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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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djemsostylist · 3 years

Note

What Turkish shows have you watched?

Oh golly, ain’t this a question.

Let’s see, I started with Kurt Seyit ve Şura sort of accidentally about 3 years ago, because I saw gifs and I thought Kivanç was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Never actually finished it because I found out how it ended and I rage quit.

Fast forward to this summer, saw a few gifs of SCK, and fell hard. Got obsessed fast, and I’ve been live watching since November. It’s a complete dumpster fire and I hate it now, but we are in a toxic relationship so I can’t leave, even if I stopped watching the episodes with subs over a month ago.

Since getting into SCK, I’ve watched:

Şeref Meselesi: Absolutely stunning. A true masterpiece. Heartbreaking and beautiful and overwhelming, and I will never truly get over it. Yiğit Kılıç is one of those characters who will stay with me for a long time. Compelling characters, beautifully shot and told, super tight narrative. It was art. Cannot recommend enough.

Meryem: Absolutely adored it. Tight narrative, satisfying story, and surprising characters--it has the best foursome of any show and my current favorite family. It was predictable but also surprising, it has arguably the best male dizi character, and the main couple is just stunning together. It was one of those shows that you finish and immediately want to watch again. I’d put it up there as one of my favorite shows period, not just favorite dizi.

Bu Şehir Arkandan Gelecek: I loved Kerem in this (Ali is a ray of sunshine) and I really enjoyed his story with with his family and the arc his character took, but the two girls drove me up the wall. I can still hear Derin whining if I close my eyes. Still, he’s beautiful in it (he boxes, so there are many shirtless scenes and lovely workout moments) so I’d recommend it on that alone. Not one I’d rewatch tbh. Good for a one time through.

Kiralık Aşk: I did not finish this one. Got about 24ish episodes in, and just wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t really care for the drawn out secret plotline, and while I liked the main couple, it wasn’t enough to keep my attention. Good, but I didn’t have the patience to last through another 40 episodes tbh. When @lolo-deli rewatched, she sent me screencaps and gifs and YouTube videos of the highlights from the bits I missed, bc she’s the best lol.

Erkenci Kuş: Much like KA, I did not finish this one. Wasn’t a huge fan of the main couple to start, didn’t really love any of the side characters, and after reading about where it went, noped out by the 20th episode or so. (This is likely a sign I should stop watching romcoms on episode 20).

Ariza: I really like this one initially, but then I sort of forgot I was watching it? Like, it wasn’t bad, but just wasn’t enough to keep me coming back week after week. I adore Ayça Aysin Turan though, she’s flawless.

Maraşlı: Just started this one (only 3 episodes in). I like it so far--different sort of genre and feel, but really well done, and definitely draws you in. You really have to pay attention, so I’m moving slower with this one because I don’t want to miss stuff. So far, so good!

Her Yerde Sen: Also just started this one. I’m 4 episodes in on this one, and I’m really liking it so far! Definitely a better female lead for me than EK (I liked Defne in KA but she got on my nerves after a while with the mess) and I really like the main couple--they are cute and quirky together, but they feel more like equals, which I really appreciate (it’s what drew me to SCK initially too). Furkan Andiç is dreamy, and while it does mostly make me miss his character in Meryem (Savaş, the love of my life) I’m enjoying him in this too. And since it’s only 20 episodes, I’m thinking this is a romcom I might actually finish!

So, that’s all for now. There was one I watched one episode of and stopped bc I googled the end (good rule of thumb with dizis is to know how they end--see my poor SCK) but yeah. I’m sure this list will just keep growing--these shows are addicting, and since Western media has let me down lately, it’s where I’ll be for the foreseeable. Only flaw in the ointment is my inability to speak Turkish, but it’s hardly gonna stop me 🤣

Aren’t you glad you asked?

(None of this is my fault btw. Technically all of this can be blamed on @sweetrupturedlight since I saw gifs for both KSvS and SCK on her blog and she told me about them. and then @lolo-deli has impeccable dizi taste so she gave me Meryem and SM and BSAG and HYS...)

#anonymous #turkish dizi #dizis #I'm a baby when it comes to turkish shows too #like literally started in like november watching hardcore #and i've barely touched the iceberg

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candied-peach · 4 years

Text

ao3: “apple blossom” rating: T warnings: some remus typical stuff, food mention, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, intruality/moduke genre: fluff description: Remus needs his hair washed. Patton is up for the job. (for prompt: "How about a Remus who really hates getting his hair washed and Patton having the patience of a saint and surprising upper body strength? (Maybe Remus is tiny, maybe he’s not, I’ll leave that to you)")

"I don't wanna," Remus insists, crossing his arms in front of his body and adopting a sulky expression. Patton sighs, running his fingers through the grey streak in Remus's hair.

"I know you don't," he says. "But you have pancake syrup all over the back of your head."

"Yeah, 'cause of Roman," Remus retorts.

"It was an accident!" Roman shouts from the living room. Remus glares in his brother's direction. Like he's actually supposed to believe that Roman just accidentally tipped a bottle of syrup his way when he was cleaning up after breakfast.

All right, perhaps it was an accident, but that didn't mean Remus wanted his hair washed.

"It's fine the way it is," he argues, but he knows his boyfriend's not going to buy it. In Patton's eyes, cleanliness is an art form. Remus gets away with a lot, but not even puppy dog eyes will convince Patton that he's good to wander around with his hair completely matted to his scalp with Canada's own maple syrup.

"Get it over with quickly," Deceit advises, running his fingers through his own unruly locks. His unruly, clean locks. Remus makes a face.

"I have apple blossom shampoo, your favorite," Patton wheedles. Remus heaves an enormous put-upon sigh.

"Fine," he grumbles, willingly slipping his hand in Patton's and letting his boyfriend escort him to the bathroom.

"Bubble bath?" Patton asks. Remus nods.

"Can I drink some?" He asks hopefully.

"No!" Patton exclaims. "It's not edible, sweetheart, we've been over this."

"You still let me eat deodorant," Remus points out. Patton laughs.

"That's because you replaced it with marshmallow fondant to mess with your brother and he still hasn't caught on," Patton says. Remus cackles. Definitely one of his better ideas.

"Can I take a bath with all my clothes on?" Remus asks, his eyes bright. Patton considers it.

"If you want," he says with a fond smile. "I can just snap your clothes dry after."

Remus happily splashes into the bubble-shrouded bathtub, sending plumes of water everywhere.

"This isn't going to be a fight, right?" Patton asks. Remus smiles innocently.

"Of course it will be!" He announces. "But that's what makes it so much fun!" Patton shakes his head, but Remus can see the amusement in his eyes.

"Okay, close your eyes," Patton directs. Obediently, Remus does so, his nose scrunched. Patton grabs the portable shower head and turns it on warm, carefully wetting Remus's hair.

"Shampoo is next," Patton warns. Remus heaves up, hands clamped on either side of the tub, but Patton's prepared, gently but firmly pushing down on his shoulders, no matter how much he twists around. The water sloshes around Remus, soaking his clothes.

"Are you sure I can't just go around with syrup hair?" Remus asks, making one last ditch attempt. "It sounds fun! I could try to stick to walls by my head!"

"Remus," Patton says, catching his boyfriend's attention. It's time to settle this once and for all. "Why don't you like your hair washed?"

"Doesn't feel good," Remus says. "Like a bunch of worms wriggling on my head."

"What if you did the scrubbing?" Patton bargains. "Would it still feel like worms if it were your fingers?" Remus shrugs.

"Dunno," he says. "I could try, I guess."

"Okay," Patton says, summoning the apple blossom shampoo. "Let's try that then. I'm going to put the shampoo on, and you try scrubbing your scalp. Make sure you work on the syrup, okay?"

"Okay," Remus says, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. Patton squeezes a generous dollop on the top of Remus's head.

"Cold," Remus remarks. His hands gingerly settle on his scalp, massaging the shampoo in.

It goes surprisingly well-

Until he hits the syrup-matted bits in the back. His fingers curl up in automatic defense, his entire face scrunching up in an expression of utmost disgust.

"Can't," he says, shaking his head so hard bits of shampoo foam come flying off like scraps of whipped cream. "Nope, nope, nope, screw that-"

"Do you want me to take over?" Patton asks. Eyes wet with unshed tears, Remus nods, miserable. Patton carefully scoops up some of the shampoo not yet worked in and starts to work on the congealed syrup-laden strands.

Remus jerks away again, on autopilot, but Patton pulls him back, one hand constantly working at getting the syrup out. Once Remus has managed to settle a little, he grabs the shower head again and sprays the back of Remus's head, squinting to see if he's made any progress.

"Almost done!" He announces cheerfully. "Just a little bit more, okay?" Remus vibrates in place, nodding.

"Hurry up," he manages to eke out. "Please."

"Of course," Patton reassures him. True to his word, he's rinsing the last bits of shampoo out of Remus's hair only a few minutes later. Remus looks up at him with undisguised relief, one hand going to the back of his head and finding only soft, freshly washed hair back there.

"Thank you," he mumbles. "Sorry."

"Thank you for telling me why you don't like it," Patton says. "Have you ever tried dry shampoo?" Remus shakes his head. "It wouldn't have helped this time, but you spray it in your hair and comb it through," Patton explains. "It might be easier."

Patton immediately finds himself driven back with the force of a sopping wet lapful of boyfriend, soggy arms squeezing around his middle.

"You're the best," Remus declares, wiggling on the bathroom floor, half in and half out of the bathtub.

"I believe that title belongs to you," Patton says, booping Remus on the nose. Remus giggles.

"No, you," he says.

"All right, it's both of us," Patton compromises. Remus sighs happily and rests his wet head against Patton's chest.

"Your heart goes thud thud thud," Remus announces. "I like it."

"Oh?" Patton asks. Remus grins.

"It's one of my favorite sounds in the world," he says. Splotches of color rise high on Patton's face. Remus snickers. "Made ya blush!" He crows. Patton tsks under his breath, helping Remus fully out of the tub and snapping him and his clothes dry.

"Smell," Remus says, thrusting the top of his head under Patton's nose. Patton smiles.

"Apple," he says. "Your hair smells like your shampoo."

"You think I can get Roman to smell my hair?" Remus asks. "I was gonna tell him it smells like dead rat."

"Remus!" Patton exclaims, but he can't stop laughing. "I can't stop you," he says. Remus beams smugly.

"I know," he says.

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @yalltookmyurlideas @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @littlestliu

#🍬 txt #sanders sides #intruality #romantic intruality #sympathetic remus #remus sanders #patton sanders #remus #patton #roman #deceit #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #📚#ok to rb #peach writes #i forgot to upload again lmao #janus

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haberdashing · 4 years

Text

did it hurt (when you fell from heaven)? (1/?)

The world is changing now, and many of its inhabitants are changing with it.

They are calling it a Transangelic Epidemic: the sudden and monstrous transformation of hundreds of good citizens.

Sasha James doesn’t think it’s anything she should be concerned about until, after spending the night with a coworker who’s more than just a coworker, her back begins to ache...

Inspired by Transangelic Exodus; should be readable without having read that first, but they are very much set within the same verse.

on AO3

Sasha woke up in Tim’s bed after a night which she hasn’t quite decided whether she regrets or not with twin pains just below her shoulder blades.

It took her a moment to realize that the pain in her back was unconnected to the dull roar in her head, that the headache was an anticipated (albeit still begrudged) consequence of the night she’d just had while the backache must be something else entirely. Calling it a backache was downplaying it, really; the pain was sharper than that, like she was laying on a row of thumbtacks instead of a soft if disheveled bed.

Sasha stretched her arms out above her head, which managed both to make her backache worse, somehow, and to plant her elbow squarely in Tim’s face, without actually helping her feel more awake in the process.

“Shit, Tim, I’m so sorry-”

“‘s fine, ‘s fine.” His voice sounded slightly muffled, even after Sasha moved her arm so that it was well out of his way. “I’ll live.”

Sasha pushed the blanket on top of her further down until it was a crumpled mess near the foot of the bed. “Is that your standard? Either you don’t live or it’s fine?”

“Pretty much. Especially when there’s someone cute involved.” Tim looked Sasha dead in the eye and shot her a dramatic, exaggerated wink, adding in finger guns after a moment when her expression didn’t change.

“Aww, you think I’m cute, how sweet of you.”

“You do remember what happened last night, right?”

Sasha seriously considered beaning Tim with the nearest pillow before thinking better of it, instead replying only with an overly-chipper, “Trying not to!”

“Ah. Got it.”

Sasha sat up gingerly, trying her best to notice which movements made her back twinge with additional pain as she did so.

"You alright, Sash?”

Sasha looked over at Tim. The levity in his voice was gone, and now he was watching her closely, eyes focused on her every move.

“I am... somewhere in between fine and not alive, personally.”

Tim snorted softly with amusement. “Hangover that bad?”

“Well, there’s that, yes, but... I didn’t slam my back into something last night and then forget all about it, did I? Because it’s been aching something awful.”

Tim paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again as he began to speak. “No, I don’t remember anything like that happening, and I think I would remember, last night was pret-ty memorable...”

Sasha had to fight back the urge to bean Tim with a pillow again.

“Anything I can do to help? Grab some paracetamol, give you a massage, call 999...”

Sasha rolled her eyes in response to Tim’s final suggestion. “It’s just a backache, Tim.” A bad one, true, and with no clear cause to boot, but then, such things happen. Sasha knew enough that bodies didn’t always cooperate the way you wanted them to. “Maybe the paracetamol, but a massage would probably just make it worse.”

“Even from a master masseuse like me?” Somehow the smirk on Tim’s face just kept growing, and somehow Sasha could swear just the sight of it made her headache worse.

“You take one massage class-”

“More than anyone else in the office has done, I bet.” The smirk faded away again as Sasha leaned forward in the hopes that it would help with at least one of the pains currently plaguing her, though it just made her head swim until she pressed her chest up against the bed, her head leaning against the mess she made of the sheets. “Where does it hurt?”

“Er...” Sasha tried to indicate the areas in question as best she could, though it was hard to reach behind her back and harder still to try to point out a specific part of it. “There’s two spots, right about there I think--next to the shoulder blades, on both sides. Nothing looks weird back there, does it?”

Tim didn’t respond for a long moment, and Sasha’s mind immediately turned to the worst.

“Sasha, you... have you been following the news lately?”

Sasha let out a soft laugh, more out of relief than any actual humor. “What kind of a question is that? I guess so, yeah, why?”

“You know the whole... angel transformation thing they’ve been talking about lately? People growing wings and stuff?”

Sasha had already started to eke out a nonchalant “Yes” by the time she put the pieces together.

“No.” she said instead, her voice coming out more like a scandalized teenager than she would have liked instead of that of a grown woman who was just realizing that she was standing on the edge of a cliff, trying futilely to deny the danger she was in even as she inched closer to the precipice.

“Maybe.” The levity was gone from Tim’s voice, and--Sasha reached over with one hand, scrabbled about until her hand hit her glasses and she could shove them unceremoniously onto her face--it’s gone from his eyes as well. He seemed deadly serious now, something she wasn’t used to seeing from Tim.

Sasha would have liked to think that her blood ran cold at the thought of office jokester Tim finally turning so serious, but really, her blood ran hot and it was everything else that was cold; Sasha shivered a little, and part of her wondered if she could just bury herself under the blankets she had so hastily abandoned and stay there while the rest of the world kept on moving.

“Can I, uh--I remember them mentioning one way to test, but it might be awkward--well, it will be awkward, it might be worse than awkward-”

Sasha tilted her head slightly so that she was facing one of the blankets, so she didn’t have to look at Tim as she said, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric, “Go for it.”

She heard rather than saw Tim get up, head into another room, return with something he seemed very careful about not dropping, but she didn’t look back up at him until-

It burned.

