made her weak in the knees as she protested the compliment. “It’s just from a box.”
“Mmm,” he hummed against her ear, “I’m not talking about the pancakes.”
Emma spun in his arms and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her mind was spinning, it was a little shocking to her that she wasn’t panicking at all about how much they’d discussed last night and how deep their feelings ran for each other. She realized she wasn’t afraid because what they had was worth taking the risk for. Breaking the kiss, she peered into his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes full of emotions that she knew mirrored her own. And the absolutely boyish grin gracing his face made her heart soar.
“What?” he asked as she continued gazing at him.
“Nothing, I’m just... happy.”
“Aye, love, me too.”
Emma leaned in to kiss him again, this time parting her mouth and begging entrance to his as she stroked the seam of his lips with her tongue. “To hell with the pancakes,” she muttered when he opened to her, tongues tangling together. Carding her fingers through his hair, only their breathing and wet kisses filled the air as she pushed him back toward the table until he was sitting with her nestled between his legs.
Untying her robe, Killian caressed his hands up and down the lush skin of her torso before greedily pulling her against him, showing her how ready she had him, not that it was hard to tell through his boxer briefs.
“I smell pancakes. I thought we were eating on the way to the zoo?” a masculine voice said, cutting through the moment.
“David!” Emma gasped.
“Your brother has a key, good to know,” Killian muttered. Emma dropped her head into Killian’s shoulder, willing this to be a dream. That was quickly shattered when she heard Mary Margaret’s voice.
“Are we interrupting something,” Mary Margaret asked, eyes wide as saucers and a smirk begging to be let out.
“EmEm! Killy!” little Leo cooed.
David’s hands had immediately found his hips, as they quite often did before interrogating a suspect. Although the look on his face looked more like he was preparing to beat a perp. “What the… I mean… What’s go- Why the hell is he- Goddammit!” he roared, throwing his hands up in the air, and the toddler snuggled in Mary Margaret’s arms immediately started crying at his father’s outburst. “I thought I said she was off limits?”
“Hey!” Mary Margaret and Emma both yelled. As Emma stepped away from Killian to give her brother a piece of her mind, Killian quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Neither missed the huff of exasperation from David, but both ignored it. Killian quickly folded Emma’s robe over and tied it closed before giving her an attempted wink.
She smiled that happy smile at him before returning a scowl to her brother. “I am not a possession, David. You’re not my father, you’re not my husband, and you’re not my keeper! You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot be with.” She was outright yelling as she finished.
“I’m not,” he boomed. “I’m telling Killian he can’t be with you. I don’t want you with a cop, Emma!”
“Why is being with a cop good enough for your wife, the one you share a love so pure with and would lay down your life for, but being with a cop isn’t okay for me?”
“It’s not like that, Emma,” David argued.
“Oh yeah? Then what’s it like? I’m dying to understand,” she retorted.
“I’m just trying to protect you.”
“From what?” When David made no move to answer, she shouted her question louder at him. “From what!?”
“Daddy, EmEm, no fight,” Leo cried.
“Emma,” Killian called softly and she turned to look at his calming blue eyes. He was quite the site, clad only in his skivvies, both hands strategically placed over his package. “Let’s get dressed. You both could use a minute to calm down.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mary Margaret piped in. “Take five, we’ll finish making breakfast. You still have that leftover ham from the other night?”
Emma nodded at her sister-in-law, then she and Killian headed toward her bedroom.
“Where are you going, Jones,” David seethed.
“Where the fuck do you think his clothes are, David,” Emma cursed.
Once in the bedroom, Killian pulled Emma into his arms. “Hey, we are going to make him understand, okay. There’s no reason to fight with him. Let’s make him understand. Hear him out, whatever his reasons, and then show him why he’s wrong.”
“No, Killian. He’s being an absolute dick. He has no right to tell me what to do. And I hate whatever his reasons are. I don’t care.”
Killian placed a hand on each of her cheeks and looked into her eyes, before planting a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes you do, love. And we can figure this out.”
Admittedly, some of her anger faded as Killian talked of understanding and explaining and communication. She walked to her dresser and pulled out one of his old t-shirts she’d borrowed at a party at his place.
“You still have this?” he chuckled.
“It smelled like you for a long time after I borrowed it, I like sleeping in it.”
“That party was over a year ago,” he mused.
“I told you, I’ve wanted…,” she paused, trying to find a better word for how she’d felt for so long. “I’ve really liked you for a long time, Killian.”
He slipped the t-shirt over his head before descending on her and kissing her fully. “Maybe almost for as long as I’ve fancied you.”
She just giggled at that, hugging him for fortification before taking his hand and heading back out into the battle zone.
“Wait, I still don’t have pants.”
Emma led him to the guest room.“David and Mary Margaret keep extra clothes here for when they don’t decide early enough who is going to be designated driver.”
“I don’t think Mary Margaret’s pants will fit me, darling.”
“Shut up you goofball,” she laughed as she threw him a pair of David’s sweatpants.
“Let’s sit down and eat, and discuss this like adults,” Mary Margaret, always the mother, ordered everyone when Emma and Killian emerged.
She’d finished cooking the pancakes, whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs, and was just finishing frying up the leftover ham. David was pouring a round of coffee for everyone and holding Leo who was happily babbling now that he had a pancake in his hand and no one was yelling.
After strapping the baby into the portable high chair they kept at Emma’s place, everyone sat down at the table and dug into breakfast.
“Can you just tell me what you think you’re protecting me from?” Emma asked. “I mean you trust Killian with your life, literally. Why don’t you trust him with my heart?”
David’s stoic expression lightened at that. “Does he have your heart, Emma?”
Killian glanced toward Emma and smiled knowingly. They didn’t need to call it love right this instant, but they were definitely invested in each other.
“Answer the question, dear,” Mary Margaret prodded. “Otherwise they don’t have the truth, because trusting Killian has nothing to do with it, and you know it.”
“Fine,” David sighed. “You dealt with abandonment by your own parents, by every subsequent foster parent, by the only friend you made as a child, who turned out to be a fraud, and then with Neal’s betrayal, which almost broke you. I don’t want you to ever experience that abandonment again.” David’s voice broke as he finished explaining. Tears rimmed his eyes as he contemplated even trying to understand what she’d been through. And he would be damned before it happened again, especially by someone who he’d introduced into her life.
“What?” Emma asked incredulously. “That has everything to do with trusting Killian,” she argued. “Why do you assume he’d abandon me.”
Leo quieted as the tension between siblings started to grow again and Mary Margaret looked around the table, jaw clenched and a warning in her eyes to every adult at the table to not upset her baby again.
Killian placed his hand over Emma’s white knuckles where her fist lay balled up on the table. “I don’t think he means I would intentionally leave you, Swan.”
Emma looked between her brother and Killian, a confused furrow cocking her brows.
David chuckled, “See, he gets it.”
“Explain, David. Make her understand where you’re coming from,” his wife urged him.
Wait, Emma thought, it was supposed to be the other way around. She was supposed to be making him understand why she and Killian were a good, no great, thing. Before she could speak though, David started up again.
“Emma, you really think no one sees how much you two are into each other? You really think for almost two years, no one has watched the way you pine for each other, flirt off the charts, tease each other like kids on a playground? You’re like an old married couple half the time, we’d have to be blind not to see it. Killian is a good man, I understand he’d never purposefully hurt you, he’d have to deal with me if he did. But you have to understand that officers die in the line of duty all the time. Being with one means you accept that risk. I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing one more person you loved, especially if it was someone I brought into your life.”
A tear or two trailed down Emma’s cheeks as she listened to her brother. As she really heard what he was saying. For the first time, she understood where he was coming from. It finally made sense why he didn’t want her being with a cop. And it relieved her mind that it had nothing to do with Killian personally, especially because she wasn’t giving him up.
“EmEm, you sad?” Leo asked.
A small laugh turned cry-hiccup escaped Emma’s mouth. “No baby, I’m happy,” she smiled.
Leo clapped his hands, his innocent celebration of an adult human being happy, bringing a smile to everyone’s face.
Emma unfurled her balled up fist under Killian’s comforting hand and interlaced their fingers, giving him a strong smile. “David, while I am thankful that you explained your reason for not wanting me with Killian and I even understand where you’re coming from, I could walk outside tomorrow and get hit by a bus. There are no guarantees in this life.”
David nodded his head as he glanced between her face and her and Killian’s intertwined fingers.
“He has my heart, David, would you deny us that?”
David sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest as he often did when contemplating something. After a full minute, at least, he exhaled a breath bespeaking acceptance, albeit reluctantly. “I’m beginning to see that. And I could never deny you happiness, Emma.”
Emma beamed at her brother, understanding that while his actions may have been off kilter the reasoning behind them was fueled by brotherly love.
Mary Margaret leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek before flashing Emma and Killian a smile. “Glad we got this settled,” she giggled.
“So, just what are your intentions toward my sister, Jones?”
Emma scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes at David’s attempt at big brother intimidation tactics. But when she heard Killian’s answer, she was kinda thankful to her brother.
“Well Dave, whatever happens between me and Emma is as much up to her as it is me. But I’m in this for the long haul if she’ll have me.”
“Good answer, partner,” David laughed as he threw his hand out across the table in an offer to shake Killian’s. “Two rules,” he added as he squeezed Killian’s hand tighter, “you are never allowed to kiss and tell around me, and if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
Killian let David have his moment of brotherly protection, because he understood how important it was to cherish Emma. He was the one who’d fancied her for almost two years after all.
“All right, enough of that,” Mary Margaret sighed as she wiped Leo’s hands and face. “Let’s get everything cleaned up, and then we are headed to the zoo as planned. Emma you are free to bail, you and Killian probably have a lot of catching up to do for the last year and a half.”
Emma waggled her eyebrows at her sister-in-law and Killian had the good sense to not dispense with his usual abundance of innuendos, while David just cast the evil eye at his wife.
“What,” Mary Margaret asked, holding her hands up in mock innocence and confusion, “what’d I say?”
“Ga-dammen!” Leo shouted and every head whipped around to look at the little boy as he tugged helplessly at the lap belt of the high chair. “Up, up,” he pleaded.
“Way to go, dear, looks like he’ll have your charming vocabulary,” Mary Margaret scolded her husband.
Not having any kids of their own had Emma and Killian struggling not to bellow out loud at the little guys antics.
“No, no, Leo,” David told his son as he unbuckled the lap belt and picked him up. “That’s a… that’s a daddy word.”
“David! What kind of lesson is that?”
Emma and Killian just looked at each other and started cracking up. “So what do you say? Stay in or join these crazy kids at the zoo?” Emma asked Killian.
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I am doing,” Emma deadpanned. “I’m asking you out on a date with me, my brother, his wife and kid, and the monkeys too.”
“Sounds delightful as long as you’ll be there,” Killian answered as he pulled her into his embrace and pecked her lips.
“Hey, let’s just take it slow,” David interrupted, “I’m not quite there yet.”
“Oh relax, she’s 28, not 16, they’ve obviously already done the deed, how are you going to get squirmy over a hug?”
“Not helping!” David pleaded with his wife, rubbing his temples in a soothing motion.
“He’s such a baby,” Mary Margaret cracked up. “How about you guys meet us there? No rush,” she added conspiratorially.
“For fuck’s sake, do you want to lay out a trail of rose petals to the bed for them?”
“He’s too easy,” she continued laughing.
“Fuhfuh sake!!” Leo shouted.
Mary Margaret’s laughter cut off immediately as she stared daggers at her husband. “Watch your mouth, he’s a parrot these days!”
“Gonna be a fun day,” Emma said, once the Nolans had departed. She was most definitely trying to convince herself more than anyone else.
“It’ll be brilliant, love. You and me, that is the only requisite for my enjoyment.”
“I bet you say that to all the other girls.”
“There are no other girls. Only you, milady.”
“Good,” Emma whispered before pulling him in for a kiss.
“Mmm, let’s practice mating like the animals, Swan.”
Emma laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “I have no doubt David is now timing the drive to the zoo and adding it to the time he thinks it should take us to be ready.”
“I can be quick,” Killian purred as he thrust his hardening length against her stomach.
“Or we could take our time and really freak him out?”
“Your heart’s desire, Swan, I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”
Emma stared into the intense gaze of Killian’s eyes, the blue shining with truth and sincerity. “The long haul, Killian, that’s what my heart desires. You and me.”
The End
Tagging @laschatzi @xhookswenchx @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @hollyethecurious @jennjenn615 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @apromisednightcap @ultraluckycatnd @wordsmith-storyweaver @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @deathbycaptainswan @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @resident-of-storybrooke @whimsicallyenchantedrose @tiganasummertree @cocohook38 @snowbellewells @andiirivera @searchingwardrobes @timeless-love-story @artistic-writer @kday426 @imagnifika
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My Hands, Your Hands- Part 2/2
Part 1
Read on AO3
Emma wakes up feeling grateful for Advil. She wonders what her head would feel like without it, considering the headache she’s sporting now.
Rolling over slowly and noisily, she smells bacon and considers whether she’s going to eat some or be sick. The smell effectively pulls her head from the pillow and she makes her way to being vertical, despite the throbbing pain that radiated from the base of her skull. She finds a sweatshirt while simultaneously barely opening her eyes and scurries to the bathroom where it was decided that she was indeed going to be sick. She could make some definitive statement about never drinking rum and coke again, but she knows that’s foolish, as she’ll be in the same state next weekend.
Problematic? Maybe. For a 29-year-old? Definitely.
Once her teeth are brushed, she’s able to shower the sweat and regret from her body, cranking the water as hot as it will go as memories from last night flood her mind. Most noteworthy would probably be the fact that she and Walsh broke up, although that was less than surprising and not at all upsetting. The more she thought about him, the more she knew that she was only with him because she felt like she had to be. She didn’t want to be his girlfriend because all of her relationships end badly.
So, when he came over expecting her to need him, and became upset when she didn’t, she knew it was time. She may not have gone at him the way that she did if she hadn’t been drunk and full of feelings of rejection, but what’s done is done.
More memories assault her as she thinks back to being rejected, how that felt, and the nature of why she was rejected. She and Killian were ordered behind the Iron Curtain, and while she suggested that they casually get the kiss over with, he felt entirely differently. I really don’t want to kiss you like this.
Of course, more memories come to her as she picks up her purple shampoo. Killian has always been sweet to her, and she’s always seen him as her brother’s best friend, but she has to face the fact that he is insanely good looking. He’s got those icy blue eyes that rival the color and depth of the ocean, contrasting with his dark hair and fair skin. The way he smirks, all the damn time, literally drives her insane, and whenever he does that stupid thing where he pinches his bottom lip between his right thumb and forefinger, she wonders what it would be like to bite down on it.
She may be attracted to Killian, but he’s always been her brother’s best friend. Sometimes she thinks of him as her friend, too. Like when he makes her coffee in the morning, exactly as she likes it. Or when he drives her to work when it’s raining so she doesn’t have to walk. Or when he goes on runs with her in the park, claiming that he wants to be there to keep her safe from killer waterfowl.
(That last one is a joke. He wants to be there to make fun of her in case another swan decides to attack her so that he can relive his favorite memory. He’s told her this several times.)
The truth is, he’s never been anything less than sweet to her, and to have him reject her drunken-self last night must’ve really done a number on her ego. And now, when she thinks back to what he said in the kitchen, she just feels as though he was taking pity on her because of how pathetic she was being. What I mean is, if I were to kiss you, I’d want it to be more special than it would have been behind the Iron Curtain.
Was he serious? Considering this was daring. Accepting that he was serious about this and genuinely wanted their first kiss to be special will be detrimental to Emma’s ability to pretend that she doesn’t find him insanely attractive. This takes her feelings beyond physical attraction and into crush territory. AKA, serious danger.
Imagine having a crush on your roommate? Yikes.
But a crush on your older brother’s best friend, who also happens to be your roommate? Double yikes.
As Emma makes her way back into her bedroom, the smell of bacon blitzes her again and she feels just how empty her stomach is now. Once she smells the cocoa and French toast, though, the grumbling coming from her can likely be heard throughout the loft.
“Swan?” Killian calls, confirming her theory that her hunger is evident to all. She hears his footsteps coming towards her as he calls to her again: “do you want some breakfast, love?”
Well, here we go. “Only if you’re making it right,” she grumbles with a roll to her eyes.
“Bacon extra crispy, French toast with cinnamon, but not too much, extra butter, cocoa with cinnamon and whipped cream. You think by now I don’t know your hangover food, Swan?”
