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loquaciousquark · 4 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Redux! Oct. 13, 2020)

Gooooood evening good evening good evening, all! I started the VOD late for this recap and somehow the first four or so minutes of the show have a Twitch audio copyright claim, so I am reduced to only reading Brian's lips when he asks if we're on the internet. Hilariously, Marisha's background room is a comfy-looking blue/gold fabric wall with a ceramic colorful abstract lamp and a yellow silk scarf over the lampshade, and Taliesin's is an industrial looking games room in grey and black with multiple monitors, overhead speakers, and mysterious metal fixtures behind him. What a treasure this group is, honestly.

Tonight's guests: Marisha Ray & Taliesin Jaffe, discussing episodes 110 and 111 again. I wildly speculate once more about what might have caused their absence: jury duty? Sam appearing on The Masked Singer? Something to do with the animated show? One day, we’ll know, one day... (One day this “copyrighted audio” section will come back from the wars, too. Ugh!) Finally! The audio comes back to reveal Brian discussing the endless reality of digital meetings and Marisha talking about (I think) her glare-reducing glasses she’s wearing. Welcome to the New Age (welcome to the New Age, to the New Age).

Announcements: Marisha suggests checking out Dimension20, another live tabletop gaming group, which premieres live on Wednesdays at 4pm (CollegeHumor).

Brian immediately wants to know how they feel about the revelation that Molly is alive. Taliesin’s personal reaction: he “knows some things” he can’t talk about and is aware of several possibilities that might be going on, but had a sneaking suspicion that there would not be a body for them to find. He says it’s almost all there for anyone to see in past material. Marisha’s personal reaction: she just wants to know how she’s doing with her theories, & was trying to block Tal’s face out deliberately as she was going off on her theories in the last episode. Taliesin says he thought her ideas were pretty good!

Cad has no clue what to think - it’s like listening to your friends talk about Buffy. Marisha thought it was a 50/50 Molly would still be there, but Beau had no idea. Not that it mattered, because as soon as Matt went through with it the reveal still blew their minds. Tal laid out his plans for the character with Matt during Campaign One (towards the end) after they all got their VM tattoos.

It is a “horrifying and gross” thing to dig up a body, and Beau was pretty reluctant to do it. Tal, as Cad: “Sometimes dead’s better.” The moral quandary of trying to speak with a dead friend was very different here than the frequent occasions they used the spell in C1.

Taliesin says his poker face is very bad, so it’s easier for him to over-react and let it all play out. The only other player he can see very easily from his place in their current setup is Travis, and because he knows Travis doesn’t watch TM, tweet, or participate in social media, he admits he thoroughly enjoyed watching Travis freak out at his freaking out. He says he only knew about 20% of what Matt described at the end of that episode. He was picking things to mug to increase Travis’s surprise. I love this so much.

Taliesin provided the table left leg shake; Travis provided table right. Ha!

Beau is really accepting her role in the Cobalt Soul. It’s good when “as a person, you feel like you can settle into your calling. Sometimes you can do more from the inside than fighting from the outside.” It’s a mirrored but opposite path of Keyleth from C1; Beau felt like she was too good for her duty, while Keyleth thought she wasn’t good enough.

Caduceus is not a big believer in jumping to conclusions. He does have an idea/notion of the “city of the undead” and thinks all this necrotic energy must come from somewhere, and wonders if this is the “capital of anti-death.” He’s willing to believe whatever he sees. This is one of the few things that trigger a bit of loathing and disgust in him. It was terrifying that the Wildmother didn’t know anything.

Beau is pretty confident in her Charlie Day impression laying-out-the-research last episode. She enjoyed taking the things that were known & extrapolating around them; this is a huge facet of Marisha’s own personality and she really enjoys it, so she built a character this time that would allow that kind of puzzle-solving. It’s also why she repeatedly notes when Beau journals, so she can avoid metagaming. Trent’s mention of Vess Durogna’s tomb raiding was completely circumstantial, and the only reason she’d made the connection to the Tombtakers was because she’d recently reviewed those notes for a separate unannounced project. Sometimes she tries to make connections and Matt is like, “It was...just descriptive. Just flavor. The curtains were red...” and she has to discard a paragraph of notes. She feels like it’s still something they have to do because of “look at what he does! Look! It’s totally valid!”

Cosplay of the Week: @kitsunstudios with a gorgeous Caduceus with a very intricate silk vest.

Caduceus’s takedown of Trent! One of my favorite moments in the entirety of C2. Taliesin felt Trent was an asshole; Caduceus felt sorry for him because of how dumb he thought he was. Caduceus’s response was "this is the dumbest man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s so dumb! Is nobody going to tell this guy how dumb he is? Oh, they’re all freaked out. Somebody needs to tell this guy he’s an idiot before somebody gets hurt.” (Marisha: “Before?”) Tal says it was the product of several years of therapy and many drunk conversations with Whitney Moore. It was from a genuine place of concern from Caduceus. “How are you allowed to have this much power and be that dumb?”

Brian loved how funny it was to watch everyone tiptoe around Trent and then Caduceus bulldoze through the end of the meal.

Taliesin: “Damage doesn’t make you interesting or better. It’s not what makes you good. Character isn’t found in damage. Just recovery.”

Brian & Marisha commiserate going through the stage where believing surviving something automatically made you a stronger person, better for the pain; instead it just meant you had to pick up the pieces after. Marisha talks about how strength through survival may be true for some people, but it shouldn’t be considered a necessity. Taliesin talks about how he used to think he had to be miserable to write. Brian talks about how believing he liked reading and writing miserable things only limited him for years.

Marisha feels it’s a C2 theme that almost all the PCs have someone trying to handwave or take credit for their accomplishments or explain their pain as being for their own good (Trent, Beau’s dad, Obann). She thinks it’s interesting to see all the various ways people try to take credit for your work/delegitimize you as a person. She loves that RPGs allow you to explore these odd moralities in interesting ways. The only way to fight it is to have a sense of your own self-worth, which is a problem a lot of the M9 started with.

Caduceus likes everyone, and really likes people who appear to need role models (Eodwulf). “With the right friends and the right bar and the right attitude, I think he’d be okay. Come over here where it’s so much better. That seems like an exhausting friendship that you have there.”

Marisha loves the mix of personalities in the M9; Veth, Cad, & Jester were all “we kind of like them!” after the dinner, and she immediately made eye contact with Travis and they both shook their heads. She knows Beau has to go along with it for Caleb’s sake for now, but she & Fjord are pretty sus of Trent’s proteges.

Beau is less concerned about Artagan’s relationship to Jester because “he showed his ass--she’s less worried about Jester now because a little of the magic is gone.” It’s a little like becoming an adult and realizing your parents are also just adults & human. Caduceus wasn’t suspicious of the Traveler for a long time until they got to the island. Aside: Taliesin loves the pantheon in D&D. “The notion of attempting to apply common Western conceptions of religion to a world where you have a pantheon of interventionist gods as baseline makes no sense to me. Everyone admits that every other god is there and doing shit; it has more in common with ancient Rome than anything else.” Now that he knows it was a con, he feels the wind had been taken out of it. He does have a sense that Jester’s gotten back together with an ex: “I hope that I’m really happy for you.” They’re both interested to see how Jester navigates the new relationship.

My internet goes out, of course. I panic for a second, thinking I’ve lost everything above, but all is well! Thanks, Form History Control addon!

Marisha loved punching Artagan, but regretting rolling so poorly. “I miss violence.” Dani lets us know it’s been about four episodes since the last battle.

There’s no way the Cobalt Reserve doesn’t have a single document on the Eyes of Nine. Beau believes “there are no real secrets” because people are just bad at not writing things down. For there to be no information at all seems really suspicious for her.

Fanart of the Week: @oddalchemist on twitter with some awesome Beau conspiracy red-thread boards overlaid a distant shadowy Molly walking away.

Caduceus feels a little guilty for really enjoying his time right now with the M9 and not wanting to go home. He’s starting to suspect that he’s going to go home very different than when he left. “He has the softest problems. I don’t know if I want to move back in with Mom & Dad.”

Beau is trying to get comfortable with the idea of being happy. Jester is probably Beau’s first real best friend & one of the first healthy female friendships she’s ever had. As long as she still has Jester in her life, she doesn’t care. For Yasha... “At the end of the day, Beau is a lonely person and has always been a lonely person. And I think you kinda reach this point where once you’re not lonely anymore, you can kind of come out of the fog and realize that was horrible! And terrifying! And is even more terrifying now that I know what I could have, and I don’t want to go back to that. At the end of the day Beau doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. There’s always been that flirtation with Yasha, but everyone had to figure their own shit out. And now it feels like it’s coming out a little bit of that haze, maybe this actually could be...” There are a lot of ways they complement each other & are good-different from each other. Marisha believes people can be attracted to more than person at once.

Caduceus doesn’t think nature turned against him on Rumblecusp, it was just a reality of nature being dangerous and violent. “He has a complex relationship with nature.” He doesn’t expect special treatment.

Thoughts on the mansion: “Man, it’s nice to be seen.” Marisha: “I don’t know how I ended up becoming the Scanlan of this campaign, but I’m living for it.” It felt like an echo of “I’m better for having known you.” They compare Marisha taking specific notes on the campaign to Liam taking specific notes on people’s favorite tapestries, comics, etc.

They talk about missing theme parks and daydream a park version of the mansion in CritRoleLand. It’s lovely.

Taliesin never expected Divine Intervention to work; he just wanted to roll some dice. He’s still processing what he saw/heard. They all agree it was very useful in the Vokodo fight.

Vilya! Marisha: “Ah! Ah! Ah!” As a player, Marisha was so deep in Beau’s eyes she didn’t pick up it was Vilya at first (especially since Matt really emphasized they should not be looking for C1 NPCs). Marisha’s brain melted. She bawled her eyes out on the ride home after that episode. Right after it ended, Laura told Marisha “Keyleth finally gets her happy ending,” and it makes Marisha emotional again since Keyleth’s story ended so bittersweetly. She talks about the very real feelings of “just wanting them to be happy, though!” She went back and listened to all her old Keyleth playlists. Everyone was teary after the episode. “Everyone has these 100% real memories of being these characters and having these good times.”

And that’s that for that! Thanks for your patience, all, and is it Thursday yet?

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long post for ts

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chubbybuckydumpling · 3 years

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A Daughter’s Tale

words: 3.6k

pairing: Bruce Banner x desi!daughter!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, people being in love, Valentine’s Day

A/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! I hope everyone enjoys this and has an incredible day. This is part 2 to A Doctor’s Tale

My Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Your hand hits the edge of the pool and you push your head up to gasp for air. The wet hair clings to your head, some droplets of water rolling down your forehead. Your chest moves in time with the heavy breaths you take in, the tight nylon adjusting to your body. The daily morning swims quickly became part of your routine. It wakes you up and helps you relax before your busy schedule sets in.

You’ve come to enjoy living with your father in the tower, but you spend most of the time studying or working next to Bruce in his lab. Tony’s equipment is far superior than your own devices back in Kolkata and yet your father keeps reminding you how impressed he is with you and how proud he is - all the things he couldn’t say in the past decade and a half.

You don’t really interact with the rest of the Avengers. You’ve met them, of course, but they make you feel shy. They’ve saved the world multiple times, it’s intimidating. Most of your days are spent with Tony, Natasha or your father. They worry about you, but you’re mostly fine.

The water sloshes against the tiles when you heave yourself out of the pool. Your feet pad against the warm floor, leaving little trails of liquid on your path. The soft material of your towel feels nice against your skin, a warmth spreading through your limbs. Your stomach rumbles in yearning for breakfast, the cool air flowing over any exposed skin and leaving goosebumps in its way.

The warm water of the shower relaxes your muscles, hot steams rising through the air. Puddles of shampoo land on the floor as you scrub away to get the chlorine off. The smell of flowers and spices fill the space, a gentle reminder of your childhood. You feel calm when you exit the gym, exercise usually makes you feel good. The elevator doors close, “Good morning, Miss Banner. How was your swim?” You smile at the ceiling, “It was just fine, Thank you F.R.I.D.A.Y”

Once you arrive on the floor your father and you are sharing, the smell of pancakes fills your nose. You trudge into the kitchen to find a stack of the food, a small sticky note next to them. ‘Good morning shona! I hope you’re doing well. I am working on a project with Tony, feel free to step by. Love you, daddy’, it reads. “Aww, dad”, you mumble, smiling while you put his memo into your sweatpants pocket.

The pancakes are fluffy and you can’t help but grin. Bruce has been trying really hard to be a good father, making sure you eat and drink enough, that you’re happy and satisfied. His efforts left you with a light heart and a fluttering feeling in your chest. This is exactly what you have craved all for all these years, you just wished your mother was still alive and with you.

Thinking about her still makes your heart ache and you immediately long for a hug. Tears cloud your vision and you take in a shuddering breath. This sudden sadness makes you go back to the elevator, your father did say you should visit him, right?

The door to the lab is closed, the shimmering, milky glass stopping your vision. You step forward, ready to enter, but the door doesn’t budge. You reach out to open it yourself, but no matter how hard you push, you can’t come in. “Uhm, F.R.I.D.A.Y, why can’t I go in?”, you probe the AI, the confusion obvious on your face. “Mr Stark asked me to lock the doors to the lab, Curious Kitty Protocol”

You raise an eyebrow, Tony’s antics never fail to both fascinate and irritate you. “Well, can you ask if I may enter then?”, your voice taking on a teasing tone. “Will do, Miss Banner”. After about half a minute the door bursts open and you take a step back, hand on your heart, “Gee, dad, what’s wrong with you?”. Bruce’s face is red, forehead sweaty and lips pink. He pants heavily, his chest moving and falling rapidly.

“Uhm, are you okay?”, you question, sounding slightly scared. He holds out a hand, the other one resting on his thighs as if to support his weight. “Daddy?”

