#I’m happy with a bare mattress! no sheets to wrinkle & piss me off! it’s her cleaning obsession that’s getting out of hand & fuckin w my lif

[my-t4t-romance]

lmao my mom threatened to stop taking me out to theater classes or any other events (I don’t have my driver’s license and there is NOTHING within walking distance so I’d be stuck at home) for not being Clean/Organized by her standards and when I said “do you really think that’d help anything” she just walked out

[areyouscarletcold]

killerwaaaaaaaaaaaave + “I’ll keep you warm.” ~ happy writing! :) writer's block is the worst

I’ll give you something happier since the other prompt you gave me turned out angsty lol. I hope you don’t mind that I added some other ships into this too.

7. I’ll keep you warm.

“You need to get back in bed.”

Mick grunted and Caitlin forced herself to blink, her eyelids sticking for a brief second. She was tempted to groan; sitting in a chair for most of the night, not to mention accidentally falling asleep there for a hot second, wasn’t the most comfortable position.

Mick had offered her the bed, but she was sure he was being cheeky. Well, maybe only a little cheeky, since he seemed disgruntled at having to spend the night at S.T.A.R. Labs.

(The opposite could be said for Lisa, who had teased and practically hung off of Cisco earlier that afternoon despite the new cut she’d needed stitches for on her left shoulder. Caitlin wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d actually decided to spend the night in the end, given the sheepish looks Cisco kept sending Caitlin.

Thankfully, Leonard hadn’t quite liked that idea and it took Barry to calm them both down before they wound up gilding or icing each other to the spot.)

She couldn’t say it wasn’t…weird. Working with the Rogues, that is. It’d begun thanks to some unruly metas terrorizing them both, and somehow they’d wound up allied? She still wasn’t sure how happening upon the Snarts in the Cortex drinking coffee had become normal for her these days.

“Need to piss.”

Ah. Right.

Back to reality.

“I can help you to the bathroom,” Caitlin said, grimacing as she got to her feet. At least she’d taken off her shoes earlier - the cold floor felt good, soothing against her toes. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Not far.” Mick didn’t shrug her off, but the look he sent her when she tried to grab his shoulder. She took the hint and stepped back, allowing him to stand. With the bullet removed from his leg, he looked steady.

Ish.

Mick swayed for a moment, feeling out his balance before he nodded. “Be right back.”

“Are you sure - ”

“Don’t worry about me, doc,” Mick said. His mouth twitched, as if he found her concern funny. Caitlin just held her hands up defensively and watched him pass, unable to stop herself from following the criminal with her gaze on the way out.

Caitlin had long learned not to bother with the Rogues. Sometimes they were worse than Barry when he put his mind to it, bull-headed and sickly sweet as they stared her down.

(Well…that was mostly Lisa. Try as she might, she really couldn’t get on with that woman.)

She tried to busy herself in the room, adjusting the mussed sheets from the makeshift bed that Mick had tossed halfway over the side (someone was a pillow hogger, she noted, taking in the nearly flattened pillow spun on its side where he’d been lying), taking notes on his improving condition. Knowing Leonard, he’d want a report in the morning about how Mick was doing, even if Mick cursed him out afterward.

She bit back a laugh at the memory - as frightening as it had initially been to hurry into the Cortex and find Cisco staring nervously at the two Rogues spewing profanity at each other (fondly?), it’d been somehow hilarious, seeing their faces screwed up and Mick fuming in the corner.

A shiver wracked her spine and Caitlin wrapped her arms around herself, pausing in her notes. She’d forgotten to bring a jacket, but with winter fast approaching, it had gotten chillier inside the Labs and Iris had complained alongside Caitlin multiple times about the unusually cold hallways.

Part of her suspected it was Leonard messing with the temperature. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all, and he had a conniption every time it rose above sixty-five.

“Cold?”

Caitlin jumped, just suppressing a swear on the tip of her tongue as she whipped around. Mick looked a little amused as she pressed a hand over her chest to calm her rapid-fire heartbeat. “What? Oh, ah, I’m fine. Didn’t hear you come back.”

“Didn’t take long.” Caitlin barely had time for her nose to start wrinkling when Mick stepped into her space, inches away as he tentatively rested his palms on her arms. All the hair stood upright on her body, and she wasn’t sure it was solely from the chill. She sucked in a breath as he rubbed them, glancing at her face with an impassive expression.

This… 

She didn’t know what to make of this.

“Said you were cold,” Mick muttered.

“Oh. I’m - I mean - ”

“I’ll keep you warm.” The words came out more as a question than a statement, but Caitlin swallowed hard as he tugged her closer to get a better, almost softer grip. 

Funny, she hadn’t expected to associate Mick Rory’s hands with any action that could be classified as soft.

She hadn’t even - well, no. She’d be lying if she said she’d never thought of Mick Rory’s hands at all.

“This better?” Mick asked, his voice somehow loud in the empty room. His eyes remained on her face, as if he thought he could read her reaction better at this proximity.

Caitlin forced herself to swallow again, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Um… I mean, it’s a little warmer. Are you not - You’re not cold?”

Mick laughed and the air didn’t feel quite so frigid. She could smell faint smoke on his clothes, though she wondered if that was a usual scent, since he hadn’t been associated with arson cases in quite some time.

None that she knew of, of course.

“Nah. Snart always does this.” Ah, so she’d been right. “I think he’s trying to rile up Red and his girlfriend.”

That…did seem likely. Leonard had acted odd around Iris and Barry since they’d officially allied with Team Flash, his smirks stiffer than usual. She hadn’t brought it up to either of them, but she could see the hawk-like skepticism Cisco gave the three and knew she probably wasn’t alone with her suspicions.

“He wants us all to freeze in the process?”

Mick shrugged. Their shoulders bumped and her heart fluttered before she could think better of entertaining…whatever was going on with her. “He’s a dumbass. Not good at…feelings.”

“Well, that confirms that, I guess.”

Another laugh. “Told ya he was obvious.”

“I guess flirting is more of Lisa’s strong suit?”

Mick paused, his head tilting as he looked her over. It was strange to think that this was the same man who’d once kidnapped her, that he could look so relaxed and amiable. 

“Guess so.” She couldn’t pin down his tone, but it almost sounded like he was disappointed.

Caitlin glanced at her watch and frowned. “It’s getting late. I should… I mean, I should get home. Unless you need help with…anything else?”

Mick stepped away and a twinge of something unidentifiable crept into her gut. The chill returned. “Not now. You should get rest. Don’t want you falling asleep on me.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she lied, a smile ghosting her lips despite herself. “You, on the other hand, need to be careful so you don’t pull your stitches, mister.”

“Ain’t my first time being patched up,” Mick reminded her, but he moved toward the bed, flopping onto the mattress. His leg’s stitches didn’t look the angry red they had earlier, but he did grimace at the movement. “Go on. See ya tomorrow.”

“It’s technically tomorrow,” Caitlin said, spying both hands on her watch pointed at the twelve, but she packed up her bag, already shivering again without Mick’s hands as makeshift heating pads against her skin.

That was…a strange thought.

It was late. She wasn’t thinking straight.

Still, even as she left, she spared the criminal a quiet farewell, and didn’t bother hiding her smile as she walked out of the Cortex, his low chuckle echoing in her mind.

Send me angst/fluff prompts

[summerfitzy]

playing for keeps

Fandom: SKAM Ship: Chris x Eva Summary: Eva hadn't expected this much enthusiasm from Chris when she asked him to pretend they were dating. ao3

skam month, fanfiction week, day 5: your choice

They fell onto Noora’s couch somewhere between four and five a.m., too tired to mind the close fit and narrow cushions. Chris had planned to leave Eva’s party with her from the minute he’d stepped out of William’s car—fine, from the second he’d known he’d be free for it—but he’d pictured them heading out to a bar or a club. Somewhere with tequila shots, dim lighting, and loud music.

(Or to her bedroom. His. Those worked too.)

As Eva mumbled her eyes shut and molded her back against his chest, Chris decided that he didn’t mind the way things had gone. “Happy birthday, stalker,” he said into her neck, letting his lips linger there.

He might have thought she’d passed out—she’d drank enough—if not for her belated, mumbled reply. “It’s not my birthday anymore.” She slanted her chin to look back at him. “I hate when it’s not my birthday anymore.” Shots and champagne continued to soak her breath and voice, painting them both a bit breathier, a bit sulkier than usual.

Chris smirked down at her. He liked all variations of Eva, but drunk, sleepy Eva had her moments. (Even with her make-up smudged around her eyes and her hair scrambled.) (Especially with her smudged make-up and scrambled hair.) “It’ll happen again next year.” (Fuck, he’d lost any right to give William shit about Noora.)

A long sigh slipped from Eva’s mouth. “But next year is so far.”

Such a long-suffering sigh that Chris couldn’t help but muffle a laugh into her shoulder. “We can have a second birthday party tomorrow,” he said, sliding his palm along the slit in her dress, the bare skin within. “Just us.”

