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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Note

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long.

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.”

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles.

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #Oscar Isaac #ex machina

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stxphxn-strange · 3 years

Text

(no) rest for the innocent

summary: Tony wasn’t even on trial, but the jury found him guilty and he couldn’t disagree.

a/n: idk last night i was thinking about tony dealing w survivor’s guilt after endgame (and IW) so i threw this together, tw for mention of death and implied thoughts of suicide

“Good evening, Doctor.” FRIDAY’s warm, pleasant voice always reminded Stephen of home and cinnamon scented candles. “How was your trip?”

“Too long for a meeting that could’ve been handled over email. Or through carrier pigeon, as Tony would say,” Stephen replied as his cloak sailed off down the hall.

He washed his hands carefully, drying them on an Iron Man dish towel that Peter had given them as a joke wedding gift before putting the kettle on.

As the water was boiling, he noticed a covered plate on the kitchen counter. There was an obnoxiously orange piece of paper in front of it, which made Stephen smile. Tony always left him little notes on purposefully electrifying paper, that way they were easy to find.

The sorcerer’s smile only widened as he read the note.

Steph—

I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I decided to make you dinner anyway. But not because I’m missing you and wanted to surprise you, I just accidentally cooked too much. You know how that happens sometimes and you just end up with an ungodly amount of chicken parm? Life’s funny like that.

Anyway, I’m in the lab. I had some good ideas earlier and I wanted to start them while I still felt productive. Welcome home sweetheart, and if you go to bed before I do (because you probably will, you responsible asshole you), sweet dreams and goodnight.

Love, Tones

PS— Orange you glad you met me? … don’t answer that, I just couldn’t help it and had to write that down.

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly. “Fri, will you tell Tony that even though he’s not funny, I’m very glad I met him?”

FRIDAY was quiet for a few moments before responding. “Boss says, quote, ‘fuck you Gandalf, I’m hilarious,’ unquote.”

Stephen smiled, heating up his meal before sitting down to eat. He flipped through a magazine while he ate, FRIDAY turning on some soft jazz music as background noise until Stephen cleaned up and left the kitchen. After a refreshing shower, the sorcerer found himself in his most comfortable pjs and slippers as he walked through the house. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was going to bed yet, but he wanted to see Tony (and maybe he wanted a kiss or two or even three).

The music in the lab automatically lowered when Stephen shut the door behind him, and Tony looked up with an expression that could only be described as tired.

Actually, he looked exhausted. Weary. Barely holding himself together. Stephen wasn’t a thesaurus, but very concerned about his husband.

Tony was trying to smile, but he seemed too exhausted to do that and just gave up, not saying anything as Stephen sat beside him.

“Hi.” Stephen leaned over and softly kissed his husband’s temple. “Thanks for cooking for me, you didn’t have to.”

Tony shrugged. “I had a lot of energy earlier, and I accidentally cooked way too much. Maybe it was intentional, you know I’d take any excuse to go out of my way for you.”

His words said one thing, but his tone betrayed him. His voice was brittle, hard, and almost staticky. Stephen thought he sounded like a rusted hinge that was trying not to cry out for repairs… or maybe that analogy only made sense given where they were.

Stephen kissed him again as Tony sat back at his desk, closing his well-used sketchbook. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Tired I guess.” Tony sounded as unconvinced as Stephen felt.

“Come to bed with me,” Stephen offered. “I’ll bore you to sleep by telling you about the meeting.”

Tony laughed hollowly. “That bad?”

“I don’t know how to describe it, but it was a waste of time. Even Wong was bored, and he watches the Antiques Roadshow remake for fun,” Stephen replied. He yawned and leaned against Tony’s side.

“I see what you’re doing,” Tony murmured, trying to be lighthearted. He was just feeling some kind of way right now, he felt serious and was so endeared by his husband that it hurt.

“What am I doing?” Stephen asked, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Being cute and sweet so I’ll go to bed and let you be the big spoon,” Tony accused. “And maybe I just really fucking need a hug, but… it’s working.”

Stephen shifted and pulled Tony into his arms, holding the mechanic close as he went lax.

“My Boss Is Singing Closing Time Protocol please, Fri,” Tony mumbled.

“Goodnight Boss, goodnight Doctor,” the AI replied, beginning to run the lab’s standard closing protocol.

“Portal?” Stephen asked. Tony was getting better with going through portals, but some days were harder than others. Stephen didn’t know what tonight would be like and opted to ask, selfishly wanting to make sure Tony got some rest as soon as possible.

He was so out of it by that point that Stephen wasn’t sure if Tony registered the question, but he nodded slowly and trusted Stephen to lead him through it and into their bed.

Despite “resembling a sloth clinging to a tree bough,” (Tony’s words) Stephen was intuitive and knew when not to hug Tony. Even when he was asleep, if Tony woke up thrashing or fighting against something in a dream, Stephen let him go.

Tonight was a bit different. Stephen wasn’t brought to the edge of reality by Tony thrashing in their bed or accidentally tangling himself in their sheets, so he assumed everything was fine. That was until the sorcerer hugged his husband closer, still mostly asleep and just following his instinct, and Tony outright begged Stephen to let go of him. He wasn’t quite awake, but Stephen backed off immediately and heard Tony trip over his own feet as he left the room. The sorcerer fell asleep again after that, trying to stop the sound of Tony’s broken plea from cementing itself in his memory. When Tony climbed back into bed some time later, Stephen was stirring a little bit more. Tony hid his face in Stephen’s collarbone and said nothing, his breathing still slightly erratic.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” he mumbled.

“Don’ be,” Stephen replied, his voice unsure whether or not to wake up.

“Will you hold me again?” Tony asked pleadingly, his voice almost imperceptible.

Stephen wordlessly obliged, kissing the top of his head. “Whatever’s bothering you… you can talk to me about it. When you’re ready. And you don’t have to, but I’m here for you.”

Tony nodded. “It feels like too much right now. What I’m thinking about, I mean. I need time to process, I guess.”

“Okay,” Stephen said simply. “But I’m here for you whenever.”

“I know. I love you,” Tony replied.

Stephen began to trace soothing patterns on Tony’s back. “Love you Tones.”

++++

Tony didn’t seem any more rested the next day, but his confident Tony Stark™ pose seemed natural. He’d easily be able to fool people who didn’t know him as well as his family did. So it was a “fake it until you make it” kind of day, and Tony’s energy was on a strict schedule. There was only so much he could take today, and if his teammates wanted to call him selfish then that was their choice.

It would just go in one ear and out the other, especially this late in the day and after brutal team training. Tony was close to skipping the meeting, but a cutting remark in the hallway made him change his mind. Why did they always act like it was breaking news when Tony needed to step back from something anyway? He was just as human as anyone else, and the world was happy to throw responsibilities on his unenhanced, steady shoulders just because he was a natural caretaker.

The arguments about Tony’s quiet, withdrawn demeanor started two minutes into the meeting. Stephen was ready to defend his husband as soon as they got to the conference room, Tony collapsing into a chair and leaning his head against the cool metal of the table.

He didn’t want to talk today, and Stephen didn’t want him to.

“It’s not nap time, Stark.” There was a small hint of fondness in Natasha’s cold, clipped voice.

Tony was already regretting his decision to show up, wishing he hadn’t told Stephen again and again that he was fine. He wasn’t, and they both knew it. Everyone knew it, but Tony knew better than to advocate for himself in front of his… colleagues.

“I don’t even remember what we’re meeting about,” Tony muttered, looking up enough to address whoever was talking to him.

Rhodey took a seat beside Tony, encouragingly patting his back. “You good?”

“I’m fine, Honeybear,” Tony replied. He was sitting between his two favorite people, and that helped him feel a little more grounded. “I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

Someone scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s slept right in months. And don’t say you haven’t slept in years, Stark. We don’t need a story about how everything you’ve ever done has led to years of sleepless nights. We know already. Put it in a book or something and make the team more money so I can have better arrows.”

Stephen was two seconds away from dropping the archer into the Dark Dimension, or flipping a table. He wasn’t sure how to handle the man yet, still taken aback by the rudeness and stupidity of his comment. “Barton, what the fuck—”

“Steph, don’t bother with him,” Tony said. He stood up, forcing his tiredness into a corner and giving his coworkers a confident glare. “Pardon me for giving it my all and being a bit tired as a result. Now I’m going to get an ice pack for my shoulder and maybe a cup of coffee. Does anyone want anything?”

“I’ll take a—”

“Get it yourself, you know where the kitchen is.”

For dramatic effect (and moral support), the cloak landed on Tony’s shoulders and billowed out as he left the room. He returned with the aforementioned ice and coffee, and a mug of tea for Stephen.

“You didn’t have to do that sweetheart, but thank you,” Stephen said appreciatively.

“That’s why I wanted to,” Tony replied. He relaxed a little into his chair, starting to believe he could get through the meeting.

Then, like clockwork, Clint opened his mouth to complain.

“Why did you bring him tea and nothing for the rest of us?” He whined.

“Doesn’t Tony do enough for you?” Stephen asked, innocently taking a sip of his tea. It was his afternoon green tea, made exactly the way he liked it.

Tony was always so sweet and attentive with his loved ones, it warmed Stephen’s heart. The sorcerer stifled a laugh as Rhodey poured half of Tony’s coffee into his own empty mug.

“Thank you,” the colonel said impishly. “Consider the roommate tax paid for this month.”

Tony tried to smile at the old inside joke, but Stephen noticed that it fell flat.

“Are we done with the interruptions? We need to talk about what’s out there. We don’t know if Thanos is the exception or the rule, and—”

Tony stopped listening. Clint’s snootiness was doing his head in, but the idea of another threat, another thing, another colossus he’d have to conquer and survive if his luck had anything to say about it… that was the breaking point.

Tony didn’t have a good relationship with luck. He didn’t really believe in it, but apparently it believed in him. Because Tony was lucky. It was true that he was lucky in meeting his husband, his friends, and his family, but this was a different kind of luck. Tony was intelligent and skilled, shrewd and savvy, and there was virtually nothing he couldn’t do or solve, except for one thing.

He was constantly lucky, constantly cheating death.

And he didn’t realize that he was hyperventilating, didn’t recall dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t recall that he’d just walked out in the middle of the meeting after a minute, didn’t realize that he was home when he opened his eyes.

Tony was home, in his spot on the couch in Stephen’s library. Stephen was sitting beside him, quietly watching a documentary or something like that. Tony was laying down, his head in Stephen’s lap with the cloak draped over him like a blanket. The crimson fabric continued to cling to him as he sat up, further proving Tony’s point that Levi liked him best, but he wasn’t in the mood to banter now. He just appreciated the support and the warmth of his sorcerer and their shared, sentient blanket.

With some hesitancy, Tony leaned over and rested his head on Stephen’s shoulder. They locked eyes for a minute, Tony’s gaze deliriously bright and vacant.

Stephen didn’t know what to say or do to make the man trembling in his arms feel better, but started by hugging him closer and softly stroking up and down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispered, lowering his head and hiding against Stephen’s chest.

“No apologies,” Stephen reminded him. “I don’t want or need them, and you don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I have to give a good reason,” Tony said, his voice beginning to shake. “Everything I do needs a reason.”

“Why? Says who?” Stephen asked. He was more thinking aloud, half expecting Tony to leave the question unanswered.

For a while, he did. He just sat, furiously trying to blink back tears and gather his thoughts as Stephen held him protectively.

“Sometimes I think about… things,” Tony began vaguely. “And people. And places. I guess I just like nouns.”

At this point, he didn’t even know if he was trying to deflect or just tell a joke, but his attempt at humor fell flat. He tried to force a laugh, but halfway through it turned into a painful sob. He cried harder with each breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. Tony barely listened when Stephen encouraged him to breathe, but eventually he gave into his exhaustion and listened to his lungs.

His stupid lungs, which apparently were just as stubborn as his brain.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Tony whispered. “I shouldn’t have survived Afghanistan, New York, Sokovia, Siberia, or Titan. I can’t keep cheating death, Stephen. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be lucky and survive when the damage I’ve caused, the damage I claim full responsibility for, has taken so many lives. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt or killed for me.”

Stephen pressed a soft kiss to his hair, feeling Tony’s guit and fatigue as if it was his own.

“I don’t want to do this,” Tony repeated. “I’m probably just spiraling or being needlessly selfish, but I… I don’t know.”

“You’re taking on too much responsibility where you don’t need to,” Stephen said. “I know that’s easy for me to just say from the outside, but you aren’t the only Avenger. It’s about time the team, if you can even call them that, takes accountability for their actions and stops bulldozing you with their problems. You aren’t selfish, Tones. You’re tired and overworked, and you deserve a break. You deserve to breathe, to just exist without feeling like you have to look over your shoulder or justify your every step.”

“I don’t think I know how to even do that anymore,” Tony replied. “And I don’t deserve it.”

“You do,” Stephen argued. “And rest assured I’ll keep telling you that. And I’ll keep telling you how much I love you, because I really do.”

Tony smiled sadly, trying to press himself closer to Stephen if that was even possible. “I love you too.”

He was starting to settle down, soothed by a flurry of soft kisses in his hair and the gentle brushes up and down his spine, when FRIDAY quietly spoke up. She almost sounded remorseful.

“Mister Parker is requesting one or both of you in the lab, whenever it’s convenient,” she began. “And he’s asked me to assure you that it’s nothing major.”

Tony sighed, sitting up again. “I’ll investigate.”

Stephen shook his head. “No, let me. I’ll tell Peter that you’re resting, and he’ll understand.”

“I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” Tony whispered.

“He would never think that. You know how he gets about making sure you take care of yourself, and Peter knows with certainty that you care about him. Our son is much more mature than the Avengers,” Stephen replied.

“I still feel bad,” Tony said.

“I know. I can promise him Thai food if that’ll make you feel better?” Stephen suggested, half jokingly.

“It actually would,” Tony admitted. “FRIDAY, will you schedule a Thai food delivery for 6:30pm please?”

“Scheduled,” she replied simpy. She still sounded apologetic for disturbing them right as Tony was falling asleep, but maybe Stephen imagined that.

The sorcerer stood up gracefully, covering Tony with another blanket as the cloak wrapped a bit tighter around him. “Look after yourself and relax, or get some sleep. No one’s expecting anything from you right now Tones, alright? I love you.”

Tony nodded, a little smile on his face as Stephen kissed him again. “Love you.”

He really wanted to sleep. He actually put effort into falling asleep, which was something he never thought he’d do, and of course sleep didn’t come easily. Sleep never came easily, but the memories did. It was all too easy for Tony to get caught in a thought stream, whether he was planning a surprise, inventing, or remembering unpleasantries. Today he was overwhelmed by guilt, readily convincing himself that he was a selfish failure like Howard Stark and his teammates liked to say. It was too easy to get lost in their ire and wanting to please everyone, and Tony had given up so much of his agency just to try and make other people happy.

It was exhausting, and he didn’t even feel like he’d succeeded at that.

The mechanic started tearing up again as he continued to think in a circular pattern, faintly aware of the Cloak trying to comfort him. It was a sweet, welcome gesture, and Tony let it happen and let himself cry. He was still laying there in tears when Stephen came back in half an hour later.

“Pete says he hopes you feel better,” Stephen said, returning to his spot and pulling Tony close. “And I told him to just go ahead and eat whenever he’s hungry, or when the food gets here.”

Tony just nodded, feeling relieved and supported in Stephen’s arms again. He nodded again, as if trying to shake the unending self-deprecating thoughts from his head, before saying anything. “Sounds good.”

tags: @salty-ironstrange-shipper @stark-strange-love2 @chocopiggy @katninjagirl97 @kitkatfat15 @taruyison @funkylittlebidiot

#tony stark #stephen strange #ironstrange #not endgame compliant #non infinity war compliant #peter parker #ironstrange and spiderson #not avengers friendly lowkey #not clint barton friendly #james rhodey rhodes #tw mention of character death #tw death mention #tw sui mention

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cuinnamonbun · 3 years

Note

Hi again! I got another HC idea. 😌

How would the brothers + angels react to a laidback Muslim MC whose also really violent? Like their mood switch flips instantly lmao

Aye, wassup friend! Regarding your ask, at this point you’re just describing ME lmao, somedays I really do just wake up and choose violence 😭 aite let’s do this 😎

The Demon Brothers + Angels Reacting to a Laidback Muslim!MC Turning Violent

Lucifer

At first this man loves MC and the amount of calm and composure that they have

Though he finds it irritating when he’s threatening them and they would just look up at him with the most dull expression on their face (like seriously human, you should be SCARED)

But still, with how chaotic his brothers are, he appreciates a collected and peaceful demeanour whenever he finds it and MC is breath of fresh air even if he won’t admit it

Silence with them always felt comforting and never awkward

One day, he noticed that MC was rather tense and rigid and had asked them if they were fine to which they replied yes through gritted teeth

Sensing that perhaps they were not in the best of moods, he let them go only to hear them politely ask Mammon to get out of their room

Of course our resident dumbass (affectionate) refused in an attempt to tease them, only to be YEETED from the room and into the hallway where Lucifer was standing with a bewildered look on his face

MC was standing by the door with a dark look in their eyes and the most sinister looking scowl that could rival Satan’s before they slammed the door shut in their faces

When he finally got over his shock, he would be extremely, extremely enthused

He will now spend his free time trying to rile up MC just so he can see them lose their temper again

He couldn’t help himself. He knew that Islam emphasises heavily on the virtues of patience as a sign of piety and so he just assumes that MC would just,,,,never yield to anything

This is when he realises he has a corruption kink ok sorry not sorry

May or may not pop a boner if/when he succeeds and they blow up (not literally) in his face

Mammon

He adores this human. Partly because he’s head over heels in love with them he hardly has anyone to drag with him along with his schemes and this human just seems to be down for anything, and mostly because they’re always so coolheaded

It allows him to pull off his plans without a hitch because MC’s composure allows them to be able to think up a quick solution whenever the two of them inevitably face a brick wall during one of Mammon’s schemes

With them around, Mammon would be 15% richer than he would be if he went alone so he’s keeping them around thank u very much

The first time he witnessed them turn violent is when the two of them were hanging out in his room when Levi bursted in, screaming his head off about how Mammon stole his wallet (he didn’t) and that the limited edition Ruri-chan collection was dropping soon in 24 hours and yada yada yada

And when he found out that Mammon didn’t, in fact, steal it, Levi wouldn’t apologise, oh no no no no. Rather, he would proceed to insult and degrade his brother until MC finally have had enough and went. off.

Seriously, the two demons were so shocked that the usually chill human was now on their feet and threatening to ‘deck Levi over the head WWE style if he didn’t quit it with the insults’ that the two brothers just stopped arguing

If Mammon weren’t so astounded, he would’ve found the whole thing hilarious because here is one of the rulers of Hell, turning white as a sheet as he is being cussed out by a small, furious human

After their long-winded (and frankly terrifying) speech that were riddled with not-so-subtle threats, Levi mumbled an apology and quickly shuffled out of the room with his tail between his legs and MC just plopped back down on his couch with their usual dull expression back on their face as if they didn’t just go on a tirade just seconds prior

Mammon’s love for the MC increased tenfold right then and there

Leviathan

Oh, you’re really quiet and laidback? Cool.

