#as i spent another day in bed unable to eat anything more complex than a potato

[maddiemuu]

gawd i am just now coming out of a full 3 weeks of victorian boy levels of sickness. it's so weird feeling like a person again and eating things with flavors other than Salt and mayhaps Pepper if i was feeling adventurous.

[shorkbrian]

Omg hi so I read your babysitter fic and I was thinking what if bakuogus tired of reader being a brat with him so he brings Kiri over to help him out 🤤 srry im just being horny on anon rn

“C’mon princess, move your ass before I move it for you.”

You huffed at the blonde, opening the car door, stepping outside and slamming it shut. Bakugou shot you a harsh glare, but you weren’t looking at him, instead crouching to tie your shoe.

He gave you a moment to do that, before the man got impatient, clicking his tongue, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go, it’s not like I have all fucking day.”

You knew for a fact that yes, he did have all day.

Your mom was away again, another business trip. She was working towards a promotion - a position that meant more hours, more work, more travel.

More time being spent with your stupid babysitter.

With your rapist.

He hadn’t touched you, not outright, since that day. Every time your mom suggested having him over for dinner, you conveniently found somewhere to be; out with friends, on a date, having a sleepover. Anything so that you didn’t have to look at Bakugou Katsuki’s stupid, smug little face.

But your mom had surprised you yesterday night, letting you know she’d be leaving in the morning, that Katsuki would be staying over again. There wasn’t any time for you to argue with her, to plead for her to stay, or to take you with her, or for you to stay at a friend’s house, anything but Katsuki.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to avoid him!” She had laughed, before wagging a finger at you. “Don’t be rude. He’s a nice man, and I trust him to keep you safe. He did last time!”

Yeah, and he also assaulted you last time, so maybe he wasn’t as nice of a guy as she thought.

He was taking you to the mall, not even really giving you a choice, just telling you to get dressed, that the two of you were going out.

Now here you were, trudging silently behind the older man, glaring at the ground.

“Bakubro! Over here!”

A loud shout drew your attention, Bakugou grinning as he started veering towards the shouter, a red-haired man waving enthusiastically. You followed behind him obediently, taking stock of this new man.

He was fucking huge, thick thighs bulging against his jeans, biceps straining against the fabric of his navy hoodie. This new guy was handsome too, a wide, sharp smile, soft red eyes, a clean-shaven face.

“’Sup Idiot? You tryin’ to attract the whole mall? Always so damn loud.” Even though he was complaining, it was clear that these two were friends as Bakugou let the other man pull him into a hug. They pounded each other on the back, before the redhead drew back, pushing past the blonde to give you his full attention. 

“Who’s this? Did you get a girlfriend? She looks a little young bro.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.” You spat, and the redhead held up his hands in surrender as Bakugou shouldered him to the side.

“It’s the little fucker that I’m looking after as a favor. You know I work security for that office complex?” The redhead nodded. “Yeah, one of the milfs gave me free range of her house as long as I watch her.”

Both men looked at you, and the redhead smiled brightly.

“Ah, well, I’m Kirishima! Nice to meet you, sorry you have to put up with such a grumpy fucke-”

“Hey, shaddup.” Bakugou elbowed him, but Kirishima was already extending a hand for you to shake, and you did so gladly. At least you weren’t the only one who thought Bakugou was a grumpy, stuck up mess.

“’Kay, now can we go? I’m starving’, wanna eat before we do anything else.”

Kirishima winked at you as he threw an arm around your shoulders, his other arm around Bakugou. “Food court? I think they have a pretty good selection here...”

-----

Kirishima was much more tolerable than Bakugou.

He was funny, cracking jokes and making you almost spit out the soda he had bought you, slipping you five dollars behind Bakugou’s back for you to get a drink.

The redhead sat next to you while the three of you ate, including you in the conversation whenever Bakugou seemed to forget about your existence.

As the three of you walked from store-to-store, Kirishima listened to you ramble on about the latest game you’d bought, what you thought of your favorite snack brand trying to collaborate with a fashion company, all your opinions on the music playing faintly through the mall speakers.