An objectively ridiculous amount of triumph widened his grin when he heard her giggle. “So selfless.”

A very serious nod. “I try.”

“Mhm.”

And then he was closing his eyes, about to give himself over to sleep and the, no doubt, pounding hangover that would follow, when—“Chris?”

He tightened his arms around her, and pressed a shushing sound into her hair.

“I slept with Jonas.”

Chris’s eyes peeled open. Eva had already turned to face him again, dragging her lower lip between her teeth. Usually, he’d bite it for her. Now, he shook his head, brow creased and lips stretched into his easiest, autopilot smile. “What?”

“Earlier this week.”

He couldn’t stop shaking his head, couldn’t fix his face out of its fake fucking smile. “Great?” he said, even though nothing seemed great at all. The girl he’d just told William he might love was fucking her ex-boyfriend. And he didn’t even have any room to be pissed about it, because she wasn’t his girlfriend, because their hook-ups had never had strings, because she wasn’t his.

(But she was with him right now. No one else. There was that.)

She shook her head too, with one decisive jerk. “Not great. Now he wants to get back together.”

Chris could have told her months ago that Jonas wanted her back—who the hell wouldn’t—but swallowed that particular insight. Focused on her other words: not great. “You don’t?” He could have told her that Jonas was a pretentious asshole too, and that she seemed several hundred times happier now, with him, than she had when he first met her.

(But he didn’t.) (Eva wasn’t with him, not really.) (Not yet.)

Another jerk of her head. "So when he cornered me about it at my party”—she cringed—“I kind of told him that we’d just started dating?”

His bullshit smile finally faltered. “Elaborate plan.” Chris’s face went black, before resetting, before grinning from his mouth to his eyes. “If you wanted to be my girlfriend, you could have just told me. Asked me out. Sent a love letter, maybe.”

Eva shoved at him, soft enough that it felt more like a pat. “I knew I should have said Adam,” she mumbled, before rolling back to her side. “So much less smug.”

Chris didn’t know who Adam was, but didn’t blink before replying, “Yeah, but you like me more.”

She shrugged against his chest. He’d take that to mean true.

“So I’m your boyfriend now?” he teased a moment later, resting a palm on her hip.

“Fake boyfriend,” she said into a couch cushion.

Just as well that she wasn’t facing him anymore—he couldn’t stop smirking.

The thing about being Eva’s fake boyfriend was, he could do all the cheesy, romantic shit he wanted and play it off as a joke. For instance: he could knock on her bedroom window with a surprise bouquet of daffodils, and pretend it was a game.

(If this was a game, it was one he intended to win.)

Hair pulled back into a lopsided bun, Eva closed her laptop, slid her long, bare legs out of bed, and stood to open the window for him with a raised brow.

Chris maneuvered his way inside with what he’d call considerable grace—he’d had enough practice—before placing the flowers into her skeptical hands and then spreading his arms wide. “Fake boyfriend reporting for duty.”

Eva raised the bright petals up to her nose, even as she rolled her eyes. Chris tallied a victory for himself. “I can’t believe I told you.”

“Nah, it’s good you did,” he said, flopping down on her unmade bed when she went to set the flowers on her desk. “Communication is the key to any healthy relationship.”

Her oversized, red t-shirt wavered across her pale thighs as she joined him on her wrinkled sheets; Chris tracked its hem with hooded eyes.

“Which you’re the expert on.”

“Who do you think William gets advice from?”

That got him a breath of laughter. “William and Noora just spent eight months sulking in different countries because of shitty communication.”

“I know.” Chris cast a baleful glance up at the ceiling. “If he’d only listened to me…”

Rolling her eyes again, Eva turned to push him down onto the mattress with both palms. “We can communicate now,” she murmured, spreading her knees around his hips. “Or you can kiss me.”

His hands shot up to tug her face down to his. He hadn’t actually come to hook up with Eva—for once—but he could multi-task. Especially when multi-tasking involved his tongue in Eva’s mouth and his palms on the warm skin beneath her t-shirt.

Moments later, Chris had her flipped beneath him, his fingers rising past her ribcage, and a grin on his face. “No bra?”

She smirked up at him. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.” Fuck, he loved her smirks.

“Not even your fake boyfriend?”

He was pretty sure she mumbled shut up into his mouth before kissing him again. 

Chris did not get around to the multi-tasking part of his visit until Eva rolled off of him and into her pillow, her auburn hair thoroughly disheveled against her bare shoulders. She glanced over at him. “I have to ask you something. While you’re in a good mood.”

He drawled his fingers from the curve of her chest to the dip of her waist to the flare of hips. “Ask me naked then.”

Eva arched an eyebrow at him, and pulled her sheets up to her collarbone. Chris might have minded if he didn’t feel so confident that he could talk her out of them again in under a minute. “I’m going to this party,” she started.

“I’m in.”

“There probably won’t be alcohol.” Confusion stretched across his face, amusement across hers. “It’s Sana’s Eid party, and I wouldn’t ask, but Jonas is going, and…”

He found a smirk of his own. “And you need a fake boyfriend?”

“Exactly.”

“Done.” And the thing was—they could have been done there. Chris had come to ask Eva out on a date with him, a real date, and now they had one. Easy. Sorted. No work required on his part. “Or…” he felt himself licking his lips. “You could take your real boyfriend.” (Easy was overrated.)

Chris wasn’t sure when he’d started to think of Eva as more than a hook-up or a friend, only that it went back before her birthday party. Before the military, even. Only that he really fucking liked knowing that her ex thought she was his now. That should have been enough.

Eva narrowed her eyes at him. “But I don’t have a real boyfriend.”

“You could.” Should have been enough—but wasn’t.

A snort. “You don’t want to be my boyfriend.”

“Why not?”

Leaning her lips back against his, she took her time murmuring, “Because you’ve told me that you hate being a boyfriend.” He had. Multiple times. Chris kind of wanted to punch himself for it now.

“Hated,” he corrected instead. “Past tense. I’ve grown.”

“Oh, really?” She was still pressed against him, still trailing her mouth along his jaw, so Chris didn’t take her skepticism overly hard.

“Healthy relationship expert now,” he said, curling his fingers through her hair. “Remember?”

“Right,” she said, laughed, slid her swollen lips against his again. “Let’s try a date first.”

She had to be able to feel the size of his grin, because a moment later, she added, “Don’t be so smug. I might not put out on a first date.”

(He still felt pretty damn smug.)

(Pretty damn happy.)

(Same difference.)

[edgeofmyniall]

Open Up

"We don’t talk enough. We should open up before it’s all too much.”

Stressed Harry takes out his frustration of his single release on you, but after you leaving from an argument, Harry tries to make it right

We hardly fought. Like ever. We might get on one another’s nerves when one of us was stressed or we might snap at each other after having a bad day, but we never yelled or screamed at each other. Harry had never raised his voice at me...until tonight. 

And we aren’t perfect so of course we had our little spats, but tonight I had never seen him so angry before. It was the night before his first single release, and I knew he was stressed, but I didn’t know the extent of it. When he was being interviewed by Grimmy, he had been so relaxed and easy going, but when we returned to our shared flat in the heart of London, he slammed the bedroom door startling me. He didn’t speak to me on the drive home which isn’t like him. I normally can’t get him to shut up, but today I made every effort to talk to him.

“Babe, can you just like- shut up, yeah?” His green eyes concentrated solely on the road and his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight the whites of his knuckles seemed to almost burst. 

“I just-” I started to say, but his exasperated sigh cut me off before I could finish my thought. The fuck is his problem? This has to be the greatest point in his career. Why is he taking this out on me?

The quietness of our flat was eery and so unlike us. The sound of laughter and music usually filled our home, but now as I lay my keys on the counter, the echo of their jingle vibrates off the walls. The padder of my feet shuffling across the wooden floor seems to be the only thing to disturb the silence in this vicinity.

My raised fist stops just before knocking on the bedroom door. Do I really want to go in? It isn’t the fact that I was scared of Harry, but worried what might come out of his mouth in a moment of raging temper. I lower my fist and took in a deep breath before turning the knob opening the bedroom door to a pacing frustrated man.

“Hi,” my quiet voice breaks the silence, and Harry’s eye look up to me from the floor in a hostile way. 

“What?!” he barks as he stops his marching, nothing like he usually speaks to me. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to know if you’re okay is all...”

“I’m perfectly fine, can’t you tell? God, you always breathe down my neck! I mean do you want to see me piss too? Would you be satisfied then?” He runs his hands through his dark hair and continues to pace across the room.

“Well ex-fucking-cuse me for trying to talk to you like a damn normal girlfriend. You never talk to me anymore, and sorry for worrying about you. Maybe if you opened up more instead of fucking pushing me to the side I would stop trying to breathe down your precious neck Harry,” I walk over to the closet to grab a light jacket. Laying it across my arm, I walk towards to door with my back to Harry who stopped in his tracks at my harsh tone to him.