No, strike that. Whatever it was that had just hit her side wasn’t hot, wasn’t literally burning. It was the opposite, a cold so vivid and biting that it might as well have been burning, the extremes of the temperature scale seeming to somehow blend together.

Sasha heard a soft hissing sound as she tried to wipe off whatever had caused the not-burning, but only succeeded in getting it on her hand as well, though thankfully the pain was rapidly dulling.

“What was that?”

“Just water. Just cold water.” Tim demonstrated by flicking a few droplets onto himself and then, after a moment of hesitation, pouring the rest of the cup he was holding onto his head. Despite everything, Sasha couldn’t help but snicker at the sight of Tim’s wet hair, water droplets meandering their way down his face and onto the floor.

Sasha remembered, dimly, having heard something about angels running unnaturally hot, about how rain would evaporate when it hit their skin.

It had been unusually dry in the past month or two, especially for London. Sasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten caught out in the rain.

“...shit.”

“Yeah.” Tim hesitated briefly before adding, “‘m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Sasha leaned onto her side, her head still aching. “Not unless you make it your fault, anyway.”

“...I’m not going to report you, if that’s what you mean. God, no.”

Sasha wanted to scream out of an open window. Sasha wanted to bury her face in a pillow. Sasha’s head was still swimming and she wasn’t as sure as she had been that it was just because of a fleeting hangover.

“Might as well. Somebody will.”

“I won’t let that happen. We won’t let that happen.”

“What are we going to do, then? What can we do?”

They made it sound like a good thing, somehow, in all the news bits and public service announcements, that the whole government was against these angels. Just report it to the authorities and the problem would go away. They couldn’t explain it, not yet, but they could contain it until they learned enough to solve the problem at its source, and they would do everything in their power to protect good human citizens from being corrupted by these new angelic monstrosities.

Sasha could swear she’d always been a little skeptical of that framing, even before she herself became one of those monstrosities.

But the point remained: there were two of them, and many, many more of the authorities looking for people just like her, people on the verge of becoming angels.

Fighting would just get them killed. Running would just delay the inevitable. What else was there?

Sasha was on the verge of tears now, but Tim had a wry smile on his face as he spoke.

“What d’you think of us moving in together?”

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing #sasha james #timsasha

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johannas-motivational-insults · 5 years

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She-Ra season 2 episodes, ranked

All right, I have a lot of feelings about She-Ra season 2 and what was good and not so good. I’ve been doing a lot of shitposting but this is legit analysis/meta, or at least it wants to be.

To be fair, though I’m trying to rank these as objectively as possible, it will be influenced by what I care most about and find most interesting in the series. I stan Catra and the Superpal Trio and think Adora is a loveable mess, and I really can’t stand Swift Wind. So, take this with a grain of salt. Needless to say, SPOILERS AHEAD.

7. 2x03 “Signals”

I would rank this episode higher, except the A plot was so meh. It felt like it should have been a Halloween special, and if it was I’d give it a pass, but I found it so thoroughly disinteresting I all but tuned out. Of course, people who stan the Best Friend Squad might have still loved it, but their dynamic isn’t as interesting for me anymore because we’ve seen so much of it, and this episode didn’t do much to change it other than add Swift Wind in (and he really, really annoys me). The only real thing it did to move the plot forward was introduce the subplot about the mysterious transmissions, and it didn’t do anything characterization wise. Ultimately, it’s a set up episode, and to be fair it might be more interesting in retrospect once we get some payoff and see where that whole thing is going. But I dunno, I kinda doubt it.

It’s mostly a set up episode in the other subplots too, but I enjoyed watching the political machinations in the Horde because there were real, tangible stakes and important power shifts. Catra learning that having power and authority is not all it’s cracked up to be was a crucial bit of character development. That bit of her getting the air sucked out of her lungs was more genuinely scary than the creepy ghost holograms by far. You felt her desperation trying to save face with Hordak and regain her sense of power and safety after that terrifying threat, and watching Shadow Weaver tune in to and play with her insecurities was a good bit of development for and insight into their relationship. It also foreshadows how easily Shadow Weaver is able to manipulate Catra later in the season.

Meanwhile, Entrapta’s excursions and work with Hordak supplied some comic relief (which I think the A plot also tried and failed to do) and also made the Horde plot take an interesting turn. This is the episode where Catra really starts to lose power, and meanwhile Entrapta gains a lot without even meaning to. She just wanted to fix the problem with Hordak’s experiment, dear girl. On that note, I did not expect to enjoy watching Hordak and Entrapta so much, but one thing this show does really well is throw together unexpected combinations of characters and make an amazing dynamic (e.g. the Superpal Trio, Scorpia and Seahawk, Catra and Glimmer and Bow).

The Entrapta subplot was the most interesting of the episode and unfortunately it was relegated to the C plot. This episode would have been way better if they’d put more focus on the Horde side of things and/or given the “Best Friend Quad” something with more substance.

6. 2x01 “The Frozen Forest”

This episode was fine, but it didn’t do much to stand out. It was important, of course, to follow up on the end of season 1, and if they had skipped this episode entirely it would have left a huge gap. But with the two main groups of characters not interacting at all in person, there was little reason to be emotionally invested in the fight scenes. We don’t really care if Horde bots get destroyed. It would have been more interesting to see the Superpal Trio directly fighting the Princess Alliance, but on the other hand it did set up just how big a role Entrapta’s tech knowledge was going to play this season. The stuff with the princess alliance was cute, I always enjoy seeing more of Mermista, and they did some character work (which I can always appreciate) with Glimmer and Frosta. But since we only see the princesses once more this season, it hasn’t had much of a chance to pay off yet.

The highlight of this episode was Adora fighting Catra in the simulation and her ensuing conversation with Light Hope. (“There. There.” and “I also have buttons” were two of my favorite one-liners of the season.) The simulated fight was very cute, and I definitely screamed when Catra grabbed Adora’s hand while delivering her customary “Hey Adora,” right before taking her down. And look, the fact that Catra was flirting so hard with Adora in that simulation means that an AI with very poor social awareness has picked up on their sexual/romantic tension, and that’s hilarious.

The Horde side of things gave us more time with the Superpal Trio, who are always delightful, but not a ton happened over there either. This episode established that Entrapta has fully moved in to the Fright Zone and Catra is comfortably leading the Horde’s advances and has respect from Hordak and the Horde’s soldiers. It also foreshadows how impressed Hordak is going to become with Entrapta’s work (and unimpressed with Catra’s) when her EKS bots steal the show in that meeting. Finally, the episode introduced the shifted dynamic between Catra and Shadow Weaver now that the power position has flipped. That ongoing subplot was possibly the saddest part of the season, and this one scene did a good job of setting that up.

Overall, this was a good and necessary setup episode, but because it had all that exposition and setup to do we didn’t get a ton of good character/relationship moments (Frosta/Glimmer and Catra/Shadow Weaver being the notable exceptions). So yeah, it was fine. But there were definitely stronger episodes, which we will now get into...

5. 2x04 “Roll With It”

This was a very cute episode, a fun one to watch. The reason I ranked it fifth is because there are three very strong episodes this season and 2x07 had higher stakes, being the season (mid-season, lbr) finale. On the Horde side of things, I loved seeing more of Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio. Lonnie really shined this episode and I keep waiting for someone to realize how smart and capable she is and promote her. And of course, Scorpia. Darling oblivious Scorpia who just wants to impress her crush. She’s not very smart but she’s earnest af and can pack a punch, and this is the first episode where she really stands out.

The planning session in the rebellion camp was really fun to watch, though I’m sure I missed a ton of jokes because I’ve never played D&D. The chaotic way the princesses all play off each other was more evident here than in 2x01, which made for some great gags. The different approaches they each take and the different aninmation styles used to portray them were a lot of fun. Glimmer’s noir hero fantasies were my favorite, personally. (And apparently she sees Catra as a very sexy villain? I need more on this, please.)

Adora’s monologue about the worst possible secenario revealed all her insecurities, and it was one of the highlights of the season. Her anxiety issues and messiah complex have been touched on before many times, but this is the first time they’ve really come bubbling to the surface this season. It was really nice to see the whole group reassure her that she isn’t in this alone, much like Bow and Glimmer did before the Battle of Bright Moon. And while it’s been hinted at before, this episode really solidified her obsession with Catra. And Scorpia’s too, as I mentioned above.

It’s easy to forget that Catra wasn’t actually in this episode (AJ Michalka was, but her character was not, not for real) because you felt her presence everywhere. The bit with all the princesses’ different renditions of her was hilarious. But you know, it was nice to see the show put together such a strong episode without Catra. Having the emotional focus on Adora again was a nice change of pace.

4. 2x07 “Reunion”

This episode gave us what 2x03 lacked: it made the Best Friend Squad interesting again. That group is most compelling to watch when there’s conflict among them, like in the stretches of 1x01-1x02 and 1x08-1x10. They weren’t in an actual fight this time, but Glimmer and Adora being so thrown by Bow’s secret family life meant that things didn’t feel “as usual.” Glimmer’s insecurity about not meaning that much to Bow resurfaced, and Bow’s “coming out” scene was extremely moving. But thankfully there was comic relief, too. Adora mispronouncing words to try and sound scholarly was a great ongoing gag, and the eventual fight between the Best Friend Squad and the elemental was really fun because it was so chaotic with Bow’s dads being extremely confused.

Okay and look, Bow’s dads. Finally we get to see why Bow is the most well-adjusted person in the group. His parents aren’t perfect, but they did way less to fill their kids with insecurities than Angella or Shadow Weaver. Angella’s not a bad mom but it’s easy to see why Glimmer feels so inadequate. And Shadow Weaver is, well, Shadow Weaver.

This episode was sort of oddly structured for what is essentially a mid-season finale in the sense that the A plot was about relationships more than the overarching plot, but that’s not necessarily bad. And they tied the plot back in at the end with the reveal about the Crimson Waste, setting us up to finally move forward in this transmissions subplot in season 3.

There wasn’t a lot of time for Horde stuff this episode, but Scorpia forcibly loving Catra and turning her into a burrito was one of my favorite scenes of the season (maybe I will do a Top 10 later on). Catra opening up to Scorpia about her problems for the second episode in a row was huge, especially after experiencing a heart-shattering betrayal in the previous episode. Catra’s final scene where she gets exposed as a liar and choked out felt a bit truncated to me... like after they set that up as this terrifying threat in 2x03, they lingered a lot less in the terror of that moment in this episode. So that was kind of disappointing, but it still worked well as half of the cliffhanger (the weaker half, imo, but it was still extremely nerve-wracking).

It was hard to pick between #4 and 5 on this list, but ultimately the amazing cliffhanger was what put this one over the top. Both our protagonists are in danger, at the mercy of our two worst villains, and even though I knew what was coming as soon as I saw Adora sleeping, the shot of Shadow Weaver standing over her bed made me scream. I hate this show for leaving me hanging here, so they did it right.

3. 2x02 “Ties That Bind”

Ranking this one so high may be an unpopular opinion, but I personally loved this episode. I didn’t care much for the B plot except it was good insight into Adora, but the A plot was so delightful it made up for it. Mixing members of the Superpal Trio and Best Friend Squad almost always results in something good... maybe not for the characters, but for the audience. Watching Catra and Glimmer play off each other’s insecurites was great, and it was sweet watching Bow attempting to befriend Catra, just like he did with Adora. The conflict between him and Glimmer about how to treat their hostage felt very in-character, a good callback to the beginning of season 1.

Of course, Catra is a much more annoying hostage than Adora was. Her being a little shit and doing everything she could to get on their nerves was amazing, and I would have gladly watched a full hour episode just of that. The sassiness and manipulation we see from her in this episode balances nicely with the deep emotional stuff she goes through this season in her fight to win approval and prove her worth. It also produced my favorite joke of the season: “How are you such a nightmare?!?”/”Eh, years of practice.” I felt that in my soul as a youngest child. I also loved all the cat mannerisms they incorporated in this episode, it was very cute.

There is a bit of emotional meat to that story, with Catra and Glimmer’s confrontation at the end after Glimmer says Adora ran away from Catra, not the Horde (rude, btw). But the real emotional moment comes when Bow and Glimmer find out Entrapta stayed willingly with the Horde. That was heart-breaking. Heart-shattering, even. Especially because Bow and Glimmer feel such guilt for her being left there in the first place. I wish there had been more follow-up on this major emotional beat, but that’s not a weakness of this episode itself. This was my favorite Entrapta scene of the season, even though there were a lot of other great ones.

Like I said, the B plot was... okay, but not amazing? The bits with Light Hope glitching were funny, if a bit creepy. (But she’s always creepy, so.) Swift Wind annoys the hell out of me when he’s being hyper, but seeing his eventual heart-to-heart with Adora gave him some good depth and development. Plus, this episode does a really good job of illustrating not only how uptight Adora is, but why. There’s that messiah complex again (which I don’t blame her for btw, that’s Shadow Weaver’s fault). I like episodes that focus on Adora emotionally, and separating her from Glimmer and Bow meant her storyline got to be a bit more serious and in-depth. I just wish it hadn’t been opposite Swift Wind... not because it wasn’t effective, but because Adora’s arc was good but I have little desire to rewatch it if it means I have to watch more of him. Sorry, I guess I’m an anti.

2. 2x05 “White Out”

As I’ve said before, this episode is the highlight of season 2. Once again, that has a lot to do with the dynamics that occur whenever we mix members of the Best Friend Squad and Superpal Trio, and this time we got all of them in one place! And they added Seahawk to the mix too, which I didn’t expect to like because he tends to get on my nerves, but pairing him with Scorpia was a move of pure brilliance.

Scorpia and Sea Hawk’s little heart-to-heart about feeling unappreciated and Drunk Adora validating and encouraging them was so so cute and heartwarming. All the Drunk Adora and Scorpia stuff was great, actually. It was funny but also made very textual how much Catradora is an insecurity for Scorpia and how she’s afraid she’ll never be able to live up to that and Catra will never open up to her the same way. And Adora actually seems to genuinely like Scorpia when she’s not focused on the evils of the Horde, so that’s good to know moving forward. And yeah, that pairing also brought us “Girls night in!” and the closet joke, another highlight of the season.

In the other mixed grouping, Catra and Glimmer renewed their rivalry, and that’s always fun to watch. Entrapta continued to be her usual chaotic self, and any time we see her interacting with Bow it tends to be a great scene. The reveal at the end that she had the tech all along but didn’t tell Catra because she liked hanging out in this remote place with her friends was really, really cute.

I would be amiss to not mention the Catradora of it all in this episode, because holy shit this is actually the only time they interact in person all season. That is just wrong, by the way, but I did thoroughly enjoy what we got. It’s very clear they still have an emotional hold over each other despite their attempts to “let go,” between Adora’s overly-focused anger and Catra’s expressions whenever she hears or sees Adora. Adora actually kind of hates Catra right now and I think that caught Catra off guard. Catra’s panic when Evil She-Ra almost killed her was a great moment of vulnerability, how she tried to appeal to the Adora inside. She dropped the act for a moment and genuinely tried to connect with Adora, and maybe it made me tear up a little.

Along those same lines, the one thing that pissed me off about this episode was that we didn’t get to see Catra interacting with Drunk Adora. That would have allowed Adora to interact with Catra in a vulnerable state too, and in general it just would have been amazing. And the trailer kinda suggested we would get to see that, so that made it extra disappointing. Can’t these two just talk about their feelings and actually hear each other and communicate properly, please? Ugh. Still, despite these frustrations, I loved the Catradora content.

But the real highlight of the episode was Scorptra. The scene where Scorpia tried to ask Catra out on a date was amazing and so freaking cute. Of course there’s also the stuff I mentioned where her insecurities about Adora came spilling out. And the look on Catra’s face when Scorpia aborted a mission to save her life and then whisked her away despite her protests... that was a huge moment. She doesn’t think of herself as worth saving, but someone else does. And despite the fact that Scorpia disobeyed direct orders, I think this is where Catra really comes to trust her. It’s certainly where she comes to respect her. And then they shared a blanket! God, this was so cute. I expected to enjoy the Catradora stuff more but a) there wasn’t all that much of it and b) this was so incredibly pure and sweet, watching Scorpia finally make some headway and Catra finally open up to someone again, even if it was only a little bit. I am a multi-shipper now, I can’t help it.