It was fun when he grabbed your hand, tugging you away from Bakugou and along with the redhead as he ducked into a random store. It was some street-wear fashion place, and Kirishima wanted your thoughts on if a shirt was his color, or if he could pull off one of the hats that adorned the mannequin in the store window.

The two of you were busy laughing at how the hat couldn’t even press past his spiky hairstyle when you noticed Bakugou, glowering at you both from the outside of the store, lips pulled into the deepest frown.

Kirishima started laughing at the man’s expression, and you quickly followed suit, before Bakugou stalked inside, cuffing his friend on the ear.

What a spoil sport.

You couldn’t deny that by the end of the few hours you’d spent with Kirishima, you found yourself attracted to him. Not only in looks, but also in his goofy personality. You wouldn’t mind being friends with him.

It was easy to exchange numbers with the man, easy to let him lift your spirits.

And then it was time to leave, all three of you grouped at the entrance, saying bye, Bakugou and Kirishima giving each other another bro-hug.

You gave Kirishima a hug, leaning into his warm touch, enjoying his spicy cologne as you pressed your face against his broad chest. He eagerly returned the hug, until Bakugou was scoffing, pulling you out of his embrace.

“We’re in fucking public, you two, chill. Keep your pants on, sluts.”

Kirishima laughed, giving you a cheery wave as Bakugou gripped your hand until it hurt, dragging you out of the mall quickly.

-----

“Why are you being such a brat? You were fuckin’ fine earlier.” The blonde man grumbled, glancing over at you from where he was making dinner.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your water. “It’s not my fault you have a stick up your ass. All I said is I don’t like when you make food, tastes bad.”

Bakugou huffed, turning off the stove. “Are you fucking serious? You’re just trying to mess with me, aren’t’cha princess?”

“Could you stop calling me that? I’m not your princess.”

“You’re whatever I want you to be, princess.” Bakugou sneered, stomping towards you.

You quickly backpedalled, setting your glass of water down on the counter, stepping back. “I’m going to go set the table!” Was your way out, and Bakugou backed off as you threw open a cupboard, rummaging for plates and cups as he chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, you do that.” 

It wasn’t long before the table was set, Bakugou bringing the food to set it down onto the hotplate in the middle.

Even just a whiff of the food had your eyes watering, the spice through the roof.

“Seriously dude? You know you’re cooking for two people, why the fuck did you make it inedible?!?” 

The blonde man glared at you as he sat down, jaw working, mouth twisting. “You gonna be a bitch-baby about it? Should be fuckin’ grateful that I even made you dinner.”

“Thanks for dinner.” You mumbled, staring tiredly at the food Bakugou was heaping onto his plate. You didn’t feel like eating anymore, his outburst ruining your mood, reminding you of the time when he got angry because you wouldn’t go to bed, wouldn’t listen to him-

“Eat the damn food.” Katsuki snapped, pulling you out of your thoughts and back to the present.

You did as he asked, even though it burned your mouth. Dinner was quickly gulped down, followed by desperate swigs of water as you tried to chase away the spice. Bakugou huffing the entire time at your inability to handle the level of spice he preferred.

Afterwards, you gathered up the plates and washed them, conscious of Katsuki hovering in the background of the kitchen, watching you work while he tapped away on his phone.

When the last dish was washed, dried, and put away, you began rummaging in the cupboards, looking for something sweet, something to soothe your tastebuds.

“What’re you doin’, didn’t I just feed you?”

Bakugou’s harsh voice made you flinch, but you kept your back to him. “Was hoping there’d be dessert.”

A long, irritated sigh, then a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you away from the kitchen cupboards. “Ain’t got any of that shit in the house princess, you don’t need it.”

“But-” Your plead was interrupted by Bakugou rolling his eyes, snorting.

“Why are you being such a whiny baby? Is this cause Kiri was spoilin’ you earlier?”

Jutting your chin out, you glared up into red eyes as you turned around seething. “Maybe I like being treated like a person and not a problem. I don’t even understand why he’s friends with you - you’re mean and crass and stup-”

“So you’re just acting out cause you want some extra attention or some shit? What a brat.” The blonde sneered, leaning back against the counter as he tapped away at his phone again.