“I know you’re stressed as shit, but that doesn’t mean you have to take it out me every damn time. I mean FUCK.”

I slam the bedroom door behind me and walk out the front door. Walking down the stairs I hear Harry calling after me, but I ignore him as I put my jacket on. Stepping out, I breathe in fresh air. The lump in my throat seems to vanish as I begin to walk down the street. My phone vibrates and see Harry’s name light up. 

So NOW you want to talk? Of fucking course you do.

I click the lock button, presumably ending the call. As I reach the end of the sidewalk, my phone vibrates again. And again it’s Harry. The street light allows me to walk again and I click the lock button once again, but this time, as I cross the street, I hold the lock button down and slide across the screen to turn my phone off. I don’t know where my feet are going, but anywhere is better than beside Harry and his fucking childlike attitude.

After thirty minutes or so, I come to a cafe shop that I always go to when Harry is out of town. The ding of the bell fills the little shop as I open the door. It wasn’t a Starbucks which is why I went there to begin with. The older couple makes sweets daily and somehow the tea always taste better than how I would make it. I smile sweetly at the young girl working the register. I order my tea and sit down in my normal seat that’s in the corner next to bookshelf full of classic tales like Frankenstein and Dracula.

“Oh George,” a high-pitch voice calls out. I look away from the bookshelf to see my favorite older lady (beside my Grammy of course), Mrs. Daisy. “our favorite customer is back! I know that tea combination like the back of my hand. How are you darling?” 

Mrs. Daisy had made her way to me, weaving around chairs and tables. She had in her hands a plate that held a slice of my favorite cake and my cup of tea. She set the plate down on the table as she pulled a seat up across from me. If I had never seen her before and only someone described her, I would have thought she was as young as me, but the wrinkles on her face show age and stress.

“i’m...okay, I guess,” I sip the hot tea, the warm liquid soothing my throat. I look up at Mrs. Daisy and knew she wasn’t satisfied with my answer. I had probably been one of the few customers she had that came in on a regular basis. Most of the customers are tourist who want to get the whole London fix.

I begin to tell her about Harry and I, about how we’re fighting all the time, and how today I finally had enough of just taking it from him. Mrs. Daisy never changed her composure. Her flat smile and beady eyes never left my face except for when she refilled my tea cup twice. She was soaking in every word. 

“Well,” Mrs. Daisy finally said after a moment of silence, “it does seem like he is under a lot of stress, him being a pop star and all, but dear, he shouldn’t involve you in all of that. Take it from me. George and I have been married for forty-eight years now, and there have only been a few times where I wanted to kick him in the shin. We’re all human. Go over and give him one of those hugs that he just melts into. After you snapped, I’m sure he’ll be a changed man.”

It was way past dark before I had the courage to move from my chair. I left a hefty tip for the young girl for dealing with me. A few families had came in during my time of sitting and thinking, but I never once moved. I thank Mrs. Daisy for letting me stay past regular hours and begin to walk back to the war zone. I don’t really want to go back there, but I don’t really have a choice. At a cross walk, I pull my phone out and turn it on for the first time since I shut it off. 

Ding after ding came as Harry’s messages loaded.

Call me please x

Why are you not answering? I need to talk to you

Please turn on your phone. I need to know you’re okay

Babe please I’m worried

I’m so sorry for yelling at you. Come home please baby xx

Two voicemails popped up from Harry as I read through the messages. I click on them and listen. Harry’s soft voice had come on the phone. He did sound worried and I truly knew he meant that he was sorry. His voice turned sad during the second voicemail as he begged me to come home. 

“Love I’m so sor- fuck am I sorry for being so...so....so fucking mean. Please come home I’m worried about you, baby girl. Please please come home to me.”  The desperation in his voice tugged at my heart strings and set a fire in my veins hot enough to warm myself up in this cool weather. 

The time on my phone read 12:09 as I enter the building that Harry and I live in. The stairway seemed to never end and honestly I wish it didn’t. I don’t know what to expect when I open the door.

Darkness. Complete darkness. And the eery silence that came just this afternoon was there once again as it decided to become a permanent resident. I quickly walked into the bathroom and pull off my jacket. Staring in the mirror, I had noticed slight changes in my face that I never had. I had the beginnings of laugh lines from all the nights Harry and I spent laughing into the early morning light and crow’s feet from smiling so hard as I look at the love of my life. He makes me so happy, so carefree. 

I fucking hate how we’re fighting now. 

I strip down to only my naked skin and walk into the bedroom where the sound of soft snores filled the room. There he is laying on his stomach with the sheets tossed to the side showing his bare ass, my boyfriend looks the most stress free he has been since he first came back from filming. I sigh as I crawl onto the bed to snuggle up next to Harry, wrapping my arms around under his with my stomach pressed to his back. I hear his soft moans of waking as I gently kiss his shoulder.

“Babe?” Harry’s deep accent vibrates in his throat as he turns his body to face me.

“Hi,” I say softly to him once again. The look in his eyes, however, was quite different. “I’m home.” “Oh, darling,” Harry kisses my forehead as he wraps his arms around my body. “I couldn’t get ahold of you and I didn’t know where you went. I’m a fucking idiot for even being such a meanie to you. You deserve better. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you; I don’t know what I was thinking. I just-” Harry sighs, his face shines under the moonlight that breaks in through the window, “I’m so stressed, and I should talked to you more, but I didn’t want to involve you. I’m sorry, really I am. I-”

I cut off Harry by burying my face in the nape of his neck, squeezing my arms tightly around him. Mrs. Daisy was right. He had been a changed man so I’m giving him the hug that he melts into, and I don’t regret it. 

Harry rolls onto his back pulling me onto his stomach. My lips graze against the skin over his collar bone and the soft moans of Harry pull me in deeper to him. My hand presses in to the mattress as Harry leans his head up to kiss my neck. His tongue swirls around my skin as I reach into the drawer of the night stand with my hand and pull out a condom. I sit up holding the foiled packet up in the air. Harry nods as the unspoken consent is asked. I hand Harry the packet and begin to rub my hands along his chest as he rips an opening into the foil. I turn around over his body to roll the plastic over his semi-hard dick.

Harry grabs my hair, wrapping his hand in my ponytail making my neck arch as he pulls it towards him. Propped up on his elbows, Harry whispers in my ear making goosebumps appear on every inch of my skin.

“Wanna be a good girl?” 

I nod my head slightly and gulp at the sudden hunger in Harry’s voice. 

“Good. Get on your hands and knees for me.” 

Straddling his legs, I place the palms of my hands on the mattress as Harry scoots up and sits on his knees. I feel the pads of Harry’s fingers run along my slit, gently slipping in as my lips throb against his touch. 

“So wet for me kitten. You’ve missed my touch, haven’t ya? That’s end right now.”

His fingers pump inside me against my pink walls hooking his tips up against the roof of my insides. I feel the urge to jump out of my skin, but I stifle my yelp with a slight biting of my lip. His fingernails cause a friction on my g-spot that my knees begin to buckle under the pressure building up under the bottom of my stomach. I drop my head and moan, closing my eyes tightly. Don’t come. Not now. 

Harry pulls his fingers out quickly as he pushes his hip to mine. I gasp at the tightness and sudden rush of Harry slipping his cock inside of me. Harry tugs at my hair pulling my head up. I feel his body press into mine as he leans over me

“Watch us fuck,” Harry whispers and nods his eyes to the full length mirror that was placed across from the bed. Mother fucker moved the damn mirror. Harry lets go of my hair and grabs my hips pushing them in his harder and harder with each thrust. I watch Harry’s body push into mine as my breasts swing back and forth and my thighs giggling. I look into Harry’s eyes and see the absolute desperation in them, so full of sexual hunger that the only way to satisfy him was to fuck him harder than he’s fucking me.

Harry pushes into my deeper causing fire to swim through my body as I feel every nerve race towards to pelvis. I was so sensitive to this touch that the touch in the right place would send me over the edge. 

“Fuck,” I call out as I watch our bodies become one. Harry places his hand on my back and runs his finger over my spine, and that’s exactly what pulls me over. 

I stop slamming my hips into Harry’s and sit up on my knees. I turn around to my confused boyfriend and push him down on the bed with my hand. I straddle his hips with my legs and slowly lower myself onto his hard member. I adjust myself as I steady my body by placing my hands on Harry’s chest. 

I roll my hips forward and lean down to kiss Harry’s lips. His full swollen lips tasted like mint and tea, something that he always tasted like. I swirl my tongue around his as my hips rock forward. I reach up and grab the headboard, squeezing it as tight as Harry grabbed the steering wheel this morning. I arch my back as I lift myself up gasping out as the fire rushed through my body. 