“I’m okay”, he gasps, “what’s up, Shona?” This moment Tony turns the corner, equally sweaty as Bruce, but a smirk playing on his lips. “Hey, little miss Banner, come on in, the magical den awaits you”, he bows down, throwing a subtle wink in your direction. To his dismay, you hesitate, making him throw an arm over your shoulders and pulling you inside, “We don’t have all day, hurry up”

Tony pushes you into a chair and dramatically walks up to his desk, his hips swinging with every step. “Tony!”, hisses your father and walks over to you, his eyes shining with worry. “Shona, are you alright?”

In your confusion, you can’t form any words, mouth opening and closing helplessly.

The lab is chaotic, empty mugs littered everywhere and the robots are standing with their faces to the wall.The floor-to-ceiling windows are darkened, leaving the room under a shadowy gloom. A weird smell is lingering in the air, a strange note of pineapple the most noticeable.

“What are you working on?”, you ask the men, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “A project”, Bruce answers quickly, averting his gaze. “What exactly?”, you retort warily. “Top secret, sorry not sorry”, Tony chimes in. He is now sitting on the table, legs dangling through the air carelessly, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Okay?”, a confused whisper leaves you. Whatever is going on is highly suspicious. “Now, why did you come up here?”; Bruce’s voice is much calmer now. “I really wanted a hug, but you look really sweaty and I just took a shower”, you state, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. He pouts at you, fluttering his eyelids, “You don’t want to give your old man a hug?” He spreads his arms for you to fall into, to which you comply. Reluctantly. “Gross”, you mumble.

The air smells like lemon, the air perfume keeping it present, a wish you quickly opened up about when you first arrived here. It reminds you of home. A wave of spice reaches your nose from the kitchen where Bruce is cooking. He has been trying hard to recreate the Indian dishes he remembers. They’re not quite your mum’s cooking, but they’re good. Unique, just like your father.

“What are we having, dad?”, you shout. A heavy chemistry book lies in front of you, the pages filled with exercises. Your father insisted that you continue school. “It’s a surprise. It’ll be delicious, Shona, don’t worry. I’ve got this”, he shouts back, “I hope”, he mumbles afterwards. You smile at your father. Aarohi told you about this, how Bruce often doubts himself even though he is doing just fine. You’ve noticed this quite often, sadly.

“I’m sure you’re doing great, Dad”, you yell in hopes of cheering him up, “I love you!” His reply comes immediately, “I love you too, Shona” Your heart flutters, just like whenever he tells you these words. You’ve missed this for so long and now that you can have it, no matter when or where, it makes you feel giddy.

Time flies by and when you’re next called, dinner is set on the table. “You’ve made Aloo gobi! Oh my, dad, you’re the best, I can’t wait for this”, you smile and run to hug your father. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, a warm feeling filling your body.

The food is delicious and you have to force yourself to eat slowly, “Dad this tastes so good”. The man grins at your words, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “Thank you. I’m glad you like it”. Bruce is twirling around with his fork, not really eating much. “Are you okay?”, you ask, concerned. “I’m fine, don’t worry”, his voice sounds quiet, subdued even, “But we do need to talk after dinner. Nothing bad, don’t worry”.

The rest of the meal is filled with tension, tight and uncomfortable. A flood of worry rummages through your body, fear in your veins. Nothing good ever comes out of a ‘don’t worry’, right? You wipe your hands on your legs, sweat covering the surface, a sign of your nerves that you inherited from your father. Once the food is gone you offer to do the dishes, but Bruce stops you, mentioning he’ll do it later.

The two of you sit on the couch, avoiding eye contact. “So?”, you start in an attempt to overcome the fear, “Are you okay, dad?” He sighs and places a hand on your thigh, “I’m fine, I promise. I just…”, he interrupts himself. His eyes look cloudy. “Promise me that whatever I’m going to tell you, you won’t hate me”. Time seems to still as your fingers twitch anxiously, “What, dad, of course not”

You reach for the hand on your leg and wrap your own around it.”You can tell me anything”, you hope to reassure him. “Okay then, here goes nothing”, he takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes. “You know how Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, right?” You cock your head subconsciously, “Yeah?”

“Well, I have a date”, he says and looks away directly after, his hands really cold. It feels like your head is spinning, his words not registering. You feel your breath quickening and rip your hands away, quickly getting up from the sofa. “What?”, you plead, voice quiet. “Hey, Shona, please calm down, I know this is scary, but-”

“NO!”, you shout, “What about mum? Do you not love her anymore?” Tears are shooting into your eyes as you become more and more upset for every second that goes by. “How could you betray us like that! Don’t you love us?” Bruce gets up as well, his eyes misty too. “Of course I love you and your mother, nothing could ever change that” He reaches for you, but you shy away. “But how can you be with someone when you love mum? That doesn’t make sense!”

A sob wrecks through your body and you hug yourself, turning further away from the man. “Please, don’t say that. I love your mother so much, that will never change. But I can’t control how I feel. You have to understand, please”, his voice sounds pained and it makes your heart ache, but an overwhelming sense of irritation overcomes you and you lose control.

“So you’re just going on a date, huh? Are you trying to forget mum?”, the accusation silences him as the tears continue to flow down your cheeks. You grab a hoodie that lies on the couch and rush to the door. “Please don’t leave”, Bruce whispers and you slow down to a halt.

“I still love you, dad. I just need a minute. I’ll be back soon”, you whisper, not raising your eyes from the floor. Your vision is blurry as you run through the lobby and out the doors. The air is dry and cold, snow piling up on the sidewalk. Its crystal structures are clearly visible, beautiful and unique forms that usually fascinate you leave you feeling blank now.

The freezing temperatures leave you shaking as you mindlessly sprint through the streets. Suddenly you run over a patch of ice and slip. Your arms wave through the air as your body rushes down to the ground. The impact leaves you breathless, pain rushing through your back. You violently close your eyes and curl together into a small ball.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you sob helplessly. The temperature sinks into your flesh and bites at your bones. “Shit”, you whisper, the energy leaving your body as the adrenaline wears off. “Well, what are you doing on the floor, Y/n?”, a voice asks. You turn your head to come face to face with Natasha, her vibrant hair a strong contrast to the snow.

“Nat?”, your voice sounds croaky. “Come on up, I’m bringing you home. Don’t want you to freeze now, huh?”, she speaks softly and begins to heave you up. Her arms are strong and she is warm, so you nuzzle into her chest. “Now, why did you run away into this freezing cold?” You sigh and rub your arms to create some more warmth, “Did you know dad is dating someone?”

“I did”, she replies. You nod and stare at the floor, “It just came as a scare to me, I guess. It hasn’t even been a year since mum died” Her hand glides over your shoulders gently, “I get that. But your father is really struggling too. This hasn’t been easy on him” You shrug, but guilt slowly creeps up on you. “He tried killing himself, you know?”, her voice is careful, but her words shock you, making you stumble.

“What?”, you ask, desperation seeping into your voice. “He felt so guilty for leaving you and your mother, he wasn’t in a good spot. Tony helped him to become better, but Aarohi’s death set him back quite a bit” Tears stream down your face, silent and in agony. “Are you going to talk to him?”, her voice is stern. She seems to care for him a lot. “Yeah”, you mumble, still shocked at her confession.

You spend the rest of the way in silence, words and sentences floating through your head, a repetition of your outburst playing over and over again. You feel shameful at your childish behaviour. You should not have acted that way, that’s not how your mother raised you.

The warmth of the lobby envelopes you and you release a relieved sigh. You didn’t realise just how cold you are. “Nat?”, the woman turns to look at you, her posture as graceful as always. Your voice is raspy, throat hurting slightly, “Do you think mum would be happy for dad?” The woman grins at you and brushes a hand through your hair, “From what I’ve heard? Definitely” Your lips twitch, “Yeah, I think so too”

The woman accompanies you to the elevator and pulls you into a hug, “You’ve got this”, she whispers into your head. You take a deep breath to calm down, a determined glimmer in your eyes. When you enter the floor you find your father hunched over on the couch. Tony sits close next to him, one of his hands rubbing circles over his back.

“Dad?”, you whisper, the nerves crashing back down on you. His head whips around and his eyes find you. They are red like he’s been crying. You figure you look similar. Bruce gets off of the sofa and runs over to you to engulf you in an embrace, “Oh, shona, I was so worried”, he cries, “You’re so cold! Come on, let’s warm you up”

“No, dad, I have to apologise, I totally overreacted.I’m so sorry”, you stutter, voice breaking, “so, so, sorry” Tony coughs in the background, “I’ll fetch you some warm clothes, Y/n”. Your father pulls you even closer, your wet clothes staining his button-down. “It’s fine, Shona. I know this is hard on you” You cry into his chest, tears seeping into his clothes, “That doesn’t give me a reason to yell at you. I’m so sorry”

“I forgive you. I’m just happy you’re back again”, he whimpers. Being in your father’s arms floods you with a comforting calm. “Dad?”, your voice is barely a whisper, “Are you happy? With your date I mean”

Bruce presses a kiss on your head, “I am”, he answers, “I really am”.”That makes me happy too. Do I know them?” A loud sigh leaves his mouth, “You do. And I promise you I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to make sure this works out before I drag you into this”

“You’re scaring me, dad”, you whisper, pulling out of the hug slightly, “Who is it?” Bruce’s big hands grasp your elbows gently, his face swollen from his crying, “It’s Tony” your eyes widen, “You’re dating Tony Stark?” The tone of your voice is unbelieving, as if he told you he is dating Bigfoot. “The one and only, billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist”, the voice of the mentioned man rips you out of your trance and you blink.

Taking a step back, you shake your head in disbelief, “This is insane. For how long has this been going on?”, you question, but then stop, “No, you don’t have to tell me. Really. I’m just glad you’re happy dad”

Bruce smiles at you, the skin near his eyes crinkling. Tony takes a step towards you, some warm and thick clothes in his hands, “You should probably change. I asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to heat up the bathroom for you”. You accept the familiar clothing and force a weak smile on your face, “Thank you, Tones. I’m really exhausted, I’ll probably go right to sleep” Your father hugs you once more, “I love you, Shona”.”I love you too, dad”

Tony was right, the ensuite is comfortably warm, just perfect to thaw your body. The jumper is big and soft, just like the thermo leggings you pull over your legs. You use the loo and brush your teeth before you retreat into the bedroom. Your father is already sitting there and once he sees you he lifts your weighted blanket so you can slip right under. The feel of your bed makes you relax immediately, letting your eyes fall close.

“Shona, you know I could never forget your mother, right? She was an incredible woman, so confident and sure of herself. I always admired that about her. Aarohi was my first love, you know?

Once I saw her, dark circles under her eyes, dirty work clothes and all, I knew that she would be the one for me. And she was, for such a long time. She gave me the best gift I could have ever asked for. You, of course.”, his voice sounds far away.

“And even now that she is gone my heart still beats faster when I think of her. But it does so when I think of Tony too. He doesn’t show it that often, but he is very caring. He helped me through hard times, always staying by my side. A real sweet guy. He takes good care of me”, Bruce smiles, but when he looks down at you, you’re already asleep.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Sleep well, Shona. I love you” With a last loving look he stands up and heads for the door quietly, turning off the light on his way.

“No, you have to dress up a little. Come on, it’s Valentine’s Day”, you sit on Bruce’s bed, giggling at your father who is currently in a horrendous pair of underwear, a half opened button-up on his torso. “At least put on some slacks, a pair of nice suit pants” He turns to you, an anxious look on his face, “I don’t know what to do”

You jump up, gracefully landing on your feet, “Don't worry, daddy, I’ve got you” You eye the closet critically, taking out pieces that you deem worthy, “You’ll look good in blue”. The navy slacks with the matching blazer look expensive, perfect for a date with a billionaire. “Button-up, buttercup”, you tease and present your choice to Bruce.

“I guess I’ll try it on, Thank you, Shona, for everything. My hair has never been this pretty”, his deep voice is already less anxious. “Well, duh”, you retort playfully, “Once you stop sweating it stops being greasy. Now, put on the suit” You point into the direction of the mirror and then skip out of the room.

All of a sudden the elevator door opens and Tony walks in. He wears a dark suit, his typical glasses sat right on his nose, “Good afternoon, kiddo”, he grins, one of his hands holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, “Where’s Daddy-O?” You raise your eyebrows and pretend to widen your collar, “Wardrobe malfunction”, you whisper.

Tony’s mouth takes on an ‘O’-shape and he nods in understanding. He shifts his weight from one foot to another. Is he actually nervous? The sound of footsteps behind you sound through the room and you turn around to see your father come out of the room. The suit hugs his body nicely, almost making him look like he’s glowing with confidence. “Woah, Bruce, you look-”, Tony pauses to gesture at the other man in astonishment, “really handsome”.

“My dad’s a real catch, nothing new”, you chime in, smirking. “Y/n!”, Bruce hisses, but Tony shushes him, smiling, “No she’s right” Bruce walks closer to the man until he holds out the flowers, “For the prettiest man” After saying these words, Tony looks at you, mouthing “You did not see that”, to which you raise your hands in surrender.

Your father takes the bouquet, “I’ll just put them in a vase. Thank you”, But before he can move you snatch the flowers, “I’ll do it, you two head out” Tony smiles at you appreciatively, “You heard the woman, let’s go” Bruce takes the man’s hand with a blush and grins coyly.

“Goodbye, Shona, take care”, he mentions before following his date out the door. “Goodbye, have fun!” Once the lock clicks you put the flowers into some water and smile. This is a weird adjustment, but you’re ready to compromise. Your father has tried everything to make you happy, so you will do the same. And if that means accepting his relationship, you’ll have no problem achieving it.