He doesn’t really care about it but he does enjoy having them around during his gaming sessions or when he needs a buddy to watch anime with him because they’re the only ones who would listen to him prattle on about theories and endings whilst enjoying the game/anime

He also vents to them A LOT and is the first person he seeks whenever he’s annoyed or frustrated by his brothers

He was heading over to the living room for movie night with his brothers and MC when he found his brothers all bickering with one another (no shocker there) and MC sitting on the couch reading a hard cover book

Of course, once they saw him enter, he was immediately dragged into the argument about which movie they were gonna watch

Now as the otaku of the family, Levi’s pretty very vocal and highly opinionated about the type of film they should watch for movie night and he dislikes it whenever someone would argue with him on his choice of film

So when Satan told him to his face that his movie selection sucked and he should just leave his input out, Levi would be so, so, SO offended and upset which was evident from his expression alone

Before he could defend himself though, a book suddenly went hurtling through the air and hit Satan right in the middle of his forehead like a bullseye

At first Satan was FURIOUS but it quickly died down when all the brothers finally realised where the book had come from: MC’s direction

They all turned to see an irritated look on their usually placid face and dominant arm raised as if they’d just thrown a shot put

“Oops. My hand slipped,” they said monotonously before sauntering away from the now-quiet living room

Levi is now cautious of accidentally angering MC, but he can’t help that moe feeling that MC actually threw that book in his defense

Satan

As the Avatar of Wrath, Satan is extremely attuned to people’s rage and MC is no different

He was honestly the only one out of his brothers who wouldn’t be surprised if one day MC woke up and chose violence

I mean, he usually keeps his wrath under wraps, hiding it well with an easy smile and friendly demeanour and he could tell that MC was the same

He knew that no one human could ever have that high amount of patience, especially when dealing with his brothers, doesn’t matter if they’re religious or not

In fact, he was waiting for the day he would finally see them snap and release all the pent up rage he knew they bottle carefully within themselves

Of course it happened when Asmo would not stop pestering MC about going to the club

As MC is a Muslim, it’s not a surprise that they’re against going to places like clubs, casinos or bars

Usually MC was able to tune out Asmo’s pleas like white noise but it was when Asmo turned to physically dragging them that became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back

The poker-faced MC now looked more like an Avatar of Wrath than Satan himself

Satan only watched in amusement as MC dug their heels in the pavement, cradled a confused Asmo’s face in their hands...and pulled his cheeks with a bright smile and the most ominous look in their eyes before telling him ‘fuck off before I proceed to give all of ur prized makeup and skincare for Mammon to sell and use our pact to make u watch as he earns his cash’ in the sweetest way possible

Asmo no longer pesters them to join him clubbing

Satan: I’d just like to say, I’m your biggest fan

Asmodeus

Asmo loves loves LOVES having this human around because they always let him use them as his own personal doll

That means impromptu fashion shows in his room, makeovers, spa days, mani-pedis you name it

So he always assumed they were this paragon of patience and stoicism, never once losing their cool

The first time he saw them turn violent was when the two of them were walking down to the kitchen with Asmo chatting their ear off about some scandal this succubus has found herself in with these two demon best friends while they just listened and occassionally chiming in

When they reached the kitchen however, they found Beel by the kitchen, no shocker there

But MC had stopped dead in their tracks because right there in his hands was the chilled lemon soufflé that they’d been making for Lucifer (upon his request)

It’d taken them hours to perfect the dessert to Lucifer’s standards and they’d left it in the fridge to chill before serving it to him for tea time

So when Beel raised the now-empty glass to show to MC with a happy look on his face, it was enough to send them over the edge and scream bloody murder to the brothers’ surprise

Beel will apologise sheepishly but MC will force him to remake the dessert without letting him eat anything until it is perfect

It was torture for him and Asmo vows to never unintentionally set them off again because...holy shit MC

Beelzebub

Beel is a chill dude most of them time when he’s not hungry

All he wants is for his brothers to stay safe, happy and healthy and he’s a happy demon 🥺

He likes having a laidback MC around whether it’s during studying, snacking or even when he’s working out

Their presence is always so calming and comforting for him since their lax nature just reminds him so much of Belphie

The first time he saw them truly angry was when they’d found out that their favourite sweater that they brought back from the human world had been destroyed and discarded in the trash

As it turned out, Belphie had been rumaging through their room for something to snuggle with while MC had been away at Purgatory Hall and found their sweater

In an unfortunate string of events, a loose thread from the sweater had caught on the end of a door latch and the sleepy Belphegor hadn’t enough patience at the time to gently untangle it

Instead, he forcefully yanked it, causing the sweater to tear

Deciding that it’s better to just grab their blanket or something, Belphie discarded the article of clothing in the trash before stealing their blanket and stalking away to the attic for a nap

When MC found out, they. were. furious.

That means a lot of smashing, screaming and shouting until Beelzebub or Lucifer finally managed to calm them down

He’s sad that MC is so angry at his twin but he never wanted to see MC lose their temper like that ever again

Belphegor

Exam season was rapidly approaching at RAD and that means more assignments, quizzes and tests

For the average student, it also means sleepless nights, mental breakdowns and consuming a concerning amount of caffeine

For Belphegor, he simply couldn’t give a shit

No amount of exams is scary enough to get his ass out of bed and study

And like his other brothers, he assumed the same for MC

They always had that poker face on them as they studied and they never once argued or talked back to one of his brothers even though they were being so annoying and irritating (to him) and were clearly disturbing their revision time

He sees the hard work that they’re putting in their studies and reputation and even though they hide it behind a blasé mask, he knew they were exhausted

It was up to Belphegor to recognise their cues and force them to take breaks by napping with him

He was peacefully napping in the common room beside a studying MC, patiently waiting for their 25 minute break from their pomodoro session when Lucifer had walked in and begun to bark chores at them that even woke up the younger demon beside them

And to their surprise, rather than wordlessly carrying out his commands like the demons had expected them to, MC slammed their pen down on the coffee table and yelled at him

MC: you know what, Lucifer? Why don’t you take your ***** and ****** then shove it up your ****** and let’s not forget to *****, you little ***** ***** *****!!!

Belphegor had never been more proud and concerned for this little human who was far too brave for their own good

Simeon

It’s said by everyone who knew him that Simeon is always so calm and composed, always greeting everybody with a kind smile and gentle eyes

He never once loses his cool, but that doesn’t mean that he does not feel anger from time to time

Like Satan, Simeon is understanding of MC’s anger and would never reprimand them for blowing up

Anger is healthy after all

He has expressed concern before for MC’s mental wellbeing as they were far too patient for their own good

Of course, in all his years of living, he has seen remarkable humans with superhuman patience before like the Prophets Muhammad and Jesus (peace be upon them) but even that was because they had divine intervention

The first time he saw them finally snap was when the two of them were enjoying a pleasant walk towards the House of Lamentation from RAD when Mammon and Levi appeared out of nowhere and began fighting again

It had been non-stop screaming, insulting and fighting with these two for almost three weeks now and MC was so, so, sooo close to yeeting them off the side of a cliff

Their composure finally snapped when Mammon and Levi had been roughhousing so close to them that they accidentally stepped on Simeon’s robe (or is it more of a cape?? idk) and tore a small hole in it

Simeon has never been more surprised to see MC roar at them and begin a stern lecture that reminded him so terribly of Lucifer

He was so amused that he couldn’t help but laugh when they forced the two to apologise to him before dragging them over to the House by their ears, completely ignoring their desperate cries for mercy

It was a hilarious sight and he would’ve recorded that entire scene on his DDD if he weren’t so hopeless with technology

Luke

MY SONNN

Luke is reminded of Simeon when he first got to know MC

They were always so collected and level-headed even though they were thrown in Hell out of the blue for an exchange programme that lasts a whole year

He never understood how they could be so chill with living with 7 demons under one roof though like??? hello????? human are u functioning well?

But he likes having them around because they’re always so nice to him and always keen on spending time with him

Which is where he finally saw them snap

The two of them were carrying their cupcakes that they’d made for their picnic date alongside Simeon and Solomon and had left them on the table for a few minutes while they went to gather the rest of the supplies

They came back to see that the cupcakes had been ravaged by Mammon, Levi and Beel who all looked so pleasantly happy munching on their hard work

Luke was extremely distraught and upset over this and protective MC will NOT tolerate this kind of behaviour to their son

So using the power of the pacts, they forced the brothers to grovel at his feet and apologise by doing whatever Luke wants them to do

He wants a glass of water? LEVI GET UR ASS TO THE KITCHEN RN! He wants pizza? MAMMON U RUN UR CUT LIL BUTT TO HELL’S KITCHEN AND GET HIM A LARGE PIZZA STAT! He wants to be fed? BEEL U BETTER MOVE THAT FOOD FROM UR MOUTH SON AND FEED IT TO HIM ASAP!

Luke secretly enjoys it but he still can’t help but feel kinda bad for the brothers and slightly scared of MC now

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frustrated-writer-skyeknight · 3 years

Text

S.q.u.a.d. reacts to the Lion King

Based on this article: I watched The Lion King as a grown-ass man.

"Man, Disney should just stop with the remakes already." Jamie sighed as he took some textbooks from his locker, "I mean, I think the Lion King one was just a CGI version of the original."

Jack frowned, scratching the back of his neck. "There was an original version?"

"What? Dude, of course there is. It's a classic. Everyone's seen it." Jamie snorted, turning towards the approaching brunette trio. "Hey guys, you know about the old Lion King movie, right?"

Dimitri shrugged, "I know there's a new lion movie out." He said. "Looks more like a documentary thing, if you go by the trailer."

"Didn't have cable growing up," Jim replied, "still don't. Plus, Disney is overrated anyway."

Hiccup hummed thoughtfully, "What's lion king?"

Jamie stared at his friends dumbfounded. "Okay, we are so having a movie night now." He said.

Later that Friday evening, Jamie and his friends find themselves in the den of his home, parents out with the younger sister, and three bowls of popcorn with different flavors; cheese, butter, and barbeque. Plus, two boxes of pizza.

"Wow, Jay," Astrid whistled as she settled on a spot next to him, "you sure went all out for this."

Jamie shrugged, "Disney is my childhood." he said.

"I still say they're a gold digging empire," Jim deadpanned, but took a handful of popcorn. "But I never say no to free food."

Dimitri took a slice of pizza as Jack had too, and they 'toasted' to it, "Preach."

"Okay guys," Jamie rolled his eyes as he set Netflix on the television, "at least wait for the movie to start. Since I brought it up earlier, let's start with 'The Lion King.' I've got tissues ready in case you need it."

Jim snorted, rolling his eyes. "It's an Animated kids movie." He said. "Nobody cries over those.

───────────────

🎶On the day we arrive on the planet~🎶

"Well, opening song sounds good." Jack hummed, "wouldn't mind getting it stuck in my head. Unlike that overrated Queen Ella single one."

Dimitri groaned, "Ohmygod, yes." he groused, "People will not shut up about it!"

"Okay boys." Astrid rolled her eyes, "focus."

They did so, but it didn't take long for someone else to speak up. "Whoa, now hold up. So, that monkey dude..." Jim frowned, and Jamie felt the need to pause the movie. "I mean, come on, this monkey chief dude comes hobbling around on a walking stick earlier, and you expect that he can hold a damn newborn over a cliff? That's shady, man."

"Just watch." Jamie rolled his eyes, smirking at his friend's offended expression. "Also, I'm gonna have to preemptively warn you to suspend your disbelief for a lot of these movies." He hits play once more.

And they watched.

"He's as mad as a hippo with a hernia."

"That's some mad alliteration skills," Jack mused, "ugh, alliteration. Still confuse that with assonance."

Hiccup stared at his boyfriend, "The fact that you even bring that up casually..."

"Okay, feeling that Scar's the bad dude here." Astrid interrupted, "but I'm liking the accent."

Rafiki is painting Simba on his tree...

"There's that shady baboon butt again, doing grafitti without his goddamn walking stick." Jim snorted, "I don't trust that punk."

Dimitri chuckled, giving his boyfriend a one-arm hug. "Pup, you have trust issues. It's your thing." He cooed, "it's a cartoon monkey, he can't hurt you."

"But he can hurt his fellow cartoon animal peeps." Jim countered. "Shady bastard."

Dimitri rolled his eyes, "and they say you're a cold, insensitive prick." He snorted.

"Wait, a Lion in a Pride mates with all the lioness..." Hiccup frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "He's literally sleeping with his wife and the rest of his, uh, concubines in a single..."

Jamie groaned, "You're ruining my childhood here."

"So, this is that famous overmemed scene." Jack snorted, "pretty grand, I'll give it that. Tempted to google what the shadowy place is, though."

Jamie shook his head, taking Jack's phone. "No spoilers." He said. "It's coming up soon anyway."

"Forgive me for not leaping in joy. Bad back, you know."

Hiccup nodded faux sagely, "Scar is me at every social gathering." He said.

"No, no! Don't, you gullible lion cub!" Jim shouted at the TV, much to everyone's amusement. "THAT DARK PLACE IS OBVIOUSLY NOT AN ELEPHANT GRAVEYARD, SIMBA. DON'T DO DUMB SHIT. LISTEN TO YOUR PARENTS. GO TO LION CUB SCHOOL!"

Dimitri snickered, gesturing to his soulmark. "He's talking in capslock again." He said.

🎶"I just can't wait to be king~!"🎶

"Okay, I'm so finding a playlist in Spotify now." Jack mused, scrolling at his phone that Jamie returned earlier. "These tunes are gonna be my jam."

Hiccup shrugged, "I still find it funny that the animals are so okay with their predators being their king. No revolution sparked by discontentment at all." He pointed out. "Sounds kinda fishy."

"Okay, anyone else feeling kinda awkward with Simba and Nala's sexual tension?" Jim voiced out, "I mean, they're kids... Or cubs... Whatever. They're young."

Hiccup nodded, "Not to mention, cousins. Being in the same Pride..." He trailed off as Jamie kicks him lightly on the shin.

"Again, ruining childhood for me." Jamie sighed, and Astrid rubs his arm soothingly.

Jim points at the screen accusingly, "Ah! An elephant graveyard!" he gawked. "okay, was wrong on that, but still creepy as hell. Especially now that practically everywhere in the Savannah is an elephant graveyard... Even a rhino graveyard."

Jack shook his head, "Guys, you need to chill."

"Okay, these hyenas reminds me of that old Cartoon Network show, Ed, Edd 'n' Eddy." Hiccup mused, "Especially Ed, who's basically Ed. Can't be a coincidence."

Astrid snickered, "He's also you; laughing or making jokes to laugh about in inappropriate situations." she teased. "Got us in trouble a lot in those 'bring your kid to work' events."

"Aaaand Mufasa comes in to save the day," Jack slow clapped, "knew it. But boy, is Simba grounded. You done fucked up, kid."

"I'm surrounded by idiots..."

Jim huffed, leaning back against the couch and Dimitri's arm. "Mood." He deadpanned. "Also, calling out their cruelty to animated zebras."

"I know right?" Dimitri humored him, "where the fuck is PETA when you need them?"

Jamie snorted, smirking at them, "Uh, I don't know... Reality?"

"Doesn't feel like it either." Astrid quipped, "elephants still dying everywhere."

Jack rolled his eyes, "Fucking chill guys."

"Ah, Hiccup, look. How's that for discontentment?" Astrid pointed at the screen, "Scar's not satisfied with being sass king of the jungle. Wants to run for real king, that can't end well."

Hiccup shrugged, "I'll take it." He said, "and it's not a jungle, actually.

"Dude has mad pipes though." Jack pointed out, "I'd definitely attend the opening night of 'Scar: The Musical.'"

Jamie hummed thoughtfully, "Huh, a lion king remake with his perspective instead would be an improvement." He said.

"Simba, it's to die for!"

"Okay Hiccup, take notes." Astrid quipped, "Scar's pun game is topnotch."

Hiccup snorted, tossing a throw pillow her way. "Must've learned from me." He shot back, "I'm a master."

"Still," Astrid said, laughing as she threw the pillow back, "I have the feeling this is the point of the movie I'm gonna start hating Scar."

Jamie cringed as the stampede started, and he paused the movie much to everyone's frustration. "Okay, guys. Again, maybe you need ti—" he trailed off.

"PLAY THE DAMN MOVIE!"

Jamie did so. And he found it strangely satisfying when everyone cried out a despairing 'NOOOOOOOOOO!' along with Simba as Mufasa fell to his death.

"Mufasa is dead?!?!" Jim gawked, "he died?!!? Just like DUMBLEDORE?!?!?! Just like MY FATHER?!" He whimpered, leaning on Dimitri as his boyfriend reached for the box of Kleenex from Jamie. "Feeling unusually upset right now. It's a damn kid's movie. It has no right to be hitting it home, and right to the feels."

Dimitri sighed, patting his back consolingly. "There, there..."

"Fuck you, Scar. Just..." Jim groused, "Fuck. You."

Astrid sighed, taking a sheet from the Kleenex herself. "Gotta say, though," she started, "for a schemer like Scar, he sure does skimp on the quality of his henchmen. Letting Simba go is gonna bite him in the ass someday. Guaranteed."

"Okay," Jamie paused the movie. "intermission. Who needs a bio-break?"

Jim just stood up and went for the bathroom. The rest finished the pizza and Dimitri made sure to leave some for Jim.

"You good, Jim?

"Shut up and play the movie." The brunette groused, "ugh, I can't believe I cried. Damn you Scar."

Jamie laughed as he plays the movie once more. "Told you you'd need tissues."

"Screw you, man."

───────────────

"Mufasa's death was a terrible loss..."

Jim eats his pizza. He continues to curse Scar as he speaks of Mufasa's death. "Don't fall for his crap, come on!" He scowled. "Zazu, he fucking slammed you to a rock!" He sighed, "Why the hell are you letting him become king? This is why you animals are getting extinct."

"It's.... really not." Hiccup protested.

Dimitri massaged his shoulders, "Jim, you can print out a picture of Scar and dart him, okay pup?" He soothed.

"The hyenas look like they can get shit done, though." Jack mused, "well, except for giving Simba the slip."

Jim hummed, "Oh, baboon guy. Almost forgot about this dude." He said. "Cutting him some slack because I feel he's going to drop some Yoda shit on this bitch."

"You get so feisty when you're irritable." Dimitri mused, "and this is why Scroop secretly has a thing for you."

"WHAT!"

"What?"

"Don't worry," Dimitri shrugged, kissing the tip of his nose. "I don't share."

Jim huffed, "Well, I bloody hope not!"

"You gotta put your behind in your past."

"Gotta get a tattoo of this Pumbaa quote." Jack joked, "words to live by 101."

Hiccup audibly whimpered, taking Jack's hand. "Please don't " he said. "Your skin's perfect. It's bad enough that my choice of words already marred it."

"Aw, babe..." Jack hugged him, "you know I love it."

Astrid blew a raspberry. "Get a room."

"Uh, my house, so no." Jamie protested.

Jim blinked, "Wait, I know this is Timon and Pumbaa because I had them on a pencil case when I was eight or something. Then, I got one of space and that was that." He started. "But damn, I didn't know Hakuna Matata was from here. I have heard this song before, I am not entirely ignorant."

"I'm so hungry, I can eat a whole Zebra."

"I'm condemning this casual Zebra slaughter," Hiccup declared. "Let it be known. You can't just eat a whole Zebra, Simba. Come on."

Astrid gagged, "Insects? Really?" She shakes her head. "Simba's diet is fucked. I'm not a nutritionist or a zoologist, but I really, really, don't think insects are enough to get Simba through all those years in the jungle. I mean, it's like asking humans to survive on dog food alone."

"And yet he has grown into a fine-ass lion over the course of about three bars of song." Jack whistled, "Intriguing. Switching to insect-based diet after the movie."

Hiccup shakes his head, "Snowflake, I rather you go vegan."

Rafiki appears and takes Simba's floating fur with the dandelions...

"There's monkey Yoda again," Jim snorted, "jumping down on trees, not a walking stick in sight. He's on to something though, so I'll let it sli—HOLD THE PHONE!" The brunette balked, "Did baboon man REALLY figure out Simba was still alive from smelling dandelions that floated from miles away?"

Dimitri rubbed his back in circles, "Pup, stop being antagonized by the damn monkey already." he snickered, "it's cute, but I'm worrying over your mental health."

"Don't tell me what to do, dimwit." Jim scoffed, "I mean, really, this insane Yoda monkey with inconsistent usage of walking aids might be the movie's last hope. How to feel about this, I don't know."

"AAAAAAH!"

Hiccup hummed, faux sadly. "We're gonna lose Pumbaa. I can feel it." he said. "Life's just not fair, and warthogs just aren't fast."

"Oh, wait, it's Nala!" Jack cheered, "Yaaay!"

The freckled brunette snorted, crossing his arms. "Nala goes from hunting Pumbaa one minute to having a conversation with him after Simba vouches for him?" he shook his head, "So, tell me how there aren't any riots with the predators being friends with some preys, and others not? Unjustifiable exceptions."

"Guys, suspend your disbelief." Jamie sighed, "I think I gave out that warning earlier."

🎶...You needn't look too far; Stealing through the night's uncertainties, love is where they are~🎶

"Whoa, 'Can you feel the love tonight' was from this movie? Okay, it's official, I'm in love with this soundtrack." Jack made an exaggerated bowing down motion towards the screen, "Hands down one of the best soundtracks I've ever heard."

Dimitri narrowed his eyes at the screen, in scrutiny. "They totally boned at this scene, right?" he deadpanned. "I mean, did you see those bed room sex eyes?"

Jim stuffed him with a pillow, "At least the sexual tension between them doesn't feel as awkward now."

"You said you'd always be there! But you're not... it's because of me..."

Hiccup nodded his head, "Sexual tension replaced with crippling self-loathing, just like real life." he sighed, "feel ya, Simba."

"God, I don't know how many therapists mom made me see until I finally got over blaming myself for my sperm donor leaving us." Jim sighed, shaking his head. "and then guidance counseling when we found out he killed himself a few months before Freshemen year started."

Dimitri stared at his boyfriend worriedly, "Pup, do you need a hug?" he embraced him without waiting for a response.

"It ain't your fault, Jim. Shit happens... Especially stampedes if you're in a forest."

Jamie sighed, "Savannah."

"Real talk, though," Astrid mused, "shit happens when you've got scheming uncles who planned to push their brother off the buffalo freeway."

The brunette stared at his girlfriend before picking up his phone, "I'm tweeting that."

Rafiki appears humming incoherently...

"I swear to god, this monkey is on meth." Jim snorted, shaking his head. "Yeap, he just called Simba a baboon. This primate is trippin'."

Dimitri stared at the rest of his friends, as if he was in 'The Office'. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Better not bring him to any Zoos soon," Jack advised. "He might try to throw rocks at the monkey containment."

"Okay, I take it back." Jim raised his arms, "This is going to be some pivotal revelatory shit." he started.

"Correction, I know your father."

Jim glared at the screen, pointing an accusing finger. "Okay, still trippin'" He scowled at the meditation monkey, "I hope this really is Mufasa and not some metaphorical mambo-jumbo. If not, I call subterfuge."

Jamie was starting to wonder if this whole movie marathon was a good idea. They were just starting with the first one, and Jim already seems like a lost cause. Maybe there was a reason innocent children were the target audience.

"CALLED IT," Jim growled at the television, "that's a reflection, you punk-ass monkey. Way to let a brother down." He shook his head, frowning as the screen shows cloud Mufasa. "Aaaaand now he's slipped Simba some acid. Just great."

Definitely a bad idea.