“You want Kiri so bad, fine. I’ll have him get you some shitty grocery-store dessert. Then maybe you’ll stop acting like a bitch. Stuff some candy in that mouth, will that keep you quiet, huh?”

It was infuriating, being treated like a child. Ignored, talked down to, unable to assert yourself or make decisions. 

“Whatever.” You huffed, shaking your head as you walked out of the kitchen. “Anything’s better than having to sit here with you.”

-----

The front door opening and the faint rustle of grocery bags caught your ear as you fumed on the couch, angrily questioning “why me?” as to your situation. But the noise meant your new friend was here, and he was much nicer than Bakugou.

Nice enough to have you smiling a bit as you rose to your feet, padding into the dining room as you beelined to the soft murmur of two manly voices.

“Heyyy! Long time no see!” The redhead was dressed in a loose tank top and basketball shorts, shoes discarded somewhere in the hall. 

You’d known he was muscular, but actually seeing his muscles without clothes in the way? You were stunned.

A bright blush encompassed your face when Bakugou snapped his fingers, narrowing his eyes at you. “Ay’, stupid! Focus! He got you a bunch of sweet shit. Rot your teeth out.” While gesturing to the two grocery bags resting on the dinner table.

“Hi Kirishima, thanks for the desserts-”

“Aw, it’s nothing. Bakubro wouldn’t tell me what kinda flavors you like so I kinda got a variety...”

Cupcakes and candy and various other sweet treats were nestled in the bags, and you grinned. “Dude, it’s all good. Wanna sit down and have some too?”

Bakugou snorted while Kiri smiled at you, nodding his head.  The dining chair creaked as his weight settled in it, the redhead pushing the grocery bags towards where you sat, encouraging you to pick anything you wanted.

The two men began to talk about this and that, mundane things about work, odd jobs, what their plans for the weekend were, boring stuff you easily tuned out as you indulged in sweet desserts.

Their attention turned to you when a whine slipped from your lips as frosting fell rom the cupcake you were eating and onto your shirt. Before you reached for a napkin, Kiri was leaning over, invading your space.

“You’re kinda messy, aren't you?” He breathed, a single finger swiping through the frosting on your shirt before the redhead sucked it into his mouth, looking at you through his eyelashes.

“Oh-u-uhm...” Was your elegant reply, tummy filled with butterflies at the fact that his finger had pressed against your skin through your shirt, right underneath your breast. 

He was so hot.

“Yeah, and a fuckin’ brat too. Little bitch can’t stop complaining about every little thing. Shut up the second I mentioned you were coming over.” Bakugou cackled, breaking the mood completely.

But Kirishima’s eyes were still on you as his now-clean finger slipped from his mouth. It was mesmerizing, watching the muscles in his arms shift and move as he leaned closer, slipping his hands underneath your shirt and raising the fabric so he could lick at the frosting still stuck on it.

Your breath stuttered, heat flaring suddenly in your tummy at the action.

And then Bakugou had to ruin it again. 

“You can fuck her if you want, I don’t mind. I told the old bird I would watch her kid for her. Didn’t say nothin’ about not getting her drunk on some cock.”

Eyes squeezing shut, you opened your mouth for some snappy reply, but Kirishima beat you to speaking.

“Yeah? Alright. You good with that baby?”

Wait, good with-?

Kirishima was looking up at you expectantly, fingers still clutched in your shirt, refusing to touch your skin. He was hot. This was hot. It’d be perfect if Bakugou wasn’t here.

“C’mon, just fuck her man, she’s been gaggin’ for your dick since she met you. Stop being a loser and man up.”

The redhead in front of you smiled, sharp teeth on display and gleaming. 

Then your shirt was being pulled over your head, hands gripping at your chest, thumbing over your nipples through your bra.

“W-wai-Kiri! Uhm, can’t we- uhm-”

Your voice was ignored, the redhead’s eyes glued to your chest as he pulled down your bra a bit, until he could palm each breast without anything in-between his warm hands and your soft skin.