Taglist in the reblog

My Masterlist

If you’ve liked my writing, please consider leaving a reblog with feedback! It makes me happy and keeps me motivated :)

#Bruce Banner #Bruce Banner x Reader #bruce banner x desi!reader #bruce banner x daughter!reader #bruce banner x daughter #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #hulk #hulk x reader #marvel #mark ruffalo #father!bruce banner #father bruce banner #dad!bruce banner

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years

Text

Honest Love Part 4 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: This part starts off with Cale’s pov. I’m a little stuck writing wise but hopefully as soon as I’m done with my semester in the next couple weeks I’ll get some motivation back to start the next part of this. In the meantime, feel free to let me know what you think. We’re now caught up to the flashback in the finale of Secret Love but not fully caught up just yet.

Warnings: smut, cursing

Word Count: 3,086

~~~~~~

Cale was dead tired as he slipped his key into the lock of his apartment door. Road losses were always tough and he was looking forward to changing out of his suit before crawling into bed with his girlfriend. It was crazy how much he missed the scent of her shampoo and the way her body fit against his, crazy how he’d ever been able to survive coming home to an empty bed when now he couldn’t even fathom it.

When the door gave way, he stumbled inside, closing and locking it behind him as he slipped off his shoes, letting them clatter quietly onto the mat. It was only then that he realized how bright it was in the apartment, light pouring down the hallway to the kitchen. Padding tiredly toward the light, Cale noticed his girlfriend standing in the kitchen pouring a packet of hot chocolate mix into a mug.

She was normally long asleep when he came home so he was surprised to find her awake. Still, out of habit, he leaned in to kiss her softly. As he pulled away, he noticed a wrapped package on the edge of the island counter and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s that?” The question spilled from his mouth as he shrugged his suit jacket off. Her reply that it was a present for him only created further confusion and he leaned in against the counter. “My birthday isn’t for two weeks sweetheart...can’t it wait?”

Her negative response insisted that he had to open it now and he watched her for a minute trying to piece together what was going on. Something felt off about all of this but the late hour provided little help and he grabbed the package, immediately going for the wrapping. Quickly scolded by his girlfriend, Cale felt his eyes roll and he yawned, reaching for the card.

The second his brain processed the first word of the little poem Cale’s heart started racing. ‘No. No way.’ His brain screamed. ‘There’s no way this means…’ By the time he finished reading he could hardly breathe. Grappling with the package, he tore the wrapping paper off before tugging at the lid. His hands immediately wrapped around soft fabric and pulling it out revealed a tiny little sleep outfit. A second semi-blind grab had his fingers wrapping around a tiny stick of plastic, the word ‘pregnant’ staring back at him as he lifted it from the box. ‘Holy shit.’ His brain screamed again as his jaw nearly hit the floor.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Cale felt his eyes start to water, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“We’re having a baby? You’re serious?” Her mouth moved, but Cale couldn’t even process the words. Instead, it was the anxious smile on her face that signaled this was not a joke. He wrapped her up in his arms, spinning her as his head dipped to press into the crook of her neck, basking in the heat of her body.

“I can’t…You’re sure?” Her confirmation that multiple tests all revealed the same thing made his hands shake and he kissed her tenderly, feeling her fingers run through his hair.

The way she pleaded with him to tell her that he was okay with this nearly tore his heart in two. How could she ever think that he wouldn’t be okay with this? This was everything he wanted and more.

“We’re having a baby.” He repeated, needing to hear the words again for it to actually click. “Fuck sweetheart...of course I’m okay with this.” Shaking his head, he felt some of the fog lift and his smile finally started spreading widely across his face. “You’re having my baby. I’m shocked but...good shocked.” Kissing her again, he attempted to express just how okay he was with this news without words.

She was having his kid. He was gonna be a dad. There was a baby growing in her abdomen...a baby they had made together.

His dress slacks strained against his thighs as he dropped to his knees in front of her, hands sliding across her lower belly. His baby was in there. Safe and warm and growing because it has the best mommy ever to take care of it.

Nuzzling his nose against her, Cale slid his hands onto her hips before pressing light kisses onto her shirt-covered skin. As his girl whispered down at him that their baby says ‘happy early birthday daddy’, Cale felt more tears roll down his cheeks. He couldn’t have asked for a better present. Couldn’t have dreamed of one. Her insistence and urgency regarding the present now made sense and as he pushed himself to his feet, he wrapped his arms around her once more.

“You’re giving me the greatest gift in the world.” He assured her. “I love you so much. Both of you.”

“You’re really okay with this?” She questioned again, her voice wobbling slightly.

“Yeah sweet girl.” He insisted, annoyed with himself for whatever had caused her to feel so insecure about this. “All I want is a family with you. I was gonna wait until I had put a ring on your finger to try for a baby but now works just fine.”

Scooping her up, he carried her back to bed ever so carefully, his mouth grazing over her stomach once more as he settled her onto the sheets.

“And don’t worry. You’re still going to get the ring.” He smirked, eyes glimmering as he peered down at her, amazed at how he could possibly love her more now than he did 2o minutes ago.

Her giggle filled his ears, causing his smile to grow as he stripped out of his suit and crawled into bed, his hand sliding down along her belly as he pulled her against his side.

“So tell me everything. How did you find out? How far along are you? Are you feeling okay? What do you need me to do?” With his thumb tracing circles against her skin, Cale listened as she recounted the last few days, assuring him that she felt completely fine so far. Admittedly, he was relieved to know that she hadn’t been feeling sick, that if she hadn’t gone to the doctor, she would have had no clue she was expecting.

She explained how she couldn’t be more than 4 weeks along because she’d gotten her period in September and already Cale’s head was swimming with just how unfamiliar all of this was to him. He was definitely going to need to start doing some research. Seeing the look on his face, she patiently explained how the dating of pregnancy works and as she did so, embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

“You know how we conceived this baby don’t you?” She questioned, her eyes shifting as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Again, the late hour provided no assistance until Y/N reminded him of what they’d done just a few weeks earlier.

“Hmmm...at least we know that’s an efficient method now.” Cale found himself joking softly. She flicked his shoulder making him laugh and he pulled her into another soft kiss. “Can’t wait to see our baby grow inside you.” He murmured. “Gonna be so beautiful to watch.” Just the thought of watching her belly swell made his dick twitch and Cale was certain that the real thing was going to be indescribably sexy.

Yawning softly, Cale looked at the clock to find it was already 3am. Though he was buzzing, wanting to know everything about the way their lives were changing, the game and travel were catching up with him and with his palm still resting along Y/N’s abdomen, he finally fell asleep.

*****

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheets beside you already cool. It wasn’t totally abnormal for Cale to wake before you, but you still found yourself pouting softly. Stretching, you pulled your body out of bed, making your way into the bathroom to brush your teeth and take your prenatal vitamins.

Pushing open the cracked door revealed Cale standing at the vanity, freshly showered with just a towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water dripped down his back from his hair and you gently teased your fingers over a few of them as you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind. Yawning quietly, you peeked up at him, watching as he relaxed into your touch.

“Morning daddy.” You murmured, your words followed by light kisses to his shoulder blades. All at once, it seemed like the early morning revelations flooded back over him, his smile stretching even wider.

“Morning mommy...how are you and baby doing this morning?” His voice was still filled with sleep, and you shivered at the sound of it, the effect it had on you familiar and welcomed.

“We’re good...little sad daddy didn’t stay in bed for morning cuddles.” You teased, rubbing his back as you stepped to the side, your hands reaching for the bottles of pills you needed to take before you forgot.

Cale didn’t respond right away, though you felt his gaze taking you in as you popped pills into your mouth, filling a small cup with water to help you swallow them down.

“Come ‘ere.” Cale eventually whispered, turning to pull you against his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again. The kiss started gently, filled with Cale’s awe at the fact that you were pregnant. As it continued, however, it deepened into something more and you let your nails scrape over Cale’s sides and back until a groan spilled from his throat.

“Can we still?” He asked dumbly, his hard length pressing against your stomach.

“Yeah Cale, we can still have sex.” You giggled, the sound morphing to a squeal as Cale picked you up and carefully carried you back to bed. Laying against the pillows, you let Cale strip you out of his borrowed t-shirt and your panties, his eyes raking slowly over your body again.

“Gorgeous. My girl is so gorgeous.” Cale murmured. After tugging his towel away, you pulled him into another kiss, feeling him settle gently between your thighs. Your skin was tingling by the time Cale pulled away from the kiss, dropping down your body. As his mouth latched onto one of your breasts, you whimpered.

“Cale...stop please.” You whispered, gently pushing his head away. Immediately he froze and pulled back, concern lacing his expression. “Apparently sore and tender breasts are my first pregnancy symptom.” You explained softly. “So uh...let’s just avoid that. But please...continue otherwise.” Cale’s brows furrowed as he eyed you for a moment before nodding, taking your guidance.

This time when he dipped down, he skipped over your breasts, instead trailing kisses across your stomach.

“Can’t believe my baby is in there.” He mumbled, his touches super gentle and adoring. Smiling down at him, you tangled your fingers in his damp hair, and after one more line of kisses across your belly, Cale dipped down, sucking your clit between his lips.

“Oh fuck.” You cried out softly, having missed the feeling of his mouth on you. He didn’t stay long, but it was enough to make you needy for more and as you felt the length of his cock drag along your hip you moaned, desperate for the stretch of him inside of you. “Cale please.” You begged, your hips arching up against him.

“Shh sweetheart...I’ve got you.” He promised. Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait, and the friction of him sliding deep into you made your toes curl with relief. “Shit you feel so good.” He murmured staring down at you as his hips slowly started to move. Your eyes remained locked and you shared soft kisses back and forth as Cale slowly and passionately made love to you. You’d had sex more times than you could count by now, but once again, this time felt different and new.

Of course, part of that newness was the spike in hormones caused by the pregnancy and everything associated with that. But another part was the way Cale was reacting, keeping things slow and gentle though his hips were stuttering with a lack of control more frequently than you were used to.

“You’re not going to hurt us.” You remind him, fingers brushing along his cheeks. “You don’t have to be so slow or so gentle hun...not when I know your body wants more.”

“Not that…” Cale hissed, his hips pausing for a moment. “Trying not to cum.” The truth of his words reflected back in his eyes and you couldn’t help but smile even as your hips shifted, seeking out the friction again. His hips had been stuttering because he was already fighting back his orgasm and the realization that he was so aroused just knowing you were pregnant sent a wave of heat through your body.

“Cale…” You whispered softly. “Just cum for me. I’m so sensitive it’s not going to take much for me to be right behind you.” Pecking his lips again, you rolled your hips once more. That was all it took apparently for Cale to give in, his hips snapping forward pulling a scream of pleasure from your throat. “Oh fuck…oh fuck…” You repeated, feeling Cale slowly inch out of you before his hips snapped forward once again.

It was only a few more thrusts before you felt Cale spilling inside of you, his body going limp with the force of it as your own orgasm crested suddenly, clamping down around him. As he softened inside of you, you pecked his lips once more, your fingers brushing over his cheeks again.

“Pregnancy sex is going to be fun…” You teased drawing a laugh from Cale’s throat as he carefully pulled out of you, shifting to lay against your side.

“Yeah sweetheart, it is.” He agreed, his nose brushing against your shoulder as he kissed his way up to your face. Basking in the afterglow, you snuggled against your boyfriend for a few minutes before the need to pee took over.

By the time you finished using the bathroom and had slipped into another one of Cale’s shirts, he was in the kitchen, a mug of tea already steeping for you while he buzzed around to make breakfast.

“You may not know it yet but you have the best daddy on the planet.” You whispered to your stomach, as you settled onto a barstool, just watching Cale. “And I really hope you get his eyes...among so many other things.” It was only day 1 having Cale join you on this journey to parenthood but so far so good.

________

Your first pregnancy symptom had been the tenderness and soreness in your breasts. It was inconvenient but tolerable considering that you worked from home and didn’t have to wear a bra most of the time. And you didn’t necessarily feel pregnant because of it. No...the feeling of being pregnant only came with the arrival of your second symptom.

No...not nausea or vomiting...thankfully those hadn’t arrived yet. Instead, it was the fatigue. How suddenly no matter how much you slept, you were constantly tired. Cale had played two home games in the days following the discovery of your pregnancy and while you’d previously worked while he napped, now you found yourself joining him as he came home from morning skate, pulling him back to the bedroom to rest for an hour or so together.

You knew Cale was worried, but you assured him that it was completely natural. This was when the baby was at its most rapid rate of growth and so of course your body was going to be tired after providing the baby everything it needed. Right now you were just relieved that you weren’t experiencing morning sickness, allowing you to be certain that your intake of vitamins and nutrients was right where it needed to be.

Cale’s worry meant that he wanted to keep you close and with the combination of your fatigue and your boyfriend leaving for a five day road trip tomorrow afternoon, you were happy to comply. That was how you found yourself snuggling into the couch with Cale as he pulled up the PS4 to play Fortnite with a few of his teammates. Obviously not Nate...Cale had told you about how Nate had been chirping him endlessly for his Fortnite skills. But there were a few of the other guys who were also more casual players and they had decided during practice that today was a gaming day.