"Wow, it worked." Even Hiccup is surprised. "who'da thunk it. Hm, might wanna check for hidden projectors, though. Monkey might've pulled a Mysterio... Well, for a good cause, but still. Jim's got it right with subterfuge."

Dimitri glared at him, "Dude, spoiler alert."

"Oops." Hiccup blushed, "sorry."

Jack blinked at the screen, "What the fuck," he scowled, "He just left Nala behind and returned home? When it was her idea in the first place? Bro, that's your soulmark. Boy, is he in for some pain."

"I think this came out before the discovery of soulmarks." Hiccup patted his hand soothingly. "there, there.... What we should really be questioning is that desert. I'm still wondering how there's even an oasis in this movie."

Jamie face palmed, "Suspend your disbelief, suspend... Oh, forget it." he groaned.

🎶"He eeee's a big pig (Yup, yup). You could be a big pig too. Oy!"🎶

"In a movie filled with amazing songs," Jack snickered, "Timon's luau song's gonna be my personal favorite. Bonus points for presentation."

Astrid sighed, placing a hand on her forehead. "And they fell for it," she tossed her hand in a 'I'm so done' manner. "This is why you hire quality hit man, Scar. You can't half-ass a coup and not expect repercussions."

"Well, if he was Loki-smart," Jamie shrugged, "well, there's no Avengers to beat him up and the heroes don't win."

Jim snorted, "Simplified hero-winning's overdone." he said. "Villain redemption arcs like Zuko's should start catching on."

"So, you have no cable for Disney," Dimitri started, "but you know ATLA?"

Jim shrugged, "A therapist was a fan," he explained, "and she thought it'd help with my father abandonment issues. Confirmed: It did."

"I killed Mufasa..."

Hiccup face palmed, and groaned as if he was in real agony. "Aaaagh, typical villain behavior." he groused, "shut your damn Zebra-holes, and finish the job for once, you idiots never learn."

"Chat shit, get banged, Scar." Dimitri snickered, "Chat shit, get banged."

Jim stuffs a pillow at him once more, "Stop it with the innuendos!" he sighed, as he stared at screen. He raised a brow, "Amidst this all-out melee, meth-monkey is doing some serious damage. How, I do not know."

"Well, guess he's been hiding his pizzaz all along."

Simba and Scar finally battle it out

"NOOOOOOO!"

"YEEEEEEEEES!"

Jack cheered, "SIMBA WINS." he grinned, "And the hyenas have also found a temporary solution to their food shortage. Win-win."

"This was a kid's movie..." Jim narrowed his eyes at the screen, "and they heavily implied Scar getting gang-devoured."

Jamie snorted, and snickered. "You should see the one when the villain got hanged from the treetops."

"WHAT!"

"Remember who you are..."

"Feel like 'The Eye of the Tiger' would be a proper song for this moment," Jack mused, before pausing in thought, "wait, wouldn't that be 'Eye of the Lion', then?"

Hiccup laughed, shaking his head. "And just like that, the land is glorious again. No mention of rehabilitation process with might have included replanting trees, and attracting livestock with lucrative real estate prices." he mused.

"Let's just hope this heralds a decline in the merciless killings of animated Zebras." Jim snorted, "still unsure as to how meth-monkey hasn't managed to drop a cub off the cliff yet."

Jamie shook his head, as he went back to Netflix's home screen, and grinned towards his friends, "Now, as payback for effectively ruining my childhood, here's a little piece of info to mindblow you guys: The Lion King is basically Hamlet but with lions, and a happy ending."

"WHAT!"

"Ohmygod!" Jack balked, "IT IS! IT SO IS!"

Hiccup frowned, shaking his head. "I can't believe I didn't see it," he frowned. "And I fucking love Hamlet. I feel like I've let Shakespeare down."

"Baboon man should've made like Yorick and turned into a skeleton head..." Jim snorted, "Wait, was that why they made Scar hold that skull in a certain way?"

Dimitri rolled his eyes, "And here I thought we moved past the whole Rafiki antagonized drama."

Jamie laughed outloud, clutching his stomach. "Just wait till you see the Romeo and Juliet sequel."

"Can we get a movie with more..." Astrid scrunched up her nose, "... humans please?"

#Rise of the Guardians #How to train your Dragon #Jack Frost #Hiccup Haddock #Astrid Hofferson #Jamie Bennett #Anastasia #Treasure Planet #Dimitri #Jim Hawkins

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ohholyfanfics · 4 years

Text

Cherries & A Little Loving| Tom Holland

The First Date & Cherry Jars

Based off this prompt request here: Cherries

Note by Ellie: Part two maybe, I have another draft which is a continuation of this thats like another 3.4k words in. But anyways I hope you guys enjoyed and I tagged everyone who asked for a part too. Also much thanks to @oyesmendes for their support in getting me to finish this today.

His heart was beating a little quicker than usual as he moved in record speed. After practically begging for the night off, and much to Harrison’s dismay Tom wish was granted. He had been sweeping and vacuuming the whole flat for the past four hours, it was safe to say Harrison was getting light-headed with the smell of bleach and some wired scented candle Tom had purchased a bit too much off.

“Mate, she’s only gonna be over for a few hours..” Harrison reminded him as Tom sent him a glare while he pulled a couple of jars of maraschino cherries from a reusable bag. The blond’s eye widened before a loud laugh filled the small kitchen.

The brunette couldn’t help the fluttering feeling spreading through his body, he knew she was joking back the other night. Yet a certain part of him truly wanted to wow her, and he had spent his free time looking up the most romantic but super low key ways truly impressing a bird you fancied. So far he thought he was doing okay, and having Harrison laughing at his attempt truly wasn’t doing any good.

“Seriously mate..” he mumbled picking up a jar and turning it over reading the label. It was the same ones Steve always bought at the bar, the same ones that she had taken a liken too. “You must really like her huh?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders as he pulled a few more ingredients from the bag. As much as he wanted to wow her with his amazing skills, the truth was there wasn’t really a lot he could do in the kitchen. So he did the one thing he could do, he picked something he was decent at and decided that shrimp tacos were the way to go. He also, may or may not have tested a different recipe almost every day and brought it to his co-works for their thoughts and opinions.

“I just want to impress her is all, kinda wanna make up for all the shit date she’s been on.”

“She already likes ya mate.”

“It doesn’t hurt to put in a little effort Harrison.” he hummed while pulling out a cutting board placing the fresh shrimp on it. “plus I’m kinda hoping this would actually lead to something more.”

By the time she was set to arrive Tom had everything prepared, and he was freshly showered. After a few changes of outfits and messing with his hair in the mirror he had decided comfort was best, the last thing he needed was to look like he was trying too hard. When a soft knock was heard at the door, he had just finished filling a tiny little plate with the cherries. He couldn’t help but stop at the little mirror in the hallway giving himself a once over before finally opening the door.

Tom swore right then and there that God had personally sent down a choir of angels to sing when he opened the door. Her smile was blinding and she looked perfect beyond comparison. Her legs were covered in black ripped jeans as her torso was covered with a light pink sweater. Her makeup done similarly to the night of her awful date, and her hair was left in a tight bun.

“Um Hey.” He breathed out as she giggled softly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Hey, oh wow, it smells lovely in here.”

His cheeks flushed as he closed the door behind her, he watched as she neatly placed her shoes beside him and a warm feeling rushed through him. It felt all so perfect almost as if that spot was meant for her.

“Um thinks..” he breathed out as his cheeks flushed. Truth was, everything kinda went south after he hopped out of the shower. After accidentally knocking over the filling for the tacos, he knew there wasn’t enough time to even try and remake more. Naturally, after a few curses and a quick clean up, he decided pizza was definitely the best way to go.

Way to go mate.

“I hope you don’t mind but I ordered us pizza.” He sighed softly with a soft frown. His hands were a sweaty mess as she looked at him. “I had this whole taco night thing planned out but I acciden-“

“Hey, it’s fine really,” she mumbled with a soft smile. Her right hand rested on his lower arm as she gently rubbed the spot causing a wave of fire to shoot through him. “you didn’t have to do all that Tom really.”

“I just, I want you to have fun tonight.”

“Tom, I couldn’t literally be sitting at the bar watching you make drinks and get people pints and I would still be having fun.”

“You don’t have to say that.” he flushed as she giggled softly.

“I don’t have too but I mean it.” she nodded as his cheeks flushed. There she was standing before him, literally stating that she didn’t give a flying fuck about what they did. She honestly just admitted that she enjoyed being with him, she enjoyed his company and that right there was more than enough.

“But I did get you something.”

Walking back into the room with a plate of cherries, her whole body became fuzzy and light. Her heart rate increased as he stood before her, the bright red treats making her eyes water as a soft giggle escaped her lips.

“You really know how to wow a girl.” she stated before she looked around at the small flat and an idea came to mind. “do happen to have flour? Cheese, ya know basic pizza ingredients?”

His smile widens seeing where and what she was trying to do. Her hands were gripping his own as her eyes held a twinkle in them that had him begging for air, and his whole world spinning. He hated to admit it by Harrison was right, he could’ve gone out to some fancy place ordered take out and she still wouldn’t care. After all, she had just admitted that she enjoyed being in his presence and that right there was enough to ease some of the nerves he was feeling that night.

“Yeah, I think we do.”

“Then let's get a cooking chief Tom.”

His eyes were loving as they watched her read the instructions out to her. Tom had managed to pull all of the basic ingredients needed out as they stood beside each other, her hands rested on her hips as she started to measure the ingredients while he carefully watched with a soft smile and a look in his eyes that one would describe as love.

“Have you ever done this before?”

She stopped measuring the yeast as she looked at him with a soft smile and a slow nod of her. Her breathing controlled and relaxed as she went back to measure and pouring everything in the bowl he set out for her.

“My brother and his best friend are both in the restaurant business, so pizza nights were a huge thing growing up.”

“You have an older brother?”

“Three brothers actually, I’m the only girl,” she stated as he raised an eyebrow.

“Should I be worried?”

“Not unless your plan on hurting me to a point of no return.” She teased bumping her hips with his. He rolled his eyes taken the bowl from her. “what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Ever made pizza? Do you have any siblings?” She asked watching as he mixed together the things in the bowl before letting it rest.

“I mean we’ve bought the pre-made dough before if that counts..” he chuckled looking back at the bowl and back to her. She nodded her head telling him it was fine.

“Just gotta wait till it gets all foamy and bubbly.” she stated looking past his shoulder. “should take at least five minutes or so.”

“Gotcha ya, but I’m the oldest of four.” He started as she smiled softly. This was a different side of the bartender, a more shy and reserved one. “All boys no sister.”

“Oh no, your poor mãe Tom..” she giggled softly as he tilted his head in confusion. Her eyes widen lightly understanding the look.

“Mãe means mom in Portuguese.”

“Ah, a woman of many talents I see..”

It wasn’t long before the pair were adding the olive oil, flour and salt. Tom insisting to be the one to mix it all together, not having the heart to go against him, she took the pleasure of adding more flour as needed. His hands mixing as she floured a clear surface.

“Want me to do it?” she asked as he handed her the small sticky ball of dough. He watched with fascination her skilled hands working the dough as it formed the most perfectly round shape he’d ever seen a person make. Her flour-covered hands reaching for the cup as she rolled out the dough.

“I think I need to get a roller..” he breathed out as she giggled softly giving him a wink before continuing rolling it out. “ now what?” He asked as she placed it on the baking sheet.

“Now you place it in the oven for a few minutes.” she breathed as she placed in the preheated oven. “just until it’s a little to pre-bake the crust, my brother always says 5 minutes for pre-bake.”

“He sounds like a wise man.” Tom smiled as she nodded her head chewing on her bottom lip. “Does he live around here?”

“No, he actually moved to Birmingham.”

“Ah not too far than..” he breathed as she nodded her head and took the crust out from the oven. Her eyes soften as she looked back at him with a soft smile to match her eyes.

“Now for toppings…” she asked, holding out a jar of cherries as he laughed, shaking his head.

“Definitely not, but I’m not opposed to pineapple.”

“Where have you been all my life.”

Tom was surprised at how well everything had turned out. They spent the remaining of the time cleaning up the kitchen as the rest of the pizza was baking. A small glass filled with her go-to drink at the bar, and a bottle of beer for him. His mind relaxing completely as she slowly opened up in his presence, making his heart swell at the beautiful woman before him.

“I have to say, I thought I’d fuck up.”

She giggled softly and took a sip of her drink. She found it completely and utterly adorable at his confession. The mere thought that he had put so much thought into something that was supposed to be simple, yet it was so simple but the most fun she’d ever had on a date.

“I don’t think so Tom.” she breathed out as his smile widened reaching for another slice of pizza.

It was safe to say that the date had gone absolutely better than he had expected. It was a rather low key date, but totally something that she loved. She also let him know just how much she had appreciated all his efforts and even pressed the softest of kisses on his lips before slipping through the door. Tom was on cloud nine the next morning and Harrison took that as a good sign.

That same night was like any other, the usual Saturday night crowd. His mood was a little brighter and it most definitely had something to do with the young woman who just walked in. His eyes held nothing but adoration as he quickly pulled out the white plate with the treats.

“You know Steve is gonna give you shit for all the missing cherry jars.” Harrison piped up as Tom shrugged his shoulders placing her drink and plate as she approached. It was a Saturday and she never came in on Saturdays, Tom knew that Harrison knew that. Hell, even the young college freshman knew it.

“Hey, darling.” He smiled softly as she sent him a smile and a small wave in Harrison’s direction.

“Is it weird that I miss you?” she breathed out chewing on her bottom lip as he let out a small laugh shaking his head. Truth was, the few hours they had spent together before he left for work truly wasn’t enough, he found himself craving more and more of her.

“No.,” he stated as he filled up an empty pint, their eyes meeting briefly. “Cause I missed you too.”

Her cheeks flushed as she played with one of the cherries on the plate before her. Her cheeks red as she avoided his eyes. Harrison couldn’t hide his amusement as he gave Tom a small nudge, in assurance. The two had spent a good while analyzing everything that had gone on during their date and little hang out at the coffee shop down the street before he had to get ready for work.

“Mate, she wouldn’t have asked to see you if she didn’t feel something towards ya.” he breathed outpointing the neck of the bottle in his direction.

“Still mate, I just really like her.”

“Didn’t she say she liked being with ya?” Harrison stressed as Tom nodded his head, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “that’s a good sign, plus she doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl to play with feelings.”

“I don’t know mate, I just-it’s intense what I feel.”

“Maybe this runs deeper than a crush Tom.”

She brought the last few cherries to her lips as she studied the place. The pub had become a signature hangout spot for herself and her friends. Will’s being a bit too far of a drive and no one really wanted to drive that far for drinks. The first time they walked in was a little shorter than three months ago, and that was the first time she and Tom had met.

“I’ll be done with my shift soon.” He announced as she smiled brightly and leaned closer to him. Her butt lifting off the barstool as her hands rested on the counter.

“Wanna meet me at my place?” she smiled softly as his cheeks burned at the thought of finally having that alone time with her that he caved.

“I don’t wanna-“

“Stop with that Tommy..” she cooed as Harrison let out a chuckle at the nickname that slipped past her lips.

“Yeah Tommy, stop..”

The two couldn’t help but laugh at Tom’s expense. Harrison giving her a soft wink before grabbing a clean up and working on a drink as he left the two alone.

“I’ll make something to eat, I bet you're hungry..”

“If you don’t mind.”

She waved him off leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, he smiled softly looking at her with so much love in his eyes it was overwhelming. Her cheeks flushed as she stood up straight, took her bag, and promised to have dinner ready and told Harrison she’d be sure to send Tom home with leftovers.

“I like her,” Harrison smirked looking at his flushed friend who nodded his head with a bright smile.

“Me too mate.”

Tom whipped his hands with the towel as he threw it with the others. His hands a little clammy as he took a hold of his coat, his head spinning at the thought of going over to hers. Sure, it wasn’t as late as he had thought but it was certainly not a time he would be planning to go to a girl’s house, Netherlands a girl that he wasn’t officially seeing. Though he did like to think they were a bit past the uncertainty of emotions.

“Tom a word.”

Shrugging his jacket on, Tom followed Steve into the back office. The door closed behind him and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves flood through his body. He tried his hardest to pinpoint anything he could’ve possibly done that was against policy rules, other than the cherries, he couldn’t find any. He did his job fairly well, and Steve had even stated time and time again that he was one of his best bartenders. The last thing Tom needed was to get fired before his job was finalized.

“I’ve noticed a few of our cherry jars have been missing.”

Tom’s cheeks redden with the smirk on his boss’ face, Harrison was right. He sighed more than ready to defend himself.

“I get you like the girl mate, just try and not give out too many cherries okay?”

“Shit I’m not fired?”

A loud laugh filled the room along with Tom’s nervous chuckle as Steve shook his head. He knew how much Tom needed this job and the last thing he was gonna do is lose a bartender over some shitty cherries no one really ate.

“Course not, just try not to give her too many.”

“I’m no- I don’t- fuck” he was a wordless mess as he tried his hardest to defend himself, of course, he came out short. “Just wanna impress her.”

“Does she like you?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow. He had missed the sweet little encounter and knew that Tom deserved a good girl in his life.

“I think so, I’m actually heading to her in a bit.” He mumbled with a dreamy smile on his face as Steve let out another laugh.

“Bring her a jar.”

“You sure? I have some at home.”

“You have cherries at home?”

“The same brand actually..” he admitted embarrassedly. He really was pulling out all the cards in hopes of impressing this girl, even though he already had her. “It’s her favorite thing.”

If that Tom left the bar with a small brown bag carrying a few jars of cherries. Harrison couldn’t help the smug look in his direction as he waved him goodbye. His mood shifting as he pulled his phone out wondering if it was okay to text her, or should he wait until he actually leaves his place to do so. There was so much uncertainty it was doing his head in. He was an adult acting like a lovesick teenager and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to ever stop.

Picking the later, Tom stopped by an open corner store buying a display of flowers that he deemed acceptable. Once he was changed, showered and he may or may not have spent a few moments wondering if it was appropriate to spend the night at her place, after a few inner battles he decided that he didn’t want to get too ahead of himself and possibly spoil something that could be so good. So with a bouquet of flowers and a bag full of cherries Tom made his way to her flat.

To say Tom was completely and utterly shitting himself when he arrived would be an understatement, he double-checked the address twice. He didn’t know much about her but what he did know he was learning to love, but now sitting in a rather posh neighborhood in central London his breathing was a bit ragged and his hands a sweaty mess.

Her door was decorated with the most adorable welcome sign, that his mother would no doubt question where she could get one as well. He couldn’t help but smile at the pink and white flower plants leading up the steps to her front door. It was black and unfit for the small colorful display she had set up, the lights were on, unlike the others around them.

Taken a deep breath, he looked over his outfit. Jeans and a hoodie, simple but perfect for the small little hang out, but was it a hangout? What if this was another date and he had completely overlooked the whole situation. Before he could even think twice he was ringing the doorbell and his heart was beating out of his chest as she opened the door.

“You came..”

“Of course I did darling..” he breathed out giving her a smile as he reached out and handed her the flowers.

“You didn’t have to get me flowers Tommy..” she breathed out shutting the door behind him. His eyes taken in her flat, the white walls lingered with pictures and a small little menu that he could only guess was from her brother’s bar.

“No worries.” he smiled pulling her in with one arm wrapped around her waist. Her cheeks flushed as she rested her free hand on his chest. Her eyes twinking as she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Ready to eat?”

“Starved.”

“Perfect, I made my mae’s famous pasta.”She smiled as they walked down the hall towards her open kitchen. Tom noticed that the house seemed to follow the same color scheme. Everything was really white and clean, it was simple and it screamed her.

“What’s in the bag?” She asked as she turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. She watched as his smile widen as he pulled out two little jars of the cherries she was munching on.

“You really gotta stop spoiling me with all these cherries Tom..” she breathed out as she got closer to the brunette with a giddy feeling spreading all over her.

“Why’s that?”

“Cause I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

“That’s the plan sugar.”

Taglist:

@littlebookbengal @mars1599 @averyfosterthoughts @tholland96

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

My Only Comfort

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Periods can suck. Supportive partners, less so. (This is in the “Only For A Moment” universe but can be read as a one shot.)

Warnings: None just FLUFF

A/N: This is purely self service. Idk if anyone will even care to read this. BUT my period had been brutalizing me for days and I just wanted to write a quick little fluffy bit to make myself feel better. Maybe you need it too!

It’s funny how easy it is to forget the little things over the years. Like how you loved the cherry blossoms in Brooklyn. Or how costume storage often smelled like mothballs and vodka. Or how much being on your period absolutely sucked.

When you had your first full medical exam in Wakanda and they asked when your last cycle had been you honestly couldn’t say. It wasn’t something you spared much thought to. Until then you hadn’t even thought much about birth control or any other form of contraception. For a moment you’d felt a little surge of panic.

Turned out you were worried over nothing, at least as far as getting knocked up went.

You almost laughed when they found that Hydra had sterilized you. For years you’d fought to get your tubes tied or any other kind of permanent birth control - the last thing you needed or wanted was to bring a kid into the world - only to be constantly denied due to your age. For once, Hydra had done something you’d actually appreciated.

Your lack of a menstrual cycle could be pretty easily chalked up to them likely controlling it with hormones when they had you and the time after to constant stress. No big deal.

Except, being in Wakanda had taken away a massive load of that stress. No longer were you afraid to be found daily, living a false life, always ready for the next fight. Now, you were rebuilding your life, both of you were. It was almost a dream.