“You’re so pretty...”

“She’s a whore.” Bakugou snarked.

Hands migrated to your waist, and you were easily lifted onto the table, Kirishima rising from his seat so he could push at your shoulders until they met the solid wood. Bakugou stayed seated, casually notching his hands behind his head and leaning back as he watched the show unfold before him.

Things were happening so fast, you didn’t know what to say, couldn’t move your hands to push away the broad redhead. This was so confusing. Yes, you wanted him, but you didn’t want Bakugou watching. You didn’t want to do this on the dining room table, didn’t like the quick turn the night had taken.

Your pants were being pulled down before you could organize your thoughts, before you could do much else aside from whimper and press your legs together.

“Hah, cute panties. You always wear stuff like this?” Kirishima asked, sliding a thumb underneath the elastic waistband only so he could snap it against your skin. You gasped at the little sting, unsure what to say, what to do.

“Most of her stuff is stupid girly shit like that, so yes.” 

You tried to throw a glare Bakugou’s way, but with the blonde somewhere behind you sitting at the table, you couldn’t turn your head far enough.

Especially not when you were distracted by Kirishima pushing down the waistband of his shorts. 

“I’m so glad I didn’t wear jeans.” He chuckled, holding his cock at the base as he sat back down again, scooting his chair up to edge of the table where your legs were splayed wide.

“Okay pretty, try and stay still for me. Make as much noise as you wanna, Bakugou and I don’t mind.” And then a warm mouth was pressed up against your cunt, licking at you over your panties, dragging the rough cotton against your most sensitive parts.

“Oh! o-oh, oh-oh-” Was all you could make your mouth manage as the redhead gripped your thighs in his giant hands, pushing them apart and allowing his massive shoulders to fit between them as he bent to lick at your pussy.

It felt... It felt so good, building up pressure in your stomach as your hole clenched around nothing.

Then Kiri did something awful, pulling your panties to the side and nosing into your folds with a pleased grunt. His skin was so warm, and you were so wet, and his nose started bumping against your clit as the man sloppily mouthed at you, and you couldn’t-couldn’t

“Stop-stop! ‘m gonna cum!” You wailed, legs twitching.

Immediately Kirishima drew back, soothing circles getting rubbed into your calves by thick fingers. “You don’t wanna cum in my mouth? Wanna cum on my cock instead? That’s cute.”

He stood up, and you barely got a glimpse of his dick bobbing against his stomach before he was leaning forward and catching your lips in a kiss. It almost scared you, sharp teeth poking menacingly against your lips, dragging across your skin as Kirishima moved his mouth against yours, but the redhead knew how to work with his teeth.

“Man, she really is a slut for you.” Bakugou piped up from behind you. He was a bit breathless, voice scratcher, but you couldn’t focus on that, not when Kirishima was pulling away with a groan, one of his hands fisting his cock.

The redhead gathered the spit in his mouth, leaned down, and let it drip onto your cunt, panties still pushed to the side. It was burning hot, adding to the fire in your tummy, blazing higher and higher.

Heavy breathing and labored panting filled the room as Kirishima edged closer to you, laying his cock flat against your entrance, playing with your panties as he did so until they pressed against his cock as it nestled between the lips of your cunt.

And then he started grinding.

Slow, delicious, absolutely heavenly.

You almost didn’t care about the disgusting little groans coming from Bakugou, the slick sounds of him fucking his fist, the creak of his chair behind you.

Almost.

Your attention was more focused on the pleasurable little zings going up your spine as Kiri rubbed his cock through your folds, all slick and wet. You kept your legs spread wide for him, barely able to breathe at the heat that seemed to fill the space, fill your lungs and steal your voice.

Kiri leaned down to kiss you again, and your hands fisted into his tank top, the material sweaty as it clung to his chest. If you could focus, you’d be trying to pull it off him, see the beautiful skin underneath, the man’s gorgeous body.

But what he was doing with his hips felt so good, you couldn’t even think.

“Kiri-Kiri, gonna-ohmygod-gonna-!”

And you came, shuddering as his cock kept fucking back and forth through your folds, twitching against your clit, veins in his dick pulsing and dragging against your skin.