Cale had draped your legs over his lap before tucking you both under a blanket and his hands settled against your knees as he waited for the game to load, pulling his headset on over his ears. You’d grabbed one of the baby books you’d picked up to read while he played, but watching him was far more entertaining….and way less overwhelming than studies on breastfeeding and cosleeping. The way he laughed and joked about playing like shit made you smile and eventually your eyes drifted closed, the sound of your boyfriend’s voice a soothing background noise. You honestly couldn’t ask for a better way to spend an afternoon.

Even if you hadn’t been listening to him, you were certain you’d know when he was between games because his hand would slide down to graze across your lower stomach. You honestly weren’t sure how much of that was a conscious act and how much was just instinct anymore because Cale constantly seemed to gravitate towards the baby. It had been less than a week since you’d shared the news with him, but it was clear that this tiny bundle of cells had stolen Cale’s heart already, just as it had yours. Neither of you had expected to start a family so soon into your relationship, but it felt like something that was just meant to be, falling into place the same way everything else had.

As your fatigue kicked back in, you felt yourself falling asleep once more to the sound of Cale’s laugh. Pregnancy wasn’t going to be easy, you knew it was going to wear on your body and your emotions. But you weren’t alone and it would all be worth it in the end. How could it not be when you were having a child with the man you planned to spend the rest of your life with?

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl smut #cale makar smut #cale makar nws #nws #lemon #cavalanche #039

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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years

Text

Safe House: August Walker x Reader

Summary: Someone threatens you and so your boyfriend, August, must take you to his safe house.

Words: 3463

Following part: Part 2 (One Year Later)

Note: Not AU really, but doesn’t follow Mission Impossible at all. This is just how I picture a fluffy August who loves his woman.

P.S. This was not edited phenomenally. I have no excuses to feed you. I was just tired ;)

(There are not enough August Walker gifs in this world)

Safe House:

On the days he told you he would hopefully be coming home to you, you stayed up all night, always, until sunrise. And if he didn’t come home that night, then you worried until the next night. Night after night after night until he walked through that door and you could finally breathe again.

It was an entire week this time, that August left you wondering. More days had gone by past the day he promised you than ever before. He had sent no note delivered by a random man with a riddle only you and August knew the answer to. And that was only in the most extreme of cases. More often there was a phone call, quick but reassuring. Not this time, and images of him being tortured or dying flashed through your mind, consuming you, as your fingers trembled around your coffee mug.

Just as the tears began to stream down your paling cheeks, the multiple locks August demanded you have on your door turned and opened one by one until he could freely walk inside. The weight on your chest lifted and you let out a tiny cry of relief, but August, your boyfriend you went a month and a half without seeing, stormed right passed you into the bedroom.

You sat up sharply and put the mug on the table, following him into the bedroom you shared. He hadn’t bothered to turn on one of the lamps, so all you could really see was his form grab a suitcase from the closet, throw it on the bed, wide open, and begin to shove as much clothing inside it as he could.

You stood in the doorway, your eyes adjusting to the darkness and pushing through the tears clouding them. “August,” you spoke softly, thankful he was alive, but heartbroken he had ignored you on his way in. “August,” you tried a little louder. “What is happening? Are you leaving again?”

“Not me,” he said, pausing for a moment to meet your stare. “We.” Then he turned back to his task of throwing things into a suitcase. “Are ten shirts, seven pairs of pants, two dresses, and four pairs of shoes enough for you?”

“Enough for what?” You asked. “August, you’re scaring me.” You walked in the room and touched his arm, stilling his movements so he would look at you. “What is happening?” His eyes, sadder than you had seen them before, roamed over every inch of your face as if he would never get to see it again. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion. “August—”

“Do you love me?”

“W-What?”

“You do, don’t you?” He lightly pleaded.

“Of course, I love you, August, but I still do not understand what is going on.”

He sighed in relief, but you didn’t miss the uneasy look on his face. “I’m…fuck…I’m a bit more…higher up than I told you.”

“In…what? Work?”

“Yes.”

You crossed your arms over your middle and swallowed. “What does that mean?”

“I kill more important people than I told you: prime ministers, presidents, royalty, people with families; all of them bad people, but important. I place bombs, I dismantle bombs, both that could and have destroyed half a city.”

“So…was last month in Istanbul—"

“Yes.” He walked over to your dresser and shoved it aside with ease, unlocked the small vault behind it with the pass-code only the two of you knew, and pulled out three guns before placing them between piles of folded clothes in the suitcase. “I have a safe house,” He said. “One even Hunt doesn’t know about.”

“Dad?”

Your eyes widened and he hummed in acknowledgement.

“Dad is with Ilsa, isn’t he? Something about Morocco. That’s all he could say.”

“Yea, he’s been assigned there for a bit. That’s where I am supposed to be, too; right now interrogating the head of the Crown Prince of Morocco’s security because of—” He met your eyes and paused, then shook his head slightly, always unsure of what information could put you in danger, “…certain reasons.”

“I thought you were in London.”

“Yea, I was. Morocco was next. I was going to call you as soon as I could, but…things got complicated.” August quickly walked to the kitchen and returned with a plastic sandwich bag and paper towel, then went to your jewelry box and pulled out two necklaces: one that was your mother’s, and one that he had bought for you when he told you he loved you for the first time. ‘Just in case you were on the fence about me, I thought this might sway you,’ he had said. You laughed, he clasped the necklace around your neck, and you made love over and over, exchanging ‘I love yous” the entire night. Since then, you wore the one he had given you when he moved into your place with the promise that he would never leave you.

You watched as he carefully wrapped up the jewelry in the paper towel, put them in the baggie and zip them safely into a side pocket of the case. “August, please, please tell me that ‘things got complicated’ does not mean that something got fucked up and now my father is supposed to kill you…again.”

“What?” August stopped in his tracks, noticing how every inch of you tensed with stress. “No, baby. No.” He glanced around the room for anything he might have missed. “Anything else you want to take with us?”

You looked around too, not seeing a thing, but then ran into the hallway and took a photo of the both of you off the wall: you and him kissing at your friend’s wedding, both of you completely unaware of the camera man behind you. It clearly showed your love for him and his for you, and so it became, and remained, your favorite.

Back in the room, you placed it on top of everything else in the suitcase, keeping it in the frame to protect it. August smiled at seeing the picture, grabbed your waist, and pulled you close. “I love you,” He whispered, his lips brushing over yours. You smiled slightly and fully placed your mouth to his. All it took was a moment before his hand began to slide around your waist to cup your ass. Then, you reached your arms up and began to twine your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, knowing fully well how that turned him on. You had missed his touch so bad, and he yours, so it took no time to feel him hard, pressed against you.

He pulled back fast, huffing out breaths as you chuckled. “We can’t do this now. We really need to get going.”

Your smile fell. “You still haven’t explained.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” He said, closing the suitcase.

“Give me the short version.”

“Short version,” He mumbled to himself as he pulled the bag off the bed, a small smile on his face at your persistence. “Ok, short version: a guy that I really would rather not know about you, now knows about you.”

“What? Like, a bad guy?”

“Not a super bad one, but…yea.” He cringed as he said the last word. This whole thing was one giant nightmare; his worst, actually. How you weren’t panicking he didn’t know. Maybe it was because you were Hunt’s daughter, but August seemed to feel much more stressed about this than you.

“How? Dad changed me in the system. No one knows my real name but you, him, and the team.”

“I know. We don’t know how. But this guy had your picture and your name, and that was enough for Hunt…and me. Hunt has the guy, but you never know what could happen. He might have people to get him out, he might not, but he made some serious threats and we aren’t risking it, so Hunt and I agreed. I come home, get you and take you somewhere safe that no one else knows about and stay there until further notice.”

You crossed your arms. “And dad is just fine with a man he practically cannot stand coming and taking his daughter away to some random location he can’t track down?”

“Right,” August walked towards you, bag in hand, and motioned you out the door. “Well, he kind of knows about the two of us and figured out of anyone, I’d do the best at protecting you.”

You turned fast with a death glare in your eye and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “What do you mean he knows about us?”

August sighed knowing now was not the time to do this, but well aware that fighting your stubbornness was a losing game. He ran his free hand through his dark curls. “You said he can’t stand me, right?”

“Yes.”

“He ever tell you why?”

“Not specifically.”

“Well, this is why. He does not like that I assassinate by day and sleep with his daughter by night.”

“Oh my God, August!” Both of your hands shoved at his chest, but the brick wall that was your boyfriend did not move an inch.

“Hey, it’s not all me, ok? After we met, he noticed that I asked about you all the time, but apparently you asked about me all the time, too, so you were no sneakier than I was.” He raised a hand in an ‘oh well’ gesture and stepped around you back into the kitchen.

“Oh God,” You groaned and your head fell back. “…Fine.”

“Peanut butter?” He called.

Annoyed, you said, “Yea.”

Arms crossed again, you rounded the corner and watched the muscles of his shoulders shift a little under his shirt as he took a knife full of peanut butter and slathered it on the bread. “We have an eight-hour drive to the helicopter, three hours flying to the boat, and then it’s just an hour on the boat to the house. How many do you want?”

“Eight. Six for me, two for you.”

August whipped around with a pained expression “Cold.”

“Fine. Five for me, three for you.”

“Better, but still chilly.”

You walked up wrapped your arms around his waist. “You keep it up, I’ll make it seven for me, one for you.”

“You do not know where my safe house is, I do. Choose your words wisely, miss,” he said, then dabbed a bit of the peanut-y goodness on the tip of your nose. “Are you going to eat that, or do I need to lick it off?”

You pretended to think for a moment. “Lick it off.”

He did, and your eyes and nose scrunched as you giggled. “Fuck, I’m just going to bring the jar.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out later.” He smiled seductively and finished spreading the peanut butter on the bread. “Jam for some, honey for the others?”

“Yea.” He knew you too well.

“You have everything you want?”

You took one last look at the house you and August had secretly—or thought, secretly—shared, not knowing when, or if, you would be back. “I think so.”

When you turned back to him, he was shoving the last of the sandwiches in a paper bag. With his free hand he touched your cheek lovingly. “Baby, I’m so sorry about this. I never wanted to have to take you away from our home.”

“It’s ok.” You placed your hand on his. “You are home.”

August smiled sadly, still feeling guilty, but leaned down to kiss you. “You are home,” He sighed as he touched his forehead to yours. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

With a guiding hand on your back, August led you through the front door of the house no one else had seen before. “Sorry, it’s probably dusty.”

Once inside, he set the suitcase down and flipped a switch that had the lights above flickering before settling into a soft glow. You looked around the small place that was fully and completely him. It was not a perfect place; shabbier and creakier like an old cabin, which it basically was, but it was your boyfriend. His things were scattered around the place, left over from when he probably had to leave quick. It smelled like him. A manly, piney, citrus scent still lingered even though he had mentioned the last time he stepped foot in the place was three years ago, nine months before he met you. You could practically see ghosts of him from the many times he had been there before. You pictured him making the cans of soup you could see in the cupboard from the wide open doors; or reading the book on the small table by a large chair, the spine cracked from where it split to the page he left off on.

“I don’t care.” You smiled. “I like it.”

Though you couldn’t see it, August smiled too and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind to pull your body against his. He placed a long kiss on your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek, then his fingers slowly tilted your head to the side so he could kiss your lips.

“I’m glad you like it. You’ll be safe here, Y/N. I promise.”

You chuckled. “If you’re the one watching me, I’m pretty sure I’d be safe anywhere.”

“You know it,” He said, placing another kiss on your neck before releasing you and giving your ass a gentle swat. He picked up the bag and took it to what you could only assume was the bedroom.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

One Month Later

You woke up to the sunlight streaming through a window and turned to find your boyfriend absent from his side of the bed. It was five thirty in the morning when you glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand; way too early to be awake, and you certainly felt the exhaustion from the three rounds you went with August the night before.

You stood and groaned. Your bones seemed to creak along with the bed, but your mood instantly perked up when you heard August’s voice just outside the bedroom door. It was open just a crack and with an attentive ear you could make out his words as he stood tall in the living room.

“He’s permanently locked up then?” He asked the person on the other end of the phone he had in his hand. He listened and nodded a few times, before saying “She is good, I promise.”

…

“No, she’s still asleep,”

August ran fingers through his hair and pressed a button on the phone he had made sure was untraceable. He set the phone down on the counter so he could start a pot of coffee. Then your fathers deep tone came through clear.

“Look, Walker, I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, but thank you…for protecting her,” He said, and you smiled at the rare kindness he directed towards your boyfriend.

August poured a few cups of water into the pot and pressed ‘start.’ “You don’t have to thank me, Hunt. You know I love her.” He cleared his throat and ran fingers through his hair again; an action you knew he usually made when his anxiety spiked. “Hunt, about what I asked you before Morocco…”

“I know what I said,” Your father interrupted. “But after all of this…I honestly think you’re the only man for the job.”

And audible sigh of relief slipped passed August’s full lips. “You changed your mind?”

“After I thought about what you said you’re willing to give up, I realized you are serious about this.”

“I am,” August said, a certain determination in his voice.

“You would have to…” Your father paused, ensuring August understood. He had used that tone on you many times as a child. “…you know…give it up.”