Until your uterus made you dream of being stressed enough to shut her up again.

Your first period had been pretty light, nothing to really complain about. This one though… Maybe Hydra had actually replaced your uterus with a tiny angry monster that was going to claw its way from your body Alien style.

Around 3 a.m. you wake, your entire lower body screaming literal bloody murder.

Slithering from the bed you’ve only one thought on your mind - hot, steaming, scalding water. Quickly you rid yourself of your wrecked underwear and turn on the shower. Leaning your head against the tile wall you let the water pound against your throbbing back, silently praying your body will stop this mutiny so you can get some sleep.

Tomorrow was a full day with classes and drills with the Dora Milaje, none of which you wanted to miss. There wasn’t time for this bullshit.

Sighing you open your eyes, turning to face the water and catch a figure outside the steam covered shower glass. Logically, you know it’s Bucky but your tired foggy brain still sends a startled gasp tumbling out of your mouth. Some warrior you were.

“Holy shit, Buck!” You exclaim, opening the door enough to see him.

“Sorry!” He holds his hand up, face looking a little pale. “There was blood and - I just, I didn’t think.”

Guilt and just the slightest bit of embarrassment flood you. In the grip of the pain, you hadn’t even thought to check the bed. Of course, his mind would go to the darkest option first upon seeing blood.

“No, it’s ok.” You move to turn off the water, “I’ll deal with it. Sorry.” His hand stops yours. When you look back that kind smile is on his lips, it always sucked your breath right from your chest.

“There’s nothing for you to deal with. Take your time.” He must read the defiance in your expression. “If you’re not in this shower for at least 10 more minutes I’m dragging you back into it myself.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you quip before a stab of pain makes you groan. He kisses your knuckles and leaves you to the steamy room.

When you finally turn off the water, a little pruney but feeling a bit better you find one of Bucky’s shirts and a fresh pair of underwear on the counter. This man. Toweling your hair you step out to thank him only to see him remaking the bed with fresh sheets.

“Babe,” you protest, “you didn’t have to-”

“Hush.” He gestures to a steaming mug on your bedside table. “It’s the tea Okoye gave me, the relaxing one.” Before you can say anything he reads your mind, “I know you hate tea but drink it anyway.”

“Just hot leaf juice,” you grumble with a smile on your face as you lift the mug to your nose to smell the contents. Earthy and slightly floral.

“Coffee is technically hot bean juice,” he says, putting a pillow back in its case.

“Blasphemy! I demand a divorce.”

He rolls his eyes, “Maybe when the sun’s out. Get in bed.”

“But my hot leaf juice,” you say in a false whine. He settles his back against the padded headboard, arm held out.

“You can bring your leaf juice, just come here.”

With a sigh, you crawl into bed. Bucky holds you tight, your back to his chest. You sip your tea, begrudgingly admitting that it wasn’t the worst and seemed to be coaxing your tense muscles into submission.

“Thank you for changing the sheets,” you say, voice groggy.

“Of course, doll. Anything else I can do?” You shake your head, tucked under his chin. “Here,” he plucks the half-empty mug from your hands, setting it on his nightstand.

He scootches you both down into the warm fresh bed. Your head rests on his chest and unerringly your right-hand finds it’s way over to the steady beat of his heart, the feeling of its rhythm under your palm always soothing.

Before you drift off you hear him whisper, “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Your alarm is an unholy sound scant hours later.

“Not yet,” you grumble - hand flopping to turn it off.

“Not at all,” Bucky says, his own voice still thick with sleep.

“I have to-”

“You ‘aveta’ nothin’,” a bit of that long lost accent slips out. Even in your exhausted state, it makes you smile. “You need to rest.”

“Bucky,” you sit up, “it’s a period, not the flu I will be-”

“Staying home. Glad we agree.” He hooks his arm around you tugging you to him.

“I need to at least let Okoye know-”

“I told her last night. Now. Sleep.”

You do. Hard and deep. When you awake it’s to the familiar smell of bacon and the sound of Bucky, singing softly along to the Beetles in the kitchen - the words to “Hey Jude” clear.

The only dark spot on the otherwise perfect moment was the feeling that you were still being torn at from the inside. Quietly you swear that this is the last time - whatever you have to do you’ll do it to keep this beast at bay moving forward.

Before going to the kitchen you fist one of Bucky’s flannel button-ups from the closet and slip it on over your tee. The familiar scent so soothing.

“Morning gorgeous,” Bucky beams at you as you walk into the kitchen.

“Haha,” you say. You’d seen yourself in the mirror. Shit was rough.

Turning from his pan he catches you before you get your mug. His blue eyes glitter causing your heart skips several beats. When he kisses you he tastes like coffee and love and home.

“You are always beautiful to me, Y/N.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt, “Sap.” Batting him away playfully you pour a mug of coffee.

“Go on and have a seat,” he says pulling the bacon out. “The eggs’ll be quick.”

You perch cross-legged at the little two-seater table, unable to hold back a contented sigh.

Eggs plated he brings the food to the table. Your heart swells, as it does any time he makes you breakfast, always reminding you of the first morning you spent together.

“One more thing,” he heads back into the kitchen and pulls out something from the oven, covered in foil.

“Pancakes?!” You stare in mouthwatering wonder.

“Yup,” he says smugly, reaching into a cabinet to produce syrup. He tops off your coffee before settling down.

“I say we eat, take a nap, eat again, maybe watch something. I’ll cook dinner, and-”

“You’re going to cook dinner?” You ask, more than a little surprised. Bucky was pretty confident in the breakfast realm but dinner was a different thing.

“I’ve been learning!” He protests. It was true, he often joined you in the kitchen, though he tended to be a bit frustrated by your inability to give clear instructions. His face softens as he reaches his hand across the table to stroke the back of your hand.

“Let me take care of you.” It’s not a question. He’s learned that sometimes he has to match your stubborn self-sufficiency with his own immovable will. And for your part, you’re learning that it’s not so bad to let someone take the wheel from time to time.

You smile and nod, surprisingly happy to let go and bask in the comfort of his care.

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @marvelousmeggi @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @damnaged-princess

#bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #comfort fluff #soft bucky

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

Text

Promise Me Forever [10]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 10/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Lir hums to herself a bit as she flips the bacon in the pan, listening for signs that Dante is awake. She had been up since about dawn, laying in bed and watching the sun rise out the window, his arms still around her and holding her close against his body.

The toast pops from the toaster so Lir piles the bacon onto a plate, quickly moving to crack several eggs into the pan before pulling the slices out carefully. When she turns, Dante is standing in the doorway in nothing but his boxer briefs, and he startles her so badly she yelps and nearly drops the food.

"Hey there!" he laughs, his reflexes like lightning as he jumps to grab the plates.

"Thanks," she says sheepishly, blushing a bit before turning back to the stove.

She listens to him set them on the table, and then his presence is back, hovering just behind her as she eyes the eggs and waits for them to be ready to turn. "Did you sleep well?" she asks.

He hums. "Yeah. Smells good in here."

"You always say that."

"It's true." Lir laughs softly to herself as she plates the eggs, and he insists, "You're a damn good cook. Course I'm gonna say it smells fucking amazing."

She takes the first batch of eggs to the table, Dante trailing after her. "I'm glad to hear it. The least I can do is make sure you're eating properly."

"The place doesn't look too trashed," he comments. "I wonder how long everyone stuck around."

"Not sure," she answers. When she turns, she nearly bumps into him again, and Lir looks up. Dante grins down at her, and she holds her breath, waiting to see what he will do. Will he kiss her? Hold her hand? Or will they go back to the way things were?

Her gaze drags over him, and she spies a red mark just above his right pectoral. Did she do that? Was she really that aggressive? Embarrassment floods her suddenly, setting her cheeks on fire. "Need some help?" he asks.

Lir's eyes dart away as she tries to look anywhere but his chest. "I don't think so," she answers in a tiny voice. "Why don't you sit?"

He hesitates, and her fingers find the edge of the shirt she'd stolen from his dresser and twist it. When she'd gotten up, she'd been sore in a way entirely new to her, and she'd taken a hot shower to relieve some of it and wash the small bit of blood and remnants of his seed from her thighs. While there, she'd noticed faint bruises on her hips, the same size and shape as his fingers, and she'd wondered at not feeling him gripping her so tightly. There were more, near the crease of her thigh, and a dark red mark beneath her ear.

They'd startled her at first, then pleased her. Now, though, as she waits for him to either say something or move, Lir finds herself wishing she'd used make-up to at least cover her neck, because she knows that he's more than likely displeased with how easily it formed. "Sure," he says, his tone unreadable. "Yeah. You, uh . . . You gonna eat?"

"Yes!" Lir spins and moves to the refrigerator, grabbing a pitcher of juice and bringing it to the table before sitting across from him. Dante smiles at her, reaching for toast. She watches him spread jelly on a slice, thinking of how his hands were on her body. Up until now, she had felt confident things went well, beyond happy with the night they shared. There was even a voicemail from her mother, saying how nice things were and to remind her to mop the floors later.

But now, face to face, doubt is filling her by the second, especially since he hasn't said anything.

Something else seems off, and a second later she realizes something is burning. "The eggs!" Lir cries, jumping to her feet and rushing to the pan.

Sure enough, the edges are too dark. In frustration she flips the eggs over, but she must have been too aggressive because every yolk breaks. Lir stares at the burnt eggs with a deep frown, taking a deep breath and willing herself not to cry.

"You okay?" Dante calls over.

She takes a moment to steady her voice. "Yes. I just forgot about the eggs, so they're . . . I'm sorry."

"Hey, no worries. Any egg is a good egg in my book." His cheery voice only serves to make her feel worse, and she nearly tosses the eggs out, only her mother's repeated admonishment never to waste food keeping her from doing so. She takes them to the table instead, wincing when Dante snags four for his plate. "Besides, I like 'em a little crispy."

Lir nods, sinking into her seat. She pushes her food around on her plate, wondering what to say. Her mother's voice is running nonstop in her head, all the instructions from the years, and her chatter in the hours before the wedding the day beforehand: be engaging, don't let him see a mess, everything in its place, a good wife makes a husband happy.

But is he happy? She peeks up to see him munching away. Maybe, so she should use this time to talk. Yet the only topic on her mind is one she can't bring herself to say. "Did you sleep well?" she finally manages.

"Yeah. I was tired as hell. Passed right out." Then Dante freezes, and she watches with concern as a series of emotions she can't quite make out flash across his face. He sits up stiffly, placing his fork carefully on the edge of the plate. "Did, uh, you?" he asks in return, not meeting her eyes.

She nods. "Yes, thank you. I wasn't awake much longer than you were, and woke up refreshed."

It's a practiced answer, and half a lie. When she had fallen asleep, it had been deep, yes, but the hours after their coupling had passed with her lying awake, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest and taking the liberty of stroking the muscle of his arm without his eyes on her. That's something she doesn't think he needs, or wants, to know—if she tells him, she has no doubt that it would make him uncomfortable, if not outright angry.

"Good." Dante clears his throat. "I've been thinkin' about what happened last night. The, uh, sex. You follow?" When she indicates that she does, he crosses his arms. "It was, uh . . . not exactly what I expected. Not that I expected much," he chuckles, "but still."

"Not . . ." Her voice fades as the blood leaves her face. She looks down, suddenly mortified she is wearing his shirt. Why didn't she put the gown back on? It had been too presumptuous, and she has her own clothes, and she looks ridiculous. Not that the gown would have enticed him at all.

Of course, he doesn't want it either.

"It wasn't . . . what I expected either," she murmurs.

"Right." He clears his throat again. "I'm sorry about that. I guess I got a bit carried away towards the end there. But don't worry. I promise, it won't happen again."

Lir nods. This is to be expected, and she had been foolish enough to hope. Quickly she clears her throat and picks up her fork. "You're right. It can't happen again. We fulfilled the oath, and now we don't have to do that ever again."

She shoves a slice of bacon into her mouth, glancing up when Dante fails to agree with her. He is giving her a strange look that he quickly covers up when she blinks in surprise. "Yeah. No need for that, huh? Probably shouldn't."

"I'm glad we agree." She takes a sip of juice to buy herself time to build up the courage to ask her next question. "Do you want me to return home? I understand if you want your own back, and I'm sure they'll have accommodations for me."

He pauses in buttering a slice of toast. "Do you want to go back?"

"It's not about what I want—"

"Yeah, it is." His gaze is heavy on her face. "You wanna go back, I'm not gonna stop you. You wanna stay, you're welcome to stay. I told you before that I like havin' you around, but I don't own you. You're free to choose."

Lir stares back, her heart fluttering a bit. He has just made it so clear that he wants nothing to do with her, and yet when he talks about her staying, it seems like he actually wants that. "I would like to stay," she whispers.

"Okay," Dante says. He leans back and rubs his hands on his thighs. "Do you, uh . . . want to move back into your room?"

"I should," she says quietly. "I'll get my things from yours after I clean up down here."

"Alright."

They finish the rest of their breakfast in an unusually terse silence, and Lir more picks at hers than eats; her nerves are frayed, her uncertainty making her stomach churn, and she watches him get up from the table and head to get dressed with no small relief. Once he's out of sight, she presses her hands to her face and allows herself a few seconds to cry and work through her disappointment and hurt. Then she sets about washing the dishes and wiping down the counters and table, making certain the entire kitchen is spotless before she steps foot into the office.

Dante is behind his desk, his feet propped on its surface and a magazine over his face. She knows he's sleeping from his slow, even breathing, and she tiptoes to and up the stairs, holding her breath until she reaches the second floor, where she has more freedom to move around.

Her first stop is his room. Carefully, she strips the sheets, setting the fitted one aside to soak once she sees the spot of blood on it, and then she remakes it with the ones that he likes and hides the frilled pillows and decorative blanket in the back of his closet. Lir trades out his shirt for her slip, and then she takes the dirty linens to the hall, where she leaves them while she makes a second sweep of the room, dusting and looking for anything she might have missed. Her wedding dress, in a heap on the floor, is the only thing, and she takes that to her room and hangs it in the closet, gets dressed, and takes the things from the hall down to the laundry room.

After the washer is going, Lir heads back to the main room. There is nothing to do, as she had kept his schedule clear at his request. Nervously she fusses around, finding a stray cup from the party or a crushed flower, until finally Dante calls her name.

She stops and they stare at one another for a long moment. Is this how it will always be, this awkwardness? She would have thought being naked with their hands and mouths all over each other would have been the ultimate ice breaker . . . and now that image is in her head, which she quickly shakes.

"Is that all you're doing today?" he asks.

Confused, Lir looks down at the little bag of trash she holds. "Is . . . that alright?"

"It's just, ya know . . ." Dante shrugs. "It seems weird. We just got . . . well, you were there." He gestures with his hand before continuing, "Most people leave on a honeymoon or something. Never heard of a couple just . . . going back to work after a wedding."

"A honeymoon?" she echoes. Her sisters had each taken one, their husbands carting them off to some exotic locale for a week, and Lir had listened to their gushing after they returned. But she'd never thought of having one herself. "Would you like to?"

"Well, we could—"

He's cut off by the shrill ringing of the phone. Both of them stare at it for several seconds until he grunts and leans forward, snatching it from the hook. "Devil May Cry." His brows furrow as he listens. Then he holds the phone out for her. "It's your mother."

Lir steps forward to take it with a frown. "Mother?"

"Lir! My goodness, you should really teach him the proper way to answer a call." Lorenna sounds breathless, excited, and that sends a sliver of worry through her. "Well, that can wait. You'll never believe what's happened!"

She glances to Dante. "What?"

"Your father was with one of his colleagues—Damien, do you remember him? Well, they got this idea that they should have another look at those records, since you're married now, make sure nothing else was required to keep the seal going. And I told him, I said, don't go rocking the boat, Augustus, Lir's married now, there's no point trying to get her out of it—"

"Mother, please."

"It's true! He was against it from the start. Said we should send Irene, but what would her husband's family say if we broke their engagement?" There's a pause where Lorenna takes in a deep breath. "What was I saying? Oh! So, they went and read over that old contract, and do you know what they found? You don't have to be married at all!"

Her heart sinks to her feet, her fingers going numb where she cradles the phone to her ear. "What?"

"Turns out, it was just a handshake. That's all that was needed, and the seal stays good as new! I'm assuming you've shaken his hand. If not, you can do it now, and we'll look into getting that marriage annulled, assuming you've gone to the courts already. No sense in you being sullied by a demon when there's no need for it."

Her heart feels like it has stopped. Several seconds go by before she hears, "Lir? Lir, are you there?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"Well what do you say? You can come home tonight if—"

"It was nice talking to you, Mother," she quickly says, cutting her off. She hears her protest as she sets the receiver down on the cradle, her hands shaking slightly.

"Everything alright?" Lir looks up sharply at Dante, who stares at her closely. "You look pale. Did she give you shit or something?"

Lir shakes her head. "No. No, it's nothing. She called to tell me . . ." She clears her throat. "Just to say she had a nice time, and that they were on their way back."

She wonders if he'll see the lie in her eyes, but Dante only nods. "Good. Now about this honeymoon . . . we could maybe go away somewhere? For a couple of days?" He shrugs. "Nothing fancy, but . . . I feel like I should do something for you, at least."

"Sure. Why don't you find some places, and we'll look at them together. I think I'm going to finish tidying up."

He studies her for a bit longer before nodding, and she returns to picking up the trash, wondering what the hell she's going to do.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante grins as he carries their bags into the room Kyrie helped him arrange. "Hey, this is nice," he exclaims.

"Yeah, it is!" Lir smiles as she steps past him. He swells with happiness to see it, the first bit of spark she's shone since they were married a few days before. She had become quieter, almost skittish around him, and he was hoping having a few days would help them get past the awkwardness that had grown huge between them.

Of course, a lack of money and time had been two obstacles, so they ended up in Fortuna. But Kyrie had helped them find a bed and breakfast right on the water, so it seemed nice enough. He wasn't sure what a bed and breakfast was exactly, but he liked sleeping and food so Dante had booked it along with another surprise for Lir.

He watches her flit about the room, opening the curtains and cooing over the view of the ocean, peeking into the bathroom. The only hesitation she shows comes when she peers at the bed, which they'll have to share, but otherwise she seems happy, and that makes him happy in turn. Dante drops their bags onto the bed, laughing quietly when she immediately moves to open them and starts storing their things in the dresser. "You always unpack like this?"

"I haven't been on a vacation before." She smiles at him over her shoulder, and his heart stutters at the sight. "But I think it'd be easier to have our clothes here instead of rummaging through the suitcases, don't you?"

"Sure, sure, yeah." He peers out of the window, wrinkling his nose at the sight of people lounging on the beach. Sometimes, after all that happened with the Order, it's easy to forget that Fortuna is a tourist destination. "Listen, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"I've got a surprise for you this afternoon. So, if you wanna go to the beach or the boardwalk, we should do that soon."

"A surprise?" She stops what she is doing and looks at him with wide eyes. "What surprise?"

Dante clears his throat. "Uh . . . Well, I guess there isn't any harm in telling you. I got us tickets to that aquarium thing you wanted. We can arrive at—"

He is cut off when Lir lets go a squeal. "Really? Really?! We're going to the aquarium? Dante!"

She is practically bouncing up and down. "Yeah. You said you wanted to go, right?"

Lir lets go another squeal and nearly launches herself at him, the clothes in her hands scattering as she throws her arms around him. "Dante! I'm so excited! I can't believe you remembered!"

He huffs a laugh as she hugs him tightly. Tentatively he puts her arms around her, the first hug she's given him since their night together. It is an odd feeling, considering Lir was always affectionate without even realizing it, squeezing his arm or fixing his collar or tucking his hair back. He hadn't even noticed it either until she stopped, and Dante smiles as he holds her closely.

She smells sweet and clean, and he presses his nose to her hair, relishing this while it lasts. "Thank you, thank you!" She squeezes him, her face in the crook of his neck, her breath fanning along his skin pleasantly. "Do you think they'll have whales? I really want to see one!"

"No whales, I think. They're too big to keep there. But," he amends, when she sags a bit, "I'm sure they'll have sharks. Maybe even dolphins."

Lir perks right up, drawing away to beam up at him. She's close enough that he could kiss her, and he really, really wants to. But, before he can, she's off, digging through her bag. "I need to get changed. I have this perfect sundress that I've been saving for ages, and I think I brought my wedges . . ."

Lir grabs her things and disappears into the bathroom, leaving Dante to stare after her. He chuckles and fishes out his cell phone, writing a quick text to Nero: Tell Kyrie that Lir loves the room.

Nero answers back almost immediately: I will! She'll be glad. We still getting dinner later?

Dante presses his lips together. Maybe. I'll let you know.

Lir emerges a minute later, wearing a red and white sundress that cinches tight around her chest and flares out, stopping well above the knee. His mouth goes dry as he takes in her bare legs and tiny waist. She looks cute and fun and his mind immediately goes straight to the sinful things he would want to do to her in the cute dress. But Lir doesn't want that, she's made that abundantly clear from the morning after the wedding.

She catches him staring and does a little twirl, laughing as the fabric flares around her thighs before settling back. "What do you think?"

"You look . . ." Fucking amazing. "You look good. D'you want to go now? Tickets are for four o'clock, but there's probably a gift shop we can look in . . ."

"Can we? Please?" Lir looks at him with those pleading amber eyes, and he thinks of that same expression when they'd had sex and has to swallow to clear the lump from his throat.