He wasn’t stopping.

“Unhh, I came, please, wait Kirishima-”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to cum on my cock baby? I’m barely getting warmed up.” A feral smile gleamed bright from his lips. “I don’t play like Bakugou, I like messy girls. Gonna get you so fucked out you can’t even speak, can’t even walk. Won’t give him any trouble then, right? You’ll be good? For us?”

The look in his eye told you that you weren’t going to get a choice.

“Fuck Kiri, turn her over when you fuck her cunt so I can use her mouth.” Bakugou’s voice cut in, and your mood soured even more.

But Kirishima was already agreeing, cock still thrusting against your cunt. 

You didn’t get to make decisions anymore.

[tarragorn]

for #spnprideweek day 1: coming out + flags

↳ summary: cas tells sam a secret that he hasn’t (really) told anybody else. surprisingly, sam has one too.  PRIDE series | gen, sam & cas | word count: 1.7k

[READ ON AO3]

Sam’s grimacing a little at the grease from the fries on Cas’ plate. Cas would usually make a comment, here, about Sam keeping his eyes on his own paper, or that it isn’t nearly as bad as the veggie burger sitting on his plate at Sam’s behest. This is the recompense, Cas wants to say, but his mouth is dry and no words are coming out even if he wants them to.

Accompanying the inability to speak is the twisting feeling in his gut that won’t even allow him to pick up the burger. The smell is too much, too, and Cas hates to admit it but it’s probably the grease, so he sits back a little against the peeling seat of the booth to calm his nerves.

It’s just Sam. He can do this. It’s only that this is the first time he’s telling anyone, and that definitely ups the stakes a little.

Well, that’s somewhat of a lie. Cas had told the nice woman at the grocery store check out last week when he’d seen her little pin on her work uniform and asked where he could get one. 

He hadn’t actually bought one, of course, but Cas eyed the small bin full of brightly colored pins on the way out, convincing himself it was stupid to get back in line again for something so small and inexpensive. Still, he’d thought about it on the drive back to the Bunker, and that night in his bed, and the full week following, up until now. 

Now, Sam was looking at him with concern, and wiping his mouth in that way that means he’s about to get serious.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, pointedly looking down at Cas’ loaded plate. He’d barely taken a bite, except for a few nibbles of his admittedly greasy fries. And it was weird because since becoming human, Cas' appetite had grown considerably, much to Dean's delight.

And—Dean. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? Sure, it was more than just Dean, it was all the humans that had made Cas' body ache like it hadn't before, had made him think of what it means to be in this vessel—his body—and be attracted to other...humans.

It was odd. In hindsight, things in Heaven had been so much easier in this regard. Cas had spent most of his life clueless to the capabilities of human attraction, and then he met Dean and it all came crashing down around him. Only then, Cas was ignoring it. He was facing the other way, because though he felt human, he wasn't. Not really.

But everything is different now.

Cas clears his throat.

"Well," he starts, "no. I am feeling what I believe you’d call...anxiety. My stomach hurts, I find I'm unable to eat, a-and my hands are—"

"Cas," Sam interrupts. Shaking. Cas' hands are shaking.

Sam's fully set his fork and knife down now, hands clasped together on the edge of the table. "Talk to me."

Cas licks his dry lips.

"It’s not...it isn’t a big deal, really,” and yet Cas can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He sucks in a breath. “But I’m, uh. I wanted to tell you that...I like men.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change, but he blinks at Cas once from across the table.

“Okay.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, pulse slowing down a little with his next exhale. “Okay?”

Maybe it was that simple, and Cas was worrying over nothing. It’s just...this feels like it should be bigger. Earth-shattering. Like Sam should either hug him or tell him he never wants to speak to Cas again.

Instead, he just shrugs, picks up his fork and pushes bits of his salad around his plate.

But then Cas’ gaze moves to Sam’s face and...Sam’s frowning. Cas feels his heart thumping hard again, waiting for the ball to drop. It feels a little like when Dean sat him down to “talk,” right after he lost his powers, and, well. Cas knew how that had ended. He braces himself for the worst, schools his features to something more neutral.