I felt the heat swarm in my body as I rocked my hips faster. Harry grabbed my sides as I lost my rhythm. The flooding of my fire burst out as I called out Harry’s name. My ragged breathing was the only thing that could be heard as I fell on top of him. I felt like my heart would burst out of it’s cavity as I came back down from my high. I kissed Harry on the lips as I rolled off him. He pulls the used condom off and throws it into the trash bin next to the bed. He wraps his arms around me as he kisses my forehead. 

“We should fight more often, yeah?” Harry asks as he traces over my skin with his fingertips.

“I don’t it when you’re a dick, but the sex is great if that’s what you’re implying,” I joke as I sink into Harry more. 

“I don’t like it when we fight, but I’m glad you came home.”

“I’ll always come home to you.”

[stophookingatmeswan]

And All This Devotion (1/1)

Happy Valentine’s Day, @once-upon-a-captain-swan!

Hi, dollface! I’m your CSSV and had so much fun writing this for you. I’ve enjoyed our little chats over the last few weeks and I hope you enjoy the story. I tried to put as many little touches of you in it as I could. 

xoxo,

Megan

****

The knock came at 2:05. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent. 

Tossing the covers off and cursing as he kicked his feet free from the tangled sheet, he padded through the living room, throwing the deadbolt and dramatically pulling the door open, ready to give his untimely visitor hell while wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs and a scowl.

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway. 

Her face was red and blotchy with strands of blonde hair sticking to tear tracks. A cheap diaper bag, stretched to the limits and overflowing, was slung over her shoulder, one of those infant car seats designed for carrying at her feet, the baby inside asleep. 

Chin lifting just enough to convey some measure of pride, her eyes wouldn’t rise enough meet his. When she spoke it was to the dog tags resting on his chest.

“We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

**** 

He’d left them. Run off with another woman while she was at work, leaving behind nothing more than a few clothes, an eviction notice and heartbreak. She and the baby had been sleeping in her car for weeks, her job lost due to not having money for a babysitter, moving around to different parks and parking lots to avoid being ticketed for loitering. It was an exhausting way to live at best and dangerous at worst. 

The final straw had been witnessing a midnight scuffle that turned bloody, the assailant tossing the knife he’d used to stab a man as he ran past her beat up yellow VW, yelling, “If you tell the cops, you’re next, bitch!”

The open-palmed smack he’d delivered to her window had both terrified her and woken Henry, who had been sleeping peacefully in her arms.  As her son started to wail, so did she, hot tears of frustration, anger and shame flowing with no signs of stopping. She quickly consoled Henry, popping him into his car seat and a pacifier into his mouth, the trilling hum of the car’s engine lulling him back under as she left the park, trying to convince herself she was driving aimlessly when she damn well knew she wasn’t.

“Any time, Swan.”

“You’re always welcome.”

“Anything you need.”

It would take her two hours and nearly all the gas she had left in her tank to make the drive to find out those words once spoken were true. 

****

“You look tired. When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

Emma didn’t have to look up from the steaming mug of tea he’d brought her to know Killian’s eyebrows shot up when she mumbled, “Month, maybe.” The Earl Grey was nowhere near as interesting as her intense stare may have suggested, but it kept her from seeing any pity he be may throwing her way. Aside from an initial sweep to ensure he hadn’t moved and that the man opening the door in his underwear was her old friend from high school and not a random stranger, she really hadn’t looked at him much at all, and she balked when he said her name softly, shaking her head. 

“It’s okay. It’s been a little rough lately. I just – we need a place for the night, then I’ll figure something out in the morning. I wouldn’t have asked but – Henry.” Voice trailing off, Emma barely caught the sob working its way from the back of her throat, but the teardrop falling into her tea was almost deafening.

The couch shifted, the three-foot gap Killian had left between them as if she were a skittish kitten after his trip to the kitchen suddenly filled. He smelled the same, the softness of the ratty tee shirt he’d pulled on hauntingly familiar and both served to undo any strength she had left to keep up a wall.

She let her cheek fall onto his shoulder as his arms circled her, stronger and more muscled than they used to be after a stint in the Navy, and Emma let herself melt into his embrace, her shoulders wracking as she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. 

**** 

The morning brought two waves of panic that raced like ice water through Emma’s veins.

One, she was in a bed, not her car. When the events of the previous night rushed back and she realized Killian must have brought her into the guest bedroom.  Two, when she leaned over the edge of the mattress expecting to see Henry asleep in his ring of pillows only to find he was gone. 

Jumping up, Emma raced out of the room, stopping short when she saw two dark heads at the small kitchen table.

Henry was in Killian’s lap, happily fisting what looked like Gerber puffs and drooling copiously over the wrist their host had wrapped firmly around the baby’s midsection to keep him upright. Emma pressed a hand to her chest, partly to ground herself after the moment of panic and partly to quell the tug on her heartstrings at the sight of someone acting more fatherly to Henry than his own had a day in his short life.

“Morning, Swan. Coffee maker’s over there.” Killian’s head jerked toward the counter next to the sink and the smile on his face faded when she didn’t move. “I hope this is okay.” He looked over at the Gerber canister and then to the crushed, gummy mess in Henry’s hand. “I watch Liam’s kids sometimes and their youngest is right around his age and loves these things.” Killian’s eyes widened comically. “He doesn’t have any of those allergies, does he? Like…soy? Or gluten?” 

As Killian grabbed the canister and scowled at it, Henry kicked his legs and started babbling, giving Emma a toothless grin. He looked happy and she felt more rested than she had since everything had gone to Hades in a hand basket. And coffee did sound good. Maybe a night away from the current wave of bullshit the universe was currently handing them was something they both needed. 

“Those are fine for Henry. Uh, thanks.” She took the baby from his lap and nudged Killian with her other hip as she walked past him to the Keurig, stopping short when she saw the box of hot chocolate K-cups and a plastic shaker of cinnamon; a throwback to their high school days when everyone they knew gleefully ordered double espressos just because they could while Emma wrinkled her nose and artfully sprinkled spice on the extra tall swirl of whipped cream on her own drink. 

A lump rose in her throat. 

Killian had always been too much.

Too nice.

Too giving.

Too open.

Too earnest.

Too willing to give her his heart.

Too willing to shoulder her burdens.

It made her want to run.

Haphazardly fixing herself a cup of the breakfast blend coffee in a box next to the hot chocolate and leaving the nostalgia where it sat on the counter, Emma turned and went back to the table, putting down her mug and apologizing when the baby blew a raspberry and what was left of the puffs he’d been hording in his mouth like a hamster landed all over the table. She took a sip of coffee after settling with Henry and looked down at her cup. 

“Thanks for letting us crash with you. I think we’ll get on the road after I finish this.” 

To avoid looking at Killian, she busied herself with Henry’s hair. At four months, most of the sides and back had fallen out – totally normal according to the ratty copy of a child development book she’d found at a thrift store while pregnant. The shedding had left him with a tuft of hair on the top of his head and not much else. Emma thought it was adorable and buried her nose in it, dreaming of the day he’d smell like Johnson’s baby shampoo and powder again instead of the industrial soap from gas station bathrooms.

“Swan –“

She didn’t wait to hear him out. Taking a last gulp of coffee, Emma stood, slung the baby onto her hip and walked back to the guest bedroom, praying to a God she wasn’t sure was even listening that Killian wouldn’t follow her. 

No such luck.

Putting Henry down in his pillow ring for some tummy time, Emma started gathering their meager things. Her stomach churned just thinking about the impending awkwardness of leaving made infinitely worse by the weight of Killian’s stare from where he leaned against the doorway.

“Stay.” 

The casualness of his tone was designed to put her at ease and Emma cursed internally because it almost worked. She faltered just a bit before picking Henry up off the floor and putting him into his car seat. 

“I can’t. We have to go.”

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. 

“Go where?”

Dammit.

Her pause gave Killian the opening he needed.

“I have a proposal for you.”

It wasn’t funny and he didn’t mean it matrimonially but Emma chortled anyway. A few weeks ago she had a fiancé and an apartment and a real family. And now? Now she had a broken heart, a literal mobile home and a son whose father had abandoned him. She didn’t think she had it in her to accept any more proposals. 

“And for Henry.”

Emma’s temper rose in a flash and she stood, turning on Killian. 

****

“Don’t use him like that. Don’t use him to get me to accept your charity.”

Emma looked him dead in the eye now and, for a split second, Killian pitied the idiot who had left her high and dry should she ever catch up to him. Luckily, he was used to this version of Emma – the one for whom fighting was a natural state – and Killian went on calmly.

“I have an empty room.” He gestured with flourish. “I have a flexible schedule. It’s one of the perks of managing the bar instead of being a lackey. That means if someone needed a babysitter while they got a job to get back on their feet, one would be available.”

He could see the wheels turning in Emma’s head and Killian wanted to simultaneously roll his eyes over her stubbornness and pride, and high five her for the bone-deep tenacity she had to make her own way. Tossing Henry into the mix was risky and, if he was being honest, a pretty low blow, but desperate times call for dick move measures.