She tightens her robe around her middle as she takes in the sight of him; black t-shirt and checked gray pajama pants hugging his muscles perfectly. She nods and offers him a small smile as she says, “so you know how to get me drunk and how to cure me the next day, huh?”
He smiles back at her, blue eyes twinkling impossibly. “Aye, that’s right, Swan. Now get dressed and get out here before this gets cold and all my hard work goes in the bin.”
“We don’t call it a bin here, Jones. Honestly, you’ve lived in American for how many hundreds of years now?”
He breathes out a scoff. “Just get dressed, woman. I won’t have you in a robe distracting me from my breakfast.”
She rolls her eyes but listens to him and steps back into her room. Her cheeks are hot and she knows she’s blushing, and hopefully she can blame it on the hot shower. She picks out a new pair of underwear and leggings and a clean sweatshirt, choosing not to utilize a boob prison today. Her boobs deserve the Sunday off.
When she gets out to the kitchen, the table is set and her plate is full of bacon and French toast, her favorite mug filled to the top with delicious, perfectly prepared cocoa. She grins, unable to stop the blush from hitting her cheeks again. “Looks great,” she says, not bothering to turn her attention to him as she makes her way to her usual seat across from hers.
“I hope so, it took me all damn morning. Honestly, you couldn’t have chosen a hangover food that’s easier to make? French toast has to be the most tedious breakfast.”
“And yet I seem to be eating it every Sunday now,” she says, finally looking in his direction and smirking.
“Aye, well, I figure it’s easier to fill you up with eggy bread now than it would be to listen to you complain for the rest of the day.”
Her face scrunches up as she takes a sip of her coffee. “Ugh, do you have to call it that? Again, you’ve lived here for centuries. Just call it French toast.”
He chuckles as he shoves a strip of crispy bacon in his mouth, choosing talking over manners as he says, “eight years, love. I’m really not that old, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says with a nod as she takes a bite of bacon herself. “But David’s an old man and you’re his friend. Also, the way you complain about your muscles being sore after you run just makes you sound like you’re 200.”
“Well, I can assure you I am not 200. I’m actually a few years younger than David, thank you very much.”
“Still older than me,” she says with a shrug. He breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, turning his attention back to his breakfast. Then, before she can stop him, she sees him scooping a spoon full of cubed watermelon onto her plate. “Hey, no healthy food allowed.”
“Healthy food is exactly what you need right now, Swan. What did you have for dinner besides the popcorn you threw all over the living room? You’re welcome, by the way, for vacuuming that up for you,” he says sarcastically and with a smirk playing at his lips.
“My hero,” she says with eyes rolling to the back of her head. She wonders briefly if rolling her eyes is a defense mechanism so that she doesn’t have to look at him when his face does that…
“It’s fresh, love. The best money can buy for my Swan. Eat up.” My Swan, she’s swooning.
“Where is everyone,” she wonders as she takes a bite of watermelon. And he’s right, it’s fresh as hell. Shit, it’s delicious.
“David went to church with Mary Margaret, Will hasn’t been home yet. I’m pretty sure Ruby slept on the couch, but she was gone when I woke up.”
“Where did Will go?”
“Home with Sabine.” His mouth is full, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is.
“Whoa, really? I didn’t even notice they left last night.”
He smirks again, “I’d wager you didn’t notice much, love. You were completely obliterated. Five drinks was all it took, I suppose.”
“Hey,” she whines, “I’m pretty small! Five drinks is a lot, especially when you're the one making them. You put so much damn rum in them, I swear you were a pirate in a past life.”
He hums, “maybe I was. At any rate, you were absolutely smashed. Do you remember much?” Is he testing her memories? Does he wonder if she remembers everything that happened last night? Does he hope she doesn’t?
“Pretty sure I remember everything, although I suppose I wouldn’t know if I didn’t.”
“Ah, so you remember how desperately you wanted to kiss me then,” he says as she chokes on a sip of coffee.
She’s coughing so hard now that she can hardly respond. “I did not want to kiss you, I wanted to win the game.”
“Winning the game isn’t a real thing, Swan. The winner is the person who makes it to the end, who also happens to be the one to drink the most. I’d say based on how you seem to feel this morning, you don’t actually want to be the winner.”
“I’m very competitive,” she says. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and drops it to her now empty plate.
“Aye, love, I know,” he says with a chuckle as he does the same and stands, taking her plate from her and stacking it on top of his own.
“I guess I did kind of ruin the game, though, didn’t I? What with Walsh and everything,” she trails off, standing from the chair and making her way to where he was standing at the sink and lifting herself up onto the counter.
“The game didn’t matter at that point, Emma,” he surprises her again by using her name, which he really only does when he’s being serious. “I’m sorry.”
She draws her eyebrows together and says, “sorry? For what?”
“For everything,” he responds, tapping her legs out of the way so that he can open the dishwasher and place their dirty plates inside before he starts on the pans he used to make breakfast. “I shouldn’t have hit him. It was childish, but when he said that to you… I couldn’t stop myself. I could barely even see straight.”
Right. She knew Walsh had come over and embarrassed her, but she forgot all of the details until now. He called her a slut and before he could step out the door, David grabbed him and Killian swung his fist into Walsh’s jaw.
“It’s okay,” she nearly whispers. She allows herself to glace at his right hand and see the bruises that formed on his knuckles. “Did you ice it?”
“Aye,” he chuckles softly, “you practically forced me to. You were very adamant that I take care of my one good hand,” he says as he smirks up at her. She feels her chest and cheeks go red again.
“I did not say that.” Her voice comes out as weak and small as she feels.
“Oh, you did. Then you practically started crying,” he smirks again as she drops her head into her hands.
“No,” she groans. “This is mortifying. I’m so sorry, I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”
“You told me that you didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She lifts her head slightly and allows herself a glance at his left hand now. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Swan. I know you weren’t trying to be offensive. I didn’t mean to make you feel badly about it.”
“I wasn’t, I’m not. I’m sorry, Killian,” she raises her eyes to meet his, perhaps for the first time that morning.
He surprises her by meeting her gaze and smiling softly, his right hand coming up to pull hers away from her face and then touching her cheek so lightly that she thinks she may have made it up. Her breathing quickens as he says, “it’s alright, love. Thanks for looking out for me.”
Instead of choking over her own breath like she thinks she might, she says, “I don’t ever want to make you feel like I’m treating you differently, you know?”
“Aye,” he breathes out, his words barely over a whisper, his hand falling to hers atop her knee. “You never do.”
Just as she thinks he may close the gap between them and take her lips between his, the front door swings open and her older brother walks in, Mary Margaret following closely behind him.
Killian backs up so fast that Emma nearly loses her balance and falls off the counter, straight into the dishwasher. With a clang, Killian steps forward to steady her and hits his ankle against the door, hissing and cursing.
“Uh oh,” Emma says as she jumps down to his aid.
“Shit, I’m fine, it’s fine.” He groans lightly as he rubs his ankle, and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Dammit.
“Hey, you’re up. How was breakfa- are you okay?” David walks in to see Killian hunched over and Emma standing awkwardly, hands out as if she’s trying to will the pain away with magic or something.
“Fine mate. Just walked into the dishwasher.” Emma smiles lightly now, realizing how silly this whole situation was. Rather than focus on the fact that she was sure Killian was about to kiss her, she chooses to focus on how dumb they must look to David and Mary Margaret. She would much rather focus on that than on the fact that her crush, which she didn’t know she had until very recently, may actually be reciprocated.
~~~
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she groans into her pillow as she flops down face first into her bed.
“Me either, if I were you, I’d stop trying to fight it.” Emma lifts her head to glare at Ruby, who sits down on the other end of the bed and flops over as well.
“Of course, I’m fighting it. He’s David’s best friend! That’s insane. Not to mention the fact that he literally lives across the hall from me.”
“Definitely insane, but most likely worth it, girl. Honestly, I thought you guys were already… you know. I’m more surprised that you aren’t.”
“What could possibly make you think that?”
Ruby rolls her eyes and smirks, “Emma, come on. A blind man could see the way he looks at you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s completely in love with you. And you’re not so good at hiding it either, my friend. I’ve never seen someone blush as hard as you did last night.”
Emma sits up, unable to remain still. “So, what do I do?”
Ruby smirks again and says, “Killian,” waggling her eyebrows up and down and giggling. Emma groans again.
“No way! Besides, he’s still getting over Milah.”
“Please! It’s been almost a year since that happened! You don’t seriously think he’s still hung up over her, do you?”
“Well, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him take a girl home, and he never sleeps out. Obviously, he still loves her and he isn’t over her. First heartbreak and all that.”
Ruby’s mouth is agape and her eyes bug out of her head. “Emma, seriously? Tell me you’re kidding right now. He hasn’t hooked up with anyone because he wants you, not because he can’t get over his ex!”
Emma ponders this briefly. It’s true, she hasn’t known him to be with anyone in months. She doesn’t think he has since she moved in nine months ago, but that couldn’t be right. Emma knew Killian as her brother’s friend before they became roommates, and she always thought of him as a lady’s man, even when he was with Milah. But Ruby’s theory, that he hasn’t been with anyone because he wants to be with her, is almost too much for her.
“Look, before last night, I had no idea I even felt this way. He’s always just been David’s hot friend. This is a lot.”
“Yeah,” she nods, “I know it is, but don’t you owe it to yourself? You’ve really been striking out lately.”
“Thank you so much for that reminder, friend.” She rolls her eyes again.
“I’m just saying, your first boyfriend died and that was tragic. Then it was Neal, and that was tragic in a completely different way. Now Walsh? The guy was a total douche!” She’s right. “Your track record is not good. I wanna see you happy, Emma. You’re my best friend and I want what’s best for you. And I just think… maybe that’s Killian.” Emma throws her head down into her pillow again and groans loudly. “Hey, come on. At least wait until I’m gone before you start picturing-” Emma hits her with a throw pillow. “I mean seriously, if you don’t I will. Even with one working hand I bet he could make a girl-”
“Ruby! Leave him alone!”
“Sorry, sorry! But seriously, how did that happen?”
“You're being insensitive,” Emma says accusatorily.
“I’m just curious, I know he told you. He’s barely told anyone what happened, but he told you, so there’s that.”
“There was an accident when he was in the Navy. Something to do with his Captain, I think. His arm and hand got tied up and crushed. Nerve damage.” Ruby cringes. It is a horrible story, and it must’ve been a horrible accident. Killian’s lucky to have a hand anymore, even it if it just for aesthetic purposes. His arm is so damaged it barely works, and Emma often finds herself wondering what his recovery process was like all those years ago- not that he ever talks about it. “Don’t let him know you know. I don’t even think he meant to tell me, I’m sure he wouldn’t want me going around telling people.”
“So, what you’re saying is, his love for you is so strong that-” Emma hits her with another throw pillow. “Alright, alright. I’m gonna go, okay? I’ve gotta get to work. I’m lucky I got out of the breakfast shift but now I have to do dinner.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I expect a full report, got it?”
~~~
“Care for a movie tonight, Swan?”
Emma’s dragged from her thoughts as she pretends to scroll through her Instagram feed when she hears Killian’s voice from across the room. He’s standing near the curtain on the outside of the living room donning another black Henley and gray joggers. Of course the bastard was wearing gray sweatpants.
It’s absolutely pouring outside, and if she’s being honest with herself, there’s nothing she’d like more than to curl up on the couch and watch a good movie. Maybe have a good snuggle… She clears her throat and rolls her eyes. “Fine, as long as you make the popcorn.”
“Is that why you threw it all over the place last night? Because I didn’t make it? It must not have been very good.”
“I told you what happened, and it had nothing to do with you, Jones.”
“Actually, I don’t think you did say what happened,” he said as he made his way into the kitchen and took out his infamous air popper and some butter.
“Oh,” she stood from the couch and followed him, grabbing two glasses and filling them with ice. “Well, I was leaving Walsh a voicemail and the pipes made a sound, so I jumped. Not really that big of a deal. I didn’t even scream like he said I did,” she fibs.
He chuckles and says, “I suppose he was behaving rather dramatically, wasn’t he?”
“That’s for sure,” she grumbles with an eye roll. She fills the glasses with water and adds lime to hers, then makes for a lemon to add to his when he stops her.
“I’ll just take a lime as well, Swan.”
“You hate lime, what do you mean?”
“Well, as one of my good friends has been reminding me constantly, they're really not that different. I suppose lime has grown on me, over time.”
“I’m your friend?”
“I didn’t mean you, Swan,” he deadpans.
She narrows her eyes and draws her brows close together. “Okay, weirdo. What are we gonna watch?”
He smiles as he takes the popcorn bowl with him into the living room and plops down on the couch. She places the glasses down on the coffee table and sits next to him so that he’s sitting on her left side, just as he always is.
“Don’t you want to watch Dirty Dancing?”
She’s stunned into silence. Of course this man, this perfect specimen of a human, would offer to watch her breakup movie with her without prompting. Of course he would think of that, even when she didn’t.
“Oh, um, I don’t know, I don’t really know if I need to.”
“No? Not even after Walsh?” He seems even closer now, and she wonders how it’s even possible for someone to smell as good as he does right now.
“I mean, that wasn’t really a breakup. I guess it was, but… I guess I’m not that upset about it.”
His voice is so soft and gentle. His hand touches her left knee and he smiles at her before saying, “that’s great, Swan. It would be a pity to see you upset over such an animal of a man.”
She’s still stunned, still silent as she nods back at him. Before she can stop and think, she thinks she’s leaning in closer to him and she thinks she doesn’t mind it, not one bit.
After some time, once he’s put on an episode of The Office and they’ve settled themselves into the couch and eaten their fair share of popcorn, she speaks up. “I guess I’m more upset about what he said to me than anything,” she nearly whispers.
He hums softly and she can see his throat moving as he does, and shit it’s sexy. “That was rather upsetting, although I suppose we already know how I was feeling about it, don’t we,” he says with a soft grin, his eyes crinkling; she literally almost combusts as she nods, completely breathless.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she breathes. She nearly feels her lashes fluttering as he moves impossibly closer. She can practically feel her lips buzzing with how much she wants him to close the space between them and take hers between his. There’s a coil heating in her belly as she looks as his stubble covered face and feels his fingers delicately touching her knee.
“You know during the game, when I said I didn’t want to kiss you like that?”
She can’t breathe, so she nods in response. Before she can think, she sees his eyes fluttering so that they're almost closed as he moves so close to her that if she moved at all they would be touching. Then she watches as he grins beautifully, then his face closes the gap before hers and he presses his lips to hers so delicately that she could barely feel it.
Her eyes close effortlessly and within seconds as he kisses her softly then draws away far too quickly. Her eyes fly open again and she looks at him as if to say what the hell, come back. He listens as he presses himself to her more firmly, pursing his lips into hers and reaching his hand up from her knee to her cheek. She breathes into him and reaches her own hand into the back of his hair, feeling the softness between her fingers and the heat growing hotter in her belly. She can feel his tongue softly swiping between her top and bottom lips, as if asking permission to kiss her more deeply, so she parts her lips ever so slightly in invitation. She feels him suck on her top lip lightly before he licks it softly and she nearly loses it. His hand laces it's way behind her ear and into her hair as she tugs on his lightly before she hears him groan into her mouth, igniting her from the inside out.
She bites down lightly on his bottom lip and feels him stir in his seat as he leans closer to her, pushing softly until she’s laying down on the couch and he’s on top of her and kissing down her neck. She thinks she hears the popcorn bowl hit the floor, spilling whatever was left, but she can’t be assed to care. Her legs part as he fits himself between them, drawing their bodies even closer together, but somehow not close enough. She thinks he may have bruised her neck slightly, but she doesn’t care. She just keeps carding one hand through his soft hair as the other feels his muscles rippling through his shirt at his back, his chest, his triceps. He meets her mouth with his again and kisses her hard, as if he needs her like she needs him. She’s certain he does, based on the firmness she feels pressing against her upper thigh, and she’s tempted to rut her hips up towards his, but stops herself, reveling in his mouth on hers.
Moments later, they separate and their foreheads touch, his hand coming to her face and his thumb stroking her chin as he smiles breathlessly at her and she smiles breathlessly at him. His lashes flutter once more and he softly touches her cheek before drawing her to him once more, kissing her with a passion that she’s sure she’s never felt before.
When he finally pulls away, she’s gasping for breath, barely able to open her eyes. She thinks she may be dreaming, or dead, until he says, “I meant something more like that.”