“I’m,” Sam clears his throat, “I’m sorry you got nervous over all of that. I-I get that coming out is...” he laughs, “usually a bigger deal, but. You don’t have to worry with me, you know? I get it.”

That makes Cas pause. “You...do?”

Now Sam’s looking at him, eyes a little wide, but he works his jaw and gets the words out. “Yeah. Uh... well I guess now’s a good a time as any to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

The fork is set back down again. The bell over the diner door jingles. 

“In college...you know about Jess,” Sam says, jogging Cas’ memory. He knows, so he nods and Sam continues, “Well we uh. We actually met in a Gender Studies class. I thought, ‘pff, easy A,’ but it was actually way more complex than I originally thought, so she kind of...tutored me.” Cas raises an eyebrow, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Actually tutored me. Whatever. Point is, I learned a lot—‘cause she was a great teacher—and...not just about the class, but about myself, too.” 

Cas nods slowly, beginning to catch Sam’s drift. “Okay...”

Despite his tone, Sam’s posture stiffens a little, like he’s uncomfortable, or not really used to this type of conversation. Cas does his best to relax into his seat to ease him, unfolding his arms.

“What I’m saying is,” Sam shrugs, “I’m...not...cis. Like, I don’t....I’m not um, a guy, I guess. Well, sort of. I’m non-binary.”

Cas is silent for a second, mulling it over in his head. Eventually it becomes long enough for Sam to say, “Uh...you know what? You can forget it, man—”

“No!” Cas says, almost knocking over his plate in the process. The silverware clatters as it falls onto the table, and Sam flinches a little. “I was just thinking...I want to apologize if anything I’ve said about your gender has ever made you uncomfortable, or if you—”

Sam’s out-facing palm makes Cas stutter to a stop. There’s a weird guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, and the anxiety that he’d thought was gone is back full force again. Cas tears off a piece of his napkin.

“Cas, dude. Calm down,” Sam laughs. He takes a deep breath, and Cas follows his lead. They breathe in and out together for a beat, and when Cas feels fairly calmer, Sam pushes both of their plates aside.

“There’s no need to apologize for something you couldn’t have known about,” he starts, shaking his head a little, “and you haven’t done anything wrong, either. I still use he and him pronouns, and sometimes they and them. And besides, it’s not like I go around telling people. Especially with, uh, the way I was raised...I’ve been hesitant, you know? It was great in college, people were really supportive when I told them. But then when I started hunting again...I don’t know. 

“My dad...uh. I tried telling him, once. Didn’t go too well, so I didn’t try it again. I think that’s why Dean...” he shakes his head, frowning down at the table again. “It wasn’t easy, growing up the way we did. You could probably understand that.”

Cas nods. Under the table, his napkin is shredded into bits. 

“I do. I think, in a way, I also understand being trans.” Sam jerks their head up, intrigued. 

“Angels...we don’t experience gender the same way humans do. In fact, the concept is entirely nonexistent in Heaven. So, when we take vessels...”

“You’re essentially defining yourself,” Sam says in awe. It makes Cas smile to see them back in their element, leaning forward a little to listen better. “I never thought about it that way, not really.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure all of my siblings did, either. Many chose according to which vessel would best suit them and their form. That was definitely a factor in me choosing Jimmy, but I also found the thought of looking like a human man...greatly appealing.”

Sam’s nodding now, gaze darting to different parts of the table. Cas knows that means they’re mentally crafting an essay right about now, or thinking of what books in the Bunker might further help in their research about it.

“Wow,” he says, “that’s—I mean. Wow, Cas. Thanks for telling me that. And uh, the other thing.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them now, and Cas takes it as an opportunity to sip from his slightly-melted iced tea. 

“So,” Sam starts again slowly, “have you told Dean?”

Cas sucks in another deep breath, and Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says, “me neither.”

It surprises Cas a little that Sam hasn’t told him, and he expresses that with an inquiring eyebrow. 

Sam purses his lips and dodges the unspoken question. “Dean’s not a bad guy. You probably know that better than anyone except me. You know he’d still love you if you told him.”