1. 2x06 “Light Spinner”

It was hard choosing between this and White Out for top spot, but I’m a slut for villain backstories. This episode was the less entertaining of the two, and I think I’d have to say White Out is my subjective favorite, but objectively I do think this is the better episode. Why? Character development.

Shadow Weaver was a bit too twirly-moustache of a villain at times in season 1, so seeing how she became what she is now did a lot for her character. Seeing how a desire to do good mixing with a thirst for power can drive someone to make mistakes and turn evil was very interesting, and having Micah be part of the backstory made it all the more compelling.

The ways Shadow Weaver tries to mold people with more intrinsic power than her so she can use that power was a crucial new insight, one we’ve never seen before. It explains why she’s so obessed with Adora, which was never really explained in season 1. And it also suggests that part of Shadow Weaver’s dislike for Catra came from Adora’s connection to and therefore influence over her. Shadow Weaver wanted Adora’s loyalty to be to her above all, even above the Horde, and Adora having a close friend (who’s a rebellious loose cannon, to boot) was a danger to that goal.

This episode is essentially about Shadow Weaver and Catra, both separately and together, and it does a great job of drawing parallels between them even before Shadow Weaver outright tells Catra that they are the same. They both go off on a rant about how no matter what they do, no one listens to or respects them. Shadow Weaver seems to have a bit of a self-loathing streak that she took out on Catra, too... kinda like Glimmer being annoyed by all her worst qualities manifesting in Frosta.

As for Catra, it shocked me that she was so upset about Shadow Weaver being sent away to die. Though she obviously still craved Shadow Weaver’s approval, I didn’t expect her to react so badly to this. Clearly Scorpia didn’t either, and her trying to tease Catra’s reasons out of her was sweet. It was nice to see Catra continuing to open up to Scorpia after that moment with the blanket at the end of White Out, but there’s still a lot she’s holding inside. She still genuinely cares about Shadow Weaver despite how she’s been trying to hurt her for revenge and her own satisfaction... that sound familiar?

And unfortunately, Catra’s connection to Shadow Weaver and her need for maternal love and approval was her downfall. After she mocked the rebellion for their bleeding hearts and how easily manipulated they are, mind you. This is where Catra’s tendency to sympathize with Shadow Weaver (which we saw at least twice in season 1) finally came back to bite her in the ass. It was terribly sad because Catra actually has a big heart and Shadow Weaver knew that and took advantage of it.

It’s hard to say how much Shadow Weaver meant of what she said to Catra when they had their big confrontation. It wasn’t clear whether or not she had seen her badge hidden in the food, whether she was only trying to manipulate Catra or if she was being earnest about any of it. Was the physical affection she gave her genuine, her way of making up for things and saying goodbye, or was she just fucking with Catra? I dunno, but either way this betrayal she pulled was awful, and if she was trying to be nice she would’ve been better off holding Catra at a distance than letting her get her hopes up. For real, Catra’s reaction when she realized Shadow Weaver had used and betrayed her was gut-wrenching, one of the rawest moments we’ve seen from her. I might have cried, a lot. She let herself be vulnerable in a way she rarely does, and for that she got absolutely obliterated emotionally. Again.

So yeah, this wasn’t a particularly fun episode, but it was a very strong episode of television and it did a lot to make Shadow Weaver more fleshed out and interesting. It finally brought one of the show’s most fraught relationships into the spotlight and let it combust in front of us, and as painful as it was to watch, I can’t help rewatching the Catra and Shadow Weaver scenes again and again. I never expected Catra to so openly ask Shadow Weaver why she was never good enough for her and what she did to deserve all the abuse. It was an incredibly rewarding scene to watch with great emotional payoff. And for a stan like me, that made it the best episode of the season.

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courtorderedcake · 5 years

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Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4 and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter 2/4

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The rain pours for several more days, and Killian lurks indoors anywhere she is not, a ghost in the corners of her eyes. The cable company's arrival makes him bolder, showing the workers the drilled holes in the wood from previous owners, and identifying the ancient telephone cable.

Laughing, a bewhiskered man clapped him on the back in good nature as he held up the cord. “Haven't used these since 1910! This used a switchboard to even operate, probably used for transmission in the First War. This is a damn antique!”

Killian laughed with the men doing the installation, but as Emma looked closer, it seemed to be only for show. He followed them asking questions, watching the cables thread through walls, helping where he could. It was not a one day job, which luckily Emma had predicted.

The next day was even busier, with deliveries arriving, a team looking at the major pipes, electrical repairs and more cable installation making the quiet halls echo with voices. Emma directed what felt like a never ending stream of people carrying various items to rooms, instructed men on how she wanted furniture arranged, and helped identify the structural issues she had noticed, or take note of the ones the contractors had. Carterhaugh stood strong and not many issues were found, although the plumbing and wiring were a mess that would need to be addressed and modernized.

Around lunch time, Emma took a pop tart out of its sleeve and noticed she hadn't seen Killian all day. Walking to the back solarium and sunroom that looked over the gardens, she watched as he worked. His back muscles rippled under an undershirt, plaid flannel wrapped around his waist. His arms were deeply defined, and she didn't notice how lost in thought she was until he gave a sarcastic little wave. Blushing she gave a half wave back, stuck half the pop tart in her mouth, and quickly went back to ordering people about like some evil queen.

At the end of the day and after a hefty set of invoices, Emma collapsed in the plush chairs that sat next to the great room's fireplace. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, she groaned.

“Miss Swan? Are you alright?”

Killian’s voice. She nodded with a sigh, opening her eyes. “I… Your phone came today.” Nodding her head at the package that sat on a small table, she closed her eyes again.

"Oh. Okay." He looked down at the box with a frown.

"Don't worry, it literally walks you through the set up process. Just turn it on with the button, and follow the instructions." Emma stretched with a groan, letting her joints pop.

"You got a lot done today, it looks like."

"I did. The teams I chose are phenomenal, but it will be nice to be alone again here soon. I have never had a home, so I would like to enjoy this while I can."

"No home? You're an orphan, then?" he asked, and she nodded. "Did you live in a foundling home or ministry?"

"No. No. It must be different in America, I don't know what a foundling home is, actually. I lived in an orphanage, then foster homes. My adoptive mother legally got custody of me at 15. I consider her and my brother my only family."

"Ah. A foundling home is for found children, usually abandoned by their parents or orphaned by war, famine or plague."

"Oh, crap, I didn't mean to be insensitive. Those must be rare nowadays, I don't think that there's been any of that sort of thing over here for at least 60 years."

Killian muttered under his breath, laughing bitterly. "Yeah." picking up his phone he gave her a nod, then returned to work.

After a few more hours, Emma sat aside invoices neatly arranged into piles after double checking everything scanned into the cloud by her phone, and began a small fire in the grate of the ancient fireplace. She went to the kitchen for a glass of wine and some chocolate, surprised to find Killian sitting enraptured by the light of his phone screen.

"Emma, this device is… It's bloody magic. I have never seen such a small encyclopedia of knowledge. So many flowers and plants have been discovered, animals and places. The pictures are so close up I feel like I'm there -"

"Calm down, Buster, have you seriously never had internet? You might of well have been Amish."

"What's Amish?"

"Alright, forget Amish. What's your favorite thing you have learned so far."

"The sky, I've mapped the stars in detail during my time in the Navy, and written about clouds, but there are so many more names, the conditions that create them are all documented, and the stars, we've been in space -"

"How did you miss Neil Armstrong? One giant step? Do I need to rent 'The Right Stuff'?"

"When you live here, and you have no one, it's easy not to know anything but this. Thank you Emma. I… I can't say how much this means to me."

"I'm glad you like it. I guess." Emma said shyly back, surprised by the genuine delight in his voice. Shrinking back without her glass of wine, she doused the fire and went to bed instead, her stomach full of butterflies sorely in need of some Raid.

In the morning, the butterflies became a full force flock when Killian called her name from the conservatory. She waited, stopped and watched his easy jog over to her over the parquet as wingbeats tickled her insides. The rose he held out to her did nothing to help her distress either.

"Would you let me take you for lunch, out on the meadow? It's a perfect day to watch the clouds come in, and you look like you could use a break. I'd like to repay you for the phone. It's been truly… I have not words in which I can express my gratitude fully."

At her hesitation, he backtracked. "If you don't want to, please, it's alright. I'll just go -"

"No, no. You're right, it's a beautiful day for it. Yes. Yes, let's have lunch. I'll set up some quilts and you can meet me there."

"Cheese sandwiches alright?"

"As long as there's cocoa."

These lunches become a weekly part of their routine. On the nicest days they find one another wandering the grounds, and in the rain the eat in the kitchen or in the solarium watching rain pour down the glass. There are many nice days, mild breezes carrying the sound of their lively conversations, the weather becoming temperate and fair. He brings tea, cookies, cakes and sandwiches, while Emma brings pop tarts, cocoa or coffee.

It turns out that his sense of humor is actually amusing, her face and sides hurting from the way he somehow gets her. It's in the late summer, when he places a daisy crown on her head while talking about the constant storm on Jupiter (he's obsessed with learning everything about space and technology lately), and she realizes after that she didn't flinch. It's easy to forget that he hasn't been a fixture in her life forever when he greets her in the morning in the kitchen, or when he gives her a lazy grin with a wave with soil covered hands.

It's hard to be in the quiet when Killian has recited poetry, or shows her how to tell if a tree is 'wick', and how to take cuttings to grow more of certain bushes that have started to thin. She reciprocated to her own surprise, and tells him about life in the city, about the movies she loves, and about the best apps for his phone. He's great at candy crush, has a following on GreenThumb, and when she lets him on her Spotify he shocks her with a Playlist of roaring twenties, classical, and old swing band songs mixed with the classic rock he has heard her screeching out lyrics into a broom handle. Emma watched him weave magic with plants, feeling aimless and antsy when she went back to work in the house alone.

Occasionally he joined her, and in those moments it's almost as if he saw the house in its full glory. He knows everything there is to know, except the local legend of the estate.

"So did the family really just up and disappear? Were they really cursed by Leprechauns?"

"Fae folk." The grimace he made was tight when he gritted out the words. It was warm, the cliff side by the sea enticing with its cool spray. Both of them had worked long enough to have a break as they stretched across slightly damp stone. Killian licked his lips, looking almost pained. "They probably left before the next war hit. That's my guess. Although, tales of the Fae due run rampant out here. ‘The Fae court will ride their wild stallions across the plain, under the cover of thunder and lightning’. They ran their undying horses too loudly to go without notice otherwise."

Killian’s face fell, and he looked out pensively towards the estate, his features tensing as a sudden chill nipped at them. "Or teaching wee ones to be kind to strangers without asking for something in return… Fae folk have dominion over anyone who violate their hospitality unless given sincerely. Even then, they're bitter, wicked, twisted creatures with not an ounce of warmth in them. That falls back to 'Never find friend in Fae, or show them favor'."

"You sound like you believe they're real." Emma said quietly,

"Do you, Swan?" The question comes out strange, not quite teasing.

After a moment and a steadying breath, Emma let the truth eke out. "Maybe."

Killian didn't laugh, didn't say anything, really. Emma found that the best reply, her heart beginning to slow again when she confirmed that he's truly not mocking her by glancing up at his darkening eyes.

"Just who are you, Swan?" This question is worse, worst - it lodged deep as her walls snapped back up around her.

"Wouldn't you like to know." If he noticed the iciness in her glare, he didn't say.

Instead he called after her as Emma made her way back inside, a sudden cold rain pouring down. "Perhaps I would."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma lets the days go by leisurely as Killian and her spend more time with each other. They eventually start sharing books, movies, excerpts from history (He loves the Today I learned section of reddit, learning things in leagues) and music. Her selections of rock and classic punk pop seem to genuinely bewitch him - on several occasions she's gone out to the garden to find him smeared with dirt, shirtless, gloves in his back jeans pocket shaking along with his - assets - while 'Welcome to the Jungle' blared from the sound system.

The beginning of want pooled in a well Emma thought had long gone dry, her blush a strawberry stain across her face and chest. Not that Killian knew, or if he did, hid it under his normal self-deprecating cheekiness by teasing her as much as normal. Emma had thoughts at night after a glass of wine that left her feeling like a breathless high schooler who found a note in their locker, except she wasn't a high school student. She hadn't been in far too long for this sort of crush.

Even in the mornings when she tried to beat him outside, he's there. Sometimes just sitting and talking to the plants or pruning, and it's like he's a fixture in her garden. A fixture that notices her arrival or sneaks behind her with a branch to tickle her ear, smiles at her, beams at her really, in a way that makes her heart sing. It's as if he's gently tending to her too, like he knows how hard it has been to lay down roots anywhere since Neal burned away everything she had hoped for a home.

Killian just grows on her, and she feels like the sun has warmed her enough to tentatively take a chance, to bloom.

And she likes it. It scares her more than anything. She likes that he wants to cultivate a friendship, that he is just happy to be near her for whatever reason, and that she can find comfort in his stability. He has set roots, deep into the earth that for so long she has resisted against letting her feet touch.

Maybe Emma Swan was finally tired of flying, and could try falling, just this once, knowing that a safe harbor might lend itself to her landing.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma read the faded ink on dark and crumbling paper, careful to slide it into a protective plastic sleeve. The attic had proven to be a massive undertaking, just like every other aspect of Carterhaugh. She originally planned to do just documents by herself, but Killian had found her and demanded to help, proving to be just as stubborn as her. He also demanded that they wait on the furniture and strange chests in the dusty gloom, warning her that he was not risking her falling through the floor or down a ladder.

"I quite fancy you, when you aren't yelling at me." He smirked, and butterflies erupted in her chest. If only.

The Lord of Carterhaugh had found the Fae portal, and made his way through the shadows to the seat of a great golden throne. He'd changed, heard the whisper of a devil or some dark voice that crawled into his veins, his name the first to go. Rumplestiltskin.

And Rumplestiltskin knew things, things he shouldn't have, and couldn't have. Things to sweeten a deal already suspiciously too good to be true. His wife, the lady of the house, did not love him. He tried many times to use his new found shadows to gain her heart, but they had limits. He tried stranger and more powerful beings in the woods until they fled as far as they could. Nothing worked until he threatened to take their child into the dark without her. She begged him to compromise, and they would split time with their child between their worlds.

For a time, it was good. Rumplestiltskin twisted into something strange, The lady stayed near the same, and no one could tell which way their son might go.

She joined them when her son finally decided to rule beside his Father. It was short-lived, an argument breaking out between the three as they chose whether they would abandon their old home of Carterhaugh to a great war that had begun. The Lady and her son returned, not a day older than when they left, blessing the land so no Fae could cross - as long as a rightful owner held the key.

No one noticed their return, thinking of only the war that held the world in turmoil or that they were distant relatives. When the war ended, no one remembered they had been there far too long.

Especially a soldier trying to return home on foot, lost, hurt, and sick.

The paper was ornate, script flowery and bordered with roses like the ones in her gardens. Emma slid it into a sleeve like the rest. When Killian emerged from the attic with cobwebs in his dark hair, Emma carefully pulled the dust and spider webs away as he huffed in annoyance. Carrying boxes of dust covered books, photo albums, old documents, journals where the ink has bled into the pages making them unintelligible, ledgers and sketches.

Emma was quick to pull out as much as she could, not noticing Killian’s change in posture or how he frowned as he placed albums aside to ‘sort through later’.

Opening a dark leather bound album, she flipped through the pages, as Killian froze behind her, flinching with every turn of the page.