“I’d pay you.” She said it quickly and definitively, crossing her arms.

“After you’re settled.”

“Jones.” 

“Swan.” 

She bit at her lower lip with her teeth, eyes darting to Henry who had fallen asleep, a pile of smushy baby with his chin resting on his chest. 

“Just until I can afford a place of my own.” 

“Of course.” He crossed his own arms and, when he saw her gaze leave his, flexed his pecs to make them jump. Her laugh was short, but he’d take it.

“And you don’t buy anything for Henry. He’s my responsibility.” 

“Understood.” Killian gave her a cheeky grin and saluted.

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.” Emma’s head tilted and she grinned back as he bowed dramatically. 

“I would despair if you did.”

**** 

Emma recognized that look - the darting eyes, the spiking adrenaline, the wistfulness, and the fear. The hunger. 

And as the young girl in the same too-large shoes and the flannel with the worn out elbows reached for the box on the shelf with one hand while fidgeting with the flap on her book bag, Emma pretended to be occupied with one of the toys hanging on Henry’s carrier, Killian in the next aisle over muddling over exotic spices Emma had never even heard of. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl stuff the box into her bag – strawberry, her favorite, too – and Emma took a few quick steps to grab the thin wrist before it could clear the dirty khaki canvas.

“Take it out and come with me.” 

The girl, scared into silence, walked beside Emma as she grabbed a few more things, meeting back up with Killian and rolling her eyes as he bent to pick up one of the many jars he was juggling. Before she could say a word, he turned and popped a butt cheek out in her direction. 

“What the hell are you doing, twerking in the grocery store?” Emma looked down at the proffered ass. “Get that away from me.” She laughed as he bumped it even more in her direction, giving her a salacious grin. 

“There’s a twenty in my pocket. Take it to cover these.” He held up his treasures. “Who’s this?”

He finally noticed the girl standing by Emma’s cart and went back to standing normally once the money had changed ownership. 

“A friend. Let’s get Henry moving before he realizes we’re standing in one place and loses it.”

Heading to the checkout, Killian made quick work of emptying her cart onto the conveyer belt and when he finished loading and moved forward, she nodded to the box of Pop Tarts the girl was holding.

“Put them on.”

The girl balked, shuffling her feet. A hand with bitten nails came up to tuck a lank of neglected hair behind her ear. 

“I don’t understand. I thought you were going to turn me in.”

“I don’t think you need help getting into trouble. But I’d bet you could use a little help staying out of it. Put ‘em on.”

Emma stepped to the register and counted out the cash for her purchase. Money was tight and she was still counting every penny, but two months of working in a bail bonds office afforded her the ability to trade off with Killian when it came to buying the weekly groceries along with taking care of Henry and saving for an apartment. When she heard a gurgling laugh, she looked back to see the girl making a silly face at Henry and cooing at him. 

Killian caught her eye as Emma shuffled a few things around in the grocery bags, raising an inquisitive eyebrow but she shook her head. Emma thanked the cashier and grabbed few of the bags, watching as the girl rushed to help then blushed and apologizing when Emma bumped into her. 

“No, those two are yours,” Emma said as the last of the bags came off the carousel. “There’s some bread and peanut butter in there, and some apples. And Pop Tarts.”

She started pushing the cart toward the exit, Killian quiet – for once - at her side, and heard the slap of sneakers coming up behind them. They were ten feet past the doors before the girl was able to step in front of her.

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Look, kid. I’ve been where you are. I get the pride. I get feeling like you have nothing. I even get slipping some things in your pockets just to have something in common with the kids at the next lunch table. And I’ve had somebody help me out before. So…just take it and pay it forward when you can.”

The girl nodded, blinking back tears and mumbling a thank you. As she darted off around the store, Emma looked at Killian. His eyes were soft, searching her face and he shook his head slightly as he stared at her.

“Just who are you, Swan? 

It sounded like a loaded question and coupled with that look – the one he’d been giving her for months when he doesn’t think she’s looking as she rocked Henry to sleep or they fought over the small sink in the bathroom in the mornings – it was too much.

Whipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she started toward her car, tossing a flippant, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” back to where Killian was standing.

As she turned her back and walked away, she could have sworn she heard him say, “Perhaps I would.”

****

Killian knew he’d had his share of women. Probably more than his share. And he knew from the long-distance relationship that hadn’t worked out when he was in the Navy to the string of one-night-stands since that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” was an apt description on occasion. That he was prepared for, learning as a sixth grader watching his older brother navigate the early waters of dating and getting an earful over the phone for stupidly breaking up with one girl to ask out her friend.

What he hadn’t known about, and was currently getting a crash course in as Henry wailed uncontrollably, was that hell also hath no fury like a teething baby. 

He swayed in the living room with an armful of sweaty, angry baby going through the list of remedies in his head. 

Henry had chucked the teething ring behind the sofa the second it had thawed and no longer provided icy relief. The Tylenol Killian had carefully measured out and given him couldn’t touch the pain from cutting four teeth at the same time. Neither could the Orajel he’d massaged on Henry’s gums. Even his favorite – a slice of cold celery to chew on that was carefully monitored to ensure he didn’t bite of a piece and choke – was flung aside in favor of screaming. 

Two seconds away from calling Emma on the chance the only thing that Henry really wanted was his mom, Killian’s brain floated above the deafening sounds of crying and offered a last-ditch idea.

As he walked down the hallway to Emma’s room – it hadn’t been called the guest room since the second night she’s stayed – chatting to Henry over his bellows. 

“Alright, kiddo. Your mom is working overtime trying to catch that skip, so we’re doing to give this a shot.” He went to Emma’s dresser, sparsely decorated with a few garage sale and Dollar Store finds, and picked up a necklace and slipped it over his own head.

**** 

Counting the cash in the envelope twice before letting herself believe it, Emma’s hand smacked down onto her steering wheel. 

“BOOM!” 

She’d done it. Six months since the man Killian had officially dubbed “That Asshole” had left her and she’d knocked on Killian’s door in the middle of the night with twelve dollars to her name, she’d done it. There was finally enough money to get an apartment and even furnish it if she bargain-shopped.

The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear and, after a long night of getting dolled up for her “date” with a skip who’d tried to run on her and cried like a little bitch when she gave chase and tackled him to the pavement, she felt like celebrating. 

The time on her phone said she had fifteen minutes to hit the liquor store before they closed, so she drove as fast as a pair of 6” honey heels would allow. Ignoring the double take the employee did when his last customer of the night came in wearing a skin-tight dress and FMPs, Emma went straight to the small section of champagne. Looking over the labels, she threw up her hands when she realized she had no idea what to get. Eighty dollars was still a bit steep for her and the only brands she recognized were in that price range. And what the hell was Brut? 

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Emma huffed and reached out for a pretty (and affordable) bottle of something pink, reminding herself she needed to get home.

**** 

Her chest seized up the minute she stepped through the door, her purse and the bottle of champagne left behind on a small table as she quietly kicked off her shoes. 

They were both asleep sprawled on the couch, Henry’s face squished against a faded Navy tee shirt, his chubby hand clutching the amber teething necklace that was around Killian’s neck. The baby was only wearing a diaper and Emma could see that his hair – long grown in from his four-month-old Mohawk – was lightly matted with dried sweat. There was a puddle soaking Killian’s shirt near Henry’s mouth and that – along with the burp clothes they were using to deal with the copious amounts of baby drool, discarded sticks of celery, a tube of Orajel and the infant Tylenol on the coffee table – painted a clear picture of how their night had gone.

Emma drank in the sight; two dark heads, tandem soft snores. She’d found them on the couch like that more than once coming home after a late night at work. 

Her boys.   

Her…loves. 

The word flew into her head and she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. She backed up until her knees hit the chair by the window and she sank down into it.

Before she could even start figuring out what the hell it all meant, Henry whimpered at the noise she’d made. Emma started to stand but the large hand on his back started to move and a soothing whisper of, “Shhh, shhh, shhh” quieted him back down.

“I hope your night was better than ours.” Killian’s whisper was rough but she could see him smile as he lifted his chin up and over the top of Henry’s head to look at her. 

Swallowing hard, Emma pushed the word down and plastered a smile on her face. 

“I had to dress like a Kardashian hitting up the number one paparazzi-staked gas station in Beverly Hills to reel in a skip who ran on me anyway.” 

Killian made a show of looking her up and down, tongue tracing over his upper lip. 

“Dumb as hell on his part, but go on – wait, is that blood??” He braced a hand behind Henry’s neck and swung his legs off the couch, holding the baby tightly to his chest as he sat up and craned his neck to look at the road rash decorating her leg.