She breathes out in a whoosh before saying, “holy shit,” embarrassment immediately taking over as she laughs lightly.
He laughs hard, and she can feel his chest vibrating against hers and she thinks it might be killing her. “Aye, my thoughts exactly.”
“I guess I can see why you rejected me, then,” she breathes out, reaching her hand to touch her own mouth, as if checking to see if it’s still there.
“I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings too much, love. I really wanted to kiss you, I have for a while, but I wanted you to remember it happening afterwards. I also didn’t really know if you were sober enough to actually consent last night,” he laughs. She pushes her forehead up to his and laughs with him some more.
“Probably not.” Who the hell thinks like that? Is that a symptom of adulthood? Emma thinks she should probably stop dating children if that’s the case.
He pecks her lips once more with his and she’s tempted to grab him and pull him back to her, but she doesn’t. Not this time.
“A while, huh?” she asks, and his brows raise as if he didn’t even realize he said that.
“Aye, I suppose so.” He lifts himself off of her and grabs a throw pillow before taking her hand in his and hoisting her back into a seated position herself. “I don’t really know if I should have done that. But I’ve wanted to kiss you basically since I met you and when you said you weren’t upset about Walsh… I guess I just…” He trails off and looks away from her, down at his hands.
“I wasn’t. I’m not. I was going to end it soon anyway.”
“Aye, you said that last night.”
“It’s true.” He looks back at her, finally, and smiles. It’s her favorite smile of his; the one where he grins with all of his teeth and his eyes scrunch up, but it softens after a second. It’s got to be the cutest and sexiest thing she’s ever seen. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Aye, of course,” he says, drawing his dark brows together as he does when he’s concerned, as if he’s worried about what she’s going to ask him.
“Why didn’t you bring anyone home last night? You said you wanted to, and that girl seemed more interested in you than in Will, but you didn’t go for it. How come?”
He’s quiet for a moment, glancing down from her eyes to the mess of popcorn on the floor, before he responds, “I didn’t really want to. I haven’t had a very keen interest in quite some time. I don’t know why I said that to you last night, honestly.”
She hums in response, then thinks back to what Ruby said. “So, when was the last time you… you know…” she trails off, realizing very quickly that this wasn’t really an appropriate line of questioning for her best friend whom she’s kissed one time.
“Such an interest in my sex life, aye Swan?” he smirks, finally looking at her again. She smiles back sheepishly, no doubt turning a very bright shade of pink. “It’s been a while, that’s for sure. One time with Milah just before you moved in, and then a drunken Halloween night with a girl dressed as Tinkerbell.”
She rolls her eyes at the thought of him hooking up with Tinkerbell and not knowing her actual name, then says, “you and Milah hooked up after she broke up with you?”
“Aye, a lapse in judgement, I suppose.”
She nods, understanding completely. There was a point after her breakup with Neal when she considered going back to him, although she luckily had a change of heart after a very loud conversation with Ruby.
“Can I tell you something, Emma,” he says so softly that it’s almost a whisper, but she can still hear the deep timbre of his voice.
“Yes,” she whispers back.
He’s breathing heavily, his forehead is close to hers and his hand is back on her knee. “I’ve had a massive crush on you since you moved in. Since we met, really, but I think when you moved in and I saw you crying on the couch while you sang along to the ending of Dirty Dancing, I was done for. And you're my best friend and I don’t wanna put any pressure on you, but I want you to know… how I feel.”
Emma hasn’t breathed for several moments, and this didn’t change anything. “I’ve had a crush on you since, like… last night, I think,” she says, smirking.
He laughs again and she sees an evil glint in his eyes before he wraps his right arm around her waist, pulling her up onto his lap and tickling her mercilessly as she laughs loudly, likely drawing attention from her roommates.
“You are absolutely wicked, Emma Nolan. Last night? Are you serious?” His fingers are still brushing lightly against her waist and she’s still giggling, actually giggling, for god’s sake. “Can I take you out for dinner, then?”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes and says, “you better,” before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing the holy hell out of him.
#my hands your hands#captain swan#captain swan fanfic#cs ff#cs ff au#captain swan au#new girl#new girl au#emma swan#killian jones#captain hook#once upon a time#once upon a time fanfiction#once upon a time au#once fanfic#ouat#ouat ff#ouat au#mhyh#writing#my writing#my hands your hands ff
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summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.
read it on: ao3, ff.net
and also catch up on tumblr!
///
Nine
In the morning, Emma wakes to an unusual smell. Well, for her time on the island, unusual.
She bites her lip as her eyes squint open, gazing over at the window that allows a soft white light through the curtains and into the bedroom. She sighs as she stretches, thoughts of the night prior fresh in her mind.
Part of her wants to hole up in the bed for the rest of the day, to hide from Killian and any awkwardness that might exist now. But she decides to be stronger than that. Their kiss, while it certainly hadn’t had the ending she’d hoped for, wasn’t a mistake.
Emma sits up, wrapping a blanket over her shoulders to go into the kitchen.She checks on Henry before she goes. He's still sound asleep, his little fingers twitching while he dreams.
When she enters the kitchen, Killian's standing by the stove with a pan and a spatula, looking every bit the scuffled morning mess he usually is.
His hair looks even worse now that it's cut, standing on end every which way. He's wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and she swears her breath doesn't catch at the sight of the muscles she finds herself wanting to run her fingers over.
He turns when he hears her feet against the floor and smiles a little. "Morning, love."
Emma smiles just a little in return. "Morning."
Everything about what’s happening right now feels weird. He's usually out doing chores right about now and he never spends this much time cooking.
For breakfast, it's always usually something fast and easy, if anything at all, but instead, he has a single plate with two round pancakes sitting on top of it.
Killian tips his head toward the table. "Made you breakfast. Hope you like pancakes."
Emma goes to sit at the table. He brings a plate of two slightly undersized, lopsided pancakes to her. Nothing for him. He sits beside her, seemingly content with a glass of water that he doesn’t touch.
“You’re not eating? Again?”
Killian manages to smile. “Those are every last ounce of pancake mix from the back of the pantry, so… enjoy.”
Her stomach gives a prompt grumble, making her helpless but to give into Killian's random act of kindness.
"Why aren't you out doing your chores?"
His gaze shifts to her and she feels as if she's caught him in the act, of what she isn't sure, because his expression is caught between deer in headlights and guilt.
He sits back in his chair. "We need to talk."
Emma narrows her eyes at him. "And are you bribing me with pancakes?"
He shakes his head. "No."
She presses her lips into a line and sets her fork down, wrapping up tighter in her blanket. She stares at him, letting him have the floor.
"There are a lot of things about this situation that aren't ideal," he says on a sigh, clearly having thought what he’s saying through, "Food, Henry… the weather. The thing is, Emma, I have spent a long time on this island grieving and I haven't spent hardly any of it living."
Her heart jumps.
Killian sits forward again. "I'm sorry I..." He hesitates, then straightens out, meeting her eyes with purpose. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you this last night, but I want to be on the same page as you now."
Emma's heart begins to race again. Her eyes widen on their own accord. "What page is that?"
He takes a shaky breath. "I can't let anything happen between us. I'd rather forget it did and move on, actually."
Regret precedes embarrassment in her mind. She feels every ounce of hope draining from her in just a heartbeat.
He's staying here and she's leaving. It would never have worked. What was she thinking?
"I… it's okay," she insists on a false smile. She looks down at her plate. "It was a one time thing."
She would like to set fire to these Bribe Pancakes and to her memory, because now she has the distinct memories of what transpired in the middle of his living room flashing in her mind as she contemplates what this means for her and him.
His hair had been soft between her fingers, and his lips were gentle as he reciprocated the affection of her kiss. His hand on her hip, squeezing with each desperate gasp and sigh.
Emma hadn’t been kissed like that in such a long time. Part of her knows he hadn’t either.
"Yeah. Of course."
She tries not to seem rushed when she picks at her food to try and eat again, but she knows she's coming off like it. Frustrated, she sets her fork down and gets up from the table.
Killian catches her by the arm, looking her in the eye, demanding an answer but not asking any questions.
"Nothing can make the fact that we kissed disappear."
He furrows his brow. "Of course not,"
Emma's jaw tightens and she yanks her arm out of his hold. Unexpected tears fill her eyes and she groans a little, upset for getting so emotional over something so trivial.
"I'm sorry I'm not good enough."
She walks out of the house and straight into the cold morning as fast as she can, ignoring the pain that comes from her knee.
It's still fairly early in the morning, so the sun hasn’t quite risen beyond the horizon yet. Her breath is a soft white cloud when she exhales and she folds her arms to her chest as she starts to walk toward the beach.
Maybe she is just an idiot. She shouldn't have kissed him in the first place.
No one ever thought she was good enough until David and Mary Margaret. Not even Neal really did.
She's never had a good relationship with a guy until this thing with Killian got to the point of smiles and teasing and comfortable a few days ago.
And now she's panicking, because she threw it all away when they kissed. It broke their relationship in half, sending them in a completely new direction.
And it's not like she'll ever be able to just forget about it. Especially if they're living together.
Emma stands at the shoreline where the water washes up in slow, rolling waves. The salt fills her lungs and the cold, crisp air stings, but it reminds her that she is still alive and that means she has less than three weeks to prove that very same fact to Killian.
The front door clatters shut after squeaking open behind her, but she doesn't turn around.
She stands there waiting for something- anything- before she hears his boots behind her and then she feels something warm being draped around her shoulders.
She reaches up instinctively and smiles a little in thanks at him over her shoulder while she slips her arms into the coat. He moves so he stands beside her, both of them looking away from each other.
Silence sits heavy between them for so long that she wonders if there’s any point to him having joined her at all.
"I think you're good enough, Emma."
She turns her face to see him. He is looking out at the horizon, his eyes and jaw set.
"I don't know why I said that."
Killian turns to her, a perfect mixture of sorrow and grief in his eyes. "The reason I wanted to put it behind us was because I feared you would be the one to pull away."
She scoffs. "So you were being chivalrous, then?"
He shakes his head. "I'm just trying to say that neither of us were quite prepared for the repercussions and we need to take some space to figure it out."
Emma sighs. "And just what do you think should be done about that?"
She tugs at her coat and folds her arms.
"I think we should go back to the way things were.” Killian says, but for some reason, she isn’t sure if he believes what he’s saying. “I'll take the couch. You and Henry in the bedroom. Chores in the morning and we don't see each other until lunch."
She stares at him, biting her cheek because she wants to refute that it is impossible to be back to the way things were. She's kissed those lips and she's felt his hair under her fingertips.
Somehow, he's ruined her for anyone else.
"Okay," she sighs, letting a cloud of white fill the space between them. “If that will make it better.”
Killian gives her a pleading look. “Emma…”
Emma looks back at the ocean ahead of them. She tugs at her sleeves, trying to find the words she wants to speak.
“Do you think this happened for a reason?” Emma asks, the question not even necessarily for Killian, but for herself as well. “I could’ve drowned. Henry could’ve frozen.” Turning to Killian, she finds his head tipped down, focused on kicking a rock on the shore. “But the ocean brought us here.”
Her companion finally meets her gaze. “I don’t know.”
Taking a breath of the salty air, Emma shuts her eyes. “I’m sorry that we interrupted you.”
She walks back to the house in silence and goes about her daily business after the door comes clattering against the doorframe.
They don't see each other until lunch and she forces herself to smile, forces herself to let go of all of the emotions she's feeling toward him and about him, and casually goes about her day, which mainly consists of reading his books and folding some laundry.
By the time dinner rolls around, she has tidied and re-tidied the entire place twice over and has set the table for grilled cheese she made for herself and for Killian, because dammit, she's not going to let him starve. He's an idiot for thinking she'd let that happen.
He comes back inside and sighs, obviously happy to be out of the cold. She has Henry in her arms at the table, feeding him as she reads over a play by Shakespeare that he's annotated quite liberally.
"Grilled cheese," she tells him, closing the book and setting it on the side of her plate by the wall. He looks at the plate and she can tell he's about to say something, so she speaks instead, "You're an idiot if you think I'm the kind of person who lets another human starve just so I can feel full. There's enough for both of us to have small meals. Just… no more pancake surprises."
They eat in silence and she bites her lip thoughtfully while she watches him finish.
"Did you go to college?"
He looks shocked by her question, a little confused, and then he shakes his head. "Straight into the Navy. Why?"
Emma takes the book and opens it up. "I've been reading a few of your books and I'm kind of blown away by all of these notes on the side. Do you like to read?"
She knows the answer to her own question. She's just digging.
He gives her a crooked smile. "Liam used to read a lot to me growing up." He looks down at the pages and hums. "Shakespeare. Very good taste, darling. Though, you could've picked a comedy. Macbeth is about as dark as they come." She watches with a small smile as he lifts the book and fingers over the pages. "Here we are. One of my favorites. The Taming of the Shrew. Lovely tale."
Emma hums, admiring the way his eyes shine as he reads over his own writing on the side.
"Have you ever written anything?"
Killian looks up at her and nods slowly, tentatively. "I've never shared with anyone, but I have."
She smiles softly. "I'm sure it's good, if what you write on the side of an already existing piece of work is good."
He chuckles in a self-pitying way. Clearly, he doesn't think so.
"Would you care to read some?" he asks, seeing that she won't let it go.
She nods.
Killian pushes back from the table and rises, going straight into the living area. When he returns, he holds a leather bound notebook in his hand, opened to a specific page that he reads from. He holds it to himself nervously as he sits down again.
"Promise you won't tease me."
Emma rolls her eyes. He hands her the notebook then and she smiles as she reads it over.
His writing is beautiful. It rises and falls perfectly in every line. She is drawn in by the vocabulary and the phrasing, taken by the imagery and the sophistication. She swears he could be famous one day because of it.
She grins, looking up at him. "This is amazing, Killian. You have a real talent for this."
He looks a little embarrassed, shaking his head. "I doubt that greatly, love. But thank you for the ego boost of confidence."
She sighs. "As if you need more of that."
That makes him chuckle and a smile crosses her lips as she looks back into the journal, flipping the page to find more of his work.
It's so good that she barely realizes that she's still holding Henry until he stirs and grabs at her hair. She rips her eyes out of a short story involving a lost ship at sea and looks to Henry.
"Chill out, Dude."
She takes his small fist from her hair and makes him hold her fingers instead, flashing him a happy smile that he reciprocates. She looks up at Killian, who has his chin in his hand, staring straight at her.
"Just who are you, Emma?"
She flashes a coy smirk at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
She returns to reading with a teasing smile on her lips. The air between them is comfortable, surprisingly enough. She bites her lip as soon as she finishes a story and looks at him again.
"It's really good, Killian. You could publish this."
He shakes his head, grimacing a little. "It's nothing."
She sighs and closes his book. He's been good at keeping a relative distance from her, but she sees something in the blue of his eyes that's begging to know her.
Emma packages all of the feelings she's felt in the last twenty-four hours into a tight ball, tucking it away in the back of her mind and leaving it to rot. She can't let him wreck her like everyone else has. She's a survivor on her own and she can handle herself. Anyone else just doesn't do the job she can on her own.
She pushes back from the table and takes her dishes to the sink before she carries Henry into the other room.
When she returns, Killian is still at the table, clearly in thought as he follows her to the sink. He comes up next to her and she glances over when their shoulders brush.
There's still a spark between them, the intensity is still just as strong, just as provoking, and it isn't easy to ignore along with everything else, but she does her best, holding her breath as she takes their dishes and scrubs at them.
The next time she sees him, it's lunch the next day.
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This is Heaven to Me
Request: Can you do an imagine with Bucky and a Black reader set in the 40s and they to live in the same apartment. One day the reader is playing her guitar and singing Heaven to Me by Billie Holiday while sitting on her window (kinda like Breakfast at Tiffany’s) and Bucky is enamored with her voice and climbs down the fire escape steps to meet her.