"Look at all the staff here. This place used to run 30 people deep, can you imagine? I'd go crazy trying to organize all that. I guess your family has been doing this for years though."

"My family?" Killian looked confused for a moment before shaking it off. "Oh, yes. We've uh, one of us has always been here." he smiled weakly, and Emma felt an odd twinge in her gut.

"This guy even looks a little like you!" Emma laughed, and Killian frowned deeply, looking over the photo.

"Yeah. He could practically be me." He said in a dry tone, chuckling darkly. Emma felt that sour stone turn in her stomach, and this time she knew there was something behind the offput smile he gave her, more firmly planted than genuine; it took the air completely out of the room. In a sharp and impossibly fast movement, he slammed the book shut with a look of pure frustration, as Emma made a startled noise.

"Killian, what -"

"I'm going to put some of these to the other room. They're later in the period and it will be easier to start at the beginning." Putting the book away, he carried off several to stack in a corner.

"Alright." She gave him a wary glance, but opened up another old book. Several families in Victorian era clothing played croquet on a small lawn, the surrounding forest held back by large stone walls. "Oh, look at those!" Emma exclaimed, fingers pressed to the page. A gargoyle of a vaguely human creature stood at the corners of each side. Killian sat again, leaning over to look, his presence so close. His shoulder fell slightly against hers. She moved slightly away, just enough to feel the warmth of his body but to where he had no weight against her.

"Fae folk," Killian whispered quietly, finger pointing.

"Well. You weren't kidding when you said people here thought less of them than you!" Emma laughed merrily, moving to another album, not noticing Killian’s fingers tracing the large iron spikes that topped the heavy stones. "I guess most people think they're hideous creatures, but I think -"

"There's many, many things in this world. Fae folk happen to be one that, at least here, are known to be dangerous. It's why in lore, you never make deals or supper with strangers on the road, or you count the teeth and fingers of someone who offers you hospitality. Nothing in life comes without a price, and these woods are proof of it. They should have never taken that wall down."

"I agree, it's aesthetically pleasing for sure -"

"Promise me something, love?"

"Uh." Emma looked at him, his jaw clenched as he stared at the photo. "Maybe, it depends -"

"Put that wall back up, please. I'll help whoever lays it brick by bloody brick, but put that wall back up."

"Um. Okay, I will."

"Promise me." His eyes were icy blue as they snapped to stare at her, cold and without any of their normal glimmer of snark. Emma nodded, and he looked back at the photo, tracing the lines of the rock again.

"I promise."

"Thank you, Emma." He sighed, relaxing slightly. Pushing herself against her hatred of touch Emma reached for him. She laid her hand in his, tracing her thumb over his knuckles, and the ghost of a smile returned.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

If there was any advantage of having Killian on the premises of Carterhaugh, it was the cooking. Emma was beyond convinced that the man is the next Gordon Ramsey, showing him videos of the chef's famous temper that made his ears go pink.

"He shouldn't talk to women like that." Killian mumbled, after a particularly bad roasting involving an 'idiot sandwich'.

Emma frowned. "It's something they know going in. They're being respected for their talent, not their gender, or being a woman. They take it just like these men, sometimes - well no, usually, actually - better."

"Women do reserve respect, and to be treated better than this. I don't like this garbage can television you like, Swan."

"Trash TV."

"Semantics."

"Fine, and I guess you would order your kitchen around respectfully?" Emma asked amused. Killian gave a firm nod, washing berries in the sink as Emma sat on the counter top. "Oh captain, my captain! What do you know about bossing around a crew?"

"I was a Captain, Swan. In the Navy. Ranked up after my brother. I'd never speak to my crew like this, and I never did." There was a flat sadness in his tone, and the water ran for a long minute into the sieve that lay in the sink with neither of them moving.

"I didn't - I -"

"I'm thinking pie for this. Have you ever made one?" Killian asked, normalcy returned shakily as he turned off the tap. He flicked water at her with his fingers and she yelped, laughing.

"No. We didn't make pie a whole lot in our foster home." Emma shuddered. "We didn't eat a lot in general, in quite a few of them, really. I guess Neal did get us a pie once when we went out to dinner if you could call it that. He liked artsy food. It was this crazy mushroom tart thing, with all these circular layers. I just wanted - "

"A poptart?" Killian smirked at her, already rolling out dough with small gestures of his wrist on the other side of the sink opposite her. Emma shook off a momentary feeling of hypnotic awe, his movement quick, well practiced and precise mastery, like he had done this forever.

"Actually, I remember wanting of all things, a bologna sandwich."

Killian made a retching noise. "Awful stuff, that. Came out in '57 and they're still using the same cans if it. That and gelatin becoming en vogue is beyond perplexing, and then there were aspics which are a devil's concoction if I've ever seen one. I know bad food Swan, I'm British and was in the navy. Trust me when I say you're better off."

"You like mackerel and pickled herring." Emma giggled.

He looked affronted, giving a faux dramatic gasp. "Well yes, but not gelled, I'm not a savage. I barely put more than 3 tablespoons of vinegar on my food. I'm a purist by my country's standards."

Wrinkling her nose she made a gagging noise, "Gross. Thanks for ruining that for me." He smirked at her unapologetically.

"Hey, before I forget," Emma held up a finger and hopped down off the counter top. Heading to the pantry area, she flicked on the light and pulled down a basket of several apples, bringing them to the counter. Killian continued working methodically, without looking up. "Think we have enough to make a pie out of these?"

She reached down to pull one out, the red skin reflecting her hand like a lacquered surface, but Killian grabbed her wrist roughly. There was a sudden edge to him that made his demeanor feel strange, darker even.

"Where did you get these?" He asked with a hiss. Her eyes widened, and she pulled away briskly.

"The bottom of the hill, where the forest path begins. I hadn't noticed before since we don't walk down that way a lot, but there's an apple tree there -"

"Do not - Never pick those. These apples," he gruffly made a noise between an exasperated sigh and a growl. "These are poisonous. It's leeched into the soil there. Something to do with that New Claire energy. Poison nastiness. Hives of biting, crawling, flying, pests that rot everything they touch. Chemicals."

"Nuclear? Insects? What -"

"Look, just - Never these. Never eat anything from down that hill. Unless it's grown up here, do not eat it."

With flour covered hands he grabbed the basket and stormed out side, throwing the whole thing down the hill, and heading to the back garden. Emma stood open mouthed for a minute, looking around confused. When Killian stormed down the hill from the back garden as a shadowy silhouette in the late afternoon sun with an axe, she slipped on shoes to run after him. By the time she was out the door she could here the swings of the axe in wood. The tree fell as she reached the crest, sliding slightly down the slope.

As soon as the tree hit the ground, the leaves changed to a duller color, and as she came to the even patch of ground, an apple rolled to touch her boot. It was decaying, the lacquered red surface giving way to black beetles and crawling centipedes that fled there safety. Killian panted slightly, before throwing the axe over his shoulder and stalking back toward Carterhaugh.

"What - It wasn't like that when I -"

"Soil is bad, like I said. Just - just don't come down here. It's not safe. There's things left over from the wars, and old wells, mine shafts - there's a reason why all this land is untouched. No one wants it."

"You mean like, fairy circles, those types of old wells?" Emma called after him as he froze, kicking a blackened apple down the hill but away from her path.

Killian tensed, rigid and darkly shadowed by the setting sun. For a moment Emma thought he might yell at her, his stature wound so tight to the point of snapping, and face furious. He took a breath, and let it melt off him, composing himself as Emma watched in confusion.

Mumbling a curse under his breath he walked towards her and in a quiet tone drawled out an emotionless phrase, "Yes. Like those."

They walked back to the kitchen, but Emma felt herself come loose from the strangeness of the black beetles, so much like little black teeth or shiny black tacks, centipedes crawling, circling each other -

Neal loves circles, it's always circles in his art and designs. When Emma first meets him, he is tagging circles on a building, spraying thick lines of black and white that he covers in red to make a ring of what looks like mushrooms. Tucked away, she was fascinated by his fluid movements with the can until he chuckled lowly, turning to stare directly at her with eyes that are brown but somehow glow with tawny humor.

"Well well well." His voice is a whisper, but Emma can hear it all around her, echoing through the concrete, crumbling brick, and metal of the alleyway. "A lost boy has found a lost girl."

It doesn't make sense that he is so wise and young at the same time, but he calls her an old soul, which Emma delights in, especially on his arm in the backroom of a party or club. She is mature for her age, he tells her, nuzzling his nose in her hair. When he waves her past people, he always knows people and they seem to want to please him, his voice is like caramel.

"She's with me. Ems is cool."

It's astounding to her. He has nothing but everything, taking what is and isn't offered with no consequences.

"It's magic, Ems. People will give whatever I ask, because they know better than to ever say no." Holding her tightly, he rubs her arms and her stiffness melts away on whispered words of how happy he is with her. How glad he is to have someone who understands, the only person who gets him, the only person that makes him want to live.

When he asks, Emma does not say no. He is as important to her as she is to him. It does not matter that they've been together a few months, she echoes, they feel as though they have been together for years. It doesn't matter that she does not know what he does to make so much money, to buy her the nicest things even though she does not ask, he holds her hand as they grocery shop.

It does not matter that he asks again and again, more aggressively each time, and when she says no she learns better than to ever deny him again.

They are in love, Neal her first and only love in a long line of loss, the only person who has her full trust after years of betrayal. They are in love, and he holds her heart. It was only once, then twice, then more - but he's doing it for her own good, just correcting her behavior. He always tells her after how sorry he is, and how much he loves her. That he never wants her to hurt again, no more excuses about clumsiness or stealing makeup to cover evidence that fades from purple to yellow. No more late night visits to his doctor, the one across town who won't ask questions about her broken wrist or swollen jaw.

He cares about her enough to make her better. To make her listen and love him the way he needs to be loved; the consequences be damned, because those moments of rage are so fleetingly brief, that it does not matter.

It does matter a little when his time is spent on more trips alone, on business deals that she cannot accompany him to. It does matter when she finds dark plum lipstick on his collar, and it does matter when he storms out when she questions his fidelity.

It does matter when he returns, a silver circle lying in a plush casing, the proposal tainted by his ultimatum :

"Marry me, Ems. Marry me, or lose everything." He asks, and Emma does not say no, there's no way out of this, he's encircled her -

FWOOOM.

Her thoughts are broken by the sound of - something. It's a noise Emma has never heard, followed by Killian’s yelp of panic. He's thrown himself back on the floor away from the old oven when she skids to a stop on her socks to fall into him, his face soot covered and hair slightly charred on the edges.

"Are you alright?" Emma chokes out, but he hits her with a look of absolute frustration that goes so well with the black covering his face and the ember still slightly orange on his eyebrow she brushes away even as it burns her, and it takes seconds for her to dissolve into peals of laughter that make him look even more put out. "Oh, Killian -"

"Don't even start, Swan."

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Killian became a close confidante, the only person Emma had known that she could spend time with just in their presence, enjoying every moment. His presence soothed unlike so many that grated on her, and their routines twisted together until they were inseparable for vast portions of the day.

As it became nicer, they walked the property together and he showed her every plant, bird, animal and bug his work helped cultivate, as if he was completely responsible for the life that flooded where the forest did not touch. Emma could believe he was without trying, especially when fireflies danced around them and lit ginger glints in his hair or cast green and grey specks in his irises.

They sat by the now working fountains listening to mourning doves, or out on the gazebo that looked down the hill towards the wood, and he listened or hummed quietly while they read. There was a sense of calm that came with him that made her feel enveloped in safety. She could just be, and just being meant she could be vulnerable.

"My husband - it's complicated. I just, he was the love of my life and he let me down. No. He did more than that, he - I - I fell so far into myself I thought I would never escape and I can't let someone do that to me again. He was an awful person who was awfully good at pretending he wasn't."

"You don't have to say more, love."

"What about you? A good looking guy like you probably has -"

"You think I'm good looking Swan?"

Emma blushed, fiddling with the flower crown in her hands. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I do?" He asked, more amused. "I suppose a dashing rapscallion like m'self -"

Emma groaned, and they both laughed. She smiled at the crown, twisting away a stray petal here and there. Killian broke the silence in a thoughtful voice.

"The love of my life let me down too, so we're quite the pair, you and I."

Emma caught his quick glance in her direction, and the way his face changed from a smile, to carefully polished facade. Walls to never show the world any vulnerability, unsaid things piled up so high on the ramparts, and armor to protect from being hurt again.

"Milah. She was beautiful, smart, so zealous about life and the beauty of everything. She loved flowers, and I was good with them. She said that I was magic with them." Killian sounded wistful, and began to scrub at the back of his neck, talking rapidly, as if he was nervous.

"She was married but so unhappy, her husband had left her to care for their home while he… while he cared for his business elsewhere. It put their son in a difficult position due to it. He was expected to be two places at once, being educated in both worlds. It left Milah alone a lot of the time, and I welcomed her company. We fell in love against better judgment, she was a woman that wanted for nothing and took what she liked - I was something she liked. I don't know if I ever had a choice, really. At first it was wonderful, and everything was perfect. I feared her husband finding out, as he was very powerful in the, er, business world. Surprisingly, I discovered he didn't care. He called me her pet. I hated that, but I wanted her to be happy." He paused, shuddering, and looked over his shoulder. A harsh wind blew from up the forest, and although it had been a warm day, it smelled cloyingly of wet earth.

"She convinced me to run away with her, to join her husband and son in their business. Life had gotten harder and there were other forces at work outside of us, our country involved in a war. She was afraid. I followed her, because I was so in love, I'd follow her anywhere. It was subtle, her mannerisms changed and became more sharp, and we - well, our love changed drastically. She began to enjoy hurting me, and I at first thought that I enjoyed it, just trying to please, but she became worse as if she was trying to break me, bringing others in to torture me. Mind games and intrigues amongst…" His cheeks pinked. "Other things."

"You don't have to tell me this. If you don't want to, if you're not - you don't owe me -" Emma looked away, and he laughed ruefully. She looked back and he was shaking his head with his jaw set.

"I know I don't owe - you're the first person I've talked to about any of this." He sighed, and she picked at her fingernails. "If you don't want to -"

"No. It's okay. I…" Emma bit her lip. "Go on."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Her husband and a long line of others degraded me, tormented me, pulled me apart without care and made me wish I had never been born. Where in the beginning Milah at least provided a soothing touch after, she began to leave me alone to watch me suffer, or ignore my pleas to stop. I have never felt so helpless."

"Killian, I -"

"So I know the feeling of shame, I understand not wanting to be touched, I have boundaries from my escape and extricating from Milah's grip. Leaving her was like��" he laughed again, sad and without any humor. "Banishment. I was left absolutely alone, her son had been my close friend, and I had others that I was close with in their business."

Standing, he brushed off his pant legs and looked out at the sky. Emma stood slowly, chewing her lip to the point of pain before making her decision.

Carefully, Emma tucked her hand into his, his fingers intertwining with her own as they walked in silence. They made occasional light conversation, laughing together, and an easy feeling of belonging came over her so strongly. His thumb traced her own, while his smile traced a path through every barrier and straight to her heart.

Returning to the house Killian made a chicken and rice dish that was phenomenal as usual, and over wine Emma teased him about his absolute refusal to consider adding a chicken coop to the property.

"They're nasty birds, Swan."

"They eat pests, and they would have so much room. I think it would be nice."

"Just because you and they are kin, doesn't mean I want to care for them, Swan."

"Are you… Ch- Ch- Chicken?" Emma smiled at him with uninhibited glee.

"You are absolutely ridiculous."

"You love me for it." Emma stabbed a bite and grinned as she chewed, oblivious to the look of longing that came over him.

"That I do."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

When Emma opened the door for vulnerability in her life, the breeze that came through pushed every idea of a wall out of the relationship she and Killian had built, their likes and dislikes melding and the strangeness of their lives being alike turning into long stories over spiked cocoa in half finished rooms.