August poured a cup of coffee for himself and turned to lean against the counter. You quickly ducked away from the door for fear he could see your eyes spying on him through the small crack, but when you chanced a look back, he seemed to be staring into space, shuffling through his thoughts. “It would be worth it. More than worth it.” August gave a close-lipped smile. “I never really enjoyed this anyway.

You father sighed through the speaker. “None of us really do.”

“That is true.” August’s chest puffed for a second in a silent laugh and took another sip of coffee. “I have to go. Your daughter is spying on me.”

Fuck, you thought. Completely busted. You inched the door open with a guilty look as your boyfriend eyed you and ended the call with a click. After setting the coffee cup on the counter, he crossed his arms and rose an eyebrow at you.

“Not the stealthiest, huh?” You chuckled nervously.

“You might have been had you not been spying on a man in the CIA.”

“Sorry, baby.” August snickered as he reached out a hand. You walked to him and he pulled you in close with a kiss to your forehead. “What were you talking about? It was very cryptic.”

He hummed. “Maybe it’s too dangerous for you to know.”

You looked up and met bright blue eyes. “Is it?”

“…No.”

“Well,” You began, drawing out the word with an innocent smile. “If it wasn’t about a mission, why can’t I know? A civil conversation with my dad is a little suspicious, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, babe. We are the best of pals when we are on assignment.”

August’s eyes lit up as you let out a loud laugh. “Bullshit. Stop delaying and spill it, Mister.”

He swayed you back and forth in his arms, taking some time to think about how to say what you were demanding he tell you. “I plan to take a demotion…of sorts,” He said, way too casually for you.

You pulled out of his arms and your eyebrows knitted together. “What? August—”

“I want to do it.”

“Why? What does it mean for you if you do?” Slowly, he stepped to you and led you to the couch in the room. When you sat, he lifted your legs, laid them across his thick thighs, and placed a hand on your knee. “August…” You said, pulling his attention away from your legs.

His lips quirked up at the ends. “It means that I will be home more. Much more. It means that I won’t be putting myself in as dangerous of situations. It means you’ll be safer.” He raised a calloused hand to cup your cheek and stroked the corner of your lips with his thumb. Your eyes closed as you settled into his touch. “It means I can marry you.”

Immediately, your eyelids shot back open and as your lips parted, August took the opportunity to run that thumb once over your bottom lip before his fingers left your face. “What?”

“When Hunt tells me we are good to leave here, which should be in about a week, it means it’s over. I’m done. I won’t have to go back in the game if I don’t put myself there.”

“Can you do that? Sloane—”

He shook his head. “Won’t be a problem.”

“How?”

“I made a deal with Sloane a few years ago, when you and I started dating. When the time is right, if I take a step down, I’ll do what she asks, train five new recruits to be even better than I am, and…” He paused, “I won’t reveal certain information about her husband.”

Your hand covered your smile of awe for a moment. “You’re actually doing all of this just so you can marry me?”

“Of course, I am. Marriage doesn’t exactly work well when people do what I do. Hunt had to go through losing Julia for the job, but I don’t want to. Especially not with you.” A tear trailed down your cheek that August immediately swiped away. “Don’t cry.”

You moved to straddle him on the couch. Your arms linked behind his neck, and his hands fell to your waist, rubbing up and down your sides until he wrapped them around to settle on your ass. “I love you,” You sobbed. “I can’t believe you are willing to blackmail your boss for me.”

August beamed up at you and brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t blackmail her for anyone but you.” Then he reached a hand to the back of your neck and pulled down until your lips connected with his.

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

What The Stark Spangled F**k?

A Stark Spangled Forever Drabble-The Crap Book

Summary: Rori’s cutting and sticking habits wind the boys in the house up, but for very different reasons.

Warnings: Bad language words…

A/N: We all know the tale of the IKEA pineapple bowl Katie buys Steve in SSM…well, something popped up on my Facebook ads which reminded me of this and as a result this came from mine and @icanfeelastormbrewing ‘s very odd WhatsApp ramblings…enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Momma!"

Katie looked up as Rori walked into the room, clutching the Magazine that she had been cutting pictures out of in her hands.

"Yes baby?” she asked, pausing the TV and looking at her daughter.

“Look!”

Katie waited whilst Rori hopped up onto the couch, showing her the photo she was clearly excited about. She looked down to where her daughter’s finger was pointing and had to bite back a snort. She was looking at a frankly hideous white and yellow ring, the band of which contained multiple gold pineapples along with bands of diamonds and yellow stones.

“It’s like Daddy’s bowl!” she grinned.

“Sure is…you gonna put it in your Scrapbook?”

Rori nodded, and then she smiled “I want one.” Katie raised an eyebrow, deciding not to question her little Diva’s taste “Do you?” She nodded "Shall I ask Daddy? He got you your rings.”

Katie smiled and kissed Rori’s head “Yeah, you do that” “Ok…” she grinned, hopping down and skipping out of the room. Once she was gone, Katie glanced at Harry who was sat playing with his trucks on the rug, before she pressed play on the programme she was watching, glad of some peace and quiet for half an hour before she had to start dinner. But it was short lived. A loud yell hit her ears from the den and cursing she paused her programme again, picking Harry up, before heading into the room. “What is going on?” She demanded placing Harry down. He tottered over to where Rori was stood, her arms folded as she glared at Jamie.

“He stole my scrapbook!” she yelled.

“I only wanted a look!” Jamie scoffed, tossing it back down on the floor.

“Jamie,” Katie looked at him, “what did I tell you before about winding her up?”

amie rolled his eyes, making him look even more ridiculously like his father. “I just borrowed it…”

“Did she say you could?” “No.” “Then you stole it.” Katie said, simply, folding her arms. “Stop irritating her and leave her alone, she’s doing no harm.”

Jamie glared at his mother “Define harm.” Katie raised her eyebrows. “Don’t make me call your father.”

At that Jamie instantly pale and his eyes cast to the floor. “Sorry.” “So you should be, now apologise to your sister.” “Sorry Rori.”

Rori looked at him. “Fine.” she shrugged, sitting down and grabbing her safety scissors, returning to her activity.

World War Three prevented, Katie decided to scrap the attempts to watch TV and headed into the kitchen after telling Jamie to keep an eye on Harry whilst he was in the den. Half an hour later she called the kids in for dinner and had settled them down at the Table, the precious book placed by Rori as she tucked into her spaghetti.

“Why have you brought the crapbook to the table?” Jamie asked. Katie’s head shot up from where she had been supervising Harry who was finishing feeding himself and was about to tell her eldest son off again when Rori started to argue back.

“You’re a crapbook Jamie."

"That makes no sense!” Jamie scoffed.

“Neither does your face.” Rori glared at him. At that Katie had to turn away, the laughter threatening to burst from her chest at Rori’s reply was really hard to keep down but somehow she managed it. Composing herself she turned to them both and gave them her best mom glare.

“Enough! Jamie, if you use that word again there’ll be big trouble.” “But it wasn’t me that-..” “I don’t care who did what” Katie shook her head, standing up to collect their empty dishes. “Keep pushing it pal and Seb won’t be coming over tomorrow after school.” Jamie let out a frustrated groan but he fell silent and Katie could only imagine the daggers he was throwing at her back as she turned away.

“Suck it up, loser.” She heard Rori say, another phrases she had picked up from Jamie and with a sigh she dropped the dishes in the sink before she spun round.

“I heard that little Missy.” she shot Rori a glare and the young girl held her stare back, before she glanced down at the table. “Now I’m telling you both. One more angry word or argument from either of you and you’ll be straight up to bed.” “But Daddy isn’t home yet!” Rori said, horrified.

“Do I look like I care?” Katie asked. Rori looked at her before her eyes once more returned to the table and she sighed. “Now, can I trust you both to behave whilst I clean up?” “Yes momma.” they both chanted.

“Okay, then you can leave the table.” They both jumped down from their seats, and Katie watched them leave the kitchen, hands on her hips, shaking her head.

****** “The crap book?” Steve fought to keep his face straight as Katie shook her head, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah, I mean he isn’t wrong…it is full of crap but it was Rori’s response that got me. She told him he was the crap book and when he replied that makes no sense she goes `neither does your face’!"

Steve choked on his mouthful of food, fighting hard to swallow it before he looked at his wife, grinning. Katie shook her head again and their conversation turned to more mundane topics, namely his latest intake of students and their plans for the weekend which consisted of heading out to see Pepper and Morgan.

Sensing that his wife had dealt with the kids moaning enough that day, Steve took over bedtime duties or the eldest two, Harry going down a good hour before them with no fuss as usual. Jamie headed off for a shower whilst he ran Rori a bath, and once they were settled in their pyjamas the usual mugs of hot milk for Rori and cocoa for Jamie were dished out along with the customary ten minutes at the piano with Katie, and true to form, once the final note of the last song was done, the usual griping began. One stern look at both of them and Steve shut down their complaints immediately and at his instruction they bid their mom goodnight and headed up the stairs. Steve told Rori to get in bed and he would be back in a moment for their story, and he headed over to Jamie’s room, tucking him in and telling him he had twenty minutes of TV time before lights were out.

When he walked back into Rori’s room she was busy, he brightly coloured Scrap Book lay open on her lap as she sat propped up by her mountain of pillows.

Not the crap book...he inwardly groaned, shaking his head. If Katie ever found out he was the reason Jamie called it that, he was a dead man. That was probably another twenty dollar bribe he was going to have to shell out to keep him quiet…

"Did you bring that up with you?” Steve asked, resigned to his fate as he dropped onto the bed besides Rori as she snuggled into him, his arm falling around her and he kissed the top of her head.

“No, I hided it up here before.” she said. “So Jamie couldn’t steal it again.” “Wise move.” Steve grinned. “So we looking at what dresses you’re gonna buy tonight instead of a story or…” “Please can you buy me a pineapple ring?” Rori looked up at him and Steve looked down at her blinking.

“A pineapple ring? I’m sure momma has a tin of them…” “Not the eating ones! One I can wear on my finger, look…” She pointed down at the book and Steve looked down, his mouth dropping open at the garish item of jewellery she had stuck on the page, which was surrounded by liberal amounts of glitter that was falling all over her bed spread and his jeans.

“You want one of those?” he looked at her.

Rori nodded.

“I don’t think those are made anymore.” Steve shook his head. “It must have been in the magazine as some kind of old article.”

That was such a lame-ass attempt at a get out, but thankfully Rori seemed to buy it.

“Oh, okay.” she mused. “But when I grow up, I want to be provoked to with one of these.”

"Provoked to?” Steve looked at her “What do you mean princess?” “You know when my boyfriend asks me to marry him.” “Oh, you mean proposed.” he smiled before he suddenly realised what she had said. “Hang on, you have a boyfriend?” “I have five.” Rori replied casually, flipping the page over. “One for each day I’m at school.”

Steve frowned, and once that had sunk in he scoffed and shook his head. “No…I’m sorry but I can’t allow that. No boyfriends till you’re thirty. At least.” “I can’t help it if they love me!” Rori looked up at her dad.

He snorted and narrowed his eyes “You better not be kissing any of those boys young lady!” “Daddy, that’s gross!” Rori giggled “I don’t let them kiss me, I just make them carry my school bag like Momma makes you carry her bags”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that’s…I can live with that.” “And I let them look at me.” She shrugged. “Because you say I look like momma, and you say momma is the prettiest girl in the world so that means I’m pretty so they should be happy to look at me.” Steve looked at his daughter, once more lost for words at the stuff that was coming out of her mouth. Stuff that should really be nonsense, but when you looked at it from the logic of a five year old then he really couldn’t fault it.

With a soft smile he kissed her head again and nodded to the book. “Show me the page on the animals in clothes again, Princess. I like that one.”

**Original Posting**

#what the stark spangled fuck #stark spangled forever #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

But Once a Year (3/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 9K and change, but also stuff happens AN: I cannot tell you guys how much I appreciate you continuing to appreciate this story. It’s exceptionally nice, and I think you’re wonderful. Here’s a whole slew of feelings and tradition and magic. Like, lots of magic.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the start

————

This is a problem.

Multiple problems, honestly. Like, at least seven different problems that Emma can think of off the top of her head, and obviously the most pressing is getting back to the right part of her timeline, but only marginally less distressing is the overall domesticity of her life at this point of her timeline.

It’s more than the pillows. Of which there are just an absolutely ridiculous amount, actually. They hover in couch corners and fall to the floor with alarming regularity because, between the two of them, Hope and Lucy are something akin to forces of nature, hopped up on Christmas-type sugar and the cookies that people apparently just hand out on the street in Storybrooke. Someone’s always got some sort of baked good, freshly out of the oven — and while Emma’s discovered she’s particularly partial to Granny’s snickerdoodles, she can’t imagine any of this is very efficient.

For Storybrooke’s economy, or whatever.

There’s no bank. Emma looked. And asked. Several dwarfs, actually. All of whom immediately bowed and narrowed their eyes at her like she’d totally lost her mind, which seems pretty accurate at this point. Five days after waking up on that couch, with all of its pillows and questionable comfort, and only a handful of people actually know what’s going on.

Not Hope.

And no one actually told her to do that, but Emma figures it’s kind of like deciding to take her boots off in the house. Polite. Plus, a growing determination not to traumatize a ridiculously cute four-year-old, even when that four-year-old appears to be far more adept at stealing cookies than anything else.

Crumbs line the counter in the morning, and there’s usually a bit of evidence directly outside Hope’s bedroom door, signs of a late-night theft that shouldn’t make Emma smile. She does anyway. Can’t seem to stop it, which might be problem number four. Three is definitely Killian’s consistent lack of jacket, which admittedly is a very surface problem, but the button-up shirts are all ridiculously patterned, and trying not to ask who initially took him shopping is like, problem, three sub-a.

So, no one tells Hope that her mom isn’t her mom. Technically speaking, at least. They go through the motions, and Emma smiles when she’s supposed to, and she eats what is undoubtedly the world record for snickerdoodle consumption by a wayward princess, but trying to be herself, while also not being herself continues to be a rather daunting prospect.