Pairing: 40's Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader
Word Count: 4.1K
Warnings: Derogatory terms (n-word), angst, racism, but honestly this will just snuff you out with fluff
A/N: Y'aaallllll!!! I feel like I just finished a research paper! But gosh this was so fun to write. I tried to make it as 1940s sounding as possible without it being overkill so hopefully I conquered that. I want to thank the Anon that requested this and hopefully you enjoy this! Anyway, hope you all like this, and please continue leaving the lovely feedback you guys give me! I appreciate each and everyone of you! Love you all!!!💖💛💖💛
UNIVERSAL TAGS LIST: @avc212 @beautifulwisdom2001 @iamzion-therealhabesha @thottio @jetaimeamore @mixedfandxms @here-for-your-bullshit
Masterlist
_____
You've always looked forward to Thursday nights. A calm would rush over you each time you stepped through the threshold of your Brooklyn apartment, as you grabbed the wad of tips from work out of your clutch and stuff it into your savings jar in your kitchen then go to change into more comfortable clothes. It was because each Thursday after work you were able to fully practice your song for when you performed at the jazz club a few blocks down the next night. You went into your room and changed into a royal blue satin shirt from a pajama set your mom bought you and dark grey, high waisted, wide leg trousers, then, after wrapping your chignon updo in a headscarf to preserve it for the next day, you slip on some slippers, grab your guitar and head to the window that lead to your fire escape. You situate yourself on the windowsill, leaning up against the right side of your window, placing your left foot on the windowsill and allowing your right one to swing. Absentmindedly, you begin to pluck at the guitar, looking down the couple of stories at the bustling street. The people making their way home from work, a few couples going for a night on the town. The sight was peaceful. You put more focus into the strum on your guitar, tuning it slightly before you begin to strum a full melody. The melody that went to This is Heaven to Me by Billie Holiday. You start off humming to the tune then begin to sing.
When I hear them say
There's better living
Let them go their way
To that new living
I won't ever stray
'Cause this is heaven to me
You hum a bit more then move on to the next verse.
Long as freedom grows
I want to seek it. If it's yes or no,
It's me who'll speak it
'Cause the Lord, he knows
That this is heaven to me
_____
After stalking back to his new apartment, Bucky tosses his jacket on the table next to his front door and loosens his tie as he goes to open the window to let in the cool night air. He removes his tie and tosses it on the couch and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, then slowly makes his way back over to his window when he hears your sweet voice flowing through it.
If you've got your hands
And got your feet
To plow your land
And cut your wheat
You raise your head
When night is done
Shout your thanks up to the sun
You smoothly hit the high note, reeling Bucky in even more. He climbs through his window and looks over your way, taken aback by your simple beauty. The way your dainty fingers pluck at the guitar strings and how you would effortlessly switch your gaze from your guitar to the nightscape and back, and how the glow of light from the moon and the light inside your apartment illuminated your chocolate skin. He quietly makes his way down a couple of fire escape steps then sits as you finish the song.
So when I hear them say
There's better living
Let them go their way
To that new living
I won't ever stray
'Cause this is heaven to me
'Cause this is heaven to me
You finish strumming and jump when you hear a subtle cough come from your left. You look over at Bucky, who seemed equally as shocked to see you.
"Oh my, I'm sorry was I making too much noise?" You nervously tap at the base of your guitar.
"Oh no. I just came to listen, that's all." He tilts his head and gave you a bright smile. You place you guitar inside your window and turn so both feet were hanging off the windowsill as he stood from the step he sat on and took a few steps toward you, but stopped when he saw you tense up a bit. "I just moved here last week." He reaches out a hand. "James Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky. And your name is…?" You hesitantly reach out and shake his hand, only making eye contact for a second and then looking back out toward the street once you let go of his hand.
"Y/N. Y/L/N." You take a short glance at him. His gaze has not deviated from you at all.
"Beautiful name. Fitting." You smile to yourself, still not making eye contact with him. The fire escape creaked as he took a few more steps towards you and leaned against the other side of your window. "I've been wanting to meet someone from the building. Everyone seems to be rushing in and out all the time." He chuckles, joking to lighten the mood. You chuckle lightly, shoulders bouncing a bit. You reach up and adjust your headwrap. "So, you a singer?" You look up at Bucky when you sense his nervousness. His eyes were quizzical as he waited for an answer.
"Not completely. I work as a waitress at a diner across town, but on Fridays I sing at the Suit and Tie Jazz Club some blocks that way." You point down the street then look back up at Bucky, who wore an impressed countenance. You smile and drop your head again.
"Do you want to be a singer? Professionally, I mean." Bucky adjusts his stance and crosses his arms. You shrug then look up at him, noticing he was waiting for you to explain.
"Well, it would be nice, to perform somewhere big, like Harlem. But fame doesn't come easy, you know. Especially for people like me." You shrug at the sad fact, placing your hands on the windowsill and swinging your legs a bit more. Bucky keeps his eyes on you for a bit longer as they became sadder until he finally looked away and rubbed the stuble on his jaw. You look up at him, now that his focus wasn't on you, and now it was your turn to stare. His side profile was hard with prominent square jaw, especially since it was contracted at the moment. A few pieces of greased up hair flopped in front of his face as he looked out into the city and the way the light reflected in his eyes fascinated you. You wanted to ask him why he was here with you. Why he was talking to you? Why he seemed to care so much? You refrained in fear of ruining a possible one time goodwill moment from him and sit silently waiting for him to speak again. Bucky looks down at his watch then stands up straight.
"It's getting late. Better get back up to my place." He gives you a grin and taps the window frame then starts up the steps, but quickly stops and turns back around to look at you. "You've got a show tomorrow, right?" You nod.
"Yes sir. 8 o'clock." You answer timidly.
"I think a show on a Friday night sounds like a real ball, ya know." He turns around and continues up the stairs until he finally gets to his window. "It was nice meeting ya, doll." He bows his head slightly.
"It was nice meeting you too, sir." You allow a tiny grin to pull at the edges of your mouth.
"Goodnight." He smiles.
"Goodnight." You respond, allowing your grin to grow a little as he climbs through his window and shuts it. You sit on your windowsill for a minute longer then turn and climb back in, shutting it and going back to your room to get ready for bed.
_____
You fix your lipstick and check if any got on your teeth in your vanity mirror backstage at the club while the act before you steps on stage. You heart begins to race at the thought of your upcoming performance, that is until your friends came to distract you.
"Honey, what are you looking so hinky for? It's like you've never stepped foot on that stage your entire life." You friend, Denise, or Dee-Dee, says over your shoulder, smiling at you via the mirror.
"I always get a little edgy before shows." You pat your chignon hair-do and check it before turning around to look at all your friends. There was Dee-Dee, who you happen to work at the diner with you, making you not the only black employee, and who also happens to be your absolute best friend. Michelle, or Shelly, a waitress that works full-time at the club, and who's the most nosy of the group. And then there was Margaret, who everyone calls Mousy. Mousy was a timid young thing, no more than 19-20 years old, who came to New York from Chicago in hopes of becoming a world famous singer, and man does she have the pipes for it. Sure she's shy, but the nickname Mousy came from her beautiful soprano voice that could hit the highest of notes with ease.
"Oh wow, that dress looks mighty fine on you, Y/N." Mousy compliments. You look down and pull slightly on the skirt of your powder blue kitty foyle dress then look back up at her and smile.
"Why, thank you, Mouse!" You look over at your other two friends who were squinting at you trying to figure out why your nerves seemed to be getting to you more than usual. You look back over to Mousy who had her attention on the inside of her wrist, looking at her small wristwatch.
"Oh, I gotta go finish primping before I have to go on, but break a leg." And off Mousy went to her vanity, leaving you with Dee-Dee and Shelly who were still squinting at you, at least until Shelly snapped her fingers and pointed at you.
"She's expecting a man, tonigh!" Her smile was wide and mischievous. "I forgot about how nervous you get when a man you've got the hots for comes to hear you sing, since it's been a while." You stick your tongue out at Shelly the look over at Dee-Dee, who eagerly waiting for you to explain.
"Okay, well, fine! I just so happens I've got a man coming to see me perform, but that's not the reason for the nerves… it's because, well…" You stand from your seat and begin to pace back and forth fiddling with your fingers.
"What, is he wacky?" Dee-Dee crosses her arms and tilts her head.
"Kinda a wolf?" Shelly grimaced in pity.
"No it's not that. He's very sweet and handsome. It's just…" you take a breath and think about how to articulate your words.
"Come on, fess up! We ain't got all day!" Shelly exclaims, placing her hands on her hips.
"HE'S WHITE, OKAY!" You blurt out, then cover your mouth, waiting for their reaction. They stayed silent for what felt like an eternity, until they start cracking up.
"Well, we're not gonna have a hard time finding him in the crowd!" Dee-Dee cackles, doubling over.
"Now, what white man did you convince to come down and listen to you?" Shelly animatedly moves about her head while keeping her hands on her hips.
"He lives in the apartment above mine. Heard me singin' and came down to say hi." The act before you came off the stage, a roar of applause coming through the curtain. "Now, I need to get ready to get on that stage so if y'all want to keep flapping your lips about him go right ahead." You strut to stage right and mentally prepare as well as vocally until you and the song you are performing is introduced. You step on stage, waving and smiling at the audience as you make your way to the mic. You scan through the audience squinting through the smoke and the spotlight that shone down on you in search of Bucky, but to no avail. Your mood is dampened when the music starts to play but you just went on and began to sing the Billie Holiday song.
You grasp onto the mic and begin to tap your foot to the beat. You smile into the lyrics and close your eyes when hitting certain notes. Once you get to the second verse, you close your eyes as you start it, then finish by first looking at the mic and then looking up, catching none other than Bucky's eyes where he sat at a table in the second row with a friend. You smile and then begin the bridge of the song, putting 10x the passion into singing than the moments before. Bucky watches you in admiration, noticing just how much you loved to sing from how you were performing. What he loves more than that is the elegant presence you have on that stage. How the spotlight lit up your deep brown skin, how your plump lips looked as they spoke those soulful words, and how your powder blue dress complimented your complexion perfectly. You start to finish the last verse with your eyes closed, feeling every bit of the music, up until the last note when you slowly open your eyes and make eye contact with Bucky. You stay on stage long enough for your applause then exit stage left and make your way to where Bucky and his friend sat. You first walk by Dee-Dee, side eyeing her and giving her and "I told you so" look. You then pass by Shelly, who was helping a table but had the time to scowl at you. You just grin and keep walking until you got to Bucky.
"Hi James." You clasp your hands in front of you and smile up at him.
"Hey, doll. You were amazing up there!" Bucky hold his arms out, hands just hovering over your arms, giving you goosebumps.
"Why, thank you." You smile and turn to his friend. He was shorter and quite skinny with blonde hair, but the vibe he gave off was strong, like he could do anything in the world no matter what others told him. "I'm sorry, I don't think I asked you your name."
"Steve, it's nice to meet you ma'am." He shakes your hand. "And may I say you can really sing." The smile he gave you was sincere, sweet.
"So which one of you came to see our dolly here belt out a tune?" Shelly comes up from behind you and pulls you into her side. Soon enough Dee-Dee was behind her with Mousy, nosily following behind.
"Me, ma'am." Bucky bows his head at them and gives them a smirk that would make anyone fall. "I'm James. It's nice to meet all of you." You look back at your friends as they all introduced themselves and quickly realize where you thought Mousy should be.
"Hey, mouse, aren't you supposed to be getting ready to go up?" You tilt your head toward the stage.
"Some drunk spilled booze on the stage and they said it was gonna be a while 'til they sopped it up." She shrugs then looks over in Steve's direction, eyes widening. You watch her eyes flicker from her feet to him as a timid grin grew on her face. You look back over at Steve who seemed to be as red as a tomato, sporting a similar goofy looking grin. You just breathe out a chuckle and shake your head.
"Well, I guess that's me gone then." Bucky chuckles, glancing at his friend. "Y/N, would you like me to walk you home?" He raises his eyebrows, looking at you.
"That sounds like a mighty fine idea." You smile brightly up at him. The confidence you have speaking to Bucky right now seems to be ten times that of your confidence from last night, but you just chalk it up to you being in your element and around your people. "Let me just go get my things." You turn on your heel and head backstage. "Mousey, I think they got the stage all clean now. You might be up in a moment." You whisper in her ear breaking her trance.
"Oh, uh, I guess you're right." She turns back to Bucky and Steve. "It was nice to meet you James and uh…" Her eyes widen, this time in embarrassment, when she realizes she never got the cute blonde's name.
"Steve. Steve Rogers." He delicately takes her outstretched hand unsure of wether or not he should kiss it. Soon the timing became awkward, and he lets go of her hand making them both giggle nervously.
"Margaret Smith, but everyone calls me Mousey. It was nice meeting you." She begins to turn to head backstage with you.
"You too, Miss Smith." A dazed smile grew on his face as he waved at both of you. Dee and Shelly both say their goodbyes and follow you back.
"You coming with me and Y/N, or…" Bucky looks over at Steve who still was focused in the direction of backstage.
"I think I'm gonna stay for one more performance. But don't let that stop you." Steve sits back down at the table just as you exited from backstage with your coat and your clutch, walking over to Bucky and wrapping your arm in his.
"I'll see ya, Steve." Bucky whispers as the host announces Mousey, which results in only a wave from Steve. You both laugh as you turn and exit the club. You squirm a bit as you walked by the tables of searing eyes from judging black men. You finally get outside and shiver at the slightly chilled air and remove your arm from Bucky's so you both could pull on your coats. You re-intertwine arms and start walking down toward the direction of your brownstone building. It started off silent, with Bucky just being glad he had you on his arm, but you were on edge, feeling the many pair of bystanders eyes watch as you walk down the sidewalk with Bucky, so to combat your nerves you begin to talk.
"So, how'd you get your nickname? Bucky?" You look up at him for a moment and then switched your gaze back forward.
"My middle name. Buchanan. Strangest place to get a nickname but hey, it stuck." You nervously giggle, watching a white couple scowl at you from across the street. You try to figure out another topic quickly.
"Are you, perchance, in the army?" You mentally facepalm yourself for asking such an oddly timed and oddly worded question.
"Uh, yeah. Why?" He squints and grins down at you.
"Just wonderin'. You seem like you're an army man." You hug yourself closer to Bucky's arm. He hums in response to your observation.
"I go off to Germany in a couple of months. Hopefully I get up to Sergeant rank before then." His words fade off as he looks over to you, watching you frantically look around. "Hey, you seem a little edgy, doll. What's going on?" You think about your answer for a moment, and decide to answer with a question.
"James, why did you talk to me last night?" You ask, making him stop and turn to you.
"I heard a beautiful voice flow through my window and when I went to find where it came from, I found that it came from an even more beautiful woman." He tilts his head and let's a grin tug at the side of his mouth before letting it fade again. "Why are you asking?"
"You didn't care about wether or not I was... colored?" You grimaced at the sensitive nature of your own question, but you knew you wanted an answer.
"Of course not, doll." You continue to look at your feet until Bucky gently lifts your head with his fingers. You look into his eyes, wondering how they shine bright blue even in the dull street lighting. He gazes into your eyes, knowing he's never been so in love with deep brown eyes until this moment. "Now, it would be ignorant to say that I didn't see your color, because I did. And it made you that much more beautiful to me." He pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You place your hands on his chest and look up at him. "And, I'm not gonna let color, nor people's opinions stop me from being with ya." A wide smile grows his face and you subconsciously mimick it. Suddenly out of what seemed like instinct, Bucky bends down to kiss you. It was short and sweet but was cut short when two men, obviously drunk, call from across the street.
"Hey, where'd you find the nigger call girl!? Maybe you could spare the number!" He slurs, making him and his friend cackle. You look up at Bucky and are met with his completely rage filled face, focused on the two bumbling men.
"Hey, we don't mind sharing the whore, either!" The friend shouts, tipping Bucky over the edge.
"I'll be right back." He releases you, hands you his jacket and beings to roll up his sleeves as he starts to make his way across the street.
"BUCKY! BUCKY!" You run to the middle of the road and grab his upper arm, making him look back at you. "James, there's no need for you to blow a fuse over this. Over them." You see his expression calm down and his body lose some of the tension it held. "Come on, let's go home. They'll get theirs one day. " You scowl at the still cackling men as you led Bucky back to the sidewalk. You hand him his jacket which he slips back on then holds out his arm for you to grab onto again.
"Why didn't let me go over there? I was gonna cream both of them." Bucky's biceps subconsciously flexes at the thought.
"And what if that got back to the army? Reputations stick, Bucky." You stop and take a deep, calming breath. "People like them have tried to get under my skin all my life. I've learned to ignore them because I know that if those yucks continue to spout their hatred, an equal or greater evil is in store for them." You look forward again, silence coming over you both again.
"It's still tough that you've had to deal with this your entire life." He mumbles, stuffing his left hand into his pocket. You just shrug and continue walking, letting the the low murmur from the nightlife calm you both down.
"I feel kinda lame for ditching your friend Steve back at the club." You comment looking up at Bucky again, watching him grin, making you smile.