Killian was an orphan, the same caged look in his eye when asked about family. His brother was gone, but both their siblings had fought constantly for a better life for the younger.

Where Emma didn't know her parents, Killian remembered his mother and his drunken father, and they commiserated on which was worse. In the end, it came down to loss and abandonment laying a heavy hand on both of their existences in a way that made Emma see Killian in a different light all together. There was a softness that met the same jagged edge of wildness, the raw and crooked pieces that came together in a clash just like hers. There were scars, mental and physical, that she recognized easily now, and that changed the way they interacted.

Emma had always felt like she was walking the thinnest invisible line, unsure what was above or below or ahead, but in Killian’s presence she felt someone's hand in her own. Emma hoped he felt the same balance, and the same surety she did.

Fear was there too, and it came in the night when she examined the synchronicity that she wanted to cling to like a preserver.

If Neal hadn't ruined her, if she wasn't just slightly more broken and absolutely undesirable, Killian would be everything Neal wasn't.

Her wedding is beautiful, but strange in its own right, a ceremony that is a blur of unfamiliar faces, drinking, food, and meeting who Neal demands her to meet. It feels strange, as if there is something wrong with everything, a piece that is missing among the wreckage, but she cannot grasp it.

Neal is forceful when he introduces a few guests, but Emma is the sun, shining on this day and not noticing the sideways looks people shared. The women are striking, Emma unsure of how they know Neal, and unable to ask for fear of her tangled tongue.

There's so much spinning and dancing, his voice low and sweet, warming her and tracing her nerves with fuzziness. Her friends are there too, and they are happy, so happy as they drink and dance and feast. David is there only briefly, the only one ever disgusted by Neal, but her old roommate from college, Ruby, makes it. They share a silly dance that makes Ruby's bracelets jingle while Neal talks to his friends, so many friends she has never seen. There's so much money in this place, so much she did not plan or choose, ostentatious in your face gaudy things that Neal has chosen for her. Neal will choose for her, because he knows best, and she is in his ring, twirling in a gown that glitters with crystals.

Neal dances with Ruby, and she is charmed immediately. There are other people he dances with that Emma invited, the cake shop owner down the street Tiana, a woman from an sculpting course, Ariel, and their upstairs neighbor, Tamara. Each seem to join her new husband and come away with a blushing grin, the wine strong.

They go to bed and it's not as much as making love, but it isn't as little as just fucking or consummation - there's a frenzied edge that makes her toes curl but scares her. When she wakes up, her body is bruised and bite marks line her skin, dark blossoms that feel tender. He's gone, left a note for her on their honeymoon that something has come up back home. The tears come easily, but the call to the concierge is rough. Neal had left her money to do whatever it is someone does alone on their honeymoon in the Caribbean, and she laughs as the clerk judges her while handing her the bag.

The first two days of Plan B she can't drink, and it takes everything to follow through with that, watching Back to the Future 1 - 4 in the pool while gorging on onion rings. The third day is spent drunk and crying over a grilled cheese, then more onion rings.

Getting home, she finds Neal in their living room, and he surveys her calmly like one might do an over tired child. It hurts her, the coldness in his eyes. He sighs tracing a circle around the rim of a whisky tumbler.

"You've gained weight."

Emma laughs angrily and unbelieving, but it's cut short as the circles on his glass continue faster and faster around, until she fades into a smile, gently saying,

"Sorry, Neal, I'll do better."

He smiles, putting down the glass to his side.

"Good girl. Now come here, I missed you."

Emma walks over and straddles him - surprised how wrong it feels but how right it feels to please him. She does want to make him happy, doesn't she? To repay his good will and good fortune? Or is she an ungrateful girl that can still be left if she displeases, abandonment or adoration the choice is hers - which is it, which is it, which is it - and their kisses turn into something more as he turns out the light in their bedroom.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Malcolm of Malcolm's restoration services was the first person Emma had found anywhere remotely close that was able to properly authenticate the rare safe she found hidden in one of the walls. In the old Master's study, Emma had found a loose panel, and had assumed it to be another thing to fix. Finding the safe, and then Googling the safe to see if could be broken into easily led Emma to discover that not only could it not - it might spray some sort of gas all over.

She called the man and he answered first ring, and she booked him to drive the hour to Carterhaugh. He was entirely unpleasant on the phone, but Emma thought that might be due to the surprise drive to the middle of nowhere.

He was wholly, entirely, and awfully beyond unpleasant in person.

Malcolm had shown up reeking of alcohol, his boots caked in mud that he'd tracked over the newly restored entryway, and had only been eager to get the safe out of the wall - and into his truck.

"Ya'dunno what's innit, so I'll charge ye a bit t'take it off yer hands. Be needing special tools anyway, which I only have at m'shop. Most safes are empty, but you'll know yet home is safe from t'gas at least."

"I'm sorry Mr. Malcolm, but no. I wish you didn't have to come all the way out here but I'll pay you -"

"Fine, fine, I'll open it here, I'll just…" He pulled a hammer out of his pocket, and Emma stopped him again.

"I would just really prefer if you don't? I read about these and I really don't want to risk it, when you say you need specific tools from your shop. If it's most likely empty I'll leave it for another day, and drive out there with you."

Malcolm smiled, greasily, lowering the hammer to his side. He nodded and turned to have Emma follow him towards the entry hall.

"Sounds good miss. It must be tough out here all alone by yourself."

Emma answered before she could think better of it. "Oh no, I'm used to being on my own really, and -"

The crack of the hammer missed her by such a small margin, she felt the breeze hit her forehead. It stuck in the wall as she threw herself back instinctively and stupidly, scrambling as Malcolm pulled the hammer free and swung again.

"Killian! Killian, fuck! Help!" She screamed down the hall towards the solarium, narrowly avoiding getting hit again as Malcolm swung wildly.

"You bitch, I thought you were alone up here!" The lunatic hissed, and Emma heard the sound of running steps as Killian yelled after her.

"Emma, if you've fallen again, I swear -" Killian took a look at Malcolm with his hammer raised above her, and became instantly enraged, running full speed at Malcolm with a roar of anger. The older man threw the hammer at him hitting Killian in the chest, scrambling to throw an entry table and chaise in Killian’s path as they ran for the door.

Emma heard the squealing of tires and shouts, unable to move from her sprawled defensive position on the floor. Killian came back in like a blur, and before Emma could find the air to ask him to call the police or if he was alright, he had wrapped his arms around her holding her head as she burst into tears.

"You're alright. Emma, I've got you. You're alright, love. What - Who was that? Did he hurt you? I would have been faster, I thought - I'm such an idiot I thought, and you could have been - Emma, please tell me you're alright because if he hurt you, I swear I will hunt the bastard down and stuff him." Emma wrapped her arms around him, tightly gripping him and crying inconsolably. Her shoulders shook, and he only whispered soothingly, only pulling away to lock the doors.

Emma called the police, recounting what happened to Killian and the department as they asked questions, Killian pacing by the time they thanked her for her statement.

"We'll keep an eye out for him Miss Swan, and if he should turn up again, give us a ring."

"What do you mean give us a ring, she could have bloody well died! Send someone after him -"

"Miss Swan, who is this?" The officer asked.

"Oh, he's - he's my roommate and helps with restoration. Jones."

The officer made a loud sigh. "Seainns? There's another of you?"

"No, Jones. Only the one." Killian gritted out.

"Alright Mr. Jones, well, we can't just arrest someone, as although they did damage, we don't know where they may be, and we are a small town with limited resources. We'll have someone in a car sit at the bottom of the drive until morning."

"Thanks." Emma mumbled. The sound of a click was followed by Killian’s shouts.

"Bloody useless! We'd have caught him on foot, and dragged him through town by his arms -"

"Hey, Killian?" Emma whispered, and he stopped pacing to look at her. "Will you stay with me tonight? Please?"

His eyes widened, and he moved toward her, although she shrunk back. "Oh, Emma -"

"I just don't want to be alone tonight." She mumbled, voice cracking. Unable to look at him, she felt him gather her hands, squeezing gently. When she yanked away he froze, then moved slightly away from her. Emma regretted it instantly.

"Of course, love. Your room?"

Emma nodded. She let him lead her up the stairs, stopping by his room to grab a few things, before he sat on the edge of her bed. He laid his pillow on the floor, but she grabbed his arm as he set about laying blankets there as well.

"No. If you don't want to I understand, but… Please, I want you close, I don't want to wake up and think I'm alone."

"Are you sure, Swan?" He asked, and she nodded.

Crawling into bed with her as she snuggled into him and let herself cry, he held her tightly.

"I promise Emma, I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today -"

"You were." Emma whispered. "You are."

"I won't let harm befall you, in any way I can prevent. I promise."

He held her close, alert for any sounds as she fell asleep.

For the first time in years, she woke with no recollect of nightmares, fully rested, warm and safe. Tracing the scar on his cheek as he slept, the morning light hit his eyelashes and hair revealing auburn glints. They fluttered, and his eyes crinkled at their edges, blue and glints of gold.

"You stayed."

"I told you I wouldn't leave, love. You're safe."

Emma felt words pour out of her, his quiet listening while resting his hands gently in platonic embrace cathartic as she told him everything. Abandonment after abandonment, unending and unrelenting betrayals of trust that she explained as he comforted in the ways he could.

"I know you think that you have to be strong, and I know you think that you can't trust or lean on others. I will do everything that I can to prove myself to you, to prove that you deserve more."

"Why?" Emma asked, more plea than question.

Killian hesitated. Finally he swallowed hard. "It's what friends do."

Emma laughed softly, letting out a hum of contentment when she fell asleep again.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David visit once Emma has restored a suite she found suitable for them, her standards on the first place she would invite her adoptive brother ridiculously high. He had been absolutely hell bent on seeing the place, but had finally had enough when Emma had mentioned Killian more times than what was most likely normal for a staff member of the manor.

"I have tickets booked for Christmas. We're coming." He announced on their Skype call. Emma blanched, choking on her wine.

"Christmas?" she squeaked. "But that would mean presents and food, and we -"

Mary Margaret spoke calmly from just off camera. "We will get groceries in London for the week we're there, and ship the gifts straight to your house wrapped. Hell, I'll even buy Christmas crackers. All you need to do is open the doors, put up some semblance of a tree, and have somewhere we can sleep."

"But -"

"Emma. Mary lived with me and my ogre frat brothers on campus for two years. As long as there are no crusted socks on door handles, your place will be as immaculate as the Vatican. We're coming."

Emma tried to argue but couldn't get past either of them, finally conceding when Mary Margaret pointed out that Emma kept saying we when it came to her arguments.

"Did you meet someone? Is there a we now? Tell the gardener to bring a date, I follow him on that GreenThumb app - I want to meet him!"

In her Skype account's chat box, Emma saw her face go red. "No," she snapped, unsure why the thought irritated her. The interrogation probably, that sneaky, bird whispering, cookie pusher of a sister and law. "No, no one for me, but I'm sure Killian will be around. He told me he purchased an ugly sweater for himself."

Emma took a swig of wine while her brother made an irritated noise.

"He's telling you what he's wearing? Emma, is he gay?" Emma flooded her lungs in cabernet, coughing and spraying her laptop screen. "If he is, we know a nice man and can set them up - That Jefferson fellow, the artist at our old complex."

David laughed, both of them not paying attention to Emma hacking and scrubbing at her laptop with her robe. "Oh yeah! The artist that kept getting high and painting rabbits. He had that exhibit he invited us to, what was it called - with all the penises that were 'mushrooms'?"

"'Wünder.' it was called I think." Mary Margaret smacked him on the shoulder from off screen. "I remember because you said it should not have been called that in allusion to Wonderland when it attracted that blonde doctor, and more than a few bears."

"That's right!" David snapped his fingers, smirking at Emma from through the screen.

Now half choking and laughing, Emma gave a hoarse, "Fuck you both."

David smiled sweetly, and replied, "See you at Christmas, sis."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mistake number one is completely Killian’s fault.

They have to get a tree, and not just any tree, a fifteen foot goddamn tree that goes in a specific place in the den, where it will lord over them like the undeserving peasants they are. Or, that's what Emma feels about the whole thing. Killian has precariously climbed up one of the big ladders with a long measuring tape to painstakingly make sure the dimensions of the tree are that of some sort of branch trunk ratio, muttering about 'gardener stuff' she wouldn't understand.

"We literally could just get a fake tree. I have one, I brought it, it's 5 feet and prelit -"

"Your brother is coming here, and you have never done Christmas in a real home. I want your first Christmas here to be…" Killian made a gesture and finally scratched behind his ear, and blushed. "I want you to feel at home."

"Oh." Emma blinked. "Okay…? But the thing is, Killian, I don't need a giant ass needle machine to make this place feel at home, my Christmas activities are usually Chinese food and whatever booze is on discount at the local drug store."

"Why are there stores for just drugs in America? You bloody people -"

"Do not change the subject, using my patriotism is not going to work on me this time."

"Fine. Fine! I'll get the tree up and all you need to get are the decorations."

"Fine. I ordered them with all the gifts, they'll arrive in three days. Please get the tree by then, and no shame if it's not that big, seriously. David and Two Ems will be here the day before."

Climbing down the ladder, he shut the measuring tape with a nod. "Then that's the day it will be here. That way we can all decorate it. I'll pull out my gifts when you lot put yours out."

Emma widened her eyes. "Oh, you didn't have to - I didn't know if you wanted to do that with us -"

Killian looked slightly defeated, and then embarrassed. "Oh. If I'm imposing… If no one got me -"

"I mean I did, but -"

His smile relit, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's all that matters. I'll get the tree, Swan."

David and Mary Margaret arrived, and the first hour was spent with Two Ems giggling and clapping her hands at the literal fairy tale property she's on, as David's jaw stays open.

"So, once I knew that you were coming up, I designed your suite. It's called the songbird suite, and I modeled it after both of you." Emma smiled shyly. Mary Margaret tackled her with a hug, and Emma laughed delightedly.

David approached the room and it's stained glass door and carved wood door, it's facade made to look like a tree dripping leaves that went from green to yellow and then red and brown. Turning the French handle that was made to look like a copper branch, they stepped inside. The room was wall to wall a mural of a verdant forest, the plaster inlay textured to give the illusion of dimension. A hearth of rustic wood burned merrily near the bathroom archway where a river stone bath and shower peeked out. Through the bathroom and past a rock cut double vanity lay a door out into a small garden courtyard, while past the tub a closet sprawled out with a booth for make up.

"Why is it the songbird room?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma simply pointed up.

On the ceiling Killian has painted all the song birds that lived in their gardens, each one in detail and vivid coloring. He had draped plants in old bird cages they had found in the attic, growing the long vines to hang from the ceiling with flickering tea lights.

David walked to Emma, and smiled happily. "Can I hug you, Emma?" He asked quietly. She gave a simple nod, and he delicately embraced her, whispering in her ear so that Mary Margaret couldn't hear.

"You totally got me laid tonight, so thanks for that."

Emma burst out laughing, pushing him away while yelling how gross that was, and he started laughing too. Mary Margaret looked confused but hugged Emma again as she tried to breathe.

"I'm glad you like it Two Ems."

"It's perfect Em singular."

Just after that moment, Killian called from the hall.

"Can I draw your attention to the Den, Family Swan." Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow, but Emma shrugged pushing past to the hallway and into the den. Killian stood next to a massive tree, its branches held by thick red twine. He held a pair of scissors in his hands. Emma simply held her mouth open in shock along with Mary Margaret, the enormity of the massive pine overwhelming. She didn't notice David's pointed glare at Killian. "Madame Swan, M'lady Mary Margaret, and… Er. Dave."

David cracked his knuckles as his hand balled into a fist, with a grunt. Emma was too busy trying to figure out the scale of the tree to acknowledge him.