“Yeah, but I caught him.” She couldn’t keep the pure satisfaction out of her voice. “And,” she took a dramatic pause for effect, “I scored a commission. Do you know what that means?” Emma propped her elbow on a knee and dropped her chin into her hand, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows at Killian. “It means that I finally have the money to move out.”

“Oh.” He paused, an unreadable look on his face before it brightened. “That’s great, Swan. I’m happy for you. For you both.” His chin dropped as he pressed a kiss to the top of Henry’s head. “This one’s had one hell of an evening. Do you think he’d stay asleep if I put him down?”  

Crossing over to the couch, Emma leaned over and picked up the hand not holding the necklace, raised it a few inches and let go. 

“I guess we have our answer,” Killian said as they watched it drop with no startle reflex. Emma reached for Henry as Killian stood. “No, no, I’ll take him. You tend to that gash on your leg before you get gangrene and it falls off.”

They peeled off in the hallways with Emma giving Henry a kiss, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and muttering, “You’re so dramatic” to Killian’s back as he went to put Henry to bed. She nearly walked into the doorframe when he stage whispered but you love me in retort and she couldn’t get into the bathroom and close the door fast enough before almost hyperventilating.

Leaning over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face as if the flow from the faucet could drown the thoughts racing through her head.

But you love me.

She didn’t believe in fate. Or magic. Or fairy tales. Or that orphans found happy endings with deliciously pretty men with big hearts and blue eyes. But the tiny part of her that wasn’t walled up and jaded wanted to believe it was a sign. That’s she’d just been thinking that maybe she loved him not five minutes before he said the same thing.

The first aid kit under the sink was tidy and, of course, fully stocked. Emma squeezed her eyes shut when she saw a bundle of Elmo Band-Aids; damn sure Killian hadn’t bought them for himself. But he’d always been like that. 

He had always been there. Even when she didn’t want him to be. Even when she’d run, scared of all of the devotion he’d always had in his eyes when they were in school, and gone to live a life with someone else. Someone who had never promised to give her the world so she wouldn’t be disappointed when he didn’t. Because nobody ever had.

He was even there when she’d shown up with that other man’s baby at his door. But was that it? Gratitude and a sense of obligation disguised as love? With a bone-deep, ridiculously strong attraction contributing to it? 

She felt like they’d been dancing around something for months.

The first sign – aside from his piercing gaze - was the unwillingness to talk about why neither of them had gone on dates since she and Henry moved in. Emma’s hasty excuse made sense; she was concentrating on herself and her son, not looking for a rebound. Killian abruptly got up to get another beer and when he’d come back to the table, the subject was pointedly changed before she could press him. 

Then there was the morning she’d walked in on him while he was getting out of the shower. Exhausted from a rough night with Henry, she’d pushed the door to the bathroom open without a thought and got an eyeful. Lean muscles and rivulets of water running down his belly to where he’d managed to loosely clutch a hastily grabbed towel over himself. Mostly.

The visual had stayed with her. Wet hair slicked back, making the curve of his cheekbones more prominent. The v-cut just inside his hipbones. And, as her eyes traveled down, the length of him along his thigh just barely hidden by the towel. 

Emma had avoided him for a week until he reeled her in on Saturday night with spag bol, a moderately priced bottle of Pinot Grigio loosening her tongue. She brought up that night. The one their senior year where they’d kissed messily on a camping trip, pouring three years of what ifs and maybes into a stolen moment in the trees. It had scared her and she ran without looking back. The morning after she clumsily tripped down memory lane, she wondered if Killian had the same stunned, slightly hurt look on his face then as he did when she drunkenly leaned in four years later over empty pasta dishes and tried to kiss him. He’d dodged, bussed her cheek and walked her to her bedroom before going on to his own.

Since that night, she’d been careful. Careful to not lead on, although she wasn’t quite sure who she was worried about leading on – him or herself.

**** 

A by-product of his military days had Killian hanging Emma’s purse up on a hook by the door and lining up her discarded shoes next to his on the mat while she was cleaning herself up in the bathroom. He’d seen scores of women in heels just like that but none could have held a candle next to her when she’d come out of her room, the stilettos paired with a red dress that made his head swim and the bulge in his pants twitch. She was unbelievably sexy and that was just the surface. Her toughness, intelligence, tenacity and kindness shone just as bright as the cascade of blonde hair and ass that wouldn’t quit. 

He’d been trying his hardest to not let his brain go there. For all of her strength, Emma carried a certain degree of fragility, and he didn’t want to push her or, even worse, think that she owed him something for letting her and Henry stay with him.

They’d had a connection from the day she’d shown up in his English class halfway through sophomore year, all darting eyes and fidgeting fingers worrying the hem of her shirt as Mrs. Wolfe instructed her to tell the class about herself. It wasn’t until the following year during a rare moment of candor that he found out she wasn’t a military brat whose Naval father had been moved around a lot. 

Emma had popped up in their town as a ward of the state, her transience a byproduct of bad foster homes and a system that had never worked in her favor. He supposed the pretend life she’d made up for herself was part of the reason he’d joined the Navy; a fool’s hope that he could be the stable home she so desperately wanted and that the rigidity of the military could rid him of his youthful, rakish ways.

She’d kissed him the night he told her he was shipping out, all teeth and tongue with a sand dune at his back and an order for him to not follow her when she’d had her fill. Killian always wondered if she’d succumbed to a moment of weakness or if the news he was leaving gave her the strength to let him in, even just momentarily, because the safety net of him leaving made it easier. Either way it had left him pining, the only reprieve a relationship with another sailor that started out strong but fizzled when she was reassigned and the distance was too hard to bridge.

Emma herself had moved on quickly from their shared moment, moving in with someone who had graduated a few years before them the ink on her diploma had dried. Killian stayed single for a while, scratching the itch whenever the need arose, but the drive to find someone else wasn’t there until news of Emma’s engagement hit his email inbox by way of a mutual friend. The universe was telling him to move on and he did, sending a congratulatory Hallmark card that gushed with a sincerity he didn’t really feel. 

It was harder to be bitter when word of her pregnancy reached halfway across the world. He was happy for Emma and the chance for her to have the family she deserved. By the time Henry was born, Killian was out of the Navy and working at an upscale bar in Boston, raking in tip money thanks to his looks and the bottle flipping tricks he’d perfected on the long nights stationed overseas. He could well afford a decent place and a one-bedroom bachelor pad loft was at the top of his list until he went to sign a lease and balked, telling the rental agent he really needed a second bedroom and refusing to allow himself to dig deep to ask himself why.

Killian scowled at the bottle of champagne Emma had left on the table when she walked in, fisting a hand through his hair. Having her and Henry pack up and leave didn’t feel like something to celebrate.   

“You can’t will the cork to pop out on its own.”

She startled him and Killian let out an inventive string of expletives. He’d been lost in thought so long he hadn’t heard her leave the bathroom and go change. She was wearing a tank top and pajama pants, the curls she’d sprayed into submission before her “date” brushed out. The heavy fake eyelashes were gone, as was any stitch of makeup. Suddenly exhausted, his thoughts draining him more than a night with a teething toddler ever could, he gestured toward the bottle.

“Do you mind if we save this for another night? It should chill anyway.” When Emma nodded, he picked it up and took it to the refrigerator, walking back toward her. “See you in the morning, Swan.” 

His head swam as he headed down the short hallway. A box hadn’t so much as been packed and Killian’s stomach churned. When he passed the door to her room, he felt fingers on his. Jaw clenching, he closed his eyes for a second before turning, looking down at Emma’s pinkie curled around his own.

“Thank you. For everything.”

Killian swallowed hard and nodded, not quite sure what to say. 

Fingers moved, first hers and then his, until they were completely laced together. Killian was so focused on the sensation of her palm against his that he missed the fact Emma was on her tiptoes and leaning in. 

The feel of her lips on the corner of his mouth took him by surprise and his first reaction was to back away like the last time when nostalgia served as a chaser for a few glasses of liquid courage. 

She wasn’t having it. Her other hand came up, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp as her fingers anchored in his hair, pulling him back toward her. The kiss was sweet and Killian savored it, careful to only take what she was giving and not ask for more. It felt like a metaphor for their entire relationship, friendship – whatever the hell it was. When it was over, he pressed his forehead against hers, more breathless than he should be after a kiss that bordered on chaste, and when her arms circled around his back, he dropped his head onto her shoulder. 

“I wish I could stay.”

Heart leaping into his throat, Killian drew back. 

“You can. I mean…not because…it has nothing to do with,” he gestured between them, “whatever this was just now. But you can stay. You and Henry. With me.” 

Smooth, Jones. Just babble in her face.

Her fingers smoothed over the nervous twitch in his jaw.

“I know. I know you’d let us. And I lo – I appreciate you for that. But I feel like I have to do this. Go out on my own. To prove to myself I can.”

Huffing out a breath, Killian rubbed her upper arms and smiled.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

“You actually mean that, don’t you?” She sounded…shocked.

“Does that surprise you?”