Cas’ heart pounds at the mention of the word. When Sam notices, he feels his ears begin to heat with a blush. 

“Oh,” Sam smiles, “that. I figured. For a while now, but I didn’t wanna say anything.”

Cas tries to will away the heat on his face. He doesn’t say anything, so Sam leaves it be.

The waitress gives them a worried look when she brings the check, eyeing their barely touched plates. They both smile apologetically, insisting that their food was “great” when she whisks it away.

On their way back home, Cas asks if Sam can stop at the store. They don’t ask anything more than, “we need groceries that bad?” and Cas dips inside. He knows this is just like any other grocery run—going in and out as quick as possible with the things they need—yet his heart hammers all the same when he stops in front of the bin near the door. The same employee from last week is working on lane six, and he’s sure to check out at that one with his goods. She gives him a knowing smile.

Cas flops into the passenger seat, a little out of breath.

“That was fast,” Sam starts to say, before noticing Cas’ lack of grocery bags. “Dude. What d’you buy, air?”

Instead, Cas brandishes two brightly colored pins. Sam tentatively takes the yellow, white, purple, and black one, eyes wide.

“For me?” they ask.

Cas smiles, running his thumb over the rainbow one in his hand. 

“For both of us,” he says.

[@spnprideweek]

[cherrykindness]

one spoon for two |

first of all, i can't make my first post in english without thanking those who helped and encouraged me to make this decision. thank you for everything @waitimcomingtoo, @harryhoney-bee and @parkers-gal 🧡

summary: you and peter share spoons and sweatshirts and are “secretly” in love with each other.

pairing: peter parker x stark!reader

warning: hi! english (obviously) is not my first language, so I ask for patience, im still learning <3

"Good morning." You said with a enviable morning good humor as soon as you arrived at the complex's kitchen, receiving distracted nods and murmurs from Bucky, Sam, and Natasha. Peter, on the other hand, received your greeting with equal enthusiasm.

"Good morning, Y/N." He replied anxiously, straightening the posture and removing his feet from the chair beside. "Do you want to sit here?" He asked quick and shyly, pretending not to notice Bucky and Sam narrowing their eyes across the table. "I-I mean, it's empty, but you don't have to if you don't want to."

You nodded, accepting the offer before sitting down next to the boy you used to call best friend, frowning as you noticed that your yogurt with granola was already prepared next to a spoon and a glass of milk.

"Did you do that?"

Peter agreed, feeling a warmth rise from his neck to his cheeks.

"Yes, I figured you would be tired after last night."

That answer was enough to capture the attention of the entire kitchen. Steve, who was walking through the door with an empty mug in hand, stopped as soon as he heard the phrase leave Peter's lips, widening his eyes as he struggled not to let the ceramic object hit the floor.

"What?" Bucky asked in astonishment, blinking rapidly as he looked away between you and Peter. "What did you guys do last night?"

You and Peter looked at each other in confusion, but before you could respond, Natasha pointed to your clothes.

"Is that Peter's sweatshirt?"

Steve's pressure seemed to have dropped at this very moment. With trembling hands and flushed cheeks, the soldier sat down on one of the chairs, hiding his face amidst inaudible murmurs.

"Tony already knows this?" Sam asked with his mouth full of cereal, looking at you both with disapproval.

"What should I know?"

Peter swallowed hard when he heard your father's voice, dreading the mischievous smile that grew on Bucky's face.

"That me and Pete spent the whole night watching Star Wars." You were quick to respond, causing Peter to let out a relieved sigh.

"So that's what the kids call it these days?" Steve whispered, looking more shocked by the minute. Natasha patted her friend on the back, offering consolation.

"The Spider-Baby said he made Y/N very tired last night." Bucky, playing the part of the devil on Peter's shoulder, repeated the sentence with slight alteration.

"I didn't say that." The boy with bright curls said in horror, shaking his head frantically as his face turned as red as fresh strawberries. "It wasn't like that, Mr. Stark."

"So explain it to me." Tony demanded with a serious face, crossing his arms over his chest.