"Yeah, of course. Just let me, uh . . . Gotta store the weapons, y'know? People probably wouldn't be too pleased about them."

Lir nods, fishing her shoes from her bag as he unbuckles the guns from his back. It's weird to not have to wear them, but the likelihood of him needing them is incredibly low; besides, if anything happens, Fortuna has a devil hunter on-call already.

He ignores the shape of her legs as she crosses them to buckle her sandals, instead stashing his holster in the closet. They aren't even out the door and she's already driving him nuts, just as she had back at the shop, every interaction so damn awkward even though he wanted nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her senseless. And maybe make up for breaking his promise, and actually make her feel good, unlike their wedding night.

Not that he blames her for freezing him out; the way he acted like an animal didn't help things, or his complete lack of knowing what the hell to do. No wonder she just wants to be friends, and deep down, Dante knows that if that's all she ever wants, he'll be okay with it. Seeing her happy is what is important to him now, not the sex.

But damn, he wishes for that too.

"Ready?" she calls from the door.

"Uh-huh." He puts his sword in the closet, shuts the door, and turns to face her with a grin. She moves towards him, and he holds out his arm, delighted when she takes, more so when she leans against him, resting her head on his bicep. "Hope it's everything you want it to be," he says.

Lir hums, giving him a little squeeze. "It already is."

They head out to the street, walking arm-in-arm towards the harbor where the aquarium is located. It really is a perfect day, the sun sparkling on the water and a nice breeze in the trees. Lir exclaims over the little shops they pass, admiring the cobblestone on the streets and the old fashioned lamps. "I feel like I've gone back in time," she laughs.

"Yeah, Fortuna was kind of stuck for a while," he replies. "But now that the Order is gone, they are modernizing."

Lir glances up at him. "Is it very difficult, remembering your fight here?"

"What? No," Dante scoffs. "It was nothing. And Nero did most of the work. I just ran around shooting things."

"All that violence," she murmurs. He glances down, surprised by the melancholy in her voice, but she gives her head a little shake and points to an ice cream stand by the edge of the beach. "Look! I wonder if they have strawberry sundaes?"

"Do you want to see?"

Her brows furrow. "After the aquarium?"

"Sure."

"Yes!" There's an element of innocence to her joy, and he shifts his arm cautiously from her hold to curl it around her waist, relaxing when she doesn't immediately pull away. Not that it's her fault, but she's drawing more than a few lingering looks, and he's got no desire to spoil this trip for her by knocking the sense out of someone who's got no chance with her, anyway. "Do you think we'll see Nero and Kyrie?"

"About that . . . They actually want to meet up for dinner when we're done. If you want to, that is."

Lir nods eagerly. "That would be fun!"

Dante sighs, a mix of disappointment and relief. It will be easier to keep the awkwardness at bay with the others around, although part of him wishes it could be just the two of them on this trip. He sends Nero a text confirming dinner and receives back a reply: My place at six.

They find the aquarium easily enough. It's the newest looking building in the area, with a steel replica of a shark's jaw framing the sign Fortuna Aquarium. Lir nearly drags him through the doors, looking around eagerly while a clerk scans their tickets and cheerily bids them to have a good time, pointing out the gift shop just inside the doors. That's where they go first, and Lir disappears quickly among the shelves, Dante following along as she browses the different stuffed animals and bits of jewelry and other novelties, a mixture of joy and regret making his head feel heavy.

I really fucked this up.

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #collab #promise me forever #pmf

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redwallthoughts · 4 years

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Redwall Midwinter Miracle: Day 3 part 3

As always, huge thanks to @raphcrow for her help with beta-reading and editing

*looks back at previous chapter*

Ch. 6 might be a little bit longer in coming...

I promise I didn’t actually mean that it would take three years. That was an accident.

However, I don't anticipate new chapters of RMM returning to the original once-a-month schedule. You see, during the three-year break, I have begun working on a piece of original fiction. It's still in the early stages of development (first draft hasn't been completed and there's still a lot of world-building to do), but I've been trying to work on it diligently. I'll be posting small updates on it at the end of new chapters from now on, but if any of you lovely readers would like to see more in-depth info on it, please feel free to follow the blog I've started for it, Moiranvall-official.

FF.net, AO3, DA

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4] [Ch. 5]

Rose followed Martin through the cellars and up the passageway toward Great Hall. He was talking animatedly about the collection of books, new and old, in the Redwall library. Rose smiled as she listened to him talk. When she first met him on the northland coast they hadn’t had time to discuss books and reading. They’d been far too focused on the rescue of the other slaves to be bothered with such mundane activities. Now she wished that she would have shown him her father’s books. Perhaps Urran Voh would not have reacted so strongly to him then.

“I'm hoping Vurg and the others will be up there,” Martin was saying as they walked up the sloping passageway that led to Great Hall. “I think they'll enjoy meeting you.”

Rose shook herself, recalling her mind back to the present as she placed a steadying paw on the wall of the passageway. Her footpaws were feeling a bit sore. “Who?”

Martin grinned at her over his shoulder, matching his pace to hers as she slowed down. “Vurg, Denno, and Dulam were all good friends of my father when I was a baby. They came back to Redwall with us after we found them in the North two summers ago. Though I should warn you that it may be a bit rowdy if Beau is up there too. He and Vurg are always engaging in friendly arguments.”

Rose giggled. “Sounds like Rowanoak and Ballaw,” she said, smiling at the thought of her two friends. Wanderers though they were, they had become quite fond of Noonvale, even coming to call it home.

“Do they argue often?” Martin asked.

Rose rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “All the time. Oh!” She nearly ran into Martin as he came to a sudden stop at the end of the passageway.

“Sorry,” Martin murmured. He peered around the corner into Great Hall looking both ways before he stepped out of the passage. He held up a cautionary paw, still looking around the hall.

Rose peered around at the empty room. There was nobeast in sight. “What are you looking for?”

“Dibbuns.”

Rose rubbed a paw in her ears, not entirely certain she’d heard right. “Dibbuns?” As far as she knew, all the abbey youngsters were engaged in the scavenger hunt.

Martin nodded. “Call it habit,” he said, “You never know where they're hiding. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but they’ve figured out that I usually award the prize for the scavenger hunt. A few of the rogues have taken to trying to find it in my pockets before the game’s finished.”

Rose grinned. “So that's why you've got those candied chestnuts with you. Tintin said he saw you pocketing them on your way through the kitchens this morning.”

Martin nodded. “Aye, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire if they spot me.” He peered around once more and began across Great Hall.

The sandstone floor of Great Hall was warm from the heat of the kitchens below. Bright spots of color danced about on the stones, cast by the sunlight streaming through the colored glass in the windows. Rose could hear dibbuns laughing somewhere in the distance.

Martin, it seemed, had heard them too. He turned back toward the steps that led down into Cavern Hole, staring briefly into the shadows of the passage before grasping Rose's paw. “Hurry!” He hissed, walking faster

Rose did her best to keep up, but her footpaws were beginning to ache.“Ow!” Rose's footpaws twisted beneath her and she nearly fell to the ground. Martin caught her before she hit the ground, his face creased with concern. Looking over his shoulder Rose saw the shadow of a great cat climbing the stairs from Cavern Hole. She struggled upright, her left footpaw still twinging painfully as she pointed at the approaching shadows.

“Hold on!” Martin hissed in her ear. Looping an arm about her waist, he swung her up and carried her into a nearby alcove.

Rose froze as Martin pressed her against the pillar, keeping her close as he peered around the edge. They were in no real danger, but the short, sudden run and the intensity in Martin's eyes had startled her, to say the least. Martin still had a paw around her shoulders, pulling her close. He had gotten taller, Rose realized with a start. They'd been nearly the same height when she first met him at Marshank. But now, pressed close as she was, she realized that he was at least half a head taller than her. She caught his eye as he glanced away from the dibbuns, and found herself captivated by the soft grey stare. He did not look away. She felt as though her heart might beat out of her chest. Martin's stare intensified, and for a moment Rose thought she saw a faint trace of recognition in his gaze. If her heart had been pounding like a drum before, then Rose thought surely it must be doing a decent impression of a percussion ensemble.

“Hoi, what's all this?” The moment was shattered as Tintin's voice carried across the hall.

Rose found herself shaking as Martin looked back to the dibbuns. He whispered in her ear. “We'd best make a run for it while your nephew has them distracted.”

Rose was about to remind Martin that she couldn't run, when he threw one arm around her waist and the other behind her legs, swinging her up once again as easily as if she were a dibbun herself. She barely had time to grab hold of his shoulders before the warrior mouse took off toward the stairs, grinning broadly.

It took only a pawful of moments to reach the stairs. Martin did not set Rose down until they were sufficiently hidden from view of Great Hall. “Sorry about that,” he said, still grinning as he caught his breath. “I had to take the chance while we had it.”

Rose leaned against the wall, the rush of the moment having left her breathless. Now in the relative safety of the stairs she could finally catch her breath. A sudden burst of giggles overtook her, and she clamped a paw across her mouth in an attempt to stifle them.

Martin looked at her in confusion. “What?”

It took a moment before Rose could answer. “Look at us, two grown mice running away from dibbuns.” She broke off as the giggles returned.

Martin soon joined her, chuckling at the supposed danger they had just escaped. “I suppose if dibbuns are the only thing I have to run from for the rest of my life, it'll be more than enough for me.” He held out a paw for Rose to lean on, and the two of them continued up the stairs, still laughing.

Brome froze, temporarily robbed of breath. The silence of the infirmary hung in the air nearly as tangible as a sheet of dust brushed from something long forgotten. He swallowed, trying to think of a coherent sentence. How had the abbess known? Taking a shaky breath, he forced a smile onto his face and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

Abbess Germaine smiled knowingly at him, her dark eyes shadowed by sadness. “Come now young one, there is no need for secrets.”

The smile fell from Bome’s face, and he stared at his paws in shame. She was right, of course, there was no need to keep her in the dark. “How did you know?” he asked.

“I may be old and hard of hearing,” the Abbess said, leaning forward with a smile, “But I still have my wits about me, and my eyes have yet to give out. I saw you and your sister the night you joined us here in the abbey, when Martin came into Cavern Hole. Any other creature who had not seen a dear friend for some time would have run to greet him, yet you did not. I also saw the look on your sister’s face when Gingivere told of how Tzarmina broke Martin’s sword before throwing him in the dungeon. Many passing travelers have heard that tale, and many of our own. And yet, until that night I had never seen a creature whose face, upon hearing the tale, so perfectly mirrored the agony our warrior must have felt at the loss of his sword.”

Brome nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall each time he thought of how Martin must have felt when the sword snapped. “Rose knows how much that sword meant to Martin, and how much it cost him to retrieve it.” He stood, and moved to sit next to the abbess, staring out the window at the snow-covered wall beyond. “Many of the creatures I travel with believe it a good thing that the sword was reforged. They feel that remaking the blade has removed the tarnish on it from the seasons spent in the paws of a warlord. I only hope Martin would agree. He doesn’t remember us, but he doesn’t remember the seasons he lived as a slave either, and I can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.” He fell silent, waiting for the Abbess’ response, still watching the sun play upon the snow on the wall.

Dust motes floated gently through the air, dancing through the sun like specks of gold while the silence stretched on.

Finally, the Abbess spoke. “Perhaps it is not for you to decide. Martin may not remember anything from his time as a slave, but that does not mean that he does not know that he once was one. Scars may fade over time, but they do not always disappear. It is a noble thought to try and spare him unnecessary pain.” She sighed softly, and, turning to her, Brome saw the hints of a smile playing across her mouth. “But a part of me wonders if perhaps it is akin to my wish to spare new mothers the pain of childbirth. Sometimes a bit of pain makes the joys of life that much brighter.”

Brome nodded, turning the thought over in his head. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I cannot blame you for that,” the Abbess said. “You’ve only just recently learned of Martin’s lack of memories. Two busy days is hardly enough time to consider all the different ways you might approach the problem.” The smile fell from her face. “A part of me worries, though, that if you leave without telling him his past then he may never regain those lost memories. Martin is a strong creature, and quite brave. But even the strongest and bravest among us have their struggles.” She paused, as though considering her next words. “I cannot tell you what you should do, that is something you will have to decide for yourself. But I do hope you will consider telling Martin what you know about his past. In the past few seasons he has begun to stress over his lost memories far more than he had previously. After the events of this past summer I fear it has begun to affect his health.”

“What happened last summer,” Brome asked, his chest suddenly tight at the thought of his old friend suffering in any way.

Abbess Germaine smiled reassuringly. “Oh, not to worry, he’s perfectly fine now. Had a nasty summer cold that turned into a fever and had him bedridden for the better part of the season.” She laughed quietly. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if part of that was because of the dibbuns that kept sneaking in to play with him. I had to threaten to have him moved up here to the infirmary before he agreed to tell them to leave him alone so he could sleep.”

“He does seem to be quite popular with the youngsters,” Brome said with a chuckle. He wiped his eyes briefly with the edge of his sleeve. “I’ll ask Keyla and Yarrow what they think we should do. They spent a good portion of their dibbun days together with Martin, and know better than I do what all he’s forgotten.”

Abbess Germaine nodded. “Very good. You might talk to Gonff as well.”

“Gonff?” Brome asked. “The Mousethief?”

“He was largely responsible for helping Martin remember their journey to Salamondastron. He might have a few tips on how you could jog Martin’s memories now,” Abbess Germaine said with a smile.

Brome considered her suggestion for a moment before nodding. “I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Brome,” Abbess Germaine said. She lay back against the pillows. “Would you please tell Bella that I’ll be taking a short nap up here before dinner? To much celebration and not enough sleep wears down on these old bones of mine.”

Brome nodded, standing and walking toward the door. “I will. Sleep well, Mother Abbess.”

A hush lay across Cavern Hole as Gonff emerged from the kitchens later that afternoon with a bundle under one arm and munching on a honey biscuit. Dibbuns sat clustered in groups of three and four around the hall, some huddled around adults, others off on their own as they pondered over scraps of parchment and slate.

Gonff spotted Columbine sitting with a group near the stairs to Great Hall and made his way to her.

“How goes the scavenger hunt, my Dearest Darling?” he asked her when he got closer.

He was answered by a round of shushing from the nearby dibbuns, and one baby squirrel who glared sternly at him.

Columbine stood quickly and beckoned for him to follow, guiding him onto the stairs. Her eyes shone with laughter.

Gonff looked back over Cavern Hole, whispering, “Goodness me, Columbine. What did you give those babes to make them so ferocious?”

Columbine laughed aloud then, shaking her head at him. “They’ve nearly solved their riddles for the prize,” she said. “You distracted them.” She looked at the bundle under his arm. “Have you finished moving Martin in from the gatehouse?”

Gonff nodded and patted his bundle. “Aye. Found the last of Brother Scrittum’s measuring tools too. Figured I’d bring ‘em up with me and save Martin the trip.”

“How very kind of you,” Columbine said, smiling at him. “If you happen to see Martin, could you let him know the dibbuns are nearly finished with their quest?” She didn’t wait for his response but kissed him briefly on the cheek before returning to her group.

Gonff smiled after her for a moment before continuing on his way upstairs.

He found Brother Scrittum in the library, in the company of Sister Amyl. The pair were pouring over some old text on the desk in front of them with extra quills, ink, and parchment arrayed on either side.

The library was a cozy little room situated on the western end of the second floor of the Abbey. Afternoon winter sun streamed in through the single window above Brother Scittum’s desk, tinting the air with a warm, golden glow. Candles supplemented the fading sunlight and banished shadows from the corners of the room.

Soft murmurs sounded from one of these corners, and Gonff turned to see Martin and Rose sitting together pouring over a book. He recognized the book immediately not as the Legend of Sheodin, which he had expected, but rather as the hefty tome Denno, Dulam, Vurg, and Beau had written on the last quest of Luke the Warrior. They looked so natural sitting there, with Rose wrapped in a blanket and snuggled next to Martin while he held the book so they could both see, that Gonff almost would have thought that they did this regularly. Martin had a soft, quietly content smile on his face. A smile Gonff had seen before, but only rarely. He cleared his throat softly, making his presence known.

The pair looked up quickly with matching quizzical expressions. Gonff couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shall I have the kitchen send yor supper up ‘ere?” he teased. “You two look comfortable enough to stay there for hours.”

Martin scowled at him, although Gonff knew the look well enough to know that there was no real weight behind it and merely continued to grin. A moment later Martin’s resolve cracked and he began to grin as well. “Is it that late already?” he asked.

Gonff shook his head. “Not quite. But Columbine wanted me to let you know that the dibbuns are nearly done with their scavenger hunt. They’ll be wanting their prizes soon.”

“I s’pose I should head down to hand them out, then,” Martin said. He set aside the book and stood from the pillows he and Rose were seated on, stretching languidly. Turning, he retrieved the book and offered Rose a paw to help her up. “I hope I haven’t bored you.”

Rose shook her head as she stood. “Not at all.” She smiled at him. “I enjoyed it immensely. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Martin stared at her for a moment before turning sharply on his toes to put the book away, his ears practically glowing red.

Gonff let out a hearty laugh and patted Rose on the shoulder. “Ahaha! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybeast fluster ‘im so quickly.” He turned to Martin. “Don’t hide yor face, you great lump. The maid’s being sweet, you’ll make ‘er think you took it the wrong way.”

Slowly, Martin turned back to them, his ears still red. He glanced around for a moment before motioning to the bundle Gonff carried. “What’s that?”

“What, this?” Gonff held it up. “Dinny found th’ last o’ Brother Scittum’s writin’ tools for you. I figured I’d bring it up ‘ere.”

“Thank you,” Martin said. “I’m sure you can leave it with Brother Scrittum and Sister Amyl.” He turned to Rose. “I’m going to head down to Cavern Hole to give the dibbuns their prizes, would you like to come along?”

Rose sighed and lifted a footpaw. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid I need to fetch my crutches first.” She shooed Martin toward the door. “You go on ahead and don’t worry about me. I can still walk, I’ll just have to go a bit slower.”

Martin nodded slowly, reluctantly making his way to the door. “Gonff, could you-”

“I’ll stay with ‘er ‘til she gets ‘er crutches,” Gonff said. He mimicked Rose’s shooing. “Now off you go, those dibbuns won’t wait forever.”

Martin nodded. “I’ll see you both downstairs in a bit, then,” he said and left the room.

Gonff watched him leave before returning the measuring tools to Brother Scrittum. The elderly brother patted his paw several times and tried to offer him a candied chestnut.

“No, no, really, I don’t need anymore,” Gonff said, waving his paws.

“What he means--” said Sister Amyl, taking the candied chestnut and placing it back in Brother Scrittum’s pocket-- “is that he’s probably already filched a few from you.”

“Oh yes, I see,” said Brother Scrittum, winking at Gonff. He patted the mousethief’s paw once more. “You take care of yourself now, lad.”

“O’ course, Brother,” Gonff said, carefully extracting himself and returning to Rose. He doffed an imaginary hat and swept into a deep bow. “Might I have the pleasure of escorting you to Great Hall, miss?”

Rose giggled and bobbed a curtsy. “Why thank you very much, my kind sir.” She took his offered paw and they swept out of the library, both still giggling.

Once out in the corridor, Gonff allowed Rose to set the pace as they meandered their way down to Great Hall. She was humming a happy tune to which Gonff began to whistle once he caught the pattern. After they’d repeated the tune three times, Gonff turned to Rose and said, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a beast turn Martin red that quickly. You’ll have to tell me yor secret sometime.”

Rose giggled. “I’ll be sure to tell you when I discover it for myself,” she said with a wink. “It was a good story.”

“You didn’t get all the way through, I assume,” Gonff said. “It took Denno most o’ the night to read the whole thing to us when we found ‘em on the Arfship.”

“No.” Rose shook her head. “We only just made it past the part where Luke left on his voyage.” The smile faded from her face and she stopped walking. “It explains a lot, really.”

Gonff cocked his head to one side. “Y’mean like where he got ‘is sense of honor an’ such?”

Rose nodded slowly, her eyes looking through Gonff to some distant past. “And why he didn’t believe me the first time I told him he was a warrior.”

Gonff scratched his ear. “I must’ve missed that conversation.”

Rose shook her head, opening and closing her mouth a few times.

Gonff didn’t press her, but simply stood in the silence, waiting for her to speak again.

Finally, Rose let out a long sigh and looked up at Gonff resolutely. “I-”

“Rose, there you are!”

Both mice turn to see Brome making his way up the stairs. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, “And Gonff.”

“Is something wrong?” Rose asked.

Brome shook his head. “No. Were you on your way to somewhere?”

“I’m escorting Miss Rose to Sister Amyl’s room to retrieve her crutches,” Gonff said, standing up straight and striking a pose.

Rose and Brome both giggled at him.

“Shall I join you, then?” Brome asked. “We can talk while we walk.”

Gonff nodded, once again offering his arm to Rose. “Very well. Now, why’re you looking for us?”

Brome fell into step on the other side of Rose. “It’s a bit complicated.” He turned toward his sister. “You recall that I was helping Abbess Germaine in the infirmary this afternoon?”

Rose nodded. “I remember.”

“She’s a rather sharp old mouse,” Brome said.

Gonff chuckled. “That she is.”

“Anyways,” Brome went on, “she told me that she’s figured us out.”

“I see,” Rose said, nodding slowly.

“Figured out what?” Gonff asked, dropping his usual joking manner.

Rose turned to him. “Figured out that we knew Martin before he came to Redwall,” she said quietly.