Leaning in once more, Emma kissed him again; the only difference between this one and the last a tiny flick of her tongue against his bottom lip before she drew back.

“Not anymore.”

****

The knock came at 11:15. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent. 

Tossing the covers off and cursing as he kicked his feet free from the tangled sheet, he padded through the living room, throwing the deadbolt and dramatically pulling the door open, ready to give his untimely visitor hell while wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs and a scowl.

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway. 

Emma was in a sundress, a picnic basket at her feet. Before he could say anything, a bundle of energy charged at his legs and Killian bent to swoop Henry up into a fireman’s carry as he backed up to let Emma in, carefully dipping his head to kiss her so Henry’s gleefully kicking feet wouldn’t hit her.

Six months had passed since the day Killian had helped Emma pack up the truck she borrowed from one of the bondsmen at her work and moved her and Henry into their own place. It had taken minutes for him to miss them terribly. It had taken another few days for him to work up the courage to call and ask her out on a proper date. Since then, his weekend days were filled with petting zoos, trips to the park, picnics by the water and running Henry ragged.

On the nights neither of them worked, they made up for lost time.  

The first time they were together, they hadn’t even made it to the bed. Lying in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Killian had loudly proclaimed the rug burn was worth it and Emma had shushed him by rolling him onto his back for round two.

A few days had passed and today was picnic day, Killian squinted at the clock as he twisted his torso to swing Henry to and fro.

“Am I late or are you early?”

Setting the basket down, Emma walked up to them, ducking at the last moment to avoid a kick to the head, and reached her arms up toward Henry.

“We’re early. Too early? I should have called.” 

The look on her face was comical and even though a few more hours of sleep would have been nice after a rare fight at the bar during last call drew blood and a few arrests, keeping Killian there until nearly seven, he didn’t mind the wake up. 

“It’s fine, Swan.” He hunched his shoulders and let her take Henry.

She settled her son on her hip and kissed his flushed cheek.

“Come on, kid. Let’s let Killian get dressed.” 

“Killy dress,” Henry agreed, clapping his hands and they both laughed.

“I would pay so much money to see that – EEP!” Emma jumped as Killian passed and flicked his hand back to swat her ass.

****

A quick shower and the decision not to shave had him ready to go in no time. When he came back to the living room, Emma was sitting on the couch with Henry in her lap, a sippy cup of what looked like apple juice in his hand. Two champagne flutes and an open bottle were on the coffee table in front of her.

His eyes darted from the bottle to the kitchen. It was the same brand as the one she’d bought the night she’d told him they were moving out. The one that they’d never opened and had been in his refrigerator for the last six months.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Come sit with us.” Emma waved him over and handed him one of the flutes. “I’d like to propose a toast.” She reached for the other one and held it aloft. “To us. Ewwwww.” She giggled when Killian surged forward and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, and made a show of pretending to be disgusted and wipe it off. “Gross! Like I was saying…um, so Henry and I have something to ask you.” 

The glass she held trembled just a little, and the smile on her face faded. Before he could ask her what was wrong, Emma took a breath and sat up a little straighter.

“Jesus, I’m horrible at this,” she muttered and cleared her throat. “We wanted to know if you would move in with us.” 

Killian was all too aware how monumental a moment this was. Both for them and for Emma. She was inviting him in. 

Into her life. Into her space. Into her home.

He looked at her, tears pricking at his eyes, nodding his head effusively in the affirmative because he was too choked up to say yes. She was laughing through her own tears and held up her glass for him to clink since neither one of them could speak.

“Sad, Mama?” Henry was looking up at Emma from his spot on her lap and making an exaggerated frowny face. Those Baby Einstein books Killian gave him for Christmas were really paying off. “Sad?”

Killian put an arm around her and drew them both into a hug, kissing her hair and resting his chin on the top of her head.

“No, Henry. Mama’s happy.”

[welcometophu]

Harvest 1

Twinned Book 1: Commit to the Kick

Harvest 1

[ Previous | First | Next ]

“Here.” Dax tosses a pile of sheets at Alaric; they unravel into a fall of fabric by the time they reach him, tangling around his arms. “Clean sheets.” Dax turns away, yanking the dirty sheets from his bed and tossing them on top of the rest of his laundry in a cloth bin. “The blankets are in the dryer in the basement.”

Alaric wrinkles his nose, tries not to inhale. “Thanks,” he says dryly.

“You know, you could come over to Thanksgiving at my place,” Dax says. “Both of you.” He nods at Chris. “Mom’s always happy to put another plate or two on the table, and it’s not like any of the dining halls are open here on campus.”

There’s a piece of Alaric that still thinks he should be heading out to Haverhill, and choosing to eat with someone else’s family feels like a betrayal of his own. He shakes his head. “No thanks, I’ll be fine here.”

“And I figure it’s rude to leave Alaric stuck here on his own,” Chris says. There’s something in his scent that Alaric can’t tease out, and Dax smells amused. “I figure we’ll go out and get something to cook, or we’ll order in, or something. There is a functional kitchen in the house. We’re not going to starve, Dax. Besides. This is one of those rare breaks I get from living with you and Cass.” He grins, but the statement is honest.

“Yeah, well, if you change your mind, you know where I live now,” Dax points out. “If I see anything strawberry rhubarb appear in the kitchen, I’ll assume you’re on your way over. You don’t need to actually text that you’re coming. Mom will know what’s needed.”

“I don’t know if I could get used to that,” Alaric mutters. Dax is fine, he doesn’t make Alaric’s skin itch, even knowing that he’s an Empath. And what his mother does—what Alex does, too—doesn’t really bother Alaric. But at the same time, that strange level of knowing leaves him uncomfortable, like he’s been stripped bare.

“It’s just the way my family is,” Dax says. “Trust me, you really do get used to it. Besides, they needed to get used to the way I talked to things they couldn’t see. I was pretty amusing as a toddler, I’ve heard. My invisible friends were real and actually invisible. Just dead.”

Outside a car stops; there’s a whir of a sliding door, then the slam of the front door. “Your parents are here,” Alaric says, and Dax swears.

“And Dad’s going to be in a rush because Mom’s probably got dinner planned down to the second for when we get home,” Dax mutters. He starts shoving clothes into his grey PHU football duffle, then drops it on his bed and grabs a smaller grey bag instead. He heads out of the room. “Just grabbing my stuff from the bathroom. You know they’ll just walk in.”

The front door opens and closes right on cue, and footsteps run lightly up the stairs as Alex calls out, “I know you’re running late, Dax!”

Dax waves to his sister, passes her on his way down the hall. She ends up in the doorway, leaning awkwardly in. “Hi, Chris. Alaric.”

Alaric’s nostrils flare wide; there’s no citrus, but he doesn’t know what to really expect from Alex. “Hey,” he says warily.

“You already know,” she says. “I mean, you think you don’t, but you do, so it’s okay. Just give yourself some time to deal with it.”

Alaric blinks, sits down on the edge of Chris’s bed. Chris slides closer, his knee warm against Alaric’s. “What?” Alaric says.

Alex shrugs. “That’s it, sorry. Isn’t it handy Dax was running late so I could come in and say hi?” She plops down on Dax’s bed, puts one hand on the mattress, and looks at Alaric. “Are those clean sheets? I’ll help you make the bed.”

They’ve just managed to get the sheets on when Dax walks back in and shoves the toiletry bag into his duffle. Alex tosses his pillow on top of the laundry bin and picks that up, while Dax shoulders the duffle and grabs his backpack full of books. “I just texted Cass to let her know we’ll be there in five,” Dax says. “If you guys change your mind, just text me.”

“They won’t. Dad’s waiting.” Alex heads out the door and down the stairs, while Dax lingers.

“I mean it,” Dax says. “Alex might think she’s right, but she doesn’t actually know everything. We’ve got a five day weekend. You don’t have to spend it here at the house.”

“I’m planning on leaving to go to Teas Please eventually. I’m pretty sure they’ll feed us,” Chris deadpans. “We can take of ourselves, Dax. Don’t worry.”

“They’re fine,” Alex yells from the bottom of the stairs. “Come on!”

Dax hesitates, but when Alaric stands, curls his lips and growls, Dax quickly ducks out of the room. The front door slams a moment later, and Alaric sinks down to sit on Dax’s bed. He inhales, tastes a hint of Dax and Cass in the scent of the room, but it’s mostly Chris. His own scent is fleeting, and without thinking, Alaric rubs his hand over the sheets, claiming this space as his own. At least for the weekend.

Chris’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it and shakes his head. “That’s the fifth time my family’s checked to make sure I’m okay.” He laughs. “My mom offered to buy my ticket to Atlanta, since everyone’s going down to see Damon for his freshman year at Georgia Tech, but I can’t.”

Alaric’s gaze narrows. “Why are you staying if they’d buy your ticket? You like your family, don’t you?”