"Something tells me your friend Mousey will keep him company." You laugh at his response and hug closer to his arm again, this time feeling as though the world has melted away, leaving just the two of you.
____
After walking the couple flights of stairs to your apartment, you and Bucky stop in front your door. You turn to face him smiling once you see his smile.
"Well, this is my stop." You point back to your door.
"I know, but I was wracking my brain and realized we didn't finish our make out. " Bucky raises a brow as he pulls you closer while you automatically bring your hands to his solid chest, laughing.
"Well that's a crying shame." You smile up at him as he leans in to capture your lips, the passion in the kiss greater than before. You weren't afraid anymore. You just wanted his arms to stay around you and lips to stay parked on yours. But your dream subsided as you felt him pulling away and you eventually open your eyes, meeting his smiling piercing blue ones.
"I'll be seeing ya again real soon, okay doll?" He slowly pulls away until he is only holding your hands.
"It better be soon, with you living on the floor above me and all." You smirk, eventually letting go of his hands, watching him make his way up to his place. As soon as he's out of sight, you let yourself into your place and remove your coat in a daze, tossing it and your clutch on the couch. You then move over to your window to open it and lean against the windowsill, looking over the nightlife that moved along the streets. You're slightly startled by a voice coming from the left of you.
"Hey." Bucky calls to you, also leaning out his window.
"Hey." You look over and grin at him.
"Goodnight, Y/N." Bucky grins lovingly at you.
"Goodnight, James." You return the sentiment the move from the window, closing it and heading back to your room to get ready for bed
#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x black!reader#40s bucky#40s bucky barnes#40s Bucky Barnes x black!reader#bucky barnes x black!reader#bucky barnes#james barnes x black!reader#james barnes x reader#james barnes imagine
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A Dog by Any Other Name
Rating: T for swearing
Length: 3.2k
Summary: After her boyfriend finds himself arrested, Emma Swan is left with a broken heart, a trashed apartment... and her ex's dog. While she agrees to keep the dog, she draws the line at calling him such a ridiculous name.
Killian Jones, her hot British neighbor, wholeheartedly agrees.
On AO3
Notes: Here is my contribution to @cspupstravaganza! Thank you to @profdanglaisstuff and @kmomof4 for organizing this event, and thank you to the lovely ladies on the discord for making this event so much fun!
Thank you as always to @shireness-says for her amazing beta skills, even though her lack of faith in my puns is disturbing. That John Oliver quote is for you, even though I wholeheartedly disagree with it.
Disclaimer: I do think the dog’s name is terrible, and I designed it this way. I in no way think this is a good pun, or even that you should pun when naming a pet.
Enjoy!
Emma sits on her couch, contemplating the mess that her apartment has become.
(Her life also has gone down the drain, but it’s easier to think about her living room.)
She says “her” living room, but yesterday it had been “their” living room – as in hers and Walsh’s, her now former boyfriend. Turns out she’s got a knack for dating losers, because just this morning as she was brushing her hair and Walsh was putting the coffee on, the police had banged on their door to arrest him and search the apartment.
Walsh was accused of smuggling stolen goods and embezzling. Now she understands why he’d insisted on putting the lease in her name only; bastard wanted to cover his tracks.
Emma looks at the plaster and wooden frame scattered over the floor, all that remained of her ornamental mantle; she’d told Walsh that she’d always wanted a chimney when she was a child to hang Christmas stockings from and to spend cold days in front of. He’d surprised her when she had come back from a three-day stakeout with a new addition to their living room. She’d thought it sweet at the time, even if not what she had meant at all, but she now realizes that he’d had it built to hide money inside. Tens of thousands of dollars. That he’d stolen. Sleazy fucking asshole.
Not only does she have to piece her life back together, but she also has to get her living room wall fixed. She won’t rebuild the chimney; it was gaudy and useless. Who builds a chimney with no hearth, anyway? It was a lie, just like her relationship.
Her second biggest problem yips next to her on the couch. Oh, right. She’d forgotten for a moment that her ex had left her with his dog. His dog, not theirs. He’d had it before they met, and Emma had warned Walsh when they’d moved in together that she wouldn’t take over his dog duties.
Plus that dog has the stupidest name she’s ever heard.
Frantic knocking on the door announces the arrival of Mary Margaret, the dog’s barking picking up in volume. David must have told her – did she mention that it was her brother’s squad who had searched her apartment? Bringing in her next perp is going to be all kinds of awkward, now that Lieutenant Fa knows what’s hidden in the back of her underwear drawer.
“Emma!” her sister-in-law and best friend says as she bustles in, gasping when she sees the state of the living room. “Are you alright?”
Emma snorts. Of course she isn’t alright, but for the moment she’s letting her anger overshadow her pain. Much easier this way. “My apartment is in shambles, my brother’s coworkers snooped through my whole life, and I learnt this morning that my boyfriend was a criminal. How do you think I feel?”
“Oh honey, I’m so sorry,” Mary Margaret says, hugging her. “Do you need anything?”
While an extraordinary amount of alcohol is Emma’s first answer, she swallows it back, not wanting to incur her friend’s disapproval. A bark and a little head bumping her leg give the blonde a more appropriate answer. “Yeah, do you have the number of a good shelter? I have to take care of this guy.”
Mary Margaret gasps as if she had just disclosed her plans to kill puppies in front of babies. “What? Why would you do that to your dog? Poor little Nacy, you can’t get rid of him!”
Emma groans at the mention of the dog’s name. Walsh had wanted to be clever when naming his dog and had called him Nacious in the most terrible pun to ever be uttered. Because his dog was a pug, so he was the pug Nacious. Pugnacious. “A ferocious little guy!” Walsh used to say, elbowing Emma as if she were in on the joke.
Turns out Emma had been the butt of the joke all along. Ha. Ha.
“He’s not my dog,” Emma snaps, “he’s Walsh’s, and right now? I want to get rid of every single trace of that idiot from my life. Including his stupid dog.”
“Emma!” This time she’s being scolded. “I know you’re hurting, but you can’t talk this way about Nacious, he is not stupid.”
She knows he’s not stupid. His name is, though.
Mary Margaret’s wheedling as they clean up manages to overcome Emma’s resolve to get rid of Nacious. Her attempts to get Emma to change her mind culminate in Mary Margaret holding the dog up to Emma’s face and looking at her with big round eyes. She will not call them puppy eyes; she has already had enough dog-related puns to last her a lifetime.
Emma draws the line at the name, though. It has to go.
----
Emma had started looking for a contractor as soon as the apartment had been cleared of debris and everything either put back in its place, or in a trashbag if it belonged to Walsh.
(Except the engagement ring. That had been quite the surprise – one that had made her sob for a whole night as Nacious licked her face, whining in worry. The ring she had kept, planning on pawning it off. It would pay for the repairs to her living room, at least.)
She finds one quickly, right in front of her mailbox while coming back from walking Nacious on the following Saturday morning. She’s on the phone with a building company, arguing with them about the price that they want her to pay for an expert to come assess the work that needs to be done. They seem to be under the impression that she isn’t aware making her pay $200 for a simple estimate is way too much. As she ends the call rather angrily, someone clears their throat behind her, making her turn around to come face to face with one of her neighbors. She’s seen him a couple of times in the lift, but apart from noticing how handsome he was, his striking blue eyes and the fact he was British, she didn’t know anything about him, not even his name.
“I’m sorry to have eavesdropped, lass, but I understand you seem to be in need of a contractor?” he asks her, smiling tentatively.
“Why, are you one?” Emma answers quite shortly, annoyed by her phone call and nosy neighbors.
“I’m not, but my brother is,” he says, rummaging in his satchel and fishing out a business card. “He does very good work, and he provides free assessments too,” he finishes mischievously.
Emma takes the card, still wary, even as Nacious tugs on his leash, trying to get closer to the man. Jones Contracting is written in a no-nonsense black on the card, along with a website and contact info. She could give them a try, she guesses. At least if anything goes pear-shaped, she’ll know where his brother lives.
“Thanks,” she tells him, slightly mollified, “I’ll – Nacious!”
The dog had managed to pull enough on his leash to reach the man’s – Jones, she guesses – legs and had started to play with his shoelaces, pulling on them and slobbering over Jones’ shoes. Ferocious little guy, my ass , Emma thinks disdainfully. The only way it would hurt a fly is if it drooled on it too much.
Jones looks down before squatting, reaching to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Hello little lad! In a playful mood, are we?” Then, blinking, he looks up at Emma, “Wait, did you say his name is Nacious? Pugnacious? Really ?”
“Oh, believe me, not my idea. Blame my ex for that, he had the worst sense of humor ever.”
“Clearly, if he called his dog that . What that’s quote again? ‘Wit is the lowest form of humor, and puns are the lowest form of wit’?”.
“And also the ‘worst form of human behavior.’ I watch John Oliver too,” Emma says, smiling slightly. “Although I have to disagree with him, as Walsh sank even lower than bad puns.”
“Ah, yes, and got himself arrested for it,” her neighbor nods as he straightens up. Emma winces. So everyone in the building knows about it. Great, as if she needed to be the subject of gossip on top of everything else.
“Sorry, love, shouldn’t have said it like that. Probably shouldn’t have said it at all, to be honest,” Jones apologizes, scratching behind his ear in embarrassment.
“Nah, it’s fine. It’s not like his arrest was very discreet, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t. But still, thinking Nacious is a good name for a dog is criminal in and of itself.”
“Which is why I’m going to change it. Just need to find something appropriate.”
“Oh, as long as it isn’t Ilist, you should be good. Can’t sink any lower.”
Emma snorts despite herself. Who knew the gorgeous Brit had a sense of humor?
----
And so Emma calls Jones Contractors and talks to a bubbly woman on the phone, then a tall Brit in her apartment who comes to assess (for free) what needs to be done. He introduces himself as Liam Jones, and is very professional, despite a twinkle in his eye that is quite reminiscent of the one in his brother’s gaze. The quote is reasonable and in her budget, so Emma meets Belle, Liam’s wife and co-owner to draft and sign the contract.
Work on her living room starts the next week and advances quickly. Liam is a quick worker, and works cleanly. That is, until he accidentally hits a pipe while tearing out the ruined section of wall. He ends up completely drenched before he manages to stop the leak.
“Sorry lass, do you mind if I call my brother? I can’t continue like this and I’ve got a change of clothes at his flat, it would only take a few minutes.”
“Sure,” Emma agrees, shrugging. “I’ll start mopping while you do that.”
The brother – her neighbor – arrives five minutes later, his arms full and his eyebrow raised.
“Hello lass, heard my brother was making a mess?”
Before Emma can answer, excited yips grow closer as Nacious (or Spencer, as she’s started calling him, but she’s not a fan) bounds to the door, running between Emma and Jones excitedly.
“Good morning to you too Nacious, has your mistress found a new name for you yet?”
“Nacious? I thought his name was Spencer?” Liam says as he comes dripping to the door.
“I’m… trying out new names,” Emma explains, taking Nacious in her arms.
“Good idea, Nacious is really weird for a dog.”
“You don’t understand, brother. What kind of dog is it?”
“A pug – oh you gotta be kidding me. A pun, really?” Liam exclaims, scrunching his nose in distaste.
“It was not my idea,” Emma insists. “It was my ex’s own brand of humor.”
“There’s no humor in that, lass, merely mediocrity. That arse deserves every day of jail he’s gonna get, even if only for that pun.”
Emma agrees, even if she can’t believe that even her contractor knows about her terrible taste in men. Then again, his brother probably had filled him in as to why she needed work done in her apartment. Still.
Liam takes the clothes from Killian and turns without another word towards the bathroom, muttering under his breath about arseholes and punsters and bloody crimes against humanity , leaving Emma and her neighbor standing a little awkwardly in her entryway.
“Well, that’s Liam,” Killian says, shaking his head slightly. “My brother has never managed to master social graces, I’m afraid.”
Emma snorts, before looking behind her and sighing. “Better get back to mopping, I guess.”
Killian curiously looks over her shoulder at the living room, and his eyes widen when he sees the mess of water and soaked towels on the floor.
“That’s quite the mess you’ve got there, Swan,” he grimaces. “Would you like some help?”
“Oh no, don’t worry about it,” Emma says, putting Spencer down to grab the mop. “I’ve got it cov– Na– Spencer, no !”
Her stupid ex’s dog has run through the puddle and is now zipping across the whole apartment, leaving tracks everywhere and – oh no, he’s jumped onto the couch.
A light chuckle sounds behind her. “Are you sure you don’t need help, love?”
Without a word, Emma shoves the mop in Killian’s hands and goes to get her wet dog off the couch, wiping his feet with the last dry towel in her apartment before locking him in her bedroom. When she comes back to her living room, Liam has exited the bathroom and is working on fixing the burst pipe and bantering with Killian, who’s wringing the wet towels on the floor into a bucket before dropping them back on the hardwood. It feels… nice, her living room lively again after weeks of being an empty shell for her memories.
Emma joins them after a few seconds to finish taking care of the puddle and clean the dirty tracks crisscrossing her living space. It seriously looks like a whole football team (and their probably less stupidly-named dog) have traipsed through her apartment after practice. Once it’s done, Killian doesn’t leave. They spend the afternoon trying to teach Spencer his new name as Liam pretends to work, though it seems the dog’s not a fan; Even his favorite treats don’t convince him to respond to their call, though they do prompt Liam’s laughter every time.
The next days pass in the same manner, with Killian and Emma trying to find a name that Nacious will answer to, Nacious spending his time either ignoring them or slobbering between them, and Liam alternating between repairing Emma’s wall and bantering with his brother and Emma. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, it’s warm . Emma also learns new things about Killian: he’s a professor of British history at Boston College and is on break right now, he loves Twain, despises Melville, and lost the fight to name his and his brother’s sailboat the Jolly Roger. It turns out, he is a huge nerd.
Emma is disappointed when Liam finishes at the end of the week, already missing her afternoons with the two Jones brothers – okay, one in particular, and it’s not the one covered in paint. Which is why she’s surprised to hear knocking on her door on Saturday morning, though Nacious’ excitement (or Windham, as they tried to christen him yesterday – Nacious isn’t a fan of British Conservatives, apparently) gives her a clue as to who might be behind the door. Seriously, it had been love at first sight for her dog; she’d be jealous of the attention Killian is getting, if she weren’t so vindictively satisfied that Nacious had never reacted this way to Walsh. There’s justice in the world, apparently.
Opening the door does reveal Killian, who smiles at Emma before greeting her dog, scratching behind his ears until Nacious’ tongue lolls out in bliss. Strangely enough, Killian keeps a hand behind his back.
“Killian! Can I help you?”
“Er, no,” her neighbor says, straightening up. “I just wondered if you’d allow me to give a small gift to Winston?”
Emma blinks, nonplussed. Of all the things she had expected, this was definitely not one of them. She watches as Killian gets a squeaky chicken toy dressed like a pirate from behind his back and holds it out to her. Emma takes it and can’t help but squeeze. Windham/Nacious turns towards the noise immediately, his eyes locking on the source of the noise and his little paws shuffling excitedly on the floor. Emma looks at the chicken, completely blown away. She had mentioned a couple of days ago wanting to replace Nacious’ squeaky toy as a throwaway remark, and they’d been joking about trying pirate names next. The guy had listened to her, and bought a pirate chicken for her dog. He was funny, clever, and handsome to boot.
Also, there was no way tens of thousands of dollars were hidden in that toy.
“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” she blurts out, raising her eyes just in time to see a blush steal across Killian’s face.
“Shouldn’t I be the one doing the asking?” he quips, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
“Well, I did it first,” Emma shoots back, smiling slightly. “So?”
“I’d love to, love,” comes Killian’s answer, as he smiles widely at her.
Emma smiles back, feeling giddy. So giddy, in fact, she doesn’t notice Nacious snapping the squeaky toy out of her limp hand and running back into the apartment, squeaks and yips sounding alternately.
----
4 years later
Emma sits on her couch, contemplating the mess that her living room has become. Toys, both for kids and dogs, litter the floor as screams and splashes sound from the bathroom. From the noise alone, Emma guesses she’ll have to take the mop out… again. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Just as she’s about to get up to start tidying up, someone knocks on the door. She wonders who would come at this hour on a Sunday night. She hopes it isn’t Mrs Johnson from down the hall again; the last time she had lent her neighbor her toaster, it had come back smelling like cabbage, of all things.
It’s not Mrs Johnson, though – it’s Walsh, of all people.
“Hey Em,” he says, smiling so widely it looks more like a grimace. “Long time no see, eh?”