“You’re not surprised?” Brome asked when Gonff didn’t react.

Gonff shrugged and pulled some pieces of paper from his pocket. “Nearly had it figured out m’self after finding these.” He handed the sketches to Rose, who in turn handed them to Brome.

Brome examined the sketches of himself and Rose before handing them back to Gonff. “Martin’s work, I assume?”

Gonff nodded.

“So he hadn’t completely forgotten us,” Brome said.

Rose shook her head. “But he doesn’t seem to consciously remember us, either.”

The trio had reached the bottom of the stairs as they spoke and entered the bustling noise of Redwallers and travelers preparing to descend to Cavern Hole for the night’s feast.

Gonff motioned Rose and Brome off to one side. “I take it you want my help in jogging Martin’s memories?”

Brome nodded. “Aye. Abbess Germaine said you were the one who helped him regain lost memories after the war with Tzarmina was over.”

Gonff frowned. “I was. But that was pretty soon after he lost those memories, and he still doesn’t remember everything we went through. Gettin’ ‘im to remember now will likely be a bit harder.”

Rose’s face fell.

Gonff smiled at her. “Now, now. Don’t give up hope. I didn’t say it was impossible.” He looked back and forth between her and Brome. “Tell you what, I’ll think this over for the evening and we can meet again after brekkist tomorrow.”

Brome grinned and held out a paw. “We’ll gather the rest of the Players together and let them know what we’re trying to do. Thank you for your help.”

They shook paws and parted ways, Gonff heading off to Cavern Hole, and Brome and Rose to find the rest of Players after retrieving Rose’s crutches.

Gonff found himself distracted during the night’s performance, trying to watch both Martin and the Players as the feast progressed. He did, however, notice that Martin was in unusually high spirits, joining in the laughter and applause with far more energy than he had the previous two nights.

“Are you quite alright, Gonff?” Columbine asked him as they prepared for bed in their little room. “You’ve been a bit quieter this evening. Tummy ache?”

Gonff shook himself and pulled his wife into an impromptu dance. “Wot? Me, quiet? Never!” He spun her around the room until they both collapsed, giggling, onto the bed.

“Hahaha-hu-haha-hush, Gonff!” Columbine gasped. “You’ll wake Gonfflet.”

Gonff smiled at her, cupping her cheek with one paw and planting a kiss on her nose. “The little rascal’s already fast asleep. No need to worry about ‘im.”

Columbine giggled again and sat up. “Maybe not, but you still haven’t told me why you’ve been quieter this evening.” She put her paws on her hips and fixed a stern expression on her face. “Now you’d best tell me before I’m forced to tickle it out of you.”

“No! No tickles!” Gonff cried, throwing his paws in the air in mock horror. “I’ll tell.” He sat up, taking Columbine’s paws in his. “Just a conversation from earlier today that I haven’t quite figured out an answer to yet,” he said. “That’s all, nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Columbine asked.

Gonff nodded. “I am. Now-” he grinned and flung himself backward onto the bed- “We’d best get to sleep ourselves to make tomorrow come sooner.”

Columbine giggled and joined him. “If you insist, my Prince of Mousethieves.”

“I do.” He blew out the candle next to the bed and they both went to sleep.

#Redwall #Redwall Midwinter Miracle #Martin the Warrior #Rose of Noonvale #Gonff Prince of Mousethieves #Brome #Abbess Germaine #Redwall fanfic

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scabopolis · 4 years

Text

emma x killian au: a bit of disaster, a bit of magic

Holy moly! This (really needs to be edited one more time, but we’ll save that for AO3, shall we?) monstrosity is my gift to @hollyethecurious for the @cssecretsanta2k19 (thank you for your tireless work on this!), and is my first attempt at Emma x Killian fic (eek!).

Hollye, what a joy to chat with you over the past month. I present to you a wordy as all getout friends to lovers fic that takes place over six holidays (five holidays with a bit of disaster, and one with a bit of magic), a soupçon of Captain Cobra, and brief appearances by older brother Liam, as well as (one hopes!) romance and a whole host of other good things. Hope it brings some joy to your season. And I’m thrilled to be able to start following you on Tumblr now and send messages without fear!

And I swear -- post-road trip, a more edited version will also appear on AO3. Happy holidays!

---------- title: a bit of disaster, a bit of magic fandom: once upon a time pairing: emma x killian word count: 12,400 | AO3 link: here ----------

summary: When Killian and Emma first meet on Thanksgiving she has some rather unsavory words for him. But then they somehow manage to navigate a series of holiday disasters together. In so doing they also stumble upon a bit of holiday magic.

Thanksgiving Or, the holiday where Emma calls Killian a pervert

As far as holidays go, Killian finds this Thanksgiving to be relatively textbook. Liam and Kate both made far too much food, took utter delight in teasing him for his lack of love life, and then he went home laden with abundant leftovers.

Only for things to rapidly become significantly less than textbook. It all started when he poured himself a glass of wine at home.

Home: the place wherein he poured himself the aforementioned glass of wine as he began to wind down for the evening, and then somehow proceeded to spill all but a single gulp on his bedding. Bedding: the freshly laundered, high thread-count duvet and sheets, put on the bed this morning, now soaked with Malbec.

With one set of sheets in the hamper and the second set wine soaked, Killian tossed back the remaining gulp of wine and resigned himself to an evening of doing laundry. On Thanksgiving.

In retrospect, Killian knows he should have just taken his brother and sister-in-law up on their kind offer to stay the night, but he’d found himself emotionally overwhelmed by the end of the night. Over dessert and coffee Liam and Kate informed him they were likely going to start trying for their first kiddo in the new year. And as excited as Killian is at the prospect of having a little nephew or niece to dote on next Christmas, it also served as a reminder of how close he’d gotten to having it all once. And how it doesn’t seem at all likely he’ll ever get that close again.

These kinds of maudlin thoughts are exactly why Killian poured himself that glass of wine. Wine that, as Killian holds the clean sheets up to the light in the laundry room, quite remarkably seems to have not stained. He does the complicated hand twisting and folding technique his mum once showed him and sets aside the fitted sheet, reaching for the flat sheet.

Killian hears the door to the shared laundry room open behind him as one of his neighbors enters. He slides his stacks of laundry together to make room on the folding table and is about to greet whoever walked in, commiserate over their fate of doing laundry on a —

“So, is this a normal thing you do on Thanksgiving, you sick pervert?”

Okay. Maybe not.

He turns around slowly to meet the steely gaze of one of his neighbors whom he’s seen from time to time in the mail room and hallways (and once in a rather lurid dream he still feels guilty about). “Do I normally do laundry on Thanksgiving? I wouldn’t consider it a tradition as such, but —”

“No. I mean steal women’s underwear.”

“Pardon?”

She steps closer only to swipe a pair of his briefs off the table. The pair of underwear is, admittedly, a little absurd, but nothing quite warranting such a vitriolic reaction. They’re the rare white elephant gift he actually opted to keep. Aside from being the most comfortable pair he owns, he quite enjoys the whimsical print of yetis sledding and decorating Christmas trees. He takes a step towards her and she backs up.

“What is wrong with you?” she asks.

“I’m not certain what is happening here.”

“What’s happening is, you’re a sick fuck.”

He frowns. That seems, to put it mildly, uncalled for. “Okay, hold on now —” he takes another step towards her

“You stay there,” she demands, pointing a finger at him.

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. He has so lost the thread of this conversation. And he really should have just stayed at Liam’s house for the night. “I won’t come near you, lass, but if you could return my trunks I would —”

The indignation on her face makes her appear incandescent. “Yours?!”

“Yes, mine.”

His neighbor starts sputtering and then she goes silent, her jaw clenching in a way that is, if he were to be honest, rather intimidating. Still, Killian does (for some unknown reason that would likely require a good amount of therapy), what he so often finds himself doing whenever he meets his match: he smiles.

His smile only makes the frown lines on her face deepen.

“Look,” he says, in his most sensible tone of voice. “Do you really believe I would be daft enough to steal your undergarments and then remain in the laundry folding them knowing any moment you might return?”

It’s only for a split second, but her features relax as she considers his words. Then she full on glares at him, clutching the briefs in her fist. But then her eyes dart to one of the dryers on the wall.

“Have a look,” he says, gesturing with his head to the dryer.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“I would despair if you did.”

She remains true to her word, keeping one eye on him as she opens the dryer and roots around inside. He knows she’s found what she’s looking for when he hears her groan. “Fuck me,” she mutters to herself, and then pulls out a pair of briefs identical to his own.

She groans again. “This isn’t possible.”

“Yet here we are.”

She shuffles over and hands him back his briefs. Killian has to actively work to keep in his laugh as he watches her remove her clothing from the dryer and start another load. From the way the pink in her cheeks burns brighter, she’s aware of his gaze.

“So, is this a normal thing you do on Thanksgiving?” he asks. And there’s that rather becoming jaw clench of hers. “Accuse men of stealing your underwear, I mean?”

She remains silent and Killian decides to show mercy, finishing up his folding and stacking the clothes in his basket. His neighbor gives him a wide berth as she carries her laundry basket on her hip and leaves - no, flees - the room. But not before she mutters an apology. “Sorry if I, uh, said — you know?”

“Now, what could you have possibly said?” he asks, all faux innocence.

If possible, her blush gets even brighter. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Once back in his flat he texts Liam the whole story. As he putters around, remaking his bed and pouring himself another glass of wine, he bursts out into little chuckles of laughter replaying the scenario. Laughter which Liam echoes in emoji form once he responds. Frankly, this woman is Killian’s hero (Liam's too, as he offered to buy her a gift basket for helping keep Killian's ego in check). Maybe he’ll see her in the mail room and can assure her of her place of honor in Jones family lore.

He’s settling into the couch with a book when there’s a knock. Killian frowns, his eyes darting to his wall clock. It’s somehow only half-eight, but he isn’t expecting anyone. He looks out his peephole and smiles at the sight of one his young neighbors holding a platter of baked goods. They’ve only chatted in the elevator and occasionally in the halls but Henry is a warm and charming young man, and Killian always looks forward to their interactions. Which doesn’t explain why he —

“Mom, get your butt over here.”

“You knocked, he didn’t answer. He’s probably asleep.” And then the woman from the laundry room comes into view and it all makes a little more sense.

“When you mess up, you apologize. Those are the rules.”

“The rules for what?” she asks.

“For life.”

“Who taught you these rules?”

“You did.”

She huffs out an exasperated laugh, but wraps an arm around Henry’s shoulder and pulls him close. “God, why couldn’t I suck more as a parent?”

Killian decides to put her out of her misery and answer the door. Young Henry looks delighted at his appearance, and his mom appears miserable. Like she wants nothing more than to sprint in the other direction.

“Mr. Jones! Happy Thanksgiving! This is my mom, Emma.”

“Sir Henry, Happy Thanksgiving to you.” He looks to Henry’s mom. “And to your lovely mum.”

Henry shoves the platter of treats at him and Killian bobbles it before holding it steady. “These are for you!” Henry needlessly explains. It’s a platter teeming with pumpkin pie, cookies, and some sort of toffee almond concoction that looks delightful. “My Aunt Mary-Margaret is the world’s best cook,” Henry says.

“Well, thank you, Henry. And please give my thanks to your aunt.”

“I will. Now my mom has something she wants to say to you.” Emma looks ready to protest but then Henry smiles up at her, his grin wide and toothy and she shakes her head, affection for her son apparent. “Goodnight, Mr. Jones.”

Emma watches as Henry walks down to the end of the hallway, unlocks the door, gives his mom a thumbs up, and walks inside. Once inside, Emma turns to him and mumbles something barely audible.

“I’m sorry. What was that, love?”

She huffs out a breath, fluttering a strand of her hair in the process. “I said, I’m sorry for calling you a pervert.”

“And?”

“And for trying to steal your underwear?”

“What about for calling me a sick fuck?”

“I did not!” she protests, but at his look her brow furrows in concentration. “Oh my god. I did, didn’t I?” She shifts her weight from side to side and he’s pretty certain he hears her mutter another curse word under her breath. She looks up and locks eyes with him. For a moment all he can think is wow, green, but she starts talking again. “Look, Henry and I had a really great day at my sister’s house but then I got this message from my ex, Henry’s dad, and to be honest it sent me into a bit of a tailspin. So then I go grab my laundry and there you are with a very peculiar pair of underwear and all I could think was ‘not today, asshole’ and then — well, you were there. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven, Emma.” Then it’s his turn to frown, gesturing towards the direction Henry walked as he leans against his doorway. “How did you know who I am?”

“Oh, I mentioned what happened to Henry and he asked me to describe the neighbor.”

“Smart kid.”

“Yeah.” She fidgets again, kind of shaking the tension out of her hands as she rocks back on her heels. “Well, I…that’s all, I wanted to say, so…”

“Nice to meet you, Emma. And Happy Thanksgiving.” She backs away from the door giving him a perfunctory little wave. For some reason, after he closes and locks the door, he finds himself looking through the peephole to watch Emma’s retreat. She lingers outside the door for a second before smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand and then does an entirely unbecoming and yet endearing full body shake and flail, tossing her head back and groaning. She appears to catch herself, and Killian watches as she looks to his door. Her eyes close in resignation. “You saw that didn’t you?”

“Every single second.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Killian.”

Christmas Eve Or, the holiday where Killian almost freezes

It’s a working theory of hers, but Emma is willing to argue with anyone who cares that Christmas Eve is far superior to Christmas. The whole day is filled with baking, and listening to Christmas music, and lighting every baked good themed candle she owns. Plus! she doesn’t have to wake up to an overeager eight year old shaking her at dawn. It’s wonderful.

As she stores the vacuum in the hall closet (one last round of pre-festivity cleaning), her phone vibrates. She pulls it out of her pocket, smiling when she sees it’s a text from Killian.

Texts from Killian: another thing that is wonderful these days, if not unexpected.

11:12 AM - Killian to Emma My oven is on the fritz. Can I use yours for a bit?

11:13 AM - Emma to Killian Define ‘a bit’…

11:14 AM - Killian to Emma Ok. Less ‘a bit’ and more ‘a while.’

11:15 AM - Killian to Emma And by 'a while' I mean the rest of the day.

Emma snorts at that one.

11:17 AM - Emma to Killian It’s all yours. Though, I thought your fruit cake would be in door stop mode by now?

11:19 AM - Killian to Emma For the last time, woman, it’s not a bloody fruit cake.

When Killian proudly told her and Henry over Saturday morning pancakes he was preparing a classic Christmas cake for their Christmas Eve celebration, and then proceeded to explain the weeks long process behind making the cake, Henry frowned. “I think that’s a fruit cake.”

Which was the first, but certainly not the last time, Killian insisted: “It certainly is not!” And then Killian proceeded to explain, again, what a Christmas cake was.

From Killian’s explanation of how to prepare it, though, there shouldn’t be any baking required today. Which begs the question as to exactly what Killian is doing. As the host of the event, Emma is only responsible for appetizers (thank you Trader Joe’s), and booze with the rest of the guests bringing the meal.

A meal which apparently includes a British man she met a month ago, bringing a fruit cake to the Christmas Eve celebration with her family and closest friends. What is her life?

Dare she say it, life is pretty great these days. And Killian is definitely part of why that is.

After their ignominious beginning, she and Killian found themselves bumping into one another constantly. If they didn’t cross paths in the mail room, hallway, or elevator, it was Henry - her kid who would find a way to make friends with a paper bag if given the opportunity - who started inviting Killian to join them everywhere. While on their way to the movies it was a “hey, Killian, wanna come?” More than a few times Henry went to check the mail as Emma cooked dinner and when he returned Killian was with him. “I told him all about your chicken and dumplings, mom!”

Somehow Killian joining them for chicken and dumplings turned into the two of them texting throughout the day — Killian in between clients at the physical therapy clinic, and Emma whenever she needed a break from real estate contracts — and then a second glass of wine once Henry went to bed. Apparently, unbeknownst to Emma, this was all leading to Killian celebrating Christmas Eve with her family and friends. Oh, and coming over the next day for Christmas morning pancakes.

Despite what her sister and brother-in-law would like people to believe, Killian is only spending the holidays with them because his brother left for his in-laws earlier in the week and Henry didn’t want him to spend the holiday alone. That’s it! If it was more than that, would she be okay with Killian coming over while she was in her cleaning clothes? Obviously not. So, suck it universe.

Killian shows up ten minutes later looking fine and not at all biteable in a truly horrendous Christmas sweater that no one has a right to look as…completely adequate…in as he does. His arms are laden with grocery bags.

“All this for a fruitcake?”

“Christmas cake. And no. That has been done for some time, as you well know. I told Mary-Margaret I’d make Yorkshire puddings to go with the prime rib. And Liam would disown me if I didn’t make mince pies.”

“How British of you.”

“Well, I am British.”

“You know what I mean.” Emma grabs him an apron so he doesn’t mess up his Christmas sweater and as he makes himself at home, she buzzes around getting the apartment ready - pulling the folding chairs and table out of the closet, making sure Henry has enough clean clothes to wear for dinner, etc. Henry spends the day floating in and out of the kitchen to bug Killian. He plays his video games for a little bit and then is back to the kitchen and gets annoyed because there’s not enough room for him to make a sandwich. He is only appeased when Killian reveals he brought over leftover Chinese.

“Why did you bring so much extra food?” she asks, ignoring Killian’s disapproving stare as she bites into a cold eggroll. She’s pretty sure he also brought over a gallon of milk and what looks like leftover roasted vegetables. Weird.

“Do you know what the two of you are like when you’re not fed?” Killian shudders in horror, and Emma smacks him in the back of the head. She also pinches mince pie filling to be a brat.

When she comes out in her loungewear, after having showered, there is the most wonderful smell of cinnamon in the air. Before she even asks Killian hands her a mug of mulled wine. How did she even get this and what does she have to do to keep it forever? Emma freezes at the thought. By this she means his friendship. Obviously.

Once Mary-Margaret and David, then Ruby and Mulan arrive, the evening, dare she even thinks it, is borderline perfect. Continuing the British Christmas theme, Killian brought Christmas crackers from World Market. Henry got so excited at the hat and little joke in his that he hug bombed Killian and the poor man spilled his hot chocolate down the front of his sweater. Henry apologizes profusely, but Killian assures him it’s okay, losing the sweater for just a black tee underneath. Which, again, is fine and makes Killian look fine and Emma really needs the commentary in her head to quiet down.

“Hate to see a Christmas casualty,” David muses as Killian tosses the sweater aside.

“True, but good things tend to happen to me when I do laundry on a holiday,” he replies.

And Mary-Margaret gets this wide knowing grin, which Emma does not care for at all, but her heart is currently beating fast enough that she lets it pass.

The high-point of the night might be when Mary-Margaret serves slices of Killian’s Christmas cake alongside her caramel apple pie. Ruby holds up her plate, sniffs Killian’s cake, and with a perfectly cocked eyebrow simply asks “Fruit cake?” Henry almost falls out of his chair laughing.

Mulan and Ruby are the first to leave, needing to get to Granny’s where they’re staying the night. Killian offers to stay and help clean up but Emma refuses. The man spent all day cooking in her kitchen – she’s not going to make him clean, too. But when Henry hugs him goodnight and tells him they’ll see him for pancakes, Emma has to admit she’s a little sad to see him shuffle down the hallway back to his own apartment.

Henry proceeds to line up his mom, his aunt, and his uncle, debating as to who deserves to read to him that night. David wins the privilege outright when, upon Henry asking each of them to share their Percy Jackson voice, he actually recites from memory an excerpt from the book Henry is currently reading. Fucking show-off.

Mary-Margaret doesn’t even wait for them to leave the kitchen before she looks at Emma like she must say something or she’ll burst. As Emma is want to do, she ignores it. No wonder David lobbied so hard to get the bedtime story invitation. The two were in cahoots. As they do dishes, Mary-Margaret keeps dropping conversational breadcrumbs =, waiting for Emma to take one up. Which Emma steadfastly fails to do. So Mary-Margaret stops being subtle.

“So, Killian was here all day, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Huh,” Mary-Margaret says, drying a wine glass and setting it aside. “Interesting.”

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Do I?”

“God, you’re annoying,” Emma says, smacking her shoulder with the back of her hand.

Mary-Maragret frowns and does it right back. “I like Killian.”

“He’ll be thrilled to hear it.”

“And I think you like Killian, too.”

Emma glares at her. “Well, he’s my friend.”

“Who you very much would like to be a naked friend.”

“Mary-Margaret!”

“What?”

She steals the towel away from Mary-Margaret and snaps her with it. “Can we be done with this conversation?”

“No. Because I have something important to say to you.” Emma groans and Mary-Margaret takes a step forward, placing a hand on either side of Emma’s face. “I know you think you’ve got this bruised and battered heart. But that’s not true, Emma. You have the most open heart of anyone I’ve ever known. And I don’t know how you do it, but as someone you let see that big beautiful heart, I just need you to know how lucky I am to have you in my life. Anyone would be so lucky to have you. So be brave.”

Emma feels her eyes go glassy and seriously! Mary-Margaret has been in her life for more than twenty-years. How does she always do this to her? She reaches forward and hugs Mary-Margaret tight, blinking the tears back.

“I love you,” Mary-Margaret says.

“Shut up.” Emma holds her even tighter. “I love you, too.”