The boy became an clumsy mess in a matter of seconds. Bucky, Sam and Natasha holding their own giggling as the comic moment unfolded.

"You don't have to say anything, Pete." You reassured him, understanding your father's intentions. "Let's get away from those perverts. We still have a lot to enjoy this weekend."

You stood up with Peter at your heels, leaving the kitchen under the watchful eyes of the Avengers. Everyone, except Steve, burst out laughing as soon as Tony made sure that you were no longer around, Sam having to wipe away a few tears that had escaped from the corner of his eyes.

"What?" Steve asked confused, staring at the others strangely. "What did I miss?"

"They are so oblivious." Natasha said with a smile, shaking her head negatively.

"It's kind of cute." Tony admitted, shaking his shoulders. "The boy is unable to make a move, however."

"What?" Steve voiced it for the third time in less than three minutes. "They-they- you know; Aren't you angry? Isn't that a move for you?"

"They did nothing, cap." Tony stated between a sigh. "They spent the night watching Star Wars just as Y/N said, believe me."

"But is painfully obvious the Spider-Boy is upside down for her." Sam stated, earning a nod from Tony, Bucky and Natasha. "He was already here when me and Bucky showed up in the morning. He was sitting at the table and Y/N's breakfast was also already prepared. I was about to sit next to him– and it was the first time I ever considered sitting next to that child, I swear, when he simply put his feet up on the empty chair, saying that he had severe cramps and needed space. When Y/N appeared at the door all smiling and wearing his college sweatshirt, puft, it seems that the boy went out of his mind, and the first thing he did was to offer the seat next to him."

"There was one day that Y/N needed to help Bruce in the lab and was without access to her cell phone for most of the day. Peter and I were working together on his suit, but the boy was picking up the cell phone every two minutes. He sent a message at 04:30 and Y/N didn't answer until at 08:47, so guess what? Peter answered at 08:48." Said Tony.

"The boy was whipped." Bucky uttered between a sip of coffee.

"He and Y/N were sharing a pot of strawberry ice cream during the last movie session." It was Natasha's turn to share a moment between you and Peter, attracting the attention of the men accompanying her, "but there was only one spoon for both."

There was a suggestive exchange of glances between her, Stark, Barnes and Wilson, broken by Rogers' timid and cautious voice.

"So the kids didn't do anything indecent?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Tony rolled his eyes, leaving the room.

–

It was almost seven in the evening when Peter came into the kitchen again, now with a green mask on his face and a Hello Kitty's patch over his nose.

"What the fuck?" Bucky asked skeptically, almost spitting out the sandwich that was in his mouth.

"Y/N and I are going skin care tonight." Peter replied simply, going over to the refrigerator as everyone watched him intently.

"And what is that on your face?" Natasha asked the question everyone wanted while Peter grabbed a pot of ice cream from the freezer.

"Avocado mask. She saw in TikTok that it is good for the pores."

"So that was the fate of the avocado I bought to eat in the morning." Steve said regretfully. "It's okay, I can buy another one tomorrow."

"I have many questions, but I don't think any answer will answer them." Sam do a grimace before turning to the food laid out on the table.

"Peter, you should ask Y/N out on a date." Thor gave his opinion. "That's what you Midgardians call, right?"

Peter choked with the air as he heard the Thunder God's phrase, almost letting the pot of ice cream slide down the sink.

"W-we go to dates almost every day." He refuted with red face. "Tomorrow we will go to the supermarket. We can buy another avocado for you, Steve."

"But this is not the kind of date we are talking abo–" Natasha tried to explain, but Peter was already leaving the kitchen practically running.

"Bye, Y/N is waiting me to put cucumbers over the eyes."

"You got only one spoon!" The redhead screamed.

"It's enough!"

The Avengers present exchanged a look of recognition before Thor broke the silence, repeating the question Sam had asked that same morning:

"Tony already knows this?"

Everyone shook their shoulders simultaneously, Bruce being the only one to speak up verbally when silence filled the room.

"I'm sure he's already pulling some strings."

–

"Please, Tony, don't tell me that you are hiding to spying Peter and Y