"I give you, our Christmas tree." Killian gave a bow, and with a quick flourish, cut the twine. The tree sprung open, boughs decorated in soft lights, glitter, some manner of tinsel, and long strings of ribbons, popcorn and cranberries. "All that's left is the star, and ornaments."

"Killian, wow, I -" Emma covered her mouth, trying not to let tears prick her eyes. She walked half dazed, not taking her eyes off the tree as she came to his side. "It's more than I -"

"So you like it?" He asked quietly.

"I love it, you've - I don't even know -"

He looked concerned, and gently swiped at her eyes. "Love don't cry, it's alright," Hugging her, she laughed.

"It's just so pretty, I never imagined having anything like this. Never in my life, I just… Thank you. Thank you so much, thank you."

Killian laughed, giving her a spin as she let out a joyful shriek.

Emma didn't notice David's tension, or the excited tug Mary Margaret gave on his sleeve that went unnoticed as he glared.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The second mistake comes in the form of Dinner the next day. David had excused himself after decorating the tree, citing exhaustion. Mary Margaret had gone with him and they retired early. Their gifts had been delivered the next day, beautifully propped against the decorated tree, while a team of couriers helped unload the ridiculous amount of food Mary Margaret had ordered.

"So, I am making the pies and cookies, the casserole, and the mashed potatoes. I figure that you," Mary Margaret pointed a bright red spatula at Killian who grinned in delight, "Can do the bird, vegetables, and that rice dish Emma raves about over Skype -"

"I do not rave about it over Skype -" Emma moaned, covering her face. Her stomach gurgled loudly, Mary Margaret and Killian laughing while David glowered.

"And David will do the ham, the lamb, and the holy roast." Mary Margaret laughed, Killian joining in. Emma gave David a bright smile that he did not return, not noticing, animatedly talking to Killian while he cut vegetables, popping cherry tomatoes in her mouth as he pretended to be annoyed. David grunted, pulling out the large roast pans.

Mary Margaret elbowed David, jerking her head at Emma, and David cleared his throat.

"Emma, would you like to help Mary Margaret?" David asked in a strained voice. "I'm sure she will let you add more cinnamon than normal people like in their shortbread."

Rolling her eyes, Emma stuck out her tongue at David, throwing a cranberry at him. "You're lucky I never miss the chance to merge from Em singular into," In unison robot voices, Mary Margaret and her intoned, "Triple M, Femme from Hell."

The broke into giggles before beginning to work. Opening a bottle of champagne and dumping it into a pitcher with cranberry juice, cinnamon sticks and orange slices, Emma poured herself and Mary Margaret a mug.

"My contribution, dear Sister in law." Emma smiled. Mary Margaret clinker her mug against Emma's, glancing over to where the men were working. They were back to back in silence, each stabbing at different ingredients. Mary Margaret gave a quiet sigh. Emma looked between the men and Mary Margaret with a confused look. "What?"

"My husband - your brother - is being a butthead." Mary Margaret whispered. Emma laughed, before realizing that she was serious.

"Wait, what? Who even says butthead anymore, are you eight? What are you even -"

"He's jealous. He's jealous that," She pointed at Killian with a measuring cup as she filled it with flour. "He couldn't do this for you. I mean, I know that he has to know this is because of Nil who he absolutely despised, but now there's another person who you've let in your life that is here because of Neal, and who is showing him up, that you've let in -"

"Fuck, I didn't even, I didn't think -" Emma hissed, and threw back her drink. Hissing in a quiet whisper, she gripped the counter. "Shit shit shit shit. But - but Killian is different, he's not like Neal at all and is just a friend. He's - there's nothing.".

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, smirking, before her face fell.

"Wait. Emma, you're serious? You and him aren't -" Emma shook her head, and Mary Margaret's eyes went wide. "But, but, he's - Oh, Emma."

Emma looked at her stupidly, blinking as Mary Margaret grabbed her hand and patted, looking over at Killian. He had moved around to the oven, jockeying for space and showing David how to work the various modes as her brother's hands balled further into fists.

When he caught their gazes, Killian gave a wave her way, smiling at her.

Emma turned back, and Mary Margaret was gulping down her own glass of the champagne mixture, putting up a finger to stop Emma from speaking as she poured another and downed it just as quickly.

"Wha?" Emma managed, but Mary Margaret just shook her head, muttering.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The dinner was fantastic, even if Mary Margaret got exceedingly drunk and laughed entirely too hard at the dirty jokes in her Christmas cracker, but David loosened up as the night went on and they all wore their silly hats, food being passed and eaten. They were all well drunk as the lamb and roast's smell wafted from the kitchen for the next day, and cookies were happily munched on by the fire.

They played a silly almost game of spades at a low coffee table in the den, trading white elephant gifts of ridiculous pajamas and blanket sets Mary Margaret had picked out, Emma receiving a mustache print blanket and flaming hot cheetos mixed with mistletoe pajamas. Mary Margaret fared much better, a Scooby-Doo onesie with Santa hat, rainbow blanket with poop emojis, and matching poop Emoji pillow. David received a silky mumu in a pepto pink with glittery loafers and a blanket with the repeated words 'Diva' and 'Princess' in cursive on it, but Killian fared worst of all.

"You've bested me, Mary Margaret. I shan't forgive you for this." He raised a fist in fake anger, plinking in his ears as he pulled out the offending garment. They all cackled, Mary Margaret actually falling over in peals of laughter as he glared at her in good humor and sang out mockingly, "Revenge, revenge, revenge will be mine."

A silky black robe with lace trim and black velour booty shorts were held in his hands, the red and white candy cane lettering across the back reading, 'Naughty List'. The blanket print was a black and red velour with Santa wearing devil horns.

David could not stop laughing as they all took a photo together, Killian bright red in embarrassment and drink, the both of them staying late up into the night talking. They all changed or got comfortable, Triple M falling asleep cuddled together in a drunk doze.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Christmas morning marked the third and final mistake, a group of hung over almost thirty somethings waking up to a cold hearth and backs that protested not sleeping on a mattress. Killian was up first as usual, fetching wood and dropping it with a yawn in the grate, stoking the embers. Mary Margaret and David woke up later as Emma dozed in and out, listening to their conversation.

"If you give him any trouble -"

"- How can she not know, I mean -"

"I mean it David, I will give you a new year's resolution of a dry spell if you -"

"That is emotional manipulation, Snow, and I'm only worried for my sister -"

"Don't 'Snow' me, this is the happiest I've seen her in so long, and you could be happy with her, last night you told me he was a good guy -"

"Last night I was drunk! Come on, Snow I -"

"David, if you don't act charming I'll… After we open gifts, go help him in the garden. Please."

Her brother gave a dramatic sigh, grunting out an okay. Falling back asleep until she smelled coffee, Emma led them in devouring ham with toast. They sat around the tree opening gifts, as they felt life returning in the form of caffeine.

They all received socks, some books, and various other gifts tailored to them. Mary Margaret got several kits for her class, a voucher for archery lessons, and several bird feeders that would be delivered to their home. David got free dog training courses for their puppy, wireless headphones, and a new pair of boots he had been eyeing. Emma was surprised to receive a wallpaper book based on period design, several dresses, a wine club subscription, and a beautiful shadowbox frame full of photos of hee adoptive mother. David had squeezed her hand at that, both of them sharing a look.

Emma was beyond grateful that Killian was given gifts by Mary Margaret, who'd given him a National Geographic subscription, Play store card, and to his delight, purchased an actual star for him.

"It's registered, you just go online and name it. They will give you the coordinates, which you can track on the phone app, or a telescope." Mary Margaret explained.

"Which brings me to my gifts to you." Emma smiled. She handed him a small envelope, and he opened it cautiously.

Inside was a voucher for a flower of the month and seed of the month club respectively, but what caught his eye was a scrawled message inside.

'In the Solarium.'

"Swan, I thought about what to get you, and -"

"Aren't you going to look in the Solarium?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"No, you've got to go look! I want to see your face. You probably won't shut up for weeks about it." Emma grinned, standing.

Killian sighed, and they all moved towards the bright sunshine of the glass enclosure. He rounded the bend, and Emma thought his gasp of excitement was worth its weight in gold. The telescope there was gold, designed like an old sextant but completely up to date with the newest technology. Emma watched him trace a finger before looking back at her and trying to find words.

"I know, I know. Your gift won't compare." She groused, and he looked overcome.

"Emma, this is too much -"

"No. It's not." She stated firmly. He shook his head, laughing in disbelief.

Pulling out a velvet box, he opened it and the sun caught green gems. "I guess I don't have to feel bad about this then. I had them restored after that awful man attacked you. They were in the safe, they're emeralds, a set of combs, earbobs, and necklace set in silver."

He handed the box to her, and Emma could not find words, even} rest assured I'd never let harm befall her." Clapping a hand against David's back, he gave a grim look of resolve. "Never."

David sputtered briefly, before breaking into a grin, and clapping Killian on the back as well, Mary Margaret smiling as she watched Emma swipe away tears from her eyes. Emma closed the box, coming back to the moment, no one noticing her quick sleight of hand as she threw the box under a shelf.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David left with Killian feeling like an old friend, their bags heavy and concerned heavily with how they would ever get through customs with the amount of food they had.

Killian had given them a historic tour of the property, fascinating Mary Margaret, who even forgave his refusal to take her through the woods.

"They're just lovely, and so weird too. They should not have leaves, and yes there are some fir and pine in there, but it's just so dense. It doesn't make sense, the branches practically knit together."

Killian just smiled blandly, and shrugged. "That land is strange."

David and Killian were acting as if they were best friends, and Emma was delighted, even beyond her distress over Killian’s gift. When she was sure they were all occupied, Emma had dug earth out of one of the many pots in the solarium garden. Pouring the jewels into the hole, she paused, feeling a pang of regret. Bracing herself, she covered the hole in dirt, knowing that she could not survive with the memory of Neal so close.

Returning to them, they played more games, and Emma showed them plans for the next rooms, they watched a few movies, and overall enjoyed each other's company.

Seeing them off, Emma hugged her brother tightly without him having to ask if it was alrght, his surprise turning into a tight embrace of joy.

Killian and her waved goodbye from the hall, watching the taxi pull away from Carterhaugh, Emma leaning into him when they were out of sight.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

After the house quieted from the holidays, Emma began having night terrors regularly. As this continued into the beginning of Spring, Killian found her several times drooling onto a pile of receipts or restoration samples, wallpaper swatches wet and blurred on the edges. Emma had guiltily proposed that she sleep in the garden while he worked, but he had been horrified by that suggestion.

To combat this and his lack of movie knowledge, Emma came up with what she considered an ingenious solution - using leftover furniture, pillows, and an assortment of old linens, she set up fort pillow-haugh with absolute precision. Falling asleep to Indiana Jones ('Are you sure there's no relation between you two?' she had asked to receive a cheeky grin back) while sated on popcorn and feeling comforted by Killian’s nearby presence was the easiest way to rest. So what if her back protested or in the middle of a thunderstorm she tucked into him so tightly she was afraid he might have bruised - they're friends.

They're friends alone in the middle of nowhere, and he holds her like he can't imagine anyone who wouldn't worship the ground she walked on.

They're friends and he spoons against the back of her softly, without any degree of disrespect or disregard, everything up to her.

They're friends as she is deeply asleep, but without dreams hears his voice like a bell over still water, feeling his nose bury into the hair at the nape of her neck and his lips on her shoulder.

"I love you, Emma. One day, I'll tell you how much with no trickery, and I will win your heart."

Even if it's only pretty words in dreams as he held her, Emma smiled and relaxed further into his touch. It's a dream she wants nothing more than to keep having as her second anniversary of living in Carterhaugh rolls around.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The fight is really her fault, but Emma gives stubborn a run for its money on her best days.

The upstairs bath in the all blue guest room had been leaking and making the hall reek of mildew. Fearing that she might have to replace tile that was quite literally irreplaceable, Emma went about getting a plumber, securing an appointment with one but not for two weeks.

So she had taken a wrench to the exposed faucets, carefully moving tiles from the mosaic floor of some red haired mermaid, following YouTube videos on how to turn the water off in the old pipes with a shut off valve. When her wrench slipped on the rusty piping and she cut herself, her chorus of curse words echoed down the halls, but she hadn't expected Killian’s breathless arrival or worried eyes.

"Emma, what did you - Are you alright?" He stared at the red dripping from her hand and her disheveled state.

Emma nodded, trying to push past, but he held fast. "I just - it's just a cut. I'm alright." The worry in his gaze made her feel under spotlight. It had been almost a year of work, but no one in that time span had ever cared about her, except Mary Margaret. Not that she counted; the woman loved everyone.

Killian only shook his head. Pulling a black handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it delicately around the cut, bending low to make sure the knot he made was tight. "I thought you said you were calling a plumber?" he asked quietly, the worry now lacing his voice.

"I did, I just need to turn off this valve and it's stuck -" Emma gestured, and Killian picked up the wrench, bending to look. Before she could protest, he turned the wrench - in the wrong direction. There was a hiss, then a pop, and suddenly there was water shooting at both of them, ice cold, coming from different directions as she wiped at her face and Killian stared up at her in shocked surprise. She stumbled and he caught her, stumbling as well and trying to gain purchase back on the valve, while Emma screamed at him to shut it off, just shut it off -

They slipped together, and his body was on top of hers, chest heavy and dripping but blocking the jets of water as he turned the valve to stop the torrent at last. When he looked down at her prone and underneath him, he was soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead and neck, beads getting stuck in his raised eyebrows.

Emma began to laugh uncontrollably, the urge bubbling up without warning as Killian’s eyes widened and his pupils grew larger. He began to laugh too, his weight on her slight as he tried to hold himself above her while his chest was so close she could feel his heart thundering. His stare leveled at her lips, but when she pushed upwards, he pushed off of her to stand pink all the way across his ears and cheeks. Scratching his ear he mumbled an excuse to leave, but she was soaked and cold, the want heavy from the way everything clung to him like leather.

Pulling on the fabric of his shirt in two rough fistfuls, she kissed him. He reacted in a muffled grunt that slowly turned into a groan matching her own keen, his tongue and hers together moving in languid synchronization. It was only when they parted breathless, and he broke the moment with the roughest voice she had heard from him, that thought returned.

"That was…"

Emma practically threw herself away from him, her body aching for more of whatever that was -

"A one time thing." She heard herself say, too busy trying to flee, to get away from the man she had just desired and obviously desired her, that lived with her, that was her friend, that was her employee - and Oh God Emma what a royal mother of all screw ups.

Hiding away from him as she could hear her phone buzz, hear his footsteps, his quiet pleading from the other side of her door as she hid on the balcony. She could see him pacing in his room, calling out to her where she hid. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this or in any way.

He was relentless, and hurt, which she guessed was to be expected. When his knocking and pleading stopped it was a relief and an absolutely terrifying moment in its own right - the halls of Carterhaugh were silent but for the sound of her door opening. An empty bottle of wine laid a slight ways down the hall, the bottle's neck pointing towards Killian’s room.

He was gone. He had gone and she was alone again like she has been all her life - was before this. The royal fucking mother of screw ups and the granddaddy of absolute stupidity, pushing away the first good thing that has happened to her by kissing him. By letting him chip away at the ice around her soul, only to freeze him out because she - she, not him - kissed him.

She was a lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic that just wants to go back to that moment and…

And kiss him again, and again, and feel his heart thump and hear that groan into her mouth, feel the way his hand found her hip and tongue slipped past her lips -

Fuck.

#Courtorderedcake #September 12th 2019 #2019 #CSSNS #CSSNS 2019 #Roses #Tam Lin #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #cs au #CS FF #captain swan fic #Captain swan fan fiction

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vexedtonightmares · 5 years

Text

with great power (elu spiderman au)

eliott has been saved by spiderman quite a few times for absolutely no reason. hopeless romantic that he is, eliott accidentally starts falling for spiderman somewhere along the way and doesn’t know what to do about it. obviously, there’s only one solution. he and his good friend lucas should pretend to date to make spiderman jealous. there’s no ulterior motives here, of course, just lucas helping a bro out.

aka eliott’s falling in love with spiderman, lucas is in love with eliott, and lucas is spiderman.