Particularly because whomever Regina believed would know more about Neverland vegetation and its ability to ruin everything is taking their sweet time responding or showing up in Storybrooke, and they’ve tried what feels like several thousand things to get Emma back, but magic beans were a no-go, and some very fancy wand didn’t do anything except infuriate Regina with it uselessness, and it’s still Christmas, so there are apparently a metric shit ton of traditions and expectations, and—

“Wait, what?” Emma asks, perched on the edge of her desk in the station because that’s at least something she’s used to. Less so to Killian’s presence at the only other desk, and she doesn’t remember the only other desk being quite so close to her’s, but it’s entirely possible that’s a trick of her not-quite coherent mind.

Might be problem six. Maybe seven. Making it six gives it power, and acknowledges how much the state of his tongue continues to affect her cognitive abilities. Of which there were already very few, especially while she was exhausted in Neverland, and Emma’s not willing to risk anymore.

“It’s something of a requirement,” Killian says, not for the first time. Princesses have a ridiculous number of requirements, Emma’s rather quickly learned. And he can’t seem to sit straight in any chair. Also ridiculous.

“Does that not hurt your spine?”

Shrugging, he smirks at her and that’s been happening more often. Not that she’s keeping track, or anything. She’s just—aware, that’s totally the right word. Of him, and what he does with his face and his patterned shirts, and there’s been no bare arm again, but Emma’s still not really his wife, and she knows the hours he’s spent holed up in one of the copious rooms in their quasi-mansion have been dedicated to research.

And getting his wife back.

That’s fine. It’s fine. Definitely not a problem. Hasn’t even crossed her mind.

Emma doesn’t want him to want her. Like, ever.

And they’re waiting for her dad, anyway. To report back on some magical failing in Wonderland. Seriously, everything is so fine that it's almost a problem as well. It’s too fine. Everything is—

Great.

“Are you concerned about the state of my spine, darling?”

Melting is not an option — so far as Emma is aware of, but it’s certainly very appealing in the moment. When that moment includes tilted lips and an angled neck seemingly designed to ensure Killian’s hair falls artfully across his forehead, as if the strands are there to frame his eyes and the hint of light in them.

She takes a deep breath.

The light brightens. Or she imagines.

“A tree lighting, though,” Emma says, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Killian’s brows jump. Up his forehead and past those strands of hair she’s only passably obsessed with. “Isn’t that kind of...I don’t know, it’s not very fairy tale.” “Regina lights the candles with magic, if that helps.” “So why do I have to be there?” “The monarchy usually stands on a platform, waves lovingly to their subjects and—” “—God, how is there more?” Emma balks, but that only gets her a more powerful smirk and eyes that are far too blue to be fair, and they still haven’t painted the dining room. She’s not going to ask about that.

She’s not.

“This is something of the central hub for the rest of the United Realms,” Killian explains, “and with Regina and the Charmings here, it makes sense that people...flock.” “Like birds.” “Not the ones your mother can commune with, but I suppose the metaphor is appropriate.”

“Who decided to hold Regina’s queen election?” Eyeing her speculatively, Emma does her very best not to wither under Killian’s expression. She’s not altogether confident it works, but they’ve almost come to something like an understanding, and it’s very easy. This, them. No, not them. There’s no them and while Emma’s done her fair share of staring, there can’t be a them now because that will undoubtedly fuck with the timeline and probably everything else, just to keep inspiring problematic lists, and her increasing desire to kiss him until he also has to deal with wobbly knees is just something she’s going to have to deal with.

“Maybe I won’t remember when I get back,” Emma reasons, but that one word comes out as wobbly as her knees have been and Killian purses his lips. “Ok, fine—tell me something totally random, then. A fun-fact, as it were.” “Random.” “Do you not know what that means?” He rolls his eyes. “I know at least three more languages than you do, so—” “—No you do not!”

Nodding, Killian smiles over the edge of his coffee mug, and neither one of them mention that his proclivity to drinking a gallon of coffee every morning could probably be this so-called fun fact. “English, obviously, and—” “—Ok, I can clearly speak English,” Emma argues. She nearly bites her tongue in half at the force of Killian’s answering look, part amusement and even more heat and that only circles her back around to the melting thing.

“Aye, but I definitely know more curses than you do, so that’s got to count for something. Also that’s simply my base language, as it were.” She sneers. He chuckles. Into the mug, but it feels like the emotion behind it sinks under Emma’s skin and times up with her pulse, less erratic than it had been those first few nights, and she’s actually started sleeping consistently. “Then of course, I’m rather familiar with Latin.” “Dead, it doesn’t count.” “Impressive, though.” “Sounds like you’re fishing for compliments, Captain.” “Unnecessary, when I know you’ll be all wide-eyed and amazed in a moment,” Killian promises, swinging his legs to prop his feet on the edge of her desk. “There’s also Greek, and—” Waving her hands, Emma doesn’t explicitly try to swat at his legs, but he’s just so goddamn close, and still exuding heat, and she’s starting to have some assumptions about that as well. Of the possibly magic and decidedly—no she’s not doing that. They’re not that. Not like this, anyway. And Killian doesn’t immediately move, but that only lulls her into a false sense of security, the metal of his hook is cold enough that she yelps when it circles both her wrists.

“Fairy,” he finishes, and Emma refuses to believe he leans forward on purpose.

“No.” “You keep objecting to my facts and you’ll give a man a complex, Swan.” “Why would you know Greek, you’re a—” “—Fairy tale character?”

Emma presses her lips together. So as not to make an undignified noise. She’s already whimpered enough, and cried more than she thought possible and the hitch in his voice threatens to shatter several things. Moving her hands is impossible, which is probably for the best, but all of her would very much like to cup his cheek, if only to see if he’ll kiss the inside of her wrist, and she’s like ninety-two percent positive he would. “Pirate prince,” she corrects lightly, and does get her a smile. “Do you have an official title here?” “Captain.” “That’s it?” “Not impressive enough, huh?”

There’s no music on in the station, but they’re clearly dancing all the same — around each other, and the maelstrom of feelings Emma is doing a God awful job of ignoring, and at some point one of them is going to have to pull away from the other. In more ways than one.

“I didn’t say that,” she shakes, “and don’t bother telling me it’s another argument, I don’t care. I’m just—curious, I guess.” “About me?”

Nodding is the least dangerous response when she’s so worried about tripping over her own feet in this metaphorical waltz, but it’s one of the more accurate things she’s said since she got here, and now she’s got an excuse. No repercussions, nothing exactly permanent about these conversations, or this information, and no one’s told her whether or not she’ll retain her memories once she gets back, but they also don’t know she’ll get back so—

Fuck it, honestly.

“Yeah,” Emma replies, not bothering to gloat when Killian’s the one whose eyes go wide first.

“Oh.” “Is that unexpected?” “Maybe at this point.”

Humming, she files that away, preening slightly under the not-quite-compliment. “Not an answer though. Habit of yours.” “Not really, you’re just very demanding in this incarnation.” “Product of my situation, I guess.” He laughs. It’s something that happens more often here than it did when Emma knew him — knows him, whatever tenses get confusing in time travel. Still, the sound consistently manages to catch her off guard. Free and easy, and the magic that rustles in the back of her brain might deserve its own list.

Or another conversation with Regina. “The Royal Navy,” Killian says, an answer Emma nearly forgot she wanted. Her eyes widen. He looks triumphant. “See, told you.” “Like an Enchanted Forest GI bill, huh? See new lands, learn new languages.” “Something like that, aye.” “How’d you get to fairy?” “Did you meet the Lady Bell before—” “—I got yanked out of Neverland?” Emma quips, and it might be a defense mechanism. Making jokes, but she also hasn’t gone into detail about the plant-thing yet, and that might be because she doesn’t want to freak him out.

Anymore than he already is. He spends at least an hour in that room every night.

“Yeah, I did,” she adds,” after she kidnapped Regina and told us Greg and Tamara were dead, which...y’know—” “—Wasn’t the worst thing in the world?” “Does that make me a horrible person?” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” “Are you going to tell me you learned fairy language from an actual fairy?” “Not much else to do on a hellish island for several hundred years, and it’s a rather complicated tongue. Takes some practice.” “Oh, you’re doing that on purpose now.” The speed of his grin is like molasses. Emma assumes. She’s not sure she’s ever encountered molasses in real life. Even so, the whole thing is bordering on obscene and the opposite of the Christmas spirit and—“Alright,” she concedes, “learning fairy is actually pretty impressive.” “You flatter me, love.”

“What’s your favorite fairy curse word and do you think anyone would be totally scandalized if I used it during this super fancy, exceptionally royal tree lighting?”

Absolutely, goddamn obscene. The tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth, and his eyes get noticeably darker, Emma’s pulse picking up until she’s sure they can hear it on the other side of town, and there’s already barely any space between them, but that appears to be decreasing with every passing second. She’s got no idea who’s moving. She might be moving.

God, she hopes she’s moving.

Losing control of her limbs may send her off some ledge.

And she’s just about to throw caution to the seemingly ever-present wind that comes off the harbor, because the front of this patterned shirt looks particularly yankable, but the station door creaks, and a muscle in Killian’s jaw jumps and David clicks his teeth exactly once when he walks in.

“Interrupting something, am I?” “No, no,” Emma stammers at the same time Killian mumbles “absolutely not,” and neither of those things sound all that honest.

She’s never gone into cardiac arrest, but if this is what it feels like, it’s kind of disorienting.

“You hear about the tree lighting, Emma?” David asks, and that’s obviously where her inability to tactfully alter the course of a conversation comes from. Killian rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, slumping back into his chair.

Exhaling feels like an admission of guilt, but Emma can’t have anything to feel guilty about here, and she hopes Killian’s getting sleep. On the couch. He keeps sleeping on the couch.

Of course he does.

“Do I have to wear a gown or anything?” “It’s outside,” David says, “there are trees involved.”

Killian’s hook pokes at his chair arm. “Only one tree, as far as I knew.” “Why are you like this?” “You’re charmed by it, I know,” he chuckles, eyes flashing towards Emma. Coincidence, she’s sure. Her cheeks are very warm.

She’s very warm. Passably magical, maybe.

David sighs. “No, there are no gowns. It is in fact only one tree, and Em—you don’t have to say anything. Regina will thank people for coming, Snow will open up the meal and that’ll be that.” “Should I know what the meal is?” Emma asks, and her gaze doesn’t automatically drift towards Killian either. It just, sort of—meanders there, naturally. His tongue is still doing that thing.

“I was going to get to that part eventually.” “There’s kind of a reception,” David explains, “with cookies.” “Shit, how many cookies can one United Realm eat?” “An exceptional amount,” Killian mutters, and Emma might guffaw. While realizing why her other version had been baking so much before.

“You don’t have to do anything,” David adds, “just show up and smile, and you’ll get some cookies out of it.” “Will I not get cookies if I don’t smile?” Not able to stop whatever noise rumbles out of him, the force of Killian’s grin makes Emma glad she’s sitting down again. “I’ll swipe you some if you don’t.” “Very gallant.” “Happens from time to time.” Flirting in front of her father is wrong. That’s if this counts as flirting. As far as Emma knows, most of their banter has been a product of their mutually ridiculous lives, and whatever situation they’ve found themselves in at the moment, but this moment doesn’t hold any danger and it is so goddamn easy.

She smiles.

Killian beams.

David sighs again. “Anyone want to hear about Wonderland now? Or how the White Rabbit can’t draw any portals? Or—” “—This is a really extensive list,” Emma grumbles, and Killian’s smile is going to get stuck on his face. Permanently. She’s very charmed by the crinkles around his eyes.

“Tinker Bell is here.” Slamming his feet back onto the floor, Killian practically snaps to attention, and Emma’s body goes through another reaction she does not expect. What feels suspiciously like jealousy rattles down her spine, rooting her to the spot and drying out her mouth and David’s far too observant.

He clicks his teeth again. “When?” Killian asks, already standing and offering Emma his hand. She takes it, not thinking about what that means — or how it affects the half-green tint clouding her vision, and her heart misses a beat. As soon as his fingers lace through hers.

“Just now. Went to Regina’s, but I had to come here, so one of Snow’s birds told me.” “You can talk to the birds too?” Emma balks, stumbling while Killian all but yanks her towards the door.

“No, no, they carry messages now.” “Ah of course.” “Did Tink say anything yet?” Killian demands, David already shaking his head and they’re picking up speed. All but jogging down Main Street and towards Regina’s office, and the nickname probably isn’t important. It’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s all going to be good.

Even when the fairy in question snaps towards the office door as it swings open, practically lighting up when she notices Killian and Regina’s eyes go noticeably thin. Staring at Emma like she’s trying to read her mind.

Her fingers are still tied up with Killian’s. “Hook,” Tinker Bell exclaims, and she doesn’t have any visible wings so she can’t fly out of her chair. She tries all the same, arms that bump Emma as they hug her not-quite husband and he mutters a greeting. It takes a moment for Tinker Bell’s gaze to find Emma, trying and failing to keep her expression even, and Killian might chuckle.

She kicks his ankle.

“Emma,” Tink breathes, “it’s good to see you again, you have to get the hell out of this timeline.”

“So, that’s it,” Tinker Bell finishes, shrugging like Emma’s not dangerously close to fully breaking down and Killian’s thumb keeps tapping the side of her palm. Because he’s still holding her hand. Cool, it’s cool. She’s not totally preoccupied with that.

Regina’s totally staring, anyway.

“Will-o-wisps,” Killian says, “I thought that was a rumor.” More shrugging. There’s too much shrugging for Emma. “I’ve never heard of it in practice,” Tinker Bell reasons, “but can you think of another plant in Neverland that could do such a thing? That rumor you’re talking about always mentioned how it would draw a traveler in, bewitch them with lights and—were there lights, Emma?”

She nods. Swallows, or tries at least. But her tongue is expanding again, and her heart might be shrinking, and the whole thing feels like a very cruel trick.

“Pan would have known about all of that,” Tinker Bell continues, “and used it to his advantage. If he could get Emma to follow the light, then she wouldn’t be a problem anymore.” “But I didn’t actually move anywhere,” Emma argues. “There was no following the light.” Regina exhales. “Probably more metaphorical, giving into what the light offered.” “Which was?” “This, obviously. What we talked about, and what you thought you couldn’t ever have while you were stuck in Neverland, convinced of a whole slew of wholly negative things. So, there was no walking, but—” “—I wouldn’t have just run away!”