“Yeah, weird how being locked up kills your social life, doesn’t it?” Emma snaps back, already tired with his shit.
“Look, I’m not here to argue, I’m just here to get my things,” Walsh says, finally dropping the smile.
“Your things? Dude, they were either donated to Goodwill or thrown out years ago, did you really think I would keep them for you?”
“I… what?” The asshole actually has the gall to look outraged for a second before he rallies, frowning. “Half of what’s in this apartment is mine, Emma, you know it. I want my share.”
“Actually, no. According to the lease, this apartment is mine, and mine only. Anything else?”
Even after all these years, Emma is deeply satisfied to see Walsh flounder as he stands in the hallway. She can hear a tell-tale squeak and yip coming from behind her. Walsh hears it too.
“Nacious? Is that Nacious? You still have my dog?” He sounds actually hopeful. As if.
“Not your dog anymore, dude.”
“Damn right it is!” Walsh exclaims, raising his voice in anger. “Give me my dog back right now, I paid more than a thousand for him, he’s mine !” he goes on, thumping on the door. “Nacious! Come here, boy!”
And oh, does her dog come. He comes right at Walsh’s ankle, biting it as his former owner yowls in pain, hopping in place and looking at him with a mix of anger and incredulity.
“Westley!” Emma calls, before Walsh can get it into his mind to kick her dog. Westley jiggles to Emma smugly, visibly proud of himself for saving his mistress. Emma picks him up, and look at Walsh, who’s still jumping and swearing in the corridor. The opportunity is too beautiful to pass.
“Quite the ferocious little guy, isn’t he?” she chirps, before saying in a much sterner tone. “Never show your face here, ever again. Next time, I’ll be the one to take care of you.”
And then she slams the door.
“Love, is something the matter?” Killian asks, exiting the bathroom with their giggling daughter in his arms.
Emma smiles, looking at the sight of her husband completely soaked, with suds slowly dissolving in his hair as Westley and their baby girl yammer at each other.
“No babe, everything is absolutely perfect.”
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A Glimmer of Hope
Banner by: @resident-of-storybrooke. Thank you so much for making this, Tori! You are the sweetest!
Summary: Killian returns home from visiting his brother, looking forward to asking a question that will change his life. That day, his life is indeed changed. Just not in the way he expected.
A/N: This ended up being really long, but there was not a good place to split it up, so here's the last chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!
Rated: M for violence, language and smut
Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6
Also on: A03 I FF.N
Chapter 7
Cake flour, unsweetened cocoa powder, butter and oil, eggs, buttermilk, red food coloring. These are just a handful of the ingredients he needs to make the perfect red velvet cake. The perfect red velvet cake Mary Margaret has been kind enough to help him make. He’s never made a cake before, so she gave him her recipe and offered to come over and help him with it. But he was determined to make it himself, so he took down several notes as she explained the specific techniques she uses, like how she separates the egg whites and whips them before folding the whites into the batter, and how she uses both butter and oil for a moist, soft, cakey texture, and a buttery flavor. She also explained how to make the frosting that pairs nicely with red velvet cake—cream cheese frosting. She told him to add a pinch of salt to offset the sweetness and to chill the frosting for twenty minutes so it will hold its shape before he slathers the white sugary goodness on the cake. He also watched several cake-making tutorials on YouTube to see how cakes are put together.
When the cake is finished, it looks nowhere near perfect, and he’s sure it doesn’t taste nearly as good as Mary Margaret’s, but he sure as hell tried. While the cake is setting in the refrigerator, he cooks the lasagna, another recipe Mary Margaret had gladly handed over to him. She even gave him some fresh tomatoes she picked from her own garden for the sauce, which he found out is her secret ingredient. Fresh garden tomatoes. Who would have thought that would make a huge difference, but it really does. And now Killian gets to replicate it. Okay, maybe not exactly, but he’s sure it will be a close second.
So, why did the lasagna have to perfect, or at least close to perfect? Why did he want to use Mary Margaret’s fresh garden tomatoes to replicate the best lasagna dish that ever existed? And why did he need the cake to be perfect? Why did the cake have to be red velvet, why did it have to have the perfect, light, soft-crumbled texture, why did the frosting have to be silky and sweet, but not too sweet? Why did he have to combine the perfect dinner dish with the perfect cake? Why did he have to go to the jewelry store and pick out the perfect piece of jewelry? Why did the apartment have to be neat and tidy, and why did he have to be so finicky about his outfit for the evening, even though he’s not dressed up per se, but wearing his best pair of jeans and his red dress shirt with a black vest? Why was he so nervous about tonight?
Easy. It’s his best friend’s birthday. And he wants tonight to be perfect. Hence, he made her favorite dish, baked her favorite cake, and he picked out a bracelet that fits her style perfectly. He did all of these things because she is perfect. The perfect roommate, the perfect best friend, the perfect woman. She told him not to make a fuss about her birthday and that she just wanted to come home and relax after a long day at work, so he decided to throw a party of two. He knows she won’t mind if it’s just the two of them.
He and Emma have been roommates and best friends for six months. Six. Amazing. Months. The decision to move in together was easy. They both needed a place to live and they had both agreed to remain friends since they didn’t want to be each other’s rebound. That would have been an ugly situation, and Killian didn’t want to take advantage of Emma. It’s the very last thing he wanted to do. So he settled on being friends. Okay, settled is not the appropriate word. He thoroughly enjoys their friendship.
They talk about everything and do everything together; they go out to lunch and go shopping together. They share the chores around the apartment, they cook together, they’ve spent many nights binge-watching t.v. shows and having movie marathons on the sofa together. Some nights, they even share a bed together, but it took Killian a few months to trust himself enough to not molest Emma in her sleep after the whole incident at her brother’s place.
He’s surprised he never received a fist in the face from David for that. He’s also surprised the Nolans forgave him when they learned Emma and Killian actually met the day they agreed to let him stay at their place. But they couldn’t blame him because he’d told Emma he didn’t want to impose on them, and she was too stubborn to listen. He doesn’t blame her though because she was trying to help him. And he’ll appreciate that gesture until the day he dies.
When neither of them is working, he and Emma are inseparable. The only things they haven’t done together is shower and engage in other enjoyable activities in bed, but he’s totally okay with that. He’s completely in love with his best friend, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s not about to fuck up what they have by admitting his feelings to her, because what they have is too damn good.
Killian grabs two oven mitts and takes the pan of lasagna out of the oven once it’s done. The cheese is bubbling as he sets the pan on the counter. He inhales through his nose, taking in the delicious aromas of fresh tomato sauce, Italian sausage and a mixture of different types of cheeses. If it tastes half as good it looks and smells then he’ll be extremely happy.
He’s smiling in success as he hears keys jingling outside the apartment and the sound of the door opening. He pulls off the mitts, setting them on the counter and strides across the kitchen to meet Emma at the door.
When she steps inside, she looks completely drained from working at the station. She immediately pulls off her boots and when she rises, he can see the tiredness in her jaded, green eyes, which seem to spark to life when she catches a whiff of the lasagna, a weak smile pulling at her lips.
“You made lasagna?”
“I did.” He graces her with a warm smile and leans in, kissing her on the cheek. “Happy birthday Emma.”
Her smile widens and she draws him into a hug, their arms wrapping around one another. “You know you didn’t have to, right?”
Killian chuckles against her, murmuring in her ear. “I knew you would say that. I also knew I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”
She squeezes him tightly, and he groans playfully, pretending to be squeezed to death. She laughs and swats him playfully. “Thank you, Killian.”
He pulls his lips away from her ear to face her, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome, love.” He lifts his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “Now go and get dressed into something comfortable. You look beat.”
Emma smiles as they pull away, and she lowers her gaze, taking in his outfit before returning her eyes to his. “But if I wore something comfortable, I’d be in my PJs. And you’re all dressed up, I’d feel underdressed, but honestly my PJs sound so good.”
He chuckles. “Love, you are not allowed to eat your birthday dinner in anything other than your PJs. How does that sound?”
Emma laughs and doesn’t seem to be opposed. “Sounds perfect.”
“Good, now go before I eat all the lasagna myself,” he teases.
She starts making her way past him. “I’m going,” she says and spins around when she’s halfway across the room, pointing a finger as she continues to walk toward her bedroom. “Don’t you dare start without me,” she warns with a big smile.
He smirks playfully, his eyes flashing with a bit of mischief. “I would never dream of starting anything without you.”
“Good.” She turns around again and disappears into the hall.
Killian goes into the kitchen and grabs two plates and a spatula, dishing out the lasagna. He takes the food to the coffee table and returns to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He sits on the couch, lighting some candles, and he’s filling the glasses with wine when Emma appears in the room, donning a frail smile.
She looks absolutely stunning.
She’s wearing a pale pink tank top and a pair of white pajama shorts with pink hearts, her long, golden curls spilling over her shoulders as she plops down on the couch next to him, her eyes widening as she takes in the view of the lasagna, the wine and the candles. “Wow, I really feel underdressed now.”
He sets down the wine bottle and turns his head toward her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple. “You look perfect.”
Emma’s blushing as he pulls away. “Thanks.” She gazes at him wistfully, and her eyes start to well up with tears. She looks like she might cry as her eyes return to the display on the coffee table. “Thank you, Killian, this is so great.”
“This is just the beginning, love.”
She lifts a thin brow in bewilderment. “There’s more?”
Killian chuckles and leaves the room to retrieve the gift he got for her. He was going to wait until after dinner, but now’s as good a time as any. A minute later, he’s reclaiming his spot next to Emma as he hands her the gift.
Her eyes widen as she sees the rectangular-shaped gift encased in gold wrapping paper. “Did you wrap this yourself?”
He nods. “Aye.” He smirks and holds up his hands. “You’d be surprised what I can do with these hands.”
Killian notices the light tint of pink in her cheeks and a hint of a smirk on her lips, as though she wouldn’t mind finding out what exactly what he’s capable of doing with those hands. She carefully peels the wrapping paper away, not wanting to ruin the beautiful wrapping paper. She opens the slim black box to find the beautiful, silver charm bracelet inside. Her eyes widen, a gasp leaving her lips as she takes the bracelet out of the box, fingering the different charms.
Emma laughs once she realized what he’s done. “Each charm fits my style.”
He grins, “Aye, it has all your favorite things.”
He had chosen each charm specifically to mirror her tastes. A buttercup, which is her favorite flower, a horse, her favorite animal and a pair of Uggs, which are her favorite type of boots. The bracelet has a Volkswagen bug for the vehicle she drives, a deputy badge for her new job and a swan for her last name. It also has a heart-shaped charm inscribed with her name. But his favorite charm is the one she’s currently looking at, her thumb brushing over it. A tear slides down her cheek. “You included our friendship…”
Killian’s heart flutters. He loves that she noticed what the pair of hands holding onto one another meant. It symbolizes their friendship, and Emma only had to glance at it to know that. “Aye, love, I did. How could I forget such an important aspect of your life?” he asks playfully, hoping she agrees.
Emma laughs. “No, we can’t forget that.” She leans her head on his shoulder, her voice more sincere. “Our friendship is really important to me. Thank you for this. It’s beautiful.” She peels her eyes away from the charm bracelet and leans in, kissing his cheek. Her lips are soft against his skin as she lingers a bit longer than he’d expected. She pulls away and drapes the bracelet around her wrist.
He helps her with the clasp and brings her wrist to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss there. “You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks tinge with blush, a bright smile curving her lips, as she playfully swats his shoulder. “Stop, you’re making me blush.”
He cocks a brow, smirking vibrantly. “I fail to see the problem. It’s a good look on you.”
She laughs and cups her cheeks in her hands to hide them. “You’re making it worse.”
“Still don’t see the problem, love.”
She shakes her head, still smiling as she leans over, grabbing her plate of lasagna. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”
He retrieves the other plate from the coffee table, and the room grows silent for a moment, apart from the noises she makes while she eats. “Mmmmm.”
A hint of a smile plays at his lips. He enjoys watching her as she enjoys the food he made her. Several mmmms later, he finally asks, “I take it you like the lasagna?”
She nods and swallows the food in her mouth with a sip of wine. “Are you kidding? It’s sooo good, it tastes like Mary Margert’s lasagna, maybe even a little better.”
Killian smirks against the rim of his glass as he takes a sip.
Emma turns her head, eyes narrowed at him. “Did she help you make this?”
He swallows the liquid in his mouth and nods. “Aye. She gave me the recipe and her garden tomatoes.”
“When was she here?”
“She wasn’t. I called her and wrote down all of the instructions she gave me.”
“So, you made this by yourself?”
“With her recipe and a bunch of notes, yes.”
“Well, you follow directions well because this is amazing,” she compliments, licking her lips.
“Thank you, love.” He grins proudly, his heart bursting with relief. She said his lasagna was better than Mary Margaret’s!
When they’ve finished the lasagna, Killian brings the plates to the sink and retrieves the cake from the refrigerator. He grabs a candle and a lighter from the kitchen drawer, lighting the candle. He hasn’t mentioned he made her a cake yet.
“That was so good,” she calls from the living room. “I’m ready to sleep now.”
He grabs the platter of cake and carries it into the living room. The sofa she’s sitting on is facing away from him, so she can’t see when he enters the room.
“Not yet, love. You have to try the cake.”
She turns her head around, her eyes widening as she sees the red velvet dessert. “There’s cake, too?”
He chuckles. “What birthday is complete without a cake?” He walks slowly across the room, singing happy birthday, and Emma’s laughing as she watches him. He takes a seat next to her, facing her as he holds the cake, shifting it over slightly so he can lean in and kiss her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, love,” he whispers softly. He pulls away and holds up the cake in front of her face. “Now, make a wish and blow out the candle.”
She’s more serious now, although there’s still a hint of a smile on her face and her eyes are locked on his as she blows out the candle.
“What did you wish for?” he asks, setting the cake on the table.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout but accepts her answer, hoping whatever she wished for does come true. He goes to the kitchen and returns, cutting a slice of cake and transferring it to a small plate.
Emma’s eyes are wide as she looks at the tall slice. “Wow, not only is red velvet my favorite, but it looks amazing. Don’t tell me you made this too?”
He nods, grinning smugly. “Oh, but I did,” he replies, handing her the plate. “Again following your sister-in-law’s instructions.”
“You really shouldn’t have.” She takes the fork he offers her and takes a bite of it. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, a low moan crawling from her throat. “Oh my god, this is sooooo good,” she mumbles with a mouthful of cake. “Like really, really good.”
“Really?”
She nods profusely and takes another bite. “Like better than sex good.” She moans again, filling his mind with unbidden imagery as he watches her.
He lifts a brow, a cocky smirk curving his lips. As happy as he is to hear how much she likes his cake, he has to wonder if it’s really as good as she says it is or if she doesn’t have much to compare it to. “Maybe you just haven’t had great sex, love,” he muses, a warm blush spreading through his cheeks.
She licks her lips, staring at him, as though he might be right. “That’s very possible. He who shall not be named wasn’t very good in the sack.”
“And yet, apparently he was good enough for she who shall not be named.”
“Or maybe she was only faking it,” Emma conjectures, piercing another piece of cake with the fork and offering it to him.
“That’s a possibility,” he replies, wondering if Emma faked her orgasms with him. But he doesn’t wish to dwell on the subject and banishes the thought. He opens his mouth, closing his lips around the fork prongs to scoop up the cake. “Mmmm.” He nods and licks his lips. “That is better than sex.”
“See? I told you.” Emma sits back against the couch, continuing to eat as he grabs a plate for himself and they both eat in silence. “Oh, crap.”
Killian looks over to see what happened and immediately regrets it.
A small amount of frosting had fallen from the fork and landed in her cleavage. He takes one look at her and has to refrain from groaning as he quickly faces forward again. He sets the cake down and is about to get up to retrieve a napkin, but before he does, she scoops up the frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, sucking on her digits. “Mmmm, it’s still good,” she comments, licking her lips.
Fuck.
He’s sure it is good. He wonders if she tastes even better than the cake. Killian tries to rid the thoughts from his mind as he grabs his plate of cake again and continues to eat.
Emma finishes her slice and sets the plate down, holding her belly as she slumps back into the couch. “I’m so full now.”
He cranes his neck to look at her and he can still see remnants from where the frosting fell between her breasts.
She catches him staring and furrows her brows in confusion. What?”
“You still have some frosting there, love,” he says, pointing to his chest.