1 2

ao3

no.3 “I don’t want you to kiss me.”

Eliott woke up on Lucas’ floor with the light streaming in the window. Lucas had insisted that he take the bed, but Eliott didn’t want to displace Lucas in his own room or make Lucas uncomfortable by sleeping in the bed with him. Sure, they’d shared beds on occasion over the years, but Eliott tended to try to cuddle when he’d had a few drinks, even more so when he smoked, and he hadn’t wanted to subject Lucas to that.

Lucas’ head was hanging over the edge of his bed, looking down at Eliott with a goofy grin. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

“Sleepyhead? How late is it?” Eliott asked, rubbing his eyes.

Lucas checked the clock on the other side of his bed before leaning back over the edge to speak to Eliott. “About eleven-thirty.”

Eliott was suddenly more awake. “Seriously? I’m so sorry, usually I wake up earlier, you know that.”

Lucas furrowed his brows. “Eleven-thirty isn’t that late. I just got up too. If I could sleep like a normal person I’d sleep until noon or later every day.”

Eliott frowned, even though Lucas was still grinning happily. He knew Lucas had sleeping issues, he always came to school with dark circles under his eyes and texted Eliott at odd hours of the night, but Eliott had never thought much of it. Lucas always seemed to brush all his problems under the rug and Eliott just let him. He felt guilt churning in his stomach, about to say something when he saw a small scratch on Lucas’ cheek. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to it.

Lucas raised his hand to his cheek in surprise, as if he had no idea what Eliott was talking about. Eliott watched him catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room before turning bright red. “I, um, cut myself shaving,” he stammered.

Eliott frowned. First of all, he was pretty sure Lucas didn’t have to shave yet, and second of all, he knew that cut hadn’t been there last night so that meant Lucas was lying about just waking up. Lucas must have realized this the same time Eliott did, because he confessed, “Ok I’ve been awake for a little while, actually, I just didn’t want you to feel bad.”

“Ever the gentleman,” Eliott grinned. He sat up further. “When did you start shaving?”

“Like a week ago,” Lucas said, blushing again.

“You know that you have no facial hair to shave, right?” Eliott teased, and was subsequently hit in the face by a pillow. Either the pillow was super heavy, or Lucas had thrown it with an insane amount of force, because it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Lucas’ eyes were wide and nervous when Eliott looked back up at him. “I’m so, so, sorry,” he apologized, blinking rapidly.

Eliott tossed the pillow back, making sure not to launch it like Lucas apparently had. “Stronger than you thought you were?”

Lucas coughed uncomfortably. “I’ve, uh, been, um, working out?” He said it like a question, even though it shouldn’t have been one.

“When? I’d go with you, you know.”

Lucas shook his head fervently. “No, no, I like doing it alone.”

“Ok…” Eliott narrowed his eyes, wondering why Lucas was acting so skittish. They still didn’t lie to one another, right?

Before Eliott could question him further, Lucas coughed abruptly and changed the subject. “Come up here, I’m tired of talking to you down there.”

Eliott did as he was told, hopping up and sitting beside Lucas on the bed. Lucas always looked so soft in the mornings, hair a beautiful mess, eyes a bit bleary, pillow wrinkles imprinted in his face. He wondered what Spiderman looked like in the mornings. Or at all. “You summoned me?”

“We need to come up with some rules,” Lucas declared.

“Rules?”

“For dating each other— fake dating each other,” Lucas explained further, “I don’t want either one of us to be confused about the whole thing, you know?”

Eliott did know, and it was actually something that had been on his mind. He was glad that Lucas had brought it up, because he probably would have forgotten about it until it was too late and then their plan would have been ruined. “Of course,” he agreed, “Where do we start?”

Lucas bit his lip. “Um, basic things, I guess. Like kissing.”

Kissing. Eliott wouldn’t mind kissing Lucas while they fake dated.

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” Lucas said.

Oh, never mind then.

Lucas must have noted Eliott’s confusion, because he launched into an explanation. “I’m sure you’re a great kisser, but I don’t want to kiss you just because we’re pretending, all right? I want to save my kisses for people who actually want to be with me.”

“No one is going to believe we’re together if we don’t kiss,” Eliott pointed out, though he wasn’t sure why. If Lucas didn’t want to kiss him, that was his prerogative, Eliott didn’t need to fight him on it. It was a decent point though.

“I can just tell people I don’t like PDA, it’s not like I’ve ever had a real boyfriend before, so they won’t know the difference,” Lucas shrugged, and Eliott thought oh. Lucas didn’t want to kiss him because he hadn’t ever had any of these experiences in a real relationship yet, and wanted to save them.

“Ok, fair enough. How about holding hands, cuddling, stuff like that?” Eliott asked.

Lucas thought about it for a moment. “That’s fine, I guess, just not too much, because then no one will believe I don’t like PDA.”

“I’m gonna cuddle the shit out of you,” Eliott said with a wide grin, pulling Lucas to him. Lucas widened his eyes and pulled away quickly, looking flustered. Lucas blinked rapidly again and Eliott wondered if he might have something in his eye.

“No need,” Lucas eked out. Maybe he had something caught in his throat, not his eye? “Minimal cuddles will suffice, most people won’t question it, trust me.”

“Well what if I want to cuddle the shit out of you?”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Save the cuddles for Spiderman, Romeo.”

“Fine,” Eliott shrugged, “I will. What other rules are there?”

Lucas’ eyes zoned out and Eliott wondered if maybe he was second guessing this whole thing. He was about to clap in front of his face when Lucas said, dead serious, “Well, we’re going to have to sleep together.”

Now it was Eliott’s turn to cough in surprise. “Let me get this straight. No kissing… but we—?”

“Oh, god, no! Not like that!” Lucas laughed, and the tension in the air dissipated. Eliott hadn’t even noticed there was tension until it disappeared. Lucas was still laughing as he continued, “I meant like, stay over at each other’s places— just to sleep! My flatmates know that I sleep better when other people are here, so they’ll assume we’ll spend a lot of nights together.”

“Ok.”

“We don’t actually have to, of course, you can sneak out when they’re all asleep or whatever, and I can sleep on your couch at your flat, but I think that will help with the ruse,” Lucas explained further.

“Lucas don’t be an idiot, of course I’ll stay over here. And you don’t have to sleep on my couch. We’ve shared beds many, many, times, this is no different as long as you don’t steal all the covers.” Eliott nudged Lucas’ knee with his and Lucas blushed. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Lucas mumbled, shaking the hand Eliott had outstretched. Damn, he had quite the grip. Eliott wasn’t sure how he’d never noticed it before, he supposed they didn’t shake hands often. “What else?”

“One date a week?” Eliott suggested. The more Spiderman saw the two of them engaging in typical couple activities the better. “We can hang out more often than that, obviously, but we should have one ‘formal’ date per week.”

“Fuck, I should be writing this down,” Lucas murmured, hopping off the bed with ease and searching the room for a pen and paper. Once he found them, he sat back down, writing down everything they had mentioned up to that point. No kissing, other pda ok in small amounts, sleepovers (no blanket hogging), one date night per week. Eliott wondered what it would be like to just do these things with Lucas without it being fake, then shook the idea from his mind. Where had that come from? Sure, he loved Lucas, but not like that, of course not.

“I can make drawings for you,” Eliott offered. He already did it pretty often anyway, but he could be more consistent with them, make them look more like couple drawings than friend drawings.

Lucas smiled softly. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

Lucas’ smiled vanished in an instant, turning into a pout. “I don’t have anything like that to offer, I’m not talented like you are.”

Eliott sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Lu.”

“I’m serious! I want to be able to do something for you, too.”

He most definitely did not need to, but Eliott could see where he was coming from. If Lucas had offered drawings, Eliott would have wanted to do something as well. “You could write me notes?” Eliott suggested.

“Notes?”

“Yeah, like little love letters.”

“Ha ha. You know I’m no good with words.” Lucas was frowning again, and Eliott didn’t like to see him frown.

He kicked Lucas lightly. “They don’t have to be actual love letters, I can pretend they’re too personal to show anyone. You can write whatever you want, give me your bio notes for all I care.”

Lucas considered this. “Ok. Notes it is, then.” He wrote it down underneath (couple-y) drawings by Eli. Eliott wasn’t sure what else they were missing, their list seemed pretty complete to him. “Also,” Lucas added, “We can’t tell anyone that this is fake.”

“Duh,” Eliott agreed.

“And when we end it, it has to be mutual and we have to stay best friends.”

“I thought Yann was your best friend?” Eliott teased, but when he looked at Lucas’ face Lucas looked nervous.

“I’m serious. I don’t want to lose you as one of my best friends because of this.” There was actual fear in Lucas’ voice and Eliott just wanted to wrap him up and never let him go.

He took Lucas’ face in his hands. “Hey. I'll never stop being your friend. Never ever. You’re one of the best things in my life, ok?”

“Ok…”

Lucas wasn’t meeting his eyes and Eliott waited until he finally did to ask again. “Ok?”

“Ok,” Lucas said, firmer this time. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Eliott’s, closing his eyes. Eliott dropped his hands from Lucas’ face and brought them around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Lucas responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Eliott as well, head now tucked into Eliott’s neck.

“You’re one of the best things in my life too,” Lucas said softly, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted it to be said aloud. Because of this, Eliott gave no verbal response, simply tightening his grip on Lucas a little bit, burying one hand in Lucas’ glorious hot mess disaster rat’s nest hair.

A knock came from the door and the two of them sprang apart, even though they weren’t doing anything wrong. They hugged all the time, and what did it matter if anyone saw them do it now, especially if they were supposed to be dating.

Lucas shoved the piece of paper he’d been writing on underneath his pillow before answering, yelling at the door, “Yeah? You can come in.”

Mika walked into the room dramatically, flopping onto Lucas’ bed right between the two of them. Lucas met Eliott’s gaze with an amused smile. “What’s up?” Lucas asked.

“I was bored and you two were still hiding here,” Mika explained, “Manon’s out and Lisa’s asleep. Besides, the gays are much more interesting than the girls, but don’t tell them I said that.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and nudged Mika with his knee. “Seriously? We were in the middle of something.”

“You didn’t have to invite me in,” Mika said with a shrug. Eliott met Lucas’ eyes again and lifted one eyebrow. If they were going to be pretending, now might be the time to start. Mika caught the end of Eliott’s glance at Lucas and he sat up abruptly. “Wait a minute,” he said, “Oh my god.”

Eliott looked at him questioningly, then at Lucas. Lucas was looking right at Mika with raised eyebrows and a small smirk, causing Mika to scream in indignation. “Finally! God knows how long we’ve all been waiting for this!”

“Mika, shut up,” Lucas said, with an apologetic glance at Eliott. Eliott furrowed his eyebrows as Mika began to ramble on and on about how it was about damn time. Probably noticing Eliott’s confusion, Lucas slid his hand across the bed and laced his fingers with Eliott’s. It wasn’t the first time they’d held hands, but it was purposeful this time, and a light bulb switched on in Eliott’s head. Oh, he thought, then, Wait a minute… how long who’s been waiting for this?

“Um, who’s been waiting for what now?” Eliott asked, and Mika paused in the middle of his sentence.

“Literally everyone? We all see the way you two look at each other.” What was Mika talking about, Eliott and Lucas looked at each other normally, right? “Regardless,” Mika bulldozed on, “I want details. Who made the first move?”

Fuck, they hadn’t talked about the details. Eliott looked to Lucas, maybe he’d be better at bullshitting than Eliott. Everyone could always see through Eliott when he was lying, which was a bit annoying, but expected. Lucas blinked. “Um, I did, I guess.”

“Do tell, kitten. Who knew you could be so bold?”

Lucas rolled his eyes again. Eliott thought it was endearing when he did that, but that was probably only because whenever Lucas rolled his eyes at him it was followed by a smile. “Drunk me can, I guess. I asked Eliott if he wanted to shotgun the joint we’d all been passing around, one thing led to another, and yeah. That’s it.”

Mika narrowed his eyes. “That’s all you’re giving me? Are you official or what?”

Eliott jumped in to answer Mika, letting Lucas take a moment to come up with whatever else they needed to sell their story. “We decided to take things slow but… yeah. I guess you could say that.”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, though, we literally just discussed it before you barged in,” Lucas pleaded.

Mika scoffed. “I didn’t barge, I knocked. I always knock with you two just in case and it turns out I stay winning, so…”

“Goodbye, Mika,” Lucas said, pushing him off the bed with a loud thump. Lucas’ eyes widened and he leaned over the side of the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry, are you ok?”

“Jesus, you’re strong kitten,” Mika said with a disbelieving laugh. Lucas laughed weakly in return.

“He’s been working out,” Eliott explained, and Lucas looked at him gratefully. Lucas had clearly been modest about how much time he’d put into working out earlier when they’d talked about it. Eliott was impressed, he’d never really taken Lucas for the type. Mika nodded at the explanation, leaving the room with wary eyes.

“Just don’t fuck too loud!” he yelled over his shoulder as he left, closing the door behind him. Eliott met Lucas’ eyes and the two of them nearly collapsed into a fit of giggles, Lucas pulling their rules sheet out from under his pillow.

Eliott tried to get a look over Lucas’ shoulder as he wrote something down. “What are you adding?”

Lucas bit his lip, unable to contain the few giggles that rose up out of him as he turned the sheet to Eliott. There, at the bottom of the page, a few words that had Eliott equally exasperated and endeared.

Final rule: Don’t fuck too loud. (for mika)

🕷🕷🕷🕷

Lunch, they’d decided, would be a good time to tell all their friends that they were ‘together’. Manon already knew, partly because Mika couldn’t keep his mouth shut and partly because Eliott had lived at the flat for the rest of the weekend, he and Lucas testing out different coupley things and finding it wasn’t much different than being friends, especially if they weren’t going to kiss or anything. She was happy for them, very supportive, which was exactly what both of them had expected from her. They didn’t think any of their friends would have an objection, but it would still be interesting to see their reactions.

The crew and the gang didn’t usually all sit together at lunch, but thankfully that day they were. Daphné had called a meeting to discuss the foyer renovations, though Eliott had thought since he and Lucas and the boys had painted a new mural they were pretty much good on renovations for the time being.

Eliott and Lucas walked in together, sitting down beside one another. Manon eyed them from across the table and Eliott caught Lucas sending her a look, wrinkling his nose. Eliott clasped Lucas’ hand under the table, startling him slightly. Now or never, right? he tried to ask subliminally. Lucas seemed to get his message, but before they could say anything Arthur addressed them.

“Either of you want to share what the fuck that whole thing was at the party the other day?” he asked, looking at them over the rims of his glasses. Yann was eyeing them carefully, as was Imane, for some reason. Everyone else just seemed confused except for Manon.

Lucas furrowed his brows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

Eliott bit the inside of his cheek, Lucas was such a little shit. Lucas squeezed his hand lightly under the table as if to say What? We never said we couldn’t have a little fun in the reveal. Which, fair. Eliott figured he’d just let Lucas do his thing until he was expected to chime in.

“Dude, you two basically made out right in front of us,” Basile chimed in, mouth full of whatever food the school had been offering that day. Daphné’s eyes widened and she nearly spit out her drink. “Come again?” she clarified.

Lucas sighed deeply, placing his free hand on the table. “I don’t see what the big deal is…”

“I don’t know Lulu, usually we don’t just nearly make out with our friends in front of our other friends and then mysteriously disappear all weekend,” Arthur reasoned, looking at them suspiciously.