Voice cracking is a sign of impending mental breakdown, Emma’s sure. As are Killian’s tightening fingers, although she’s starting to depend on those fingers just a bit because sitting hadn’t even crossed her mind before and now that might be the only reason she’s still standing.

That keeps happening.

“Doesn’t sound like you had a choice,” Regina says, “if Pan wanted to tempt you, will-o-wisps seem like the perfect way to do it. See the light, get pulled into this future, he gets Henry, and everything he wants.” “But Henry is here. He’s—he’s a grown man, with a kid and—” “—None of that is set in stone,” Tinker Bell interrupts, magic roaring in Emma’s ears. Killian’s going to cut off the circulation to her hand. “With you out of the way, Pan’s got a straight shot at the heart of the truest believer, he can change what you would have eventually done. Make sure he gets the magic that’ll save Neverland. That’s why everything else is falling apart.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Magic,” David clarifies. “All of it acting strangely? Turns out that is because of you, kid.” Scoffing makes her lean forward awkwardly, but Killian doesn’t mention the strain it’s undoubtedly putting on his arm, and letting go of her hand is disappointing for about two seconds. Before it turns into his arm around waist.

Regina’s expression turns calculating.

“Again,” she says, “it’s what we talked about. Things falling apart because you got pulled off the board. Into this exceedingly tempting place.”

Widening her eyes at the unspoken judgement doesn’t do anything to alter Regina’s face, but Emma didn’t really expect it to and her eyes hurt. From not crying. She can’t possibly cry anymore. “I’ve never been to Wonderland, though. How could I fuck up its magic?” “You’ve been other places, love,” Killian murmurs, “and all of that has ripple effects. Savior saves one place, and other realms reap the benefits.” “Is Neverland in the United Realms?” “No.” “Just like that?” “Just like that,” he echoes, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “What do we do now, Your Majesty?”

Taking a deep breath, Regina lets it out almost immediately — staring at limbs and their out-of-place placement for a moment, before glancing at Tinker Bell. Who shrugs, again. Emma’s going to scream. Before she cries. Maybe then all the emotions will balance out. “We figure out a way to get Emma back to the right place, so she can save Henry and defeat Pan, then we hope that things haven’t been altered so much in the past that this version of the future crumbles entirely.” “What was that about no pressure before?” Emma huffs, David laughing under his breath and the feel of something on her hair is absolutely not Killian’s lips. “And honesty, what options do we have left? As far as time travel goes.” “Eh, we're far from exhausted on possibilities,” Regina says. “Just need to get creative.” Tinker Bell’s gasp is very loud. “Have you tried—” “—No,” Killian cuts in, sharper than anything else he’s said. “That’s not going to work.” “But you haven’t tried.” “Because it’s not an option.” “Oh, that’s very negative.” He hums, and Emma waits for the rest of the conversation. Another verbal volley, but it doesn’t come and Tinker Bell looks very disappointed. She’s got another migraine. “How long do you think we have until this future just—disintegrates?” Emma asks.

She counts to twenty-four before anyone replies. “Maybe a couple days,” Regina replies, “a week at most.” “So—Christmas, then?” “I bet he didn’t plan that on purpose, just one of those crazy happenstances.” “Yuh huh.” “Try and sound more convincing next time, that one sucked a bit.”

Hearing the so-called queen of these supposed United Realms utter the word sucked without a hint of irony is not what Emma expects to be the straw that breaks her back, but it is and her back hurts, and all of her aches, and saving people is her gig. She’s got to figure out a way to do that. No matter what.

She can’t do that while standing here. With three matching looks of concern, and one of absolute and total fear boring into the side of her head, and Emma’s also very good at running.

That would suggest she’s got control over her limbs, though. Stumbling down the stairs, she makes it about three-quarters of the way down before the whole thing is too challenging and her lungs appear to be disappearing, or possibly melting, and something in her spine cracks when she falls forward.

Hair brushes Emma’s knees, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs and the volume of her breathing and the hand that lands on hers doesn’t surprise her as much as it should. “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Killian instructs, only for Emma to flat out fail at that too.

Becoming a very frustrating theme. “Why are you so worried about my oxygen intake?” “It concerns me that you’re not, actually.”

Letting out a breath she definitely could have used, Emma’s head lolls. Towards his shoulder and the very solid nature of him, and he doesn’t try to roll her off. Just shifts his arm so it’s back around her waist and that does make it a bit easier to keep her lungs functioning.

“Was it all of reality collapsing, or Regina using that particular word?”

Emma groans. “Mind reading’s kind of a violation of privacy.” “Invoking my pirate excuse.” “That’s not a thing.” “Eh,” he says, and she hears the smile. That’s...nice. “Having no regard for laws is something of a requirement for piracy.” “This is not working as well as you think it is.” “I respectfully disagree. We’re going to fix this, you know that, right?” “I can’t imagine how.” “Sheer stubbornness hardwired into your personality.” Laughing hurts her very tight and anxiety-riddled chest, but Emma can’t help herself and she’d been right about the smile. Magic flutters under her skin, a steady pulse that’s slightly different than her normal pulse because it’s also more consistent and Killian’s nose is close enough to brush her cheek. If he wanted.

She wonders if he does. She’d like him to.

But that’s another problem, and more danger than anything Neverland could offer, and—“Fuck Peter Pan, honestly,” Emma proclaims, Killian’s response warm on her skin because it also includes a sound drifting close to a guffaw and she supposes his mouth is as close as his nose. What with the general structure of faces, and all.

He kisses her cheek.

Quick — barely there, really. Over before it has a chance to register, but Emma’s certain she’s been catapulted into the stratosphere, and he blinks almost hyperactively at her. She’s right about the palm thing too.

He turns into her hand as soon as it finds his cheek.

“Apologies,” Killian mumbles, retreating back into formalities and behind walls Emma had been clinging to only a few days before. Now they’re just kind of annoying. “Force of habit.”

“Was it the fuck Peter Pan that got you?” “You’ve always been something of a wordsmith.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Emma smiles. “Can I—can I ask you a question?” “No need to preface it, darling.” That’s something like the eighth time that’s happened. In the last two days. Second in the last hour or so. Emma’s not counting that either. “Do you remember this?” “Currently?” “Don’t be an ass,” she snarks, but his hook is around her wrists before she can even try to lift her hands. “The will-o-wisp attack. I—well, it was my turn to watch and I was kind of wallowing because of everything that had happened, and—” Telling him she wanted to kiss him then and now and possibly for the rest of time is also very appealing. And terrifying. Emma bites her tongue. Coward.

“No,” Killian shakes his head. “I don’t.” “Is that weird?” “Decidedly.” “So, then—wait, I’ve got another question.” He lifts his eyebrows. Smirks. Has the absolute cheek to lift his thumb and brush tears away from her skin, and Emma resolutely refuses to acknowledge the shiver that goes through her at that. “What was with your huh’s, then?” “Last night, you mean.” “I said Echo Caves and you totally froze. Is that—” “Quite a lot of things happen in Neverland,” Killian finishes, “and not all of them have happened for you yet.” “Menacing.” He hums again, takes a deep breath that clearly isn’t a sign he wants to kiss her again. When he does not actually kiss her again. Fine, fine, fine, super. “Not all of it,” he says, although the words sound suspiciously like a promise and neither one of them blink when a bird flies through the open window nearby.

“Are those birds flying in sync?” “Stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.” “What was that about pirate code, or whatever?” Grinning up at him and his scowl, Emma can’t help but be a little proud that she’s managed to distract the great and passably royal Captain Killian Jones during the United Realm’s annual tree lighting. Which in retrospect, does seem kind of strange since Emma can’t imagine they actually have Christmas in the Enchanted Forest.

That’s a conversation for a different time, though.

For now she’s willing to keep playing distraction, and it’s very fun to flirt. With Killian, specifically. She’ll consider the repercussions of that later, too.

“As far as I’m aware,” Killian whispers, trying to keep Hope from jumping into the nearest snowbank, “your mother has instructed them to appear at certain and integral points in the ceremony. For dramatic effect.” “Kind of gaudy, isn’t it?” “A requirement of royalty, so it would seem.”

The muscles in her cheeks are starting to ache. From overuse, and that’s—another problem. Being here a tease. That one strand of hair that always manages to fall towards Killian’s right eye is the worst.

“How long have you been holding onto that particular opinion?” They haven't turned the tree on yet, so whatever light reflects in his eyes is more theoretical than anything. Regina must have practiced this speech at some point. No way this is all improvised, not with the dramatic pauses and introductions and— “Oh shit,” Emma mutters, the ends of Killian’s ears going red because Regina is introducing them and Hope is nothing more than four uncoordinated limbs and Henry snickers very loudly.

Ella elbows him in the side.

Emma likes her daughter-in-law. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about that title, or the granddaughter it comes with, but she’s getting very good at putting thoughts in boxes and only partially acknowledging what they mean and Killian's hand finds her again.

Magic rushes from the top of her head to the very bottom of her feet, standing a bit straighter in another pair of boots, and Killian’s whole body moves towards her. So as to make it easier when he openly gapes at her.

That must happen a lot too, though. No one bats an eyelash. “If you’re all done,” Regina drawls, but Henry isn’t and Ella can’t contain her laugh either. Mary Margaret looks overjoyed. Even as her birds break formation.

Emma nods. “All good.” “Gods, the whole lot of you are annoying. You know—” Waving one hand, candles burst into flame without a word, multi-colored lights appearing on every branch, and it takes Emma a moment to realize that everyone in the crowd is holding an ornament.

“What are they for?” she asks Killian, not bothering to lower her face over the cheers. People are cheering for the tree. “They’re wishes, Mama,” Hope cries. “From everyone!”

He nods when the four-year-old doesn’t explain anymore — already rushing towards Mary Margaret and her ornament. “That’s why people come from all over. Aside from the festive nature, and the talented birds, it’s an old superstition. Place an ornament where the candle was, and you’ll get your wish.” “What happens to the candle?” “Supposed to bring it home, and light that space with the feeling of the solstice.”

In any other situation, exhaling as forcefully as she does would be embarrassing. As it is, Emma figures she’s got a thousand excuses and the hand in hers gives no indication of letting go any time soon. So, seems like a wash. “Gods, that’s nice.” “Aye, it is.”

Hope puts an ornament on the tree.

So does Henry.

And Lucy. The list goes on and on, but all Emma can do is stand at the end of Granny’s counters and eat her weight in Snickerdoodles.

She's the worst, frankly.

Snow starts to fall just as Emma’s wavering between that happy medium of pleasantly buzzed and legitimately drunk, and she’s got to ask someone who doles out the liquor licenses in this realm because it appears Granny’s hand has grown a bit heavy over the years.

Lucy scampers towards the far window as soon as she notices the storm, already talking a mile a minute and detailing plans with Hope and Neal — and this happy medium makes it impossible for Emma to be too frustrated by that, but she also hasn’t actually asked what happened to Neal or why he doesn’t appear in Storybrooke, so it seems it’s more difficult to rid herself of the self-imposed asshole moniker than she’d like.

And the bell over the door rattles like it’s the goddamn town crier, another familiar face stepping through the frame. With red highlights in her hair. “Are we doing this, then?” Ruby asks, flanked by a woman Emma doesn’t recognize and another redhead who is obviously not Ariel and it’s strange to see Mulan out of armor.

“Cap?” Ruby presses, when no one responds quickly enough, “this is happening, right?” Glancing at a wary Henry and back towards a clearly confused Emma, Killian grits his teeth. While she does her best to come to terms with nicknames, and another tradition and Hope tries very hard to climb up Emma’s side.

So as to yell in her ear easier.

“It’s snowing, Mama. We’ve got to play!” Emma blinks. “In the snow.” “It’s a...thing,” Killian explains. “Gets almost—” “—Bloodthirsty,” Mary Margaret says, which is not the most shocking thing that’s happened so far, but Emma’s buzz is starting to ebb slightly and someone’s knocking on the door. Another redhead, with her hair in braids and what looks like suspiciously like a crown on her head and David lets out a joyful noise when he notices the guy behind her.

Mary Margaret tugs at the edge of Emma’s sleeve. She might be nearly drunk too, actually. If her slight wobble is any indication. “In the past,” she starts, “there’s been some notably magical snowstorms here. It was quite an event when Elsa first arrived, but then well—you helped save her, and her sister.” The redhead waves, as if she knows she’s being talked about and Emma can’t fathom how she makes that connection, but she’s getting better at puzzles. “And now,” Mary Margaret continues, “it’s become something of a ritual.”

Ruby gags. “Oh Gods, don’t say it like that. Sounds ruthless.” “Isn’t it, though?” Henry challenges. “The gist is, that Elsa shows up after the tree lighting with her snow powers and we have a snowball fight.” She’s too drunk for this. Definitely well past buzzed at this point. “A snowball fight,” Emma repeats, half a dozen nodding heads replying with equally large smiles and the almost audible sense of anticipation hovering around them.

Hope widens her eyes. It’s a very good trick. “She practices that,” Killian mutters, more mind reading that Emma doesn’t bother to point out because the redhead is shouting "come on, let’s go'' and that sounds like a command. And bloodthirsty is a very appropriate adjective.

Teams are quickly formed, alliances announced and the guy Emma realizes is named Kristoff claims “honor must be defended” enough times that it appears to be a catchphrase. Laughter rings out around them, dancing on the magically-induced snowflakes and off the lights, and there aren’t as many candles on the tree anymore, but some flames continue to flicker, casting shadows across faces and snowballs.

As they fly past Emma’s ears.

“Your aim could use some work,” Killian says, breathing heavier as he ducks behind a snow drift they’re using as a blockade. Emma sneers. “Where’d the kid go?” “Ours?” She nods. Tries not to die. Only marginally succeeds. Killian doesn’t appear to notice. Force of habit is a very strong rationalization, it seems. “She’s allied herself with her much more impressive brother, who—” Lifting out of his crouch, Killian cups a hand to his mouth, like that will help the volume of his ensuing insult. “—Has clearly been practicing snowball creation in the Wish Realm and only knows how to win by cheating!” “I learned it from you,” Henry calls back.