After Mary-Margaret and David leave she gives Henry a final tuck into bed then takes a moment to look around the apartment. The space feels emptier than when the day started. It must be the come down from an almost perfect night. Right? Not like she’s feeling morose because there’s a person down the hall who she very much wishes was still currently in her apartment. Someone to perhaps share leftover pie and a glass of wine with. That would be absurd. It’s just that the whole night felt a little magic, and now it’s over.

Emma blows out the living room candles and that’s when she sees it — Killian’s ugly Christmas sweater draped over the back of the couch. Which Emma immediately decides she should return to Killian. It’s urgent. That sweater could mean a lot to him. Or, something.

She locks up the apartment door and heads to Killian’s. Knocking on the door triggers a feeling of panic and she’s tempted to drop the sweater and run. But then he opens the door and his already bright eyes somehow get brighter. This was the right decision.

“Emma! What are you —”

“You forgot your sweater.”

“Thanks, love.”

She immediately notices that his apartment is very dark. Was he already getting ready for bed? This early? She stands up on her tiptoes to peek, and his smile falls. Killian wedges himself into the doorframe, closing the door behind him and obstructing her view. Emma narrows her eyes.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“Do you have someone over?”

“No. I’m just —”

“Why are all your lights off?”

“Being energy efficient. Climate change.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Huh. Fine, then. You should probably stain treat this,” she says, and hands him the sweater.

“Thank you.” He reaches for it and the moment he does Emma pushes him aside to crash into his apartment. All the lights are off. He's lit a few candles, and oh fuck. Does he have someone over?

“Killian, your lights are off.”

“What do you call those?” he asks, pointing to the three-wick sugar cookie candle Mary-Margaret got him.

“Killian.” It’s a tone that usually convinces Henry he in fact does need to wear socks with his shoes but simply causes Killian to smirk at her.

“Maybe I want to romance myself, Swan.”

“Gross. All your lights are off," she repeats. "Even the light on your microwave.”

He looks like he wants to protest but must sense she is in a particularly stubborn mood because he stops himself. If she weren’t trying to get him to fess up Emma would take a moment to gloat that the look always works.

“I was working on a project this afternoon and think I crossed some wires,” he says, running a hand through his hair in, she presumes, some mild embarrassment.

“More than your oven is on the fritz," she realizes, making sense of why there is currently milk in her fridge. "Isn’t it?”

“Seems that way.”

“Well did you —?”

“Aye, I tried, but it didn’t work, and with the holiday the electrician isn’t able to come until Thursday..”

“Well, why not call —?”

“How do you think Leroy is going to feel about me doing an undisclosed wiring project and killing the —?”

“—yeah, I get it. Look, I need to get back to Henry, but pack a bag and I’ll see you soon.”

“Do what now?”

“It’s going to be 12 degrees tonight, Killian. You are not staying in this apartment without power.”

Emma watches as he mulls over her words, considering whether or not he should abide by them. “I could sleep on your couch and then away to my flat in the morning.”

She shrugs. “Or, you could pack a bag.” A little voice inside her head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Mary-Margaret is cheering her on. Telling her to press a little more. That it’s worth it. “Come on, Killian. You can’t freeze to death on Christmas Eve. Imagine how that would play on the evening news.”

He laughs, shaking his head in that way he does. If she isn’t mistaken, it's tinged with a little more affectionate every time. “Depressingly, I imagine.” He breaks eye contact long enough to look down at his slippered feet. For all the times he’s made her blush in their month of friendship, it is ridiculously rewarding to see the tinge of red on his cheeks as he looks up at her. “I’d love to join you and Henry for Christmas.”

Emma dashes home and checks on Henry. He is, predictably, still fast asleep in that way he most frequently is — legs akimbo and sticking out of the blankets like he’s preparing to start running the moment he wakes up.

As she waits for Killian she changes into her pajamas and makes two hot chocolates, adding an extra large dollop of leftover whipped cream to the top pf each.

Killian’s knock is borderline inaudible and it makes her smile, how she knows he’s being careful for Henry’s sake. She takes his bag and invites him to get comfortable on the couch — “it will soon be your bed, after all” — and, as has become the habit, they face each other as they sit there. There’s a lot she loves about their friendship, but high on the list is the way their conversations always start in the middle rather than at the start. She loathes small talk.

“Your family and friends are lovely, Swan.”

“Eh,” she says, scrunching her nose in consideration, “they’re alright.”

“You and your sister appear rather close in age.”

She nods. “We’re only a year and a half apart.” Killian smiles, like he is happy to accept that as a complete answer if she so chooses. And maybe it’s that she’s listening to her sister, or maybe it’s Christmas, or maybe it’s that Killian faintly smells of his sugar cookie candle, but she takes a deep breath and sets her mug on the coffee table. “I’m adopted, actually.”

He hesitates, uncertain. “Emma, I didn’t mean to —” She doesn't want him to be uncertain.

“I was with a family for three years and they couldn’t keep me. I was so young that my social worker really didn’t want to put me in a group home, so they opted for short-term care while they searched for a permanent solution. But at the end of the two weeks, when they got ready to move me to a new home, Mary-Margaret had an utter fit. Refused to let anyone near me when she found out they wanted to take me away. And then she grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into her room, barricaded the door, and we hid under her bed. She was five.”

“You remember all that?”

“I remember her grabbing my hand and us hiding. Mary-Margaret remembers some and my parents filled in the rest.”

“So after that?”

“They decided to adopt me.”

“That’s quite the story.” Killian gently places his mug beside hers and he inches closer. His hand hovers over hers for only a moment before he settles, giving her fingers a little squeeze. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Please don’t let this go to your head,” she says, and rotates her palm to squeeze his hand right back, “but you’re really easy to talk to.”

“Well, don’t let this go to your head, but I can see why Mary-Margaret did what she did.”

There’s a teeny part of her that doesn’t want to inquire further, but she blames her damn sister and her damn hope speeches for asking, “And why is that?”

“Because I think you’re the type of person it would be impossible to say goodbye to.”

Emma doesn’t know about that — a whole host of boyfriends might say otherwise — but she believes he believes it. Sitting across from him on the couch, his lack of electricity, and the two of them in their pajamas, Emma feels almost a glimmer of magic come back into the room.

Christmas Or, the holiday where Emma almost accidentally murders Killian

Killian wakes up to the sound of giggling and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The gas fireplace is already switched on, as are the Christmas lights, and he’ll have to ask Emma later how she managed to prevent Henry from crashing into the tree in his excitement to get at his presents.

“I’m going to set the table, so go ahead and gently wake Killian —” And that should prepare him, but he doesn’t hear the rest of Emma’s prompt as a hurling mass of eight year old runs into the living room and jumps on top of him. “Oof,” Killian groans. “Merry Christmas, Sir Henry.”

Henry leans his face down and grins. “Merry Christmas, Killian.”

“Henry, I said gentle!”

“Yeah, but you kinda winked when you said it.”

Killian manages to sit up just enough to watch Emma try and deny that she did in fact encourage the barbarism of her child. He raises an eyebrow in question and she responds in the first true “harumph” he’s ever heard in real life.

“Breakfast is ready,” she says.

Killian sits at the table and apparently the Swans take their Christmas breakfast seriously. Fresh fruit, and coffee and — shit, he forgot to mention something, didn't he? he thought she knew?— breakfast burritos smothered in avocado and tomatillo salsa.

“So, what’s the plan for the day” Killian asks, and then takes a sip of his coffee. Emma passes him the bowl of fruit, and — of fucking course — there’s bananas in it. He pours a little on his plate and hopes he can get away with just coffee for breakfast.

Henry explains that they always eat breakfast first because his mom thinks delayed gratification is good for him — “I stand by that,” Emma says — and then he and his mom exchange presents, and then they play boardgames, and then have Christmas Eve lunch leftovers, and then they go to a movie and have popcorn and milk duds for dinner.

“Milk duds play what part in delayed gratification?” Killian asks, pushing his plate, he hopes discretely, aside.

“I’m not a monster,” she says.

“Why aren’t you eating your burrito? Aren’t you hungry?” Henry asks.

“I’m not a big breakfast person.” At that precise moment, Killian’s stomach growls louder than it’s every growled before. Liar, it seems to proclaim. He sighs. “I’m actually allergic.”

“You are?” Emma asks. If her wide eyes are anything to go by, she is horrified.

“To burritos? That sucks,” Henry says.

“No, not to burritos, but the avocado on top.”

“No you’re not.”

He laughs, because of course Emma would argue with him about his food allergies. “I assure you I am.”

“But when we got lunch last week, you ordered that sandwich with avocado on it.”

He doesn’t think he should be as flattered as he is that Emma remembers that. “I took that one to go. For Liam.”

“But…but…” and then she drops her fork to her plate and covers her mouth with her palm. “Oh my god I could have killed you!”

“Emma…”

“I almost murdered you on Christmas.”

“I can assure you…”

“That I almost murdered you? Because, yeah, figured that one out.”

“It’s not nice to murder people, mom,” Henry helpfully comments then reaches for Killian’s plate. “Can I have this?”

“It’s all yours.”

“What else are you allergic to?” Emma asks.

“Nothing.” She doesn’t seem to believe him as she sits with her arms across her chest, challenging him. “Seriously. Just the avocados.” And then quietly adds, “And kiwis and bananas.”

“So the fruit is also poison,” she says. “Anything else?”

“Latex.” The instant he says the word he regrets it. It’s true, completely, but with the way Emma is looking at him it feels a little…inappropriate to say.

“Latex,” she repeats. She doesn’t break eye contact as she takes a sip of coffee and sets her mug aside. “Interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?” Henry asks.

Emma maintains eye contact, but her cheeks go a little rosy. "Well, um, see the thing is…" she trails off.

Killian cuts in. “Because when I go to the doctor, sometimes the doctor or nurses wear gloves with latex in them.”

“That’s not interesting,” Henry says.

Emma makes him an omelette and then proceeds to apologize all morning. After they open presents (Killian will remember the look of delight on Henry’s face for all his days), she also makes a quick batch of chocolate chip muffins and insists he eat several. The rest of the day unfolds just how Henry said it would. Except Henry didn’t mention he’d only make it two-thirds of the way through the movie before falling asleep on his mom’s shoulder, curled up in the seat. As he snoozes he kicks his feet out into Killian’s lap and Emma rolls her eyes and helps herself to the rest of Henry’s popcorn.

“No personal space boundaries,” she whispers.

When they make it back to Emma’s, Henry wakes up just enough to shuffle to his room. And much like the night before, they find themselves on Emma’s couch talking over the day when she reveals she has a present for him.

“We said we weren’t buying presents, Emma.” He completely bought her a present but was planning to bend the rules by giving it to her on New Year’s Day. Surely New Year's Day presents are a thing somewhere. Right?

“It’s just a little something,” she says.

As Killian opens the gift he registers the novelty print first, and he is almost certain he knows what she got him. It’s three pairs of underwear in rather absurd prints and patterns. The same exact brand and style she tried to steal from him on Thanksgiving.

She grins as he laughs tossing the paper aside. “Did you know you can get them personalized?”

“Excuse me?” he asks.

She takes one of the pairs out of his hands and shows him the inner waistband. There it declares in embroidered thread "Property of Killian Jones."

“Just in case someone else tries to steal your underwear.”

“Nonsense, Swan. That’s our thing.”

The silence stretches between them as Emma rests her head on the back of the couch, her face turned towards him. Over the course of the night they’ve moved close enough to one another that their knees are touching. How did that happen?

“Killian, I want to tell you something.”

He swallows. “You can tell me anything you want, Emma.”

“I —” she begins, and then cuts herself off. “I —” she begins again before stopping, letting out a frustrated groan. She offers him a tentative smile. “I want to thank you for doing everything you did for us today. It meant a lot to Henry.” She pauses, and it looks like she's going to say more, but she simply adds, “And to me.”

“Of course, love.”

“And I’m sorry for almost killing you.”

“I fully intend to use your guilt to my advantage in our relationship for years to come.”

She smiles. “The electrician is coming tomorrow?”

“He said he’d arrive somewhere between 7am and 3pm.”

“Nice he could narrow it down for you.” She looks away and fiddles with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Do you want to stay here again tonight?”

“Aye,” he says. “If you'll have me.”

"I'll have you," she whispers, her lips tinged with a smile.

And he knows he shouldn’t be disappointed. Staying the night on her couch is wonderful and generous and it means another day of getting to wake up with the Swans. But there was a little part of him that thought she was going to say — he’s not entirely sure what. Strangely enough it’s the feeling of disappointment that confirms for him a long held suspicion of his. That with Emma the more she gives him, the more he wants. Every smile she gives makes him want 1,000 more. Every story she shares makes him want to share 1,000 of his own. He’d do anything for her to know he understands her. And he’d never intentionally hurt her. And that this Christmas was one of the best of his life, and is there any way she’d be willing to give him her New Year’s Eve, and Valentine’s Day, and perhaps Flag Day, too?

Boxing Day Or, the holiday where Emma breaks herself

For as relatively calm and almost perfect as Christmas was, the day after is completely different.

Henry comes running into Emma's room at 8:00 AM insisting they don’t have enough batteries. When she calmly reminds him about the extra supply in the hall closet, he runs off without a thank you. A little later she’s pouring herself coffee and Henry runs into the kitchen, grabs the poptart package out of her hand and runs out again. “I’m putting together my legos!” he shouts.

“We are leaving in one hour, Henry.” Silence answers her from his bedroom. “That means shoes, scarf, coat and gloves.” More silence. “Henry!”

“Got it mom! One hour!” Door slam.

She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Killian barely stifles a laugh as he watches the sequence of events from the coach.

“How much for you to take him off my hands for the next two to three years?” she asks, trying to ignore how cute he looks waking up in her apartment, sleep rumpled with hair sticking up every which way.

“You want me to bring him back as a pre-teen?”

“Good point. What about one of those boarding schools in Switzerland rich step-mothers always want to send their kids to? You know those ones in movies with the Olsen twins?”

“You’re truly trying to cast yourself as the stepmother in this situation?”

“Shut up and come get your coffee.”

She can see why Killian and Henry get along so well. Much like her son, Killian can’t simply stand up and walk into the kitchen. No. He bounds off the couch — she has no doubt he was tempted to hurdle it simply to prove he could — and then swaggers towards her. Does he always lead with his pelvis? God, why is she thinking about his pelvis? Once he’s in front of her, his mess of hair appears even more riotous and her fingers actually twitch with the urge to smooth it down. Instead she hands him a cup of coffee and picks hers up again. If her hands are busy maybe she’ll keep them to herself. And why did she think having him sleepover again was a good idea? What was she thinking?

Well, to be honest, she knew what she was thinking originally. But then late last night he shared why it is that Christmas is usually a hard season for him — a reminder of losing his mom as a child and his fiancé just two years ago — and all she could think about was how lucky she was to have walked into their laundry room that night.

Killian is a big one for eye contact — she knew that the day they met in the laundry room and it’s been confirmed a million times since — and it has a very squirm inducing impact on her insides. His heavy lidded eyes make everything twist up, and flutter, and race in a way that is almost painful. But like a good kind of painful.

“What’s your plan for today?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Betray your kindness for a bit longer and wait for the electrician to arrive. Yours?”

“Henry is going ice skating with a few of his friends. I’m going to go for a run after I walk him to Avery’s, but no plans after that.” She clears her throat as her pesky thoughts urge her to ask him to spend the day together. Naked, a part of her brain unhelpfully suggests.

“You’re going to walk in this weather? And then run in this weather?”

“I snagged a parking spot right in front and Avery’s family only lives a few blocks away. There is no way I am sacrificing my parking spot.” She turns away from Killian to top up her coffee. “And running is good for me. Helps me make sense of my thoughts when they’re all muddled.”

“What is making your thoughts muddled?” he asks.

She freezes for a second, the question taking her by surprise, and then turns around slowly. And holy fuck why do his eyes have to be so focused on her and so damn blue?! It’s oppressive, his eye color. “I didn’t say —”

“You kind of implied.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

She bites her lip to stifle a laugh, shaking her head. “You know it’s moments like these that remind me you’re the baby brother.”

He laughs, nodding his head in concession. “True. But in this case my persistence is motivated by my own selfish curiosity."

“What makes you curious?”

“I’m curious about all sorts of things. But I have to admit that my thoughts have also been rather muddled these days.” ” He taps his lips, thinking, and that is not fair. “For instance, I’m curious about what you wanted to say to me last night. Before you stopped yourself from continuing.”

How did he —?

“I’m curious about why you’re taking such shallow breaths right now,” he continues, sidling closer to her.

“They’re not —”

“But really, Emma, I find myself wondering if you would be interested in knowing what has my thoughts muddled these days?” He moves even closer as he reaches behind her to set his mug on the counter-top.

She takes a shaky breath. “I might be.”

“Then ask me.”

Okay. So, last night she chickened out. Sitting on the couch with Killian — the fire going, and Henry asleep, and Killian sharing his life with her — Emma had every intention of doing herself, and Mary-Margaret, and every human being who finds men attractive proud by telling Killian that she thinks about kissing him. Thinks about it a lot. So, she's smart enough to see this moment for what it is: a second chance. Another opportunity to get it right. Because Killian wouldn’t be leading her like this simply to reveal his thoughts were muddled with — fuck, she doesn’t know — whether or not he should finally bump Russian Doll to the top of his Netflix queue.

(He should, by the way, but that isn’t the point. The point is, he’s trying to lead her somewhere and she has to decide if she’s going to follow.)

She sets her mug down and takes a deep breath. “Tell me?” She doesn't mean for it to come out like a question.

“Emma,” he says, leaning in and resting a hand on her hip. “It’s you.”

Now, here’s the thing. Nothing in Emma’s life has ever resembled the plot of a romantic comedy. Every time she let herself think — secretly and only in her head and only like three times — “maybe this is my big romance!” it crashes and burns and turns out the guy only looked at her with stars in his eyes because she kinda reminded him of his ex. Until she met Killian. Because no sooner does he whisper the words “it’s you” — and holy shit that is some Mr. Darcy level stuff — her son comes crashing into the room, dressed for ice skating and holding his jacket. Then he’s tugging on Killian’s sleeve and telling him he has to play Smash Brothers with him because he’s been practicing and he’s finally going to beat him but he’s only got fifteen minutes left to prove it.

Killian looks at her, a little helplessly as Henry drags him away. She smiles to reassure him it’s okay. They’ll get to talk soon. Right? At least that’s what she keeps telling herself as she gets into her running clothes and laces her sneakers.

“Henry,” she says, walking out of her room. “Time to go kiddo. I told Avery’s mom we’d be there in 10 minutes.” Henry must be losing to Killian. It’s the only explanation for why he so readily sets the controller aside.

“See ya later, Killian,” he says, and tackle side hugs Killian before sprinting for the door.

Emma grabs him by the hood of his jacket and pulls him back before he can bolt for the door. “Henry. Gloves.” She gestures to the coffee table where they’re waiting for him.

“Oh, right.”

As they walk out of the building, Emma is trying so hard to listen to Henry’s enthusiastic play by play of the game he just played with Killian but all she can think of is the fact that Killian is in her apartment. Waiting there for the electrician (and her?). Sitting there on her couch. Unless the electrician arrives while she’s on her run he’ll be there when she returns. What is she going to say? How do they even pickup that conversation?

It’s this state of distraction that she blames for missing the patch of ice on the sidewalk outside their apartment. She slips and lands hard not even certain of what happened.

“Mom!” Henry shouts, immediately at her side.

“I’m okay, sweetie,” she grits out, trying to catch her breath. “I just slipped.” Except for when Henry tries to help her up her knee buckles and pain shoots up her leg. Shit. She sits on the sidewalk and takes a deep breath, not wanting to scare Henry.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Can you do me a favor, bud?” She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the contacts. “Talk to Killian and ask him to come down, okay?” Maybe she should be the one to call but she kind of feels like crying and needs a second to gather herself. To focus on not bursting into tears from shock and pain.

After Henry hangs up — “Killian come quick! Mom fell!” — Emma steels herself and calls Avery’s mom to explains what happened. Thankfully she tells Emma they’ll just swing by and pick Henry up, no problem.

Killian comes running outside, not even wearing a jacket the idiot, as she hangs up with Avery’s mom. Emma has to stop him from picking her up and bringing her inside immediately.

Her whole body shivers; the sidewalk absolutely icy and freezing. “We need to wait with Henry,” she tells him.

Once Henry leaves, Emma reassuring everyone she’ll be just fine, Killian helps her up. He wraps her arm around his shoulder and she leans into him as he takes her weight and walks her inside. It’s amazing how being in pain can zap all sexual tension from an encounter because Emma isn’t thinking about Killian with his hand on her hip in the kitchen. Not at all. All she's thinking about is how nice he is, and how thankful she was that he was there to help and, okay, fine, maybe being in pain can only zap 80% of the sexual tension. Still. That’s a lot less sexual tension.

Once back in her apartment Killian settles her in the armchair and props her leg up on the ottoman. He buzzes around, bringing her water and ibuprofen, and then asks to see her ankle. She supposes this is kind of his area, so she nods and does her best to hold in a wince as he removes her shoe and sock. He moves her ankle gently from side to side and she braces herself for the pain but it actually isn’t that bad. Until he presses on a spot at the top of her foot and —

“Holy shit that hurts!,” she exclaims.

“Good news is it’s not broken.”

“Feels broken to me.”

“Probably just a really bad sprain but I can take you to get an x-ray if you want.”

“Or?”

“Or I collect some supplies from my apartment and I’ll wrap it myself.”

“That option is free?” she asks. Killian nods. “I choose that.”