Lucas turned slightly and Eliott took that as his cue, casually lifting their joined hands to rest on the table. He saw the moment everyone noticed, eyes widening comically. “That’ll be the last time I show any sort of PDA with my boyfriend, then,” Eliott said with a sigh, and all hell broke loose.

“EXCUSE ME?”

“Boyfriend?”

“I fucking knew it!”

“About time…”

Eliott frowned. Were all their friends really that easy to trick? Yann had a glint in his eye that looked all too knowing as he looked at a blushing Lucas, a glint that went away when he noticed Eliott noticing him. The girls had stopped attacking them with questions and moved on to a too silent Manon.

“You knew and you didn’t tell us!” Emma accused and Manon shrugged.

“Not mine to tell,” she said simply.

Alexia turned to Lucas and Eliott. “You’re lucky she’s your roommate, not me.”

Lucas laughed, and Eliott could feel tension roll off him in waves. It seemed silly that they’d both be so nervous to tell their friends about a relationship that wasn’t actually real, but Eliott found himself letting go of some nerves as well.

Arthur had his head tipped back and his eyes closed and Eliott looked at him curiously. “Um, Arthur? What are you doing?” he asked.

“Shhh,” Arthur shushed him, “I’m basking in the moment.”

“The moment?”

“The moment you two idiots finally realized you were in love with each other.” Arthur opened one eye and zeroed in on Eliott. “So shhh and let me enjoy this monumental occasion.”

They weren’t in love, but that was beside the point. Although, it was odd how many of their friends were acting like this had been a long time coming. He and Lucas had never seen each other as more than friends. Sure, they could be quite affectionate with one another, but that was just because they knew each other so well. Lucas loved to be affirmed by touch, platonic or otherwise, and Eliott loved cuddling with anyone and everyone.

“So, what was this about the foyer, Daphy?” Lucas coughed, clearly trying to change the subject. His hand stayed wrapped around Eliott, almost like it was a symbol of their secret and they had to hold on tight to make sure they didn’t let it go.

Daphné blinked a few times, then smiled widely. “Right, right! Well, I’ve been thinking we should add some sort of decoration or addition to the mural to honor the hero of our city.”

Lucas stiffened beside him and Imane’s eyes shot right to him. Daphné continued, “I’m talking, of course, about Spiderman. He’s done so much for the city these past few months, I really think it would be a nice thing to do to show our appreciation.”

“I’m not sure he needs something like that Daphné,” Yann chimed in, looking hesitant. Eliott wondered for a moment if Yann could be Spiderman, then dismissed the idea. He was too tall, and he never would have been able to keep his identity a secret from Eliott. It couldn’t be anyone he knew well at all, it would be too hard to pretend.

“Why not?” Daphné looked affronted.

Imane looked away from Lucas, shrugging. “I mean, he’s just some normal kid or adult or whatever. Some people volunteer or donate to charity and we don’t memorialize them.”

“But he’s a superhero, not just some volunteer,” Emma pointed out and Daphné gestured to her as if she was the only one of them making any sense.

“If I was Spiderman,” Daphné said, “I’d be so touched that people appreciated everything I did for them.”

Alexia widened her eyes comically. “Shit, Daph, are you Spiderman?”

Daphné blushed as everyone started laughing, and Eliott felt a little bit bad for her. After all, he was the one pretending to date one of his best friends to make Spiderman jealous. He was also the only one who knew that Spiderman was sixteen and possibly went to this school, the only one who knew what Spiderman really thought about being referred to as a hero. “I think it’s a great idea in theory,” he said, noticing how Daphné’s eyes brightened.

He continued, “It’s just… imagine Spiderman is a kid at this school. How do you think they would feel going to the common room and seeing people memorialize them as some type of god? At best, Spiderman feels a little uncomfortable, at worst, all that attention goes to Spiderman’s head and they become a villain.”

“Spiderman could never be a villain!” Basile scoffed.

“You never know,” Imane agreed. Eliott shot her a grateful look, knowing she’d have his back. Sure, he was friends with Idriss first and she was just the little sister, but since he’d gotten to know her better he considered her one of his greatest friends. Lucas was glaring at Imane, and Eliott nudged him with his elbow, shooting him a questioning look. Lucas shook his head, giving a weak smile, even though he looked a little bit like he was about to be sick. Maybe he was still reeling from telling their friends they were dating.

Eliott stood up, pulling Lucas with him. “We’ve got to go guys, but maybe we can continue this discussion later?”

Manon pursed her lips, raising one eyebrow. “You have to go?”

“Yes,” Lucas stated harshly, color returning to his face. “Goodbye.”

Everyone gave them exaggerated goodbyes, miming kisses and making loud proclamations of love. Lucas flipped them all off over his shoulder as they walked away, but his relief was palpable. Eliott released his hand as soon as they were out of view, but he placed a comforting hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “Hey, you ok?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Lucas blinked rapidly, taking a breath. “Just a bit overwhelmed I guess.”

Eliott nodded, that was what he’d expected. “Well, hey, no need to be overwhelmed, ok? I’ve got you, always.”

Lucas sank into his touch, not saying anything, but showing his gratitude with his face. It was still a little red now that it had regained its color, but he looked calmer than he had a moment before. Eliott laughed lightly. “Besides, it’s all just pretend anyway, right?”

Something shifted in the space between them and Lucas shrugged away from his touch. Eliott frowned, wondering if he’d said something wrong. Maybe he’d read Lucas wrong, acted too boyfriend-y instead of friend-y.

“Right,” Lucas said stiffly, “I’ll see you later.”

“Ok?”

Lucas walked away without another word, leaving Eliott standing dumbfounded in the middle of the hallway.

🕷🕷🕷🕷

Things hadn’t been weird between Lucas and Eliott since Lucas had walked away after lunch a few days prior. Eliott had decided not to acknowledge the weirdness, and he and Lucas had picked up on their usual dynamic as they’d met up to walk to the bus stop after school.

If anything, Lucas had been a bit quieter than usual, but Eliott attributed that to the fact that school was heating up and they spent most of their time together drowning in homework. Lucas would disappear every now and then, ignoring everyone for a few hours at a time, but then he’d reappear like nothing had happened at all, so they all decided to just ignore it. Yann shared with Eliott that Lucas had been seeing his mother more often recently, so Eliott figured that was all it was.

They were supposed to have their first date that night, but Lucas had just texted Eliott, asking if they could reschedule. Eliott’s phone vibrated, lighting up with another apology text from Lucas.

Lucas: I’m so so sorry, I promise I’ll make it up to you

Eliott: no worries, seriously

Lucas: I feel terrible though

Lucas: It’s in the rules

Eliott: we can go tomorrow night?

Lucas: True…

Lucas: I still feel bad

Eliott: don’t, i can go hang out with spiderman ;)

Lucas: Ha ha

Eliott: if i say i expect double love notes next week will your guilt be laid to rest?

Lucas: I’m not filled with guilt

Eliott: lu, i know you

Eliott: you shouldn’t feel guilty, but you do

Lucas: Fuck outta here w your ‘I know lucas better than anyone’ bullshit

Eliott: am i wrong tho?

Lucas: ...No

Lucas: Extra notes it is

Lucas: Gotta go text you later

Eliott: bye lover <33

Lucas: You’re dead to me

Eliott laughed at Lucas’ dramatics, turning his phone off and casting a glance around his messy bedroom. He supposed he could spend the extra time cleaning, but he really didn’t want to. He’d been joking about hanging out with Spiderman, but what if there was a chance they could run into each other now that Eliott didn’t have plans? Spiderman always seemed to know where Eliott was.

Filled with new purpose, Eliott threw on his trusty brown bomber jacket and left his apartment, no destination in mind. The air outside was crisp and chilly, but also refreshing. He thought about maybe going to the petite ceinture, but decided against it. If he was going to possibly “run into” Spiderman, he couldn’t do it from under the bridge.

Eliott never visited the Eiffel Tower for fun, he figured he’d leave that to the tourists, but something drew him there that night. Maybe it was because, romantic that he was, he’d always wanted to end a date at the top of the tower, kissing whoever it was right there as the tower twinkled around them. Even if it was touristy, he had to admit that it was quite beautiful.

Tonight was no exception, and Eliott raised his phone to take a picture to send to Lucas. It was something they always did, whenever they weren’t with each other. It was their way of saying wish you were here, even in the most mundane of places, like the grocery store or their own flats.

Lucas’ response was immediate, and Eliott smiled down at his phone until he opened the message, smile dimming in confusion.

Lucas: JDIS89))*&S csgk

Eliott typed a row of question marks in response, but Lucas didn’t answer again. Maybe he’d sat on his phone or something and not meant to send that. Lucas was known to send accidental texts every now and then.

Someone screamed to Eliott’s right and he startled, following their gaze to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The normally sparkling lights were flickering precariously and Eliott could see the faint outline of something or someone perching on the tip. People around him were starting to get their phones out to videotape, but Eliott just moved closer, squinting to see what was happening.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he picked it up immediately when he saw Lucas’ name. The sound was muffled and Eliott held the phone back from his ear to make sure he’d actually answered.

“Lucas? You there?” he asked, still watching the tower worriedly.

“— nkedvpv FUCK! Did they— ugh— no, I’m not—” Lucas answered, voice coming in and out of focus. It didn’t sound like he was trying to talk to Eliott at all. Maybe it was a butt dial? There was a loud noise and Eliott couldn’t tell if it was coming from in front of him or on the phone. He turned up the volume on the call and pressed the phone into his ear, moving closer still to the tower.

“Can you hear me, Lucas?” He was aware he was shouting a bit, but no one seemed to notice. There was a loud crash as something fell just in front of Eliott’s feet. He dropped his phone accidentally, blinking rapidly. If he’d still been moving it would have crushed him.

He scrambled out of the way, picking up his phone as he went, surprised at the fact that Lucas hadn’t hung up yet. When he put it back up to his ear, he frowned. The noises from the phone sounded quite similar to the screams Eliott was surrounded by. Was Lucas there? Eliott had to find him, get him out of there safely.

“What do you want?” Lucas’ voice said angrily, and Eliott sighed in relief. He wasn’t sure why Lucas was angry, but at least he was safe.

“Lu, where are you? I can come find you, it’s not safe he—”

He cut off as he noticed another figure joined whatever was lurking above the Eiffel Tower. Lucas said something into the phone that he couldn’t distinguish, then the call went dead, just as a loud roar emanated from the thing terrorizing the tower.

A lady beside Eliott let out a relieved scream and he looked at her curiously until she pointed back up at the tower. “Spiderman is here! We’ll be ok!”

Eliott had never looked at something so fast. How had he not realized that Spiderman would show up to whatever crisis this was? Usually Spiderman handled everyday sort of crimes, but this seemed like something bigger.

Before Eliott could register what he was seeing, the creature at the top of the tower took off into the air. He hadn’t even realized the thing had wings. Was it possible that Spiderman wasn’t the only one with superpowers? Was this like one of those parallel universes Lucas always talked about?

Spiderman leapt from the tower, shooting one of his webs and attaching himself to the creature’s leg, dragging them both down at a rapid pace. Everyone around Eliott was screaming and running in terror, but he found himself glued to one spot, watching as it all went down. If Lucas had been there, Eliott hoped he was running away with everyone else.

The thing with wings was using all its might to shake off Spiderman, but Spiderman clung to it regardless, shooting another web and launching himself around the creature to wrap its wings together. The two of them plummeted further still, Spiderman leaping away at the last moment before the creature slammed into the concrete, sticking himself to the side of the Eiffel Tower, running down its side and yelling at people to stay away from the thing that fell.

Eliott was still frozen in place, watching as Spiderman attacked the creature with more webs, making sure it was unable to move or escape. He didn’t know what they would end up doing with the creature, Spiderman didn’t seem the type to kill someone or something, but what else could be done with something that had superpowers it intended to use for evil?

Most people had cleared the way, so Eliott had a better look at Spiderman and his adversary. To his surprise, the creature wasn’t a creature at all, but a man with these elaborate mechanical wings, plastered to the ground by webs. Spiderman was leaning over him, speaking quietly enough that Eliott couldn’t distinguish any words, but could tell he was saying something.

Just as Eliott was about to take a step closer, against his better judgement, law enforcement arrived, surrounding the scene. Spiderman paused over his adversary, looking up at the people surrounding him. It became apparent to Eliott and Spiderman at the same time that the officers weren’t looking at Spiderman like a hero. Eliott opened his mouth to say something, but Spiderman shot a web into the distance, swinging away as quickly as he’d come, leaving everyone in a frenzy. He could have sworn Spiderman met his eye a second before he swung away.

The officers focused in on the man with the wings, but Eliott ran after the direction he’d seen Spiderman swing away. He knew he’d never be able to catch of find him if he didn’t want to be caught or found, but as long as he got away everything would be ok. It scared him to think that law enforcement might come to think of Spiderman as a threat when he was really the one saving them all.

Eliott hadn’t realized his feet were carrying him back to his flat until he was staring at the door, rustling for his keys. Once inside the building, he realized he was shaking. He’d never been in real danger, unlike the people at the top of the Eiffel Tower, but he’d been scared for Spiderman. He couldn’t win every fight, after all, and what if that one had been the one he’d lost? What if the wings had shredded his webs, or the man had knocked him out as he fell, rendering him unable to soften his landing?

He opened the door to his flat and slumped back against it the minute he got back inside. There was a sheet of paper on the floor beside him, like someone had stopped by and slipped it under. He unfolded it carefully and widened his eyes with each word he read.

Eliott,

Next time you’re somewhere like that, run please. I don’t want you to get hurt. You may think you can help me, but you can’t. No one can. I’ll be fine, but it’s really important to me that you are too. I’ll find you next time, hopefully under less dire circumstances.

-Spiderman

Eliott leaned his head back against the door with an incredulous grin. He knew that Spiderman had seen him. He wasn’t crazy, was he, for thinking that this meant something? Spiderman didn’t leave these notes for everyone he saw, did he?

Eliott was so focused on the note that he nearly forgot about Lucas and if he’d gotten out of there safely. He wondered why Lucas had been there in the first place if he’d supposedly been too busy to go out, but he decided not to question it. Maybe he’d been with his mother.

Eliott: hey, did u get home ok?

Lucas: What are you talking about?

Eliott: weren’t u at the eiffel tower?

Lucas: No???

Eliott: oh… u accidentally called me and it sounded like u were there bc i was too

Lucas: Nope, maybe your phone glitched or something… I was with Imane working on a bio project

Eliott: oh nevermind then, glad you’re safe

Lucas: You too… I saw what happened on the news. Please tell me you didn’t go there because Spiderman was there??

Eliott: relax hedgehog, i was on a walk and i just happened to end up near the mess

Eliott: i wouldn’t put myself in danger like that just because i wanted to see spiderman

Lucas: Ok…

Lucas: Glad you’re safe too

Eliott: see u tomorrow, night

Lucas: Night

Between Lucas and Spiderman and all his other friends and school and his parents and life in general, Eliott was going to be stretched very thin very soon. Thankfully he had Lucas, otherwise it probably would have been too much to handle. Sure, he’d brought some of it on himself, but it wasn’t like he’d just woken up one day and decided to fall for Spiderman.

One thing that had been bothering him about that night, though, was the fact that the winged man hadn’t decided to act until Spiderman showed up, almost like he was waiting for him. It unnerved Eliott to think that someone might be out there plotting against some sixteen year old kid doing his best to make the world just a little bit safer.

Hopefully it was just a one time thing, a fluke. It wouldn’t happen again, not after Spiderman had bested his adversary so quickly, right? Eliott didn’t know what he’d do if something like that did happen again, no matter what Spiderman wanted from him. As much as his head told him to stay away, he couldn’t just stand by if Spiderman got hurt, he’d never forgive himself. Ugh, he really was in too deep, wasn’t he?

#skam france #elu fic #elu spiderman au #with great power #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu

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