She peers down at herself and laughs, looking up at him again. She must sense his uneasiness because she gives him a lazy smirk. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”
He chuckles and looks away. “Nope, not at all.”
“Mmhmmm,” she nods. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I just leave it there…”
This woman is trying to torture him.
He shrugs nonchalantly. “Fine by me.”
He plans to avoid looking at her at all costs, but the little minx sits up and reaches for the remote, which is on the other side of the cake, and she makes sure to give him a better view of her breasts with the frosting still smudged on her soft skin. He tries not to look, but it’s very hard not to. It’s indeed very hard.
He shifts in his seat, realizing the effect she has on him and he shoots up from the couch as she turns on the television. “Let me get you a napkin.” He flees from the room and grabs some napkins, releasing a heavy sigh. He looks down at himself and he’s as hard as a fucking rock.
Bloody hell.
Reluctantly, he heads back to the couch and sits next to her, handing her the napkin. She takes it and looks disappointed that he’s ruining her fun. Just as she’s about to dab the frosting with the napkin, he reaches out and grabs her hand to stop her before he even thinks about what he’s doing.
Emma’s eyes snap up, meeting his heated gaze. He can see the longing in her eyes. She is the one with the ability to read people, but after six months he’s able to read his best friend pretty damn well.
She wants him.
Hopefully just as much as he wants her. When her eyes drop to his lips, it only proves his theory to be true.
Slowly, he brings his hands to her face, his left thumb brushing over her cheek. When she lifts her eyes and stares directly into his soul, his heart starts pounding mercilessly. He leans in and catches her eyelids fluttering before he closes his eyes, softly capturing her lips. It takes her no time at all to react. She drops the napkin on the floor and curls her hands around the collar of his shirt as she moves her lips against his.
He can’t believe he’s actually kissing his best friend, and it hasn’t really sunk yet. They’ve shared pecks on the cheeks, on each other’s forehead and other innocent parts of their body, but never once has he kissed her on the mouth until now. Those were all friendly, chaste kisses meant to express their affection toward one another, but this is vastly different. This kiss is hot and volcanic, every inch of his skin exploding as he savors the delicate press of her lips; they’re soft and pliant against his own, his tongue darting out to trace the taste of cake at the seam blocking the entrance to her mouth.
She parts her lips, allowing his tongue to swoop in and taste her. She’s more delicious than he’d imagined. Her mouth is soft and tastes like red velvet and cream cheese, and he sucks on her tongue to get more of her flavor. Once he tastes her, he can’t enough. The slowness of the kiss is gone, rapidly heating up, his hands sliding into her hair until his fingers are entangled in her soft curls. Kissing her is everything he imagined it to be. Her mouth is everything he imagined it would be; it’s an intoxicating mixture of soft lips, a warm, eager tongue, playful nips and her sweet, decadent taste.
Emma climbs atop him, straddling his lap, their lips never disconnecting as his arms snake around her. His palms are on the small of her back, fingers digging into her as he pulls her to him until her breasts are flush against his chest. He becomes infused with the couch beneath him, melting in the cushions as her body molds into his.
He kisses her with the intensity of the feelings he’s held for her over the past six months. He’s waited all this time until it was the right time for both of them. He wanted to rebound after what that wretched bitch did to him, but truth be told, he couldn’t stomach the idea of being with a woman who wasn’t Emma. He tried going on dates, but none of the women was his Swan, so he never went further than dinner with them. Emma had the same issue, although she’d never said, or at least never admitted out loud that it was because of him.
He releases her lips, leaving them both panting for air, his breath ragged on her skin as his lips drag across her jaw. He takes some of her hair in his hand, gently tugging her head back so he can kiss down the column of her neck, his lips moving in a blazing hot pursuit. Her mouth is so heavenly, he didn’t want to stop kissing her, but at the same time, he’s eager to taste other parts of her.
His hands slide underneath the hem of her shirt, fingers wrapping around her slim waist as he kisses the tops of her breasts, licking off the remaining frosting off her skin. Both of them moan at the contact, and her fingers scrub through his hair as he savors the added sugary sweetness mixed with the tangy sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He kisses her there with the hunger of a man who’s been fasting his whole life. He’s tasted nothing so delicious, and he’s dying to taste her most secret place because he can only imagine what he’s doing to her and what that tastes like.
He’s back at her mouth, but only long enough to find her tongue again, getting another taste. He tears his lips away to pull off her shirt and sees that she’s not wearing a bra. He growls, his cock twitching in his pants as his eyes glide over her beautiful bare breasts, her pink nipples stiffening under her gaze. He’s touched them before, six months ago while he was half asleep… while he was dreaming of she who shall not be named.
Killian lifts his eyes to Emma’s as he remembers the promise he made to her. His hands are on her hips as she’s unbuttoning his vest, and apparently she can read his thoughts.
“You’re not thinking of Milah are you?” she asks playfully.
He lowers his head and moves in, kissing the valley of her breasts. “Who the hell is Milah?” He breathes in Emma’s intoxicating scent as he wraps his arms around her back and kisses along the curve of her breast, eagerly drawing a nipple into his mouth.
Emma moans, melting into him as her fingers curl around his dark locks of hair. He sucks on the hardened bud, taking her other breast in his hand, squeezing and pulling her nipple. He licks her, twirling his tongue around her areola, and sucks her bud into his mouth, groaning several times at how good she tastes. How good she feels in his mouth. His hands and lips take turns exploring her lovely breasts, switching back and forth between each one. Both of her breasts are perfect—the perfect size, the perfect amount of softness, the perfect nipples colored with the perfect shade of pink—he couldn’t pick a favorite from the two of them if he wanted to.
As soon as he pulls away, Emma’s shoving off his vest, and together they pull off his shirt. Her eyes light up as takes in the view of his body, her hands gravitating to his chest like they belong there, fingers combing through his chest hair. Her touch ignites his skin.
“Do you want to know what I wished for when I blew out the candle?” she asks, lifting her eyes to his.
Killian raises a curious brow. “I thought it wouldn’t come true if you told me, love?” he asks, his voice completely wrecked.
Mischief laces her little smile. “It already did.”
Killian’s heart pounds in his chest. Her statement could only mean one thing.
“I wished for you to kiss me.”
He smiles and wraps his arms around her back, pulling her to him. “Well, then you were wrong in assuming your wish wouldn’t come true if you told me… because I would’ve kissed you either way.”
Emma grins happily, wraps her arms around the back of his neck and smashes her lips against his, kissing him breathlessly. He groans in her mouth when her breasts are pressed against his chest and he can feel how hard her gorgeous nipples are through his hair. With their lips attached, Killian scoops her up in his arms and lays her on the couch, her head resting on the arm of the sofa as he explores her body, his fingers kneading her breasts before trickling down her body. When he reaches her core through the thin fabric of her shorts, he can feel the heat of her dampness gathering at the crux of her thighs.
Emma moans, writhing underneath him. “Killian… I want you…”
Oh, gods.
He didn’t think it was possible to want her more, but hearing her beg for him causes something to snap inside him, and he’s desperate to grant another one of her wishes. He tucks his thumbs under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down as she raises her hips to allow him to remove them, and once again he growls. She’s not wearing knickers either.
He pulls the shorts the rest of the way down her long, silky smooth legs and throws them carelessly on the floor, his eyes sweeping over her gorgeous, glistening folds as she spreads her legs for him. “Fuck, Emma,” he groans, wrapping his hand around her foot to plant a kiss on the tops of her toes. “You’re trying to kill me.”
She’s grinning devilishly at him from where she lays. “That was the plan.”
He lifts both eyebrows and smirks. “So you put on these pajamas with no underwear, hoping I would find out? Hoping I would see you without them?”
Emma nods slowly, biting her smile. “That was my other wish.”
Fuck.
Knowing she came home and dressed specifically for him, purposely not wearing any underwear with the anticipation of having him see her without them makes his head spin. It’s so fucking hot, he could explode from merely looking at her from his current angle.
His fingers move, finding her where she’s dripping wet, his touch ghosting over her clit, making her back arch. She sucks in a shallow breath and he looks up at her face, seeing her eyes glowing in anticipation.
A low growl crawls from his throat. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already fucking soaked for me.”
“Told you, you’re what I wished for.”
“So, this is all for me?”
She nods, unashamed of herself. “God, yes.” Her voice is wrecked, and it’s clear how deprived she truly was of him.
His hand falls to her entrance, her nectar coating his fingertips. He wants to lick up her goodness and tongue her into oblivion. His cock twitches at the thought.
Gods, he can’t wait to taste her. He presses two fingers inside of her cunt, her muscles tightening around him, begging for more contact.
Without warning, he pushes the two teasing fingers deep inside her, watching as Emma’s mouth opens, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she rocks her hips into his touch. Her cheeks and chest are already flushed red, her chest lifting and falling sporadically as he rubs that little sweet spot inside her wet heat. She’s completely naked and her lips are swollen, her eyes darkened with lust. It’s a glorious sight to behold.
She’s so tight around him, and he can’t wait to feel her around his cock, but first, he’s dying to taste her. He climbs atop her and begins kissing his way down her beautiful, writhing body. Her breasts, her nipples, her stomach. As he thrusts his fingers deep in her cunt, he makes his way lower and lower until he’s off the couch, kneeling on the floor. He’s leaning over her, planting soft kisses on her nub, which is clean-shaven and smooth under his lips. Her legs are spread wide for him as he tenderly kisses each of her inner thighs, inhaling her lovely feminine scent. He growls in anticipation of having her in his mouth.
He wraps his arms around her thighs and lifts her legs over his shoulders for better access, his teeth biting along her soft flesh, indelibly marking her skin as her dripping pussy is only centimeters away from his mouth. Not wasting any more time, he swipes his tongue out to lick her. Even though she knows it’s coming, Emma lets out a small gasp of surprise as he drags his tongue from her soaked entrance to her clit. He smiles to himself at the sounds she makes before capturing her clit with his lips, his tongue flicking over her flesh, sucking softly, making her hips jolt.
He’s so glad to realize he was wrong before when he thought she tasted as good as the cake. She tastes much better than the cake. He groans against her sensitive flesh, already in love with her flavor as he tongues her with long, languid strokes, eagerly laving up her arousal. He sucks at her lips, experimenting with different techniques around her clit. But it doesn’t matter how he licks her; the results are the same. A slew of moans pour from her lips as her hands are buried in his tousled hair, her knuckles probably white from how tightly she’s gripping onto him as she rolls her hips into him, desperately riding his face, and presses firmer and closer until he has to regulate his breathing, surrounded by the taste and smell and feel of her cunt.
Killian doesn’t let up, his mouth and tongue exploring her thoroughly, working wonders on her. He can tell Emma is completely helpless on the other side of the couch, her breathing accelerated as she feels one of his hands slide away from her thigh, to her opening. Two fingers dive deep with little effort, her own slickness and how soft her inner walls are make a perfect combination in aiding him in his endeavor of making her cum in his mouth.
His cock is aching to take her, but he’s too focused on her pleasure to do anything about it. He knows she’s close to coming when her legs start to shake on either side of his head. Killian increases his ministrations, tonging and finger fucking his best friend into submission.
“Killian… oh god…” The nails of her fingers dig into his scalp, but not deep enough to hurt him. In fact, he loves how restless she is, how much she craves his tongue whenever he pulls away slightly, making her squirm for more. “Killian, please… I’m so fucking close,” Emma whimpers, her muscles twitching around his talented tongue.
When he curls his fingers inside her, she flies over the edge, her delicious ambrosia exploding in his mouth. Her entire body wrenches, her moans dying down as she falls from the precipice of her orgasm.
He’s not finished when her body goes limp from her climax and keeps torturing the sensitive bud between his lips with a slow, circling tongue. Soft whimpers pour from her lovely lips, her eyes closed, mouth parted slightly as she basks in the afterglow of her orgasm. His fingers keep working in and out of her, coaxing more stimulation with each coordinated stoke.
He doesn’t want to stop, he could do this all night, but he knows all good things must come to an end. He leaves a lingering lick along her slit and a gentle, wet kiss to her nub, making her wince with sensitivity. He groans as he removes his fingers from her core, sliding them into his mouth, eyes fixating on the eyes smiling over at him. She lifts her hand and croaks a finger, beckoning to him. He responds to her summons and climbs on the couch, gently laying on top of her. She cups his cheeks in her hands, bringing his lips to hers, pressing his wet scruff against her lips so she can taste herself. She moans into his mouth as he brushes his tongue against hers.
She reaches between them and undoes his pants, slipping her hand inside his boxers. He lifts himself up just enough to allow her to wrap her hand around his cock. They both moan at the contact.
“Take your pants off,” she demands, giving his shaft a few firm pumps. He groans and thrusts his hips into her touch. “That’s another one of my wishes.”
He chuckles against her lips. “You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
She smirks slyly. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be demanding. I want your pants off and your dick inside me.”
Killian growls and wastes not another second, practically leaping off the couch and lifting her up. He tries to navigate across the room with her lips latched onto his and her legs wrapped around his waist as he carries her to his bedroom and lowers her feet to the floor once they’re past the threshold.
They’re still kissing as Emma pulls his pants down, and he removes his shoes and tugs off his pants, tossing them aside. Emma tears her lips away, her eyes scanning over his throbbing erection, tongue sweeping hungrily over her lips. This is the first time they’ve seen each other naked, and it’s glorious. Killian doesn’t wish this night to end so quickly and he’s afraid once he’s inside her, he won’t last long. So, he pulls her into his arms, his hands sliding down her backside and over her butt, squeezing firmly as Emma’s lips make a trail down his neck and over his chest, every kiss burning his skin. She moves her hands up and down his body, both of them exploring each curve and contour of the other. Emma curls her hand around his cock and strokes him as he fingers her. The noises they make fill the room, and before he explodes in her hand, he lifts her up and brings her to the bed, depositing her onto the mattress.
His mouth is back on hers, and they’re kissing again, their bodies writhing, hands continuing to explore each other until they’re panting profusely, heartbeats slamming against their chests.
“Shall we use protection?” he asks, remembering he has an old pack of condoms in his sock drawer. “I have some condoms, but they’re more than six months old.” He hasn’t used them since he was with what’s her name? He honestly can’t remember, he’s too enamored with the woman beneath him.
“That’s okay, I’m on birth control and I’ve been tested since I found out that asshole was cheating on me.”
“I got tested as well.”
Emma smirks mischievously. “Good, because I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel it when you cum inside me. That’s my next wish.”
Killian groans and crushes her lips with his. He’s so fucking hard, he can’t wait a second longer to have her. In one fluid motion, he maneuvers the head of his cock at her entrance, pushing himself into her. Emma moans and wraps her legs tightly around him. She reaches behind him and grabs his ass, her fingers squeezing him, pushing him in deep so he’s stretching her wide. He groans, finally feeling those soft, slick walls around his cock and he thrusts into her, his eyes rolling back in his head. She’s so tight and warm and it doesn’t take much for him to feel like he’s on the verge of his climax. He lowers his head and mouths her breasts, hoping to distract himself from coming too soon, but it’s not working very well. She feels too damn good.
“Gods, you feel incredible,” he groans, pulling away from her breasts, his fingers clutching at her soft thighs. “I’m so close already.”
“Me too. Fuck me harder, Killian. You feel so good inside me,” she moans, her voice completely wrecked as her hands move to his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin.
His heart is pounding erratically in his ear but somehow he manages to make out her reply, changing the angle of his hips in answer and snapping into her. He reaches between their bodies to where they’re joined and he strokes her clit to take her with him. A string of curses and moans pour from her mouth as he fingers and fucks her at the same time, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge.
He can feel it; the pleasure that had been roiling low in his belly since they started kissing, finally releases. It spreads through him, burning away anything else, the outside world fading away until the only thing that remains is them here together, making love. He looks deeply into her eyes, which are full of warmth and perhaps something else as she gazes up at him, and he can think of nothing but the two of them. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she places her hands on his back as he moves inside her.
“Emma… oh, gods,” he whispers in her ear, his words shattered. The building pressure spreads inside him until it becomes unbearable and he rocks into her relentlessly until he explodes inside her, filling her up with his cum, just as she’d wished for. Emma cries out and shudders beneath him as her own orgasm catapults through her body, fingernails digging into his skin, her toes curling against his thighs.
When they finally come back to themselves, Killian collapses into the mattress beside her, pulling the blankets over them. Emma lays her head on his chest, placing her hand on his stomach as he presses soft kisses through her hair.
“Gods, Emma, that was…”
“About bloody time? Worth the wait? Fucking incredible? Better than cake?” she laughs languidly. “Did I forget anything?”