David’s laugh is loud enough to disrupt a whole flock of birds. Perched on the branches above his and Mary Margaret’s head.

Goosebumps make a glorious return to Emma’s arm — and quite possibly her soul, which only seems like an exaggeration until she notices the spots of color on Killian’s cheeks and the bits of snow clinging to his hair. His eyes get bluer when she brushes the moisture away. Have to, if only to explain Emma’s fluttering magic and fledgling pulse and a snowball slams into her left shoulder blade. “Gotta hide better,” Anna calls, the blonde behind her, who is definitely Elsa, shaking with the force of her laughter. Everyone keeps laughing. Everyone is so happy. It’s—

A goddamn Christmas Utopia.

“You did offer yourself up a bit,” Killian reasons, Emma gasping at the betrayal. Pulling on the front of her now-damp jacket, he tugs her back against his side and they’re very close. Too close. Possibly not close enough.

“And what would you suggest o ye master strategist?” “Little wordy, don’t you think?”

“I retract my compliment, then.” “Ahaha,” he chuckles, “a compliment, was it? Well that’s totally different, then. Now, if you just stay here with—” The rest of the sentence gets caught up in his grunt and groan and Emma’s not particularly disappointed to see Hope’s return to this side of the snowball fight, but she’s also fairly certain there was a me looming on the tip of Killian’s very distracting tongue and she’d like to hear that. Selfishly. “Oh, switched allegiances again, have you, little love?” “Henry can’t enchant the snowballs,” Hope says, like that’s supposed to make sense and it almost does because Emma has magic, but she’s never tried to use it on snow. At least not yet.

“I don’t—” she starts, only to cut herself off. At the overall circumference of Hope’s eyes, and the color of Killian’s and there’s something to said for sheer force of will. “Gimme a snowball, baby.”

Excitement immediately colors her daughter’s face, smile wide enough that it’s probably a record and Killian doesn’t say anything. Watches without a single shift of his chest, which means Emma is staring at his chest, but he’s also obviously not breathing, and her lungs can’t stand up to much more of this.

An admittedly lackluster snowball gets plopped in Emma’s upturned palm, and she blinks away the cold like this is old hat. Or something less lame sounding. Snow packs together like—well, magic, she supposes, a perfect sphere that isn’t quite iced over, but won’t fall apart when one of them throws it and obviously Hope’s got to throw it.

“Ok,” she says, nodding encouragingly. “Who did you want to take down?” Killian’s lips disappear. Behind his teeth. To stop himself from grinning like a maniac, or so Emma very quickly convinces herself.

“Uncle Kris,” Hope announces, and this family’s apparently only grown in the last decade or so. Maybe Emma should be more concerned about her heart. And its ability to burst.

“We can do that. Just—toss it up, and…”

She’s got no idea, really. Just generic hope, and a surplus of feeling, but Emma’s always been told that magic is emotion and she’s not sure she’s ever been more emotional, which is a scathing commentary of her life, but this is also her life and— Killian scoops Hope up, an impressive act of balance and dodging incoming snowballs, and Emma will use that emotion as a reasonable excuse for what she does next. Reaching forward, her fingers curl around the brace at the end of his arm, not able to actually touch skin because he’s wearing a leather jacket, and that’s only sort of messing with her mind. But the motivation is the same, and she’s got all those suspicions and thoughts and—

The most powerful magic in the world.

“Throw it, love,” Killian directs, Hope’s arm pulling behind her like she’s a professional baseball player, and Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Warmth curls at the base of her spine, inching up her vertebrae until it takes root at the base of her skull, spreading out through her brain and the rest of her limbs and he definitely kisses her hair again.

She’d been counting on that, just a bit.

Muscles loosen under her skin, no sense of tension or that ever-present anxiety Emma’s always just assumed was part of her genetic makeup. Shouts echo around her, in addition to the snow, but she can’t quite hear any of it over the explosion of magic between her ears, and Hope’s cry of success will probably be branded on Emma for the rest of her life.

She hopes so, at least.

Opening her eyes to find Kristoff sputtering, and Anna as impressed as she is indignant, Emma only barely has a chance to catch her breath before there’s a kid flying into her arms. It’s harder to hold her when she doesn’t let go of Killian. And Killian doesn’t pull away.

He watches both of them. Traces over Emma’s face, the same way she had in the hallway, and something happens. Something important. Passing between them, and cementing itself in her gut and her soul and his lips twitch. At her magic, probably. “Thank you,” Killian mouths, Emma nodding against Hope’s hair. She kisses it. Out of habit, or whatever.

Strands of hair are damp against Emma's temple by the time they traipse back to the house, Hope asleep on Killian’s shoulder. Enchanted snowflakes linger on the back of her jacket, hovering on her eyelashes for maximum effect and peak cute, which didn’t need any help if Emma’s being honest and she might be willing to err on the side of that particular feeling right now. So as to keep the feeling, all year long and maybe even indefinitely.

Or whatever they said about Ebenezer Scrooge.

After he learned to love Christmas. And other humans.

Emma’s still not thinking too hard about that particular word, though. So, maybe complete honesty’s something of a stretch, but the kid is undeniably adorable and it’s admittedly difficult to think straight when Killian is—

Killian. In italicized and underlined lettering, meeting Emma snark for snark, and snowball for snowball, and she really wants to know his Monopoly cheating strategy, but that’s a problem for an entirely different list because that list has impossible words and improbable feelings and he’s staring at her.

Where she’s leaning against their front door.

Using possessive and collective pronouns isn’t helping her cause.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. For the benefit of the sleeping kid, Emma figures. Not the state of her pulse, or the magic he could feel, and the cyclical nature of time is just toying with her at this point.

She nods. “Better than, somehow.” “Oh, that’s a little negative, Swan.” “Kind of my schtick, isn’t it.” “Not always,” Killian says, another pair of words that shouldn’t sound like a promise and clearly do not care. Emma feels her smile. Like, possibly in the very core of her being. At least between her ribs, where the growing sense of belonging has decided to linger, this feeling of home and possibility and staying here is not a possibility. Tinker Bell will figure something out.

Emma will — that’s how Savior’ing works, after all.

“You know,” Killian adds, Hope humming into his neck and there’s quite a lot of neck. Emma might be staring at his neck. “At some point we concoct this very impressive buttered rum recipe, that’s notoriously good at warding off chills.” Digging her teeth into her lips does not do anything to disperse the butterflies in Emma’s stomach, but she’s also not all that interested in them leaving. “Concerned about my breathing and my overall body temperature?” God, she’s an idiot.

Flirting isn't quite second nature, though — and Emma’s even less accustomed to flirting as a two-way street, but this feels as easy as it has and will and there’s those tense-based issues all over again. Killian grins. Slow, and measured and inching almost close to lecherous, sparking a handful of other other ideas that—

Immediately disappears when the four-year-old wakes up.

Brushed teeth take precedence, as do picking out pajamas and Hope is in possession of more pajama sets than Emma knew could exist in one set of drawers. Then there’s a bedding routine, lifting comforters and crawling under sheets and Emma doesn’t know the story requested of her.

She’s got no idea what happens after Prince Charles spun around with his sword.

It’s got to be impressive, though.

“Oh, Hope I—” she exhales, fear creeping back into the forefront of her mind. Until fingers find they’re way back into hers, and they’re just as warm as they always are and it takes Killian less than three minutes to promise a different story on another night.

No tears are shed, so that’s got to be a victory and Hope’s eyes are already fluttering closed when Killian flicks off the light. Lingering in the hallway, Emma’s not sure what she’s supposed to do or where she’s supposed to go, but there’s a hook pressed into the small of her back and buttered rum turns out to have a ridiculous amount of cinnamon in it. “Shit,” Emma mutters into her glass, and Killian looks far too satisfied. “This is really good.” “Took some trial and error, but we got there eventually. Or get there for you, I suppose.” Sipping instead of responding is another cowardly move, one Emma won’t ever admit to and it doesn’t matter because he can read her mind. At least her face. Open book, and all that.

“I’m sorry.” Killian blinks. “For what, exactly?” “God, throw a dart. Everything I—showing up in your life and making the right Emma disappear, maybe, and that’s got to be fucking with you, and—” “—You’re not the wrong Emma,” he interrupts, with enough force to pull her up short. Buttered rum drips on her chin. So, she’s a picture of romance and flirting potential. “Just a little early, that’s all.” “Not what you said when I got here.” “Aye, well that was the bastard version of me. He’s a—” “—Bastard?” “Absolutely,” Killian nods, “and maybe a little unsure of himself when it comes to you.”

It’s her turn to blink. More than once, only a little concerned the scene in front of her will change, but it doesn’t and it won’t and there’s got to be a limit on time travel. Emma’s reached her quota by now, she hopes. “Because I’m a mess now? I mean, this version of me. Not the wife one.” “You’re worried about Henry. And I understand that, did then as well. I just—you want to know why the Echo Caves gave me pause? Because if you got tugged right after that, then all you’re sure of is that I think I could move on from Milah, but nothing else has happened for you yet. No promises or—” Swallowing, he sets his glass down and there wasn’t much room between them, but there’s even less now and Emma’s got nowhere to put her hands. Except on his thigh. Where it bumps hers. “Leaving behind that bastard who wouldn’t give you the magic bean was always something of a challenge, but you made me want to. Made it easier to do just that. Because eventually you do trust me, and you believe in me, and—”

He exhales. Licks his lips. Emma can’t move. “The thought of losing that terrified me,” Killian finishes.

They’ve stopped dancing. Are standing stock-still in the middle of the floor, while other people twirl around and wait for them to get their rhythm back. And Killian doesn’t blink, which is equally frustrating and overwhelming and a much more positive adjective that Emma can’t be bothered with because she’s too busy saying, “I...like you?” “Was that a question?” “Maybe,” she admits, “it’s not really my forte, and I told Neal a bunch of shit in the Echo Caves too, so—is...did my parents name their kid after him?” “Yuh huh.” “Don’t sound particularly pleased.” “We’ll get to that,” Killian says, “Rehash the liking stuff, please.” Maybe laughing at inappropriate times is actually his greatest talent. Emma’s head drops, bumping Killian’s shoulder, but then there’s an arm back around her waist and there’s so much of him, and that’s always been the problem. Opposite of a problem, really.

“You just—” Emma mutters. “Came back, for us and me and I...that kind of terrifies me too, but you always make sure if I'm ok, and that’s—not a ton of people do that.” “Becomes something of a habit.” “I’m going to ask you a question.” “Still don’t need to preface it.” “Are you Prince Charles in the story?”

Surprise is a good look on him. All of them are, but Emma’s already crossed one emotional threshold and like wasn’t really the word she was thinking about before. “Aye,” Killian says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear.

“Does that make me the princess?” “In almost every story I tell.”

The warmth moves to her cheeks, and the same skin Killian’s fingers graze, coming dangerously close to the edge of her mouth and barely parted lips. “So, uh,” Emma stammers, “not our first time travel adventure?” “Gets confusing when you haven’t done that other part yet.” “Time travel might be overrated, honestly. But we get back, right? That’s—I mean, you’re here.”

Nodding, his nose replaces his fingers and it’s oddly endearing. “If you remember this in the past, I refuse to be held accountable, alright?”

“Seems fair,” Emma laughs, and she thinks she hears him swallow before he responds. “You give up your magic, for me—which is something else I never entirely pay you back for, but then we get pulled into the portal, adventures ensue, including that very impressive spin move, and then your magic comes back.” “How?” “With that wand Regina used before, that’s why she thought it would work.” “You’re skipping over things,” she accuses, and flirting might not be the only two-way street. He’s getting easier to read. “Was that was it you? Helping with my magic?” Shrugging isn’t easy when they’re so tangled together, but Killian’s ears are as red as Ariel’s hair and Ruby’s highlights and—“The only reason I magic’ed that snowball was because I was holding onto you. Control’s not something I’ve got much of right now.” “You would have been able to figure it out.” “Not with a kid waiting, and all those people and—” Problems be damned. Lists be damned. Time itself, be goddamned. “Paying me back is a stupid thing to think.”

“Swan.” Shaking her head, Emma moves before she can reconsider how incredibly dumb this is and possibly even more dangerous, but he keeps staring at her and it’s so easy and normal, and if she were someone who breathed with any sort of regularity, that wold be an appropriate analogy. Killian shifts too, so that helps.

And she definitely mumbles kiss me like some harlequin romance heroine, but he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t object and the fingers that find her hair help ground her. To this plane of reality. Nice exists for about half a second, before it rather quickly evolves into need and desire and there are hands everywhere. Emma’s and Killian’s — tracing each other like this is the first time all over again, and her back arches once she clamors into his lap.

Rocking down at the same time he rocks up draws out several sounds Emma’s never heard before, and would not mind hearing on loop. Fingers search out skin, pushing into the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck, and she can’t tilt her head enough. To get the right angle, or more of his tongue and his tongue’s already swiping at her lips.

He groans again. When she opens her mouth, lets him trace as much as he’d like, and Emma would like even more, but she’s always been kind of greedy when it comes to him and really oxygen is vastly overrated.

She can’t keep her eyes open.

Can’t imagine how anything gets better than this, or them and there’s that pronoun again.

Both of their shoulders heave when they finally have to pull apart, more black than blue in Killian’s eyes and— “We’re really good at that,” she mutters, working a laugh out of him. That he presses against her neck. And under her chin. Drags across her jaw, and up towards her temple, kissing whatever he can reach and everywhere he lands and it takes a power she did not know she possessed for Emma to keep herself from demanding he take his clothes off as well.

She opts for the next best thing. “Thoughts on sleeping in your own bed?”

The eyebrows, honestly. Flying up, and reacting quicker than he can respond and Killian kisses her. Soft and easy, and as normal as anything. “Vast,” he says, mostly into her mouth, “and it’s difficult to fall asleep without you, so it’d be nice to actually do that.” “Yeah, ok. That works.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #MAGIC SNOWBALL FIGHTS #making a united realms solely to bring back frozen characters???#more likely than you think!!

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