“We’re close,” Chris admits. “I have six brothers, plus mom and dad. We never really had a choice about sharing space, or clothes, or anything else. We all play football—three of my brothers already graduated, and Les graduates this year. One more still in high school. But we do everything together. I have a huge paper due anyway for my independent study, and if I go, I’m not going to get anything done. With everything else that’s happened, I could use some time to work on it. We’ll all be home for Christmas; Mom and Dad will be happy with that.”

“I’m going to distract you,” Alaric mutters, and Chris laughs.

“You’re going to remind me to take a few breaks,” Chris tells him. “It’s fine. If I get some blocks of time to get my notes together, it’ll all work out. If I have to drive back to Portal, then get in a van to go to Boston so the whole family can make it to Logan in time to get through security, then fly down to Atlanta…” He shakes his head, rather than finish the thought. “We’ll be squished in a hotel room, because while two of my brothers are dating and getting their own rooms, the rest of us will have to share. There won’t be any time to myself, Ric. This way, if I need time, all I have to do is ask. I know you’ll give me space.”

Something else sits beneath those words, something in Chris’s scent that puts Alaric at ease. Alaric nods. He feels like there’s something he’s supposed to say, but there aren’t any words at the tip of his tongue.

His phone chimes, and when he looks, it’s from Drea.

Just got in. Mom’s surprised you’re not in the car. She said to tell you she misses you. Also, Corbin’s family is staying at the house for Harvest. A lot of the community is this year. Dad is angry that you’re not here.

Alaric stares down at his phone, holding it loose in his hand. His jaw is tight, and there’s a soft puff of smoke swirling around his head as he exhales. The bed sinks as Chris sits next to him, leans in shoulder to shoulder.

“I’m not Rory,” Chris says quietly. “I can’t bleed it away. But if I can help you center yourself….”

“It helps,” Alaric admits. He tilts the phone to show Drea’s text. “They made it home, and my parents are pissed off. Which doesn’t surprise me.”

“Sounds more like your mother is sad.”

Alaric snorts. “You’re probably right. But Theobald’s pissed off. If I walked in right now, he’d rip me apart and send me to heal before I show my face in public.”

“Do you heal that fast?” Chris looks and smells dubious, and it makes Alaric laugh.

“Faster than humans, but not that fast,” he admits. “There’s a reason my mother tends to get involved when we’re arguing. She can get him to back down.” He lifts the phone again, carefully types out a message.

Tell Mom I miss her, too. But I’m not coming home, not unless there’s good reason, and him expecting me to act like a perfect successor when he won’t listen to me isn’t enough of a reason. I’m not ready to see him. And he’s not ready to see me.

Alaric tosses the phone aside, letting it fall face down on the sheets. It chimes again, but he doesn’t need to continue the conversation. It’ll only go in circles, and that’s not good for any of them. Drea and Corbin will be fine without him for one Harvest.

“So why is it Harvest?” Chris asks, and Alaric huffs.

“Because Thanksgiving celebrates the beginning of the annihilation of the Native people, and a long time ago our Clan lived peacefully among the Mohawk people, and some of us have Mohawk blood,” Alaric says dryly. “Thanksgiving isn’t a thing you can get away from—you get days off from school, everyone talks about family. But we know what it meant to our ancestors. So instead, we celebrate what this time means to Clan. This is our Harvest. Our time to gather before winter comes and separates us from others. A time to eat well, and to enjoy the last bounties before the frost. It’s when we slaughter and cure our meat for winter—my cousins have been working for weeks. It’s a busy time getting ready for winter, and this is our gathering to celebrate that now it’s time to rest and to stay safe through the cold months. It’s Harvest.”

“Aren’t you going to miss them?” Chris asks quietly. “This must be your first year that you’re not involved.”

His first year without gathering up the green tomatoes before the first frost, and bringing them to be preserved. His first year without ensuring that there were enough hats and gloves, that socks were mended, and tapestries hung on new walls. His first year without preparing for winter by creating, as well as shopping. Alaric grumbles and shrugs. “Do you think when I move into the house there’d be a place for my loom?” he asks, and Chris knocks his knee into him.

“We’ll make space.”

Alaric breathes more easily when Chris doesn’t point out that the guys might wonder why a loom, he just accepts it. Maybe after winter break he should bring back his basket, so he has yarn and projects and something small to do with his hands. Maybe it’ll help with the stress. “Thanks.”

There’s a shout somewhere in the house, footsteps overhead. “How many people are still here,” Alaric asks.

“Not many. Lewis, because Lewis is pretty much always here. Why?” Chris nudges him. “Is this because you want more people around, or fewer?”

“Fewer.” Alaric goes to the window, cracks it open and inhales the crisp fresh air. “Is that too cold for you?”

“It’s cold, but I’ll survive.” Chris fits in behind him, hand on the small of Alaric’s back. “Blame Dax for anything in this room that reeks.”

“Oh, I do.” The window will make it better, and the clean sheets on the bed. But nothing can completely get rid of the idea that Dax has thoroughly claimed this space as his, and that itches under Alaric’s skin. “Let’s get the blankets from the dryer.”

“Let’s order pizza first.” Chris opens the app for the place just off-campus and places the order, not even needing to ask what Alaric wants.

By the time they get the blankets out and on the bed, then head back downstairs to grab a few beers and an opener, the pizza has arrived. Lewis drifts into the kitchen, and at Alaric’s growl he raises both hands. “Your pizza, got it,” Lewis says and slips away again.

“You’re going to be an interesting captain someday,” Chris says, and that makes Alaric pause.

“What makes you think I’ll be captain?”

“For one, you’re the quarterback; you’ll be a driving force on the team no matter what,” Chris points out. “You won’t want to lead here at the house—you’ll let someone else be the fraternity president. But people listen to you, and you have good instincts. You and Dax would work well together, but they’ll want one offensive team member and one defensive for co-captains. Although for the way you two seem to read each other, they might make an exception.” Chris grabs a roll of paper towels and tucks it under his arm, then picks up the pizza boxes.

They head back up to Chris’s room and Chris drops the pizza on the floor, opens one box, and takes a slice of supreme meat before nudging the box toward Alaric. The room is chill, and once they get a movie started, Chris drifts closer to Alaric.

Alaric drops an arm behind Chris, letting him get in close enough to share body heat. There’s no point in pouring more than one cup of beer and risk getting it on the bed, so they share the one cup, placing it carefully out of the way when neither one is drinking.

Halfway into the movie, Alaric is warm and comfortable. He’s at ease, but not quite drowsing, when his phone chimes. He ignores it, but it chimes again, and then again, until Chris huffs a laugh and pushes at Alaric. “Answer it. It’s either Drea, Corbin, or Rory if it’s going off that much. Either way, it’s family.”

When Alaric picks up his phone and unlocks it, his conversation with Drea from earlier is still on the screen.

You have to deal with him sometime, Ric.

Unless we’re leaving. Give us some warning if we’re leaving.

His breath goes tight over her words and he quickly types back we’re not leaving and send it, just so he can exhale without choking on the thought.

Not yet, at least. They’re not leaving yet.

Chris’s hand is warm between his shoulders as Alaric hunches over his phone. Chris doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to him, but Alaric can feel his tension in the way Chris’s fingers curl and flex against him.

“‘M’okay,” Alaric mutters, and opens the new text from Rory.

We’re home. Thorne says hi and thinks I should tell you to get out of your own head. Is he being a dick when he says that?

A small smile quirks the corner of Alaric’s mouth. He sits up, and Chris shifts; when they rearrange, Chris’s arm is behind Alaric, and Alaric is leaning back against him, letting Chris take his weight. He’s not being a dick. He’s probably right, but I’m not stuck in my head right now. I just don’t want to go home.

I really don’t blame you, now that I’ve met your father. The phone goes quiet for a moment, dots appearing and disappearing a few times before Rory texts again. I left a menu on your bed. It’s a place Mom ate when she was at school, before she became a vegetarian with Dad and Dad. She said it’s still there, and if it wouldn’t make her sick, she’d go there herself. She thought you’d like it.

“What is it?” Chris’s breath is close to Alaric’s face; when Alaric turns slightly, Chris is still watching the movie. At Alaric’s movement, Chris grabs the remote, hits pause. “You okay?”

“Rory’s mom told him to tell me about a place to go eat over break, I think,” Alaric says. “It has meat.”

Chris huffs, amused. “So maybe we’ll try it.”

Alaric frowns, something pricking at him. He types out a quick note on the phone to thank Rory and wish him a good weekend before he tosses it aside. As he settles back against Chris’s warmth, he figures it out. “My turn to pay this time.”

“Okay,” Chris says easily. “We go out, it’s your turn to pay.”

Alaric makes a rumbling noise, lets his body go slack as he sinks down. His head tilts to rest against Chris as the movie plays. Having that settled helps, lets him relax. As long as he doesn’t think about Harvest and home.

[ Previous | First | Next ]