“Agreed, agreed, agreed, definitely agreed. And nope, I think that about covers my thoughts exactly,” he chuckles, running his fingers up and down her arm. Although, there is one thing she didn’t mention that he wonders about. “I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret, my replications of her recipes were a complete success.”
Emma laughs. “She’ll be happy to hear that. Though you may not want to tell her just how successful they were,” she adds, combing her fingers through his chest hair.
“Ah, so you’re saying my cooking abilities determined how the night played out?” he teases playfully.
She shakes her head against his chest. “No, I think we’d end up here in bed regardless of how you cooked lasagna and baked the cake.”
He cocks a brow, peering down at her. “So, I would have been able to lure you into bed without my cooking skills?”
She swats him playfully. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve got some talent in the kitchen. In fact, I think you’re in the wrong profession and should’ve been a cook instead. But let’s face it…” Emma pauses in hesitation as her soft, green eyes look over at him, “we would have ended up together regardless of how tonight panned out.”
Killian’s heart flutters underneath her hand. “You’re sure about that, huh?”
“Yeah, why do you think I never went on those dates Mary Margaret tried to get me to go on?”
“Because I know you have a hard time trusting men after being burned twice.”
She nods. “I do, but I couldn’t even talk myself into having a one night stand with anyone,” she confesses, her eyes flicking to his. “You’re the one guy I do trust. You’re my best friend.”
Killian is relieved to hear her say those things. He’d imagined that’s how she felt, but hearing her say it out loud and knowing he wasn’t alone in his feelings, gave him a huge sense of relief. “Well, love, I haven’t been able to be with anyone else either. How could I when I’m in love with someone else? You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. The feistiest woman, the most beautiful. No one else could possibly compare,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek.
Emma lifts her head from his chest. “Killian, did you just say you loved me?”
Shit. He did. He didn’t even realize he’d said it.
Taking in the embarrassed look on his face and the rosy blush crawling up his cheeks, Emma can’t help herself and starts giggling. As to be expected, this doesn’t improve the situation and, if possible, he blushes even more.
He gulps thickly, clearing his throat. Is she laughing because she finds it funny that he could be in love with her or is she laughing because she thinks he’s joking? He guesses it’s better than if she had a negative reaction. But, if she finds out that he’s not joking, will she run? Will she be scared or mad at him? Does she even feel the same way he does?
“I didn’t… I… no, ugh...” he stutters, sinking his head into the pillow, and runs his hands over his burning red face. He’s not actually embarrassed by his confession, but he’s afraid if he tells her the truth, he’ll lose her.
“Oh, come on, Killian,” she tries again, completely flustered, burying her head under the pillow.
This is not how he wanted to express his feelings for her. He also hadn’t planned on taking her to bed before he told her. He would have been content on spending the rest of her birthday cuddled up on the couch and catching up on The Good Place on Netflix while trying to build up the courage to confess his love for his best friend.
So much for that.
Emma replaces the pillow under her head and takes his hand into her own, intertwining their fingers. Her giggling slowly fades into a whole-hearted smile as her eyes with his and places a soothing palm on his cheek to calm him. He stares into her eyes trying to read what she’s thinking, but maybe he’s not as good at reading her as he thought.
“I love you, too, Killian,” she says with a grin.
“You do?”
“Of course I do.”
Killian breathes the longest sigh of relief he’s ever breathed before. “Thank God. I was afraid that after my Freudian slip of the tongue, I’d lose you.”
She shakes her head against the pillow, still donning a smile. “You could never lose me.”
He turns on his side to face her and plants a brief, but tender kiss on her lips, all the frustrated tension he’d built up during the conversation easing up. He takes a deep, shaky breath and looks her straight in the eye, the tranquility in her emerald orbs giving him the courage he needs to tell her the truth that he’s spent the last few months trying to tell her, and apparently already has. But she needs to know his slip of the tongue wasn’t a mistake. “I love you, Emma.” He smiles and lifts his hand to stroke her hair. “You are my light and I am so glad we met. So glad you were at my door that day six months ago. You stopped me from making a big mistake by going into that apartment. And you’ve stayed by my side ever since.”
She smiles and raises her hand to his cheek, her thumb gently caressing his skin. “Well, you know what they say… sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”
He nods. “This is definitely better. Much better. And it’s only the beginning.” He kisses her again, his heart exploding with joy. He feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders since he told her. Since he knows she feels the same as he does. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against hers as she licks her lips. “So… anymore wishes for your birthday?” he asks with a mischievous smirk.
Emma laughs and presses her body into his, hooking an arm around his waist and nuzzling her face into his chest. “No, I have everything I need right here.”
Her words warm his heart, and he wraps her up in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad. Happy birthday, Emma.” He’s lulled to sleep by the sound of her soft breathing and thoughts of how much his life has changed over the last six months.
When he arrived at his flat in Boston six months ago, after the flight from England, the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with was betraying him on the other side of the door. Little did he know the woman he would actually spend the rest of his life with was on his doormat. When his plans all went to hell, when everything around him had a crack in it, he found the light that shone through. When he should have been hopeless, falling down an endless spiral of misery and sorrow, he instead found a glimmer of hope.
He found Emma and never looked back.
@onceuponaprincessworld @ilovemesomekillianjones @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @followbatb @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @mariakov81 @kingofmyheart14 @kday426 @withheartfulloflove @takhisismb @ohmakemeahercules @bugheadswanjones @tiffanyyy-ma @authorarsinoe @idristardis @balckwolf98 @xarandomdreamx @thejollyroger-writer @mamegank @whatthehell102082 @myswan-myhappyending-mylove @yasbio2015 @squidvisious @leftbeyondthestars @hallway5 @andiirivera @spartanguard
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Chapter one rough
“Medic 17, you’ve code 3 traffic at 2765 N Locus Ave. 37 year-old male complaining of chest pain and anxiety. No further info.”
Drew looks across the cab of the ambulance at his partner and flashes him a grin. “That’s dinner, Junk.”
“Fucking Albert!” Junk yells, putting the rig in drive as Drew hits the lights and sirens. “He’s not due to call for at least two days. Maybe he’s actually dying, for once. Don’t you still owe dinner from Margaret’s last call?”
“Nope. I got Thai for that one.” Drew says proudly.
“Fuck. Yeah.” Junk responds, slamming the shifter into drive.
The ambulance heads out of the parking lot and Junk hits the lights and sirens. Rush hour just ended, traffic is still a bit heavy. The ambulance weaves it’s way slowly through drivers that seem to have never seen an ambulance in their rear-view mirror before.
“Fucking Albert.” Junk repeats, gesturing at the Toyota in front of them. “And this fucking guy! Don’t stop, shit-head! Move the fuck over!”
The car in front slams on it’s brakes, pulling one of the three textbook panicked driver moves: brake slam, pulling to the left or staying the course, crawling at a slow crawl.
“Asian and female.” Drew says, upping the bet, “and I get dessert, too”
“Just because your Asian female can’t drive doesn’t mean they’re all like that.” Junk says as the car finally figures out that the screaming sirens behind it aren’t going around and pulls off to the right, halfway through the crowded intersection of stopped vehicles.
As the rig kicks forward again, they both look out the passenger window, “what the fuck” expressions already loaded on their faces.
The driver waves apologetically, mouthing sorry over and over as they pass.
The ambulance screams ahead, clear roads for a few more blocks. Ten per over the limit is what they’re allowed per company policy. Apparently Junk missed that page in the handbook.
“Well that was a surprise.” Drew says, looking in the side view mirror.
“Cute little white girls ain’t exempt from bad driving” Junk admonishes.
“Very cute.” Drew corrects him.
Junk looked sideways at Drew. “That’s creepy, old man.”
“It’s only creepy if I say it first.” Drew says, putting on his best creep smile.
Junk gives him a disgusted look and says “No, it’s creepy when you have that look on your face when you say it.”
Drew feigns irritation, “It’s not a look, ok? It’s just my face, I can’t help the way I was born.”
“Exactly. Which is why everything you say is creepy.” Junk turns right onto Farley Ave. Quicker than he should, jerking the wheel back to the left to avoid a dog in the street.
Drew barely glances up from his electronic chart, already halfway finished with it. He and Junk have been partners for seven years, Drew knows that Junk is all-pro behind the wheel. Seven years of fun and blood and guts, life and death. Buffoonery and bullshit. Seven years of betting meals at the beginning of the week, based on which frequent-flyer is going to call first.
“Turn the fucking wheel, geezer!” Junk yells at the Buick ahead, the driver stopping halfway into the right lane.
“Shouldn’t assume they’re old. That’s profiling.” Drew says, chuckling.
“S’ a fucking Buick, man. Ain’t nobody under the age of sixty-five driving no Buick.” Junk says, waving out the window at nobody.
“Profiling.” Drew repeats
“Man, I am really not in the mood to smell Albert’s house today. Not at all.” Junk moans, thinking about what lies ahead;
Morbidly obese, 47 year-old diabetic, asthmatic, congestive heart failure, kidney failure, non-bathing rage-inducing EMS system-abusing Albert fucking Piffle.
As they pull up to Albert’s neighborhood, Junk kills the lights and sirens. The less people in this neighborhood that know an ambulance is sitting unguarded in the street, the better.
“Tonight’s the night. I can feel it” Junk says, pulling up in front of Albert’s trash-strewn lawn. “He ‘gon ride the lightning, we’re working him.”
“You keep saying it, and he keeps living. You’re jinxing us one way or another.” Drew grabs the computer off the dash as he gets out of the rig.
“Lock it, I’m not in the mood to go pawn-hopping on my day off.” Junk pushes his door lock down with his finger, the automatic locks long past working in this death-defying death trap of an ambulance.
They pull the gurney out, loaded with equipment they know they won’t need; Drug box, cardiac monitor, airway bag chock full of things they might use if this were a legitimate call. But it’s just Albert. He probably dropped his can of Spaghetti-O’s under the couch again. Or the TV remote is missing, stuck in a roll of back fat from the last time he managed to get moved from the couch and back under his own power. Or Albert’s just feeling extra bored and lonely. They bring the equipment even though they know they’ll be walking out of Albert’s shithole house, reeking of sweat and cat piss so bad they’ll change uniforms in the street before getting back in the rig.
They bring all that heavy, cumbersome equipment in because it’s got less chance of being ripped off in the house than out in the rig.
And the day they don’t lug all that shit in is the day they find Albert face-down in his own puke. Not so dead they can call it a night right there. They’ll find him just dead enough that they’ll have to actually work him. Roll his 400 lb carcass over and start compressions, cut his filthy clothes off and get him hooked up to the cardiac monitor, try to get at least one I.V. started, as well as call for assistance from another crew or two, just to get his ass on to the gurney in the event they actually get his ruined heart to start pumping blood again.
Junk leading the gurney, he doesn’t ring the bell or knock, doesn’t yell “EMS” into the house like he normally would. This is Albert. Junk just walks in, dragging the gurney with him as Drew pushes it from the rear, the wheels rolling across the stained carpet, a shade of some unnamable color distantly related to brown.
“Al!” Drew yells through his paper mask, donned by both of them automatically before reaching the porch. Not out of fear of catching anything, but from a lack of desire to smell the inside of Albert’s house. The masks barely do anything at all. Just enough to keep them from retching.
“Al!” He repeats, catching Junk’s quick glance back at him. It’s not like Albert to not answer.
Avoiding the piles of boxes and junk, they round the corner to the living room where they always find him; on the filthy couch surrounded by empty soda cans and chip bags and crusty food plates. Laptop opened on the snack tray, usually some Sci-Fi on the one large flat-screen tv, xbox or playstation on the other. He’d always yell “Here guys!” when they’d call for him and it would make them grin, ever since Junk compared him to Sloth from the Goonies.
Junk stops as the room enters his field of view and looks back at Drew with an unamused smirk. Albert is on the couch, Xbox controller in his hands and a brand-new set of expensive-looking headphones over his ears.
Drew stares at him for a moment, a similar smirk on his face.
“Albert!” he yells. It gets Al’s attention and he jumps, risks a glance away from the screen and then he’s back in sniper mode.
“Hey guys.” Albert mutters, focusing on the screen.
Drew walks over as Junk heads back outside, pushing the gurney and cursing the whole way. He pulls the headphones off Albert’s head and sighs loudly.
“What’s the deal, Al?” Drew asks, looming over Albert.
“I kept reading online about how much better it is if you have headphones, you know? Like to hear guys’ footsteps and stuff when they sneak up? So I ordered these, they’re really good, Drew!” Albert says, grinning like a great big man-child with too few teeth and too many comorbidities.
“No, Al,” Drew exhales “why did you call for us? Dispatch said chest pain. I don’t give two shits about your headphones or electronic addiction.”
“Oh yeah sorry. Fucker! Fucking campers.” Albert yells, distracted by Call of Duty again as his character on screen dies.
Drew steps between Al and the T.V. and for a second Al looks like he’s going to object, but Drew’s eyebrow raise squashes his momentary outrage.
“I’m sorry, Drew. I had some chest pain, but I think it was just some anxiety. The internet was out for like an hour and I was starting to lose it a little. I forgot to call back. I’m good now, though.” Albert says, simultaneously giving an apologetic look and trying to see around Drew, who shifts his weight and keeps his vision blocked.
“One of these days, I’m going to come in here and take all your controllers and leave. I’ll show you some anxiety.” Drew says, making hard eye contact for a moment.
Albert’s eyes go a little wide, unsure how serious the threat is. He fidgets and reaches down next to the couch, grabbing a fresh battery off the charger and starts changing batteries on his controller.
Seriously? That’s not even funny, man. I said sorry.” Albert apologizes almost sincerely, putting his controller down on the arm of the filthy couch.
The voice in Drew’s head is telling him to let it alone, to just get on with his shift. But he can’t. No matter how burnt out he is, he has to try every time. Even just a little “Samantha still your case worker?” he asks, knowing full well that she is.
Albert’s eyes light up at the mention of the pretty girl that comes to his house once every other month to dot the I’s and cross the T’s on his paperwork so his handout money keeps coming in.
“Oh yeah, Sam was here last week. She looked hot.” Albert grins like a lovesick child.
“Sure. Right now,” Drew says “her Grandmother is dying on the kitchen floor, just three blocks away. I could be over there helping, but I’m here babysitting you. Maybe I’ll get out of here and catch that call. Have enough time to save her. Or maybe next time you see Sam, she’s a little less bubbly because she’s mourning the death of her beloved Grammy because it took the next available crew twenty minutes to get to her.”
“Her Grandmother’s dying? Right now?” Albert asks, almost panicked.
“Jesus!” Drew yells. He grabs the controller out of Albert’s hands and gets down low, points at his face.
“Stop abusing the fucking system, Albert. I’m not coming next time, I mean it.” Drew exclaims, holding eye contact before turning away and heading towards the door.
“Come on, man! Give me back that controller! Please? I won’t call again!” Albert pleads.
“If I don’t see you for a month, I’ll bring it back.” Drew yells as the door slams behind him.
“Oh C’mon!” Albert yells to the empty house.
He sits for a moment, wondering if Drew was serious about Sam’s Grandmother. He reaches down next to the couch and grabs another controller, mumbling “Whatever, sucker. You’ll be back.”
Junk’s already changed into a fresh uniform and packed the gear back up, taking a drag off his vape and says “Did you kill him? Please tell me you killed him.”
“My name’s not diabetes.” Drew mutters, still irritated as he kicks off his boots and drops trou on the sidewalk, then pulls off his shirt and grabs his backpack from one of the outside compartments, pulls out clean clothes.
Junk takes another pull and offers it to Drew. “Want some? Helps get the smell out of your nose.”
“No” Drew refuses “ But you do look damn sexy sucking that robot dick. I see a future for you in robo-porn. You could be a pioneer.”
“You’re about to become famous, yourself.” Junk replies, motioning up the street. A group of young clowns two doors down have their phones out and are snapping pics of Drew in his skivvies.
Drew looks back at them and waves. “I’d better not see those on Ebay!” he yells, pulling his pants on.
A combination of laughs and catcalls come back, as well as “Chicken legs.”
Drew mocks surprise, turns to Junk. “Do I have chicken legs?”
Junk blows raspberry-scented vapor at him and laughs. “Yep. Chicken from neck to nuts, too. Speaking of, it’s taco time.”
Junk gets in the rig and starts it up, starts to pull away as Drew jogs to catch up and hop in before he gets left in this shitty neighborhood.
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