“Keep this elevated.” Before he leaves for his apartment, he notices her struggle to get her other shoe off. He sighs affectionately, unlacing her shoe and setting it aside. Without asking he reaches for a blanket on the sofa, one he used the night before, and lays it over her lap. “Back in five minutes.”

The moment the door closes behind Killian tears spring to the corner of her eyes. Yes, Emma’s in pain, the ibuprofen not quite kicking in yet as she feels her ankle throb. And, yes, her butt is a little cold, but that doesn’t really explain why she starts to cry. These past couple of days have just been a lot. In a really great way, but it’s still a lot.

The tears must be something Killian notices when he gets back because in a flash he crouches in front of her, resting a hand on her uninjured ankle. “Hey now, what’s this?”

She shakes her head, not really sure how to explain. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

His raised eyebrow and tightly drawn mouth indicate he doesn’t believe her, but as she dabs her eyes with her sleeve, he takes to unpacking the supplies he brought over. The truth is that it’s not nothing; more like it's everything. It’s that his apartment is down the hall and when she demanded he come stay with her and Henry he could have refused, or used his spare key to stay at his brother’s, but he didn’t. And that while she has yet to hear an explanation concerning his “it’s you” statement, she has a feeling it’s something good. It’s everything to her — the ways both big and small he chooses her and Henry. And it’s only been five-weeks but she wants more. She want more weeks.

He wraps her ankle up then fits her to the pair of crutches he brought over. As he helps her stand, she stumbles and accidentally puts pressure on her ankle. She hisses at the sudden pain, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Careful, Emma,” he says, running a hand up and down her back in comfort. She looks up at him; his eyes are all soft and concerned. “You okay?”

It’s you, too, she wants to say. I don’t know how or why, or even what it means, but it’s you. She nods. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

New Year’s Eve Or, the holiday where Killian meets the ex

“So tell me about this party, Sir Henry.”

Killian’s noticed that when Henry has a lot to say, he has a habit of taking a deep breath and then clenching his fists at his side. It's like Henry’s little body is bracing itself for an onslaught of enthusiasm. “Well,” Henry says, fists clenched, “Aunt Mary-Margaret and Uncle David have this big farmhouse that is so cool and my friend Roland and his dad, and my other friend Violet and her dad, and my other friend Gideon and his mom, are all coming over too and we’re having a big party. And then after we eat so much food, we’re going to play sardines inside with all the lights off, and then after that we’re having a campfire out back, and then after that…”

Killian does his best to listen — really, he does — Henry’s enthusiasm is genuinely delightful so it isn’t hard to be interested. Usually. It’s just that as Henry is talking Emma walks out of her room dressed for the evening in a tight black dress and he kind of loses his head a bit. Actually finds himself staring at her, which he only realizes when she catches his gaze and smiles.

“Breathe, kid,” she says, breaking their stare. “Your aunt texted and said they’ll be here in five minutes. Got all your stuff?”

“Yup!”

“Go get your shoes on, then.” Henry runs off and Killian watches as Emma inspects Henry’s pile of belongings, confirming to her own satisfaction that Henry won’t be without a change of clothes or toothbrush.

“This party sounds fun, Swan. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend time with your friends and boy there?”

“Nope. We’re going to Ruby and Mulan’s, and we’re dancing until at least 1:00 AM because that’s when they bring out the dancing snacks.”

“Dancing snacks?”

“Donuts and coffee for the drive home. It’s the best.” He’s about to point out that there exists these wonderful things called donut shops that allows one to purchase a donut and coffee at a time that is not 1:00 AM, but her phone rings.

Emma halts her process of shutting off lights in the kitchen to answer.

“Hey Rubes.” As Ruby talks, Emma refreshes her lipstick in the hallway mirror. She pauses the action, groaning in aggravation at something Ruby says. “Seriously?! Can’t you be total dicks and tell them to leave? Since when? Fine! Be good people! Yeah, we’ll be there in about thirty.”

Emma hangs up and Killian tries not to laugh at Emma’s quietly muttered, “Well, shit.” She told him a few weeks ago her resolve to never swear in front of Henry gets a little weaker with each passing year.

“What was that, love?”

“Apparently the sister of one of Ruby’s co-workers invited herself to the party — much to everyone’s annoyance because Zelena is apparently awful — and then proceeded to be even more awful by bringing along her new boyfriend who, pause for dramatic effect, happens to be my ex.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she says, finishing her lipstick and dropping the tube into her purse. “And Walsh being Walsh, he’s too much of a —” Emma trails off, her eyes darting down the hallway to see if Henry is coming — “fucking narcissistic dickhole to leave once he realized whose house he was at. I know he’s only staying to drink booze and leer at me when I show up alone. Sure, he’s the one who got drunk one night and cheated on me, but I’m the one who is going to have to deal with him.”

“But you’re not showing up alone.”

“Yeah, but you’re my friend date. Not my date date.”

Killian’s heart clenches a little at that entirely accurate explanation.

Hard to believe it was only five days prior that he and Emma were seemingly on the emotional precipice of — well, something. He’s not entirely sure what, because first Henry interrupted their conversation, then Emma sprained her ankle, and then, as he was in the midst of applying his physical therapy degree in perhaps the most important context of his entire life, the electrician called to say he arrived. The man spent several hours trying to undo what Killian did, and then Emma called and asked him to pick up Thai takeout for a late lunch, and before he knew it, Henry was back from ice skating, and Emma was asleep on the couch with a bowl of Phad Thai balanced on her chest.

So, her assessment is correct. Right now they are friends and this is not a date date. Though he wishes it was, and he is certain all it would take is an uninterrupted moment for him and Emma to find that bit of magic again. He’s also convinced that Emma in her dress — black, and short, and lacy, with long sleeves and a neckline that is both wonderful and tempting — is a bit of magic in and of itself.

David texts Emma that they’ve arrived, and Emma and Henry both get bundled up to meet them outside. Killian grabs Henry’s piles of belongings and they’re out the door.

Emma has this whole theory that with surge pricing likely in effect all night, it would be wildly irresponsible to take an Uber to and from Ruby and Mulan’s house. Killian vetoes her theory with his medical opinion that as her PT, it would be wildly irresponsible to allow someone who sprained their ankle a week ago to walk a mile in high heeled boots. She scowls but he requests the Uber anyway. Fuck, he must be far gone because even her scowl is starting to feel like a kind of magic.

As the night goes on, Killian discovers that the problem isn’t if he should confess his feelings but rather what feeling he should confess to first. He watches Emma run in and hug Ruby and Mulan and thinks “I should confess how her smile makes everything better.” When he discovers one of his co-workers is also at the party, apparently a regular at the diner Ruby owns, Emma is kind, and warm, and eager to get to know the man, and Killian thinks “I should confess that my days don’t quite feel real until I am able to talk them over with her.” And then there’s the confession he’s been concealing for well over a month: that he wants to kiss Emma, and he wants to kiss her a lot.

Turns out Emma has a confession of her own to make. Well, not so much a confession as a bald-faced lie.

Killian and Emma are in the middle of a rather heated debate with a couple they’ve just met about the best claymation Christmas movie when a supercilious voice interrupts their conversation, seemingly not caring about a lack of courtesy.

“Isn’t this a festive coincidence? Us being at the same party?” Emma clenches her jaw at the voice and plasters on the brightest smile he thinks he’s ever seen. It screams false, false, false. She turns around to greet the man.

“Walsh,” she says, and then extends her hand to the woman who must be Zelana. “I’m Emma.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she responds, ignoring the hand. Zelena looks at Walsh, the two of them laughing at some shared joke.

“Seriously, Ems, what are the odds?” he asks.

“Well, seeing as Ruby and Mulan are my friends, the chances of me being here were pretty high. I don’t even know how to calculate the odds of you showing up. Nor do I really care to,” she shrugs.

Killian chuckles at that, bumping Emma with his hip in what he hopes is a dual gesture of both affection and camaraderie. I’m here for you, he wants the gesture to mean. It also has the effect of catching the attention of both Walsh and Zelena.

“Emma,” Walsh says condescendingly. “You didn’t introduce us to your friend.” The emphasis on the word friend is mocking. Like, “look at me with my girlfriend, and here you are with just your regular old friend.” Killian hates this guy.

But, because he likes to think himself a gentleman, he extends a hand in greeting. “Killian Jones,” he says. “Emma’s —”

“Fiancé,” she cuts in almost immediately. Emma wraps her hands around his arm, snuggling into his side. “This is my fiancé.”

“Oh,” says Walsh, glaring. Killian doubts he’s jealous as much as he’s mad Emma’s potentially happy.

“But where is your riiiing?” Zelena simpers. Killian didn’t know the word ‘ring’ had quite that many syllables. “Could you not afford one?” He's decided he hates her, too.

“Oh,” Emma says, voice quiet. “Well —”

Fine. If they’re going to do this… “It’s at the jewelers. Being resized. It was my mum’s ring, and a little large for Emma I’m afraid.”

“Right,” Walsh frowns. “How did the two of you meet?”

“Neighbors,” Emma practically shouts. “We are neighbors. And that’s how we met.”

“Rather ordinary,” Zelena says, sounding bored.

“Well, the sex is great, so…” Emma trails off and Killian almost chokes. Her expression makes him want to laugh — she apparently took herself by surprise with that one. It’s like she can hear herself saying the words and would like to be able to stop saying them, but can’t.

He would never want Emma to think she caused him any distress. They’ll surely talk about the whole fiancé thing, but he’s been hoping all night for a magic opportunity to appear and maybe, he thinks, it’s time to make some magic of his own.

“Truth is,” he says, “I knew Emma was the one for me months before we actually met.” He looks down at her. “I know you’re sick of this story, love, but mind if I tell it once more?” She shakes her head, eyes wide and questioning, and he turns back to Zelena and Walsh. Walsh, who it must be said, looks like he’s sucked on something sour. Killian wasn't sure he'd ever confess this to Emma, but here they are.

“My first glimpse of Emma was in our apartment lobby. Henry must have been at a sleepover of some sort, because Emma was coming home at the early hours of the morning with her sister and friend, stumbling into the lobby clearly drunk and laughing. Then Emma shouted 'we should race!' and someone else said the loser had to make breakfast and no sooner did the words ‘ready’ come out of her sister’s mouth, than Emma took off her shoes and sprinted for the stairs.” He looks down at Emma and notices a rather stunned expression on her face. He hopes it's a good kind of stunned. Might as well keep going. “I think someone called her a cheater and Emma called them sore losers and she was up the staircase, and certainly to her apartment before the two of them even managed to stumble to the elevator. And I remember thinking to myself ‘this woman is amazing.’ We met officially in the laundry room a couple months later and she’s confirmed that thought every day hence.”

He feels that sizzle in the air, of hope and possibility and one of Emma’s hands leaves his arm to slide around his back, squeezing his waist gently. She turns into him further, away from Walsh and Zelena. When he looks down, she leans up and kisses him, soft and delicate on the corner of his mouth.

Walsh coughs, and Zelena says something he immediately opts to ignore. Magic.

“Killian,” she whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Emma, you have to come take shots with us!” And man, Killian likes Ruby a lot but her timing is on par with Henry’s. Ruby is wearing heels that must be at least four inches high and as she approaches their little circle, wedging herself in close to Walsh, she stumbles. It feels like it starts to happen in slow motion but then all of sudden it's over: the bright red cocktail in Ruby's hand sloshes over the edge of the glass and douses Walsh in what Killian hopes is something both sticky and impossible to get out.

“Fuck,” he shouts, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. “This is Tom Ford.”

Ruby holds her hands up and shrugs. “Oops.” She crouches down to be at eye level with the stain. “Sorry, Mr. Ford,” she says, slurring the words.

Walsh storms off and Zelena follows. They furiously grab their coats from the hook and leave, silencing the crowd with their ire. As soon as the door slams the strained silence in the room breaks, and Ruby turns to him and Emma with a big smile. “Happy New Year, guys!” Miraculously sober once more.

“Ruby,” Emma scolds, not sounding the least bit upset. “You are ridiculous!”

“Excuse you, I tripped.”

“Why didn't you 'trip' two hours ago when Walsh first showed up?”

“I could have,” Ruby says, "but it was so satisfying to watch it happen, wasn’t it?”

Emma looks like she wants to maintain her indignation, but then Killian bursts into laughter, and Ruby grins with unfiltered pride at her accomplishment.

Just as Killian is plotting as to how he and Emma can escape next — (she only kissed him about two minutes ago but it feels like it’s been a lifetime; why is it the second he manages to make a little magic the universe appears dead set upon stealing the moment from him and Emma?) — Ruby tells them “Ems, I wasn’t joking about shots. I need you.”

She looks over to Killian, her brow furrowed. “Actually, Ruby, I need to —”

“Go on, Swan,” he reassures, “I’ll be here.”

Ruby pulls Emma away, no further conversation, Mulan whooping loudly as they get closer. Was that a mistake? Or should he have followed them? What is he even doing? He has no strategy when it comes to Emma. He has no plan; only an intended end goal. Which is her in his life for as long as possible. Ideally with more kissing. Why has he been wasting all this time? He should have asked her out the second she and Henry brought him toffee almond bark.

He pours himself a glass of whiskey from the liquor cart in the living room and then escapes to the back porch, sipping on the drink, cheersing the smokers out there as they all make small talk. Ruby slides the door open a few minutes later. “Come inside future emphysemiacs of the world, the countdown is starting in one minute.”

At Ruby’s commanding tone, everyone tamps out their cigarettes or ceases vaping and moves inside. But Killian stays where he is. He’s too much of a romantic for a New Year’s Eve countdown. The strike of midnight without a kiss from Emma just might break his heart.

The door to the patio opens again, noise swelling as he hears a few people start the countdown with a loud “60! 59! 58!”

“Ruby, I’ll be right in.”

The door closes. “Not Ruby.”

At the sound of Emma’s voice, every nerve ending in his body starts firing. Heart beating wildly. Palms sweating. And he’s either halfway to being in love with this woman or he’s about to throw up.

He looks at her, and her smile is open and warm. He can’t help but smile back. “Emma.”

“Some party, huh?” she asks, standing beside him, forearms resting on the banister. Neither one of them are wearing jackets, and her sleeves might be long but they’re all lace. There’s no way they’ll last out here long.

“Yeah.”

She looks at him. “I feel like I should apologize for the whole fiancé thing. But —” she trails off.

“But?” he asks.

“I’m actually a little more interested in that story you told Walsh.”

His heart isn’t possibly beating loud enough for her to hear. Right? That noise is all in his head?

“What about it?”

“Was it true?”

Somewhere distantly he hears the group inside continue their countdown, now hitting “34! 33! 32!” and getting louder with each number.

“Yeah. The first time I saw you was in the lobby of the building.”

She immediately shakes her head, appearing almost angry at him. “No. Not that part. I remember that night with Mary-Margaret and Elsa. The other part. The part about me. About knowing —” A shiver runs through her. He can see the goosebumps on her skin, and yet she persists. “About me, and knowing that —”

“Of course it’s true, Emma. I wouldn’t make that up.”

Then Emma does the last thing he expects and punches him in the shoulder. Not hard enough to injure him but it’s surprising enough that it hurts. “Ouch!” he says, rubbing the spot she hit. “What was that?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Are you saying I should have?”

“Well, obviously.” She clenches her fists, and huffs out an aggravated breath. “I don’t make eyes, Killian. Okay?” She doesn’t punch him, but she does sort of push his shoulder. “I am not a make eyes person.” And she pushes him again. “Got it?”

“God, woman, would you stop shoving me?”

“No, because you are an idiot.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No. And are you listening to me? I DON’T MAKE EYES.”

“Okay, fine!” They’re almost shouting now, but he can still make out the “10! 9! 8!” from inside the apartment. “You don’t make eyes! I read you!”

“I don’t make eyes,” she says, for the fourth time, a little quieter but no less emphatic. “Except I do make eyes at you. Pretty much from the first moment I met you.”

What? Her words take a moment to register, and then all he manages to say is, “Oh.”

Emma is having a harder time keeping in her shivers now. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest and there’s something about seeing that which springs him into action. He steps closer and runs his hands over her arms, hoping to bring some warmth to her skin.

The group inside bursts into a jubilant shout of “Happy New Year!” and he has apparently been making eyes at him. This whole time.

“Oh,” he says again.

“Yeah.”

New Year’s Day Or, the holiday where Emma and Killian make magic

Emma is tempted to go inside for two reasons: one, to get out of the cold because sheesh, and two to text Mary-Margaret to inform her “I did the brave thing and all he did was say ‘oh.’ Twice!”

But something about the way Killian said ‘oh’ the second time and the way he looks at her now has her rooted in place. He’s running his hands up and down her arms to help warm her up. It feels better than anything has the right to.

“Happy new year, Emma,” he says. She hears the slight shake in his voice. Is he nervous, too? She kind of hopes so.

“Killian,” she says, and takes a small step closer. And, shit, she really hopes she’s not misreading his signals here. “Kiss me.”

For a fraction of a second Killian’s hands still entirely and then his brain seems to take over. One hand snakes around to her waist and he grabs her, bringing their bodies flush, and the other goes up to the nape of her neck. Killian’s thumb and forefinger are doing this massage thing which is utterly divine, and — Oh, she thinks, we’re kissing now.

It isn’t something she’s actively thought about — the logistics of kissing Killian — but that seems to be okay because her body is charged and humming in a way she’s never experienced before. She is suddenly struck by the sensation that she does not have enough hands. She tangles a hand in his hair, grabbing a fistful and earning her a grunt from Killian, which makes her want to do it again. But if her hand is in his hair then she can’t run it up and down the planes of his back and that’s a shame. So, she does that. But, she finds, if both hands are feeling the corded muscles of his back, then she can’t feel the firmness of his arms, which is a crime against the world. And if she’s gripping his biceps, then she can’t get a handful of what she has always suspected, and has now been able to confirm, is a phenomenal ass. It’s a problem scientists should dedicate the rest of their lifetimes to solving — too much Killian and not enough hands.

Killian runs his tongue along the seam of her lips and the sensation is so overwhelming she has to take a second, pulling away with a gasp. Only now they're too far away from on another so she wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead to his. She keeps her eyes closed, wanting to savor the everything of the moment for another second.

“Emma,” he says.

She smiles, and opens her eyes only long enough to kiss him again, sweetly on the lips before nuzzling into his the space between his neck and shoulder. Either she's aggravated her ankle or something about Killian is affecting her because she's having trouble standing.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her once more, and yes! This is significantly warmer than the rubbing of arms things. They should have been doing this the whole time. The kissing is so much warmer.

“Emma,” he repeats.

“Hmm?” she doesn’t feel like she can actually say full words. Maybe it’s the not saying of full words that’s allowing her to feel this warm (also, made her something called a snowball shot and it was minty and wonderful and that might also be contributing to the warm feeling).

“How committed are you to this hanging around for donuts and coffee thing?”

“Why? You have a better offer?”

“I could make you hot chocolate,” he says.

“And?”

“That’s not enough?”

She smiles, opens her eyes and shakes her head at him. “Coffee and donuts. That is a beverage and a snack. You offered only a beverage.”

“Counteroffer: I steal a box of donuts from Ruby and Mulan’s kitchen and we bring them back to your place.”

“Now you’re talking.” Their plan is to get bundled up in their outerwear, say their goodbyes and then grab the donuts, but it all goes to hell when Ruby asks Emma why she’s being weird and in response she shouts “I kissed Killian and I’m stealing your donuts!” She grabs a box and runs. As they try to make their getaway Ruby’s shouts at them from the front door. “I’m sending you a request on Venmo! Donuts are for non-horny guests who stay for dancing!”

Safely tucked into their Uber (she asked about the true horror of surge pricing and Killian refused to answer), Emma finds herself fixated on the red glint of Killian’s stubble under the passing glow of streetlights. He swallows a few times as she runs her finger along the line of his jaw.

“Killian? Has your heater been working okay?”

He nods. “Right as rain.”

“Oh,” she says, disappointed. “Well, if it ever stopped working, you could stay at my place again.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he holds in a smile, and she really wants to bite his neck but she also doesn’t want to negatively impact Killian’s Uber rating. “Is that so?”

“Just being neighborly.”

“Obviously.”

The rest of the ride to their apartment complex is wonderful, with the touching, and the smiling, and the knowing that she has a box of contraband donuts, but she wants more.

As soon as they get out of the car, Killian takes Emma’s hand but she stays where she is and pulls him back to her.

“I changed my mind,” she says. He looks uncertain, and she rushes to explain. “You should stay at my apartment even if your heat is working.”

“Well that sounds grand,” Killian says, his voice low.

“Well good,” she says, and that’s when inspiration strikes. Once in the lobby, she unzips her ankle boots and holds them out for Killian to take. “Trade you boots for donuts?”

“Deal,” he says.

“So.”

“Who would have thought, huh?”

“What?” he asks.

“I mean, who would have though that me calling you a sick fuck on Thanksgiving would lead to us fucking on New Year’s Day? Crazy, right?” She asks the rather audacious question in as casual a tone as possible. Killian looks a little dazed and Emma leans up to kiss him again, smiling as their lips meet.

“I —” he sputters.

“Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Loser makes breakfast in the morning,” she says, and then she’s running through the lobby, clutching the donuts to her chest.

Killian’s laughter chasing her up the stairs is magic.

#cssecretsanta2k19 #captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan ff #emma x killian #p: emma x killian #c: emma swan #c: killian jones #hollyethecurious #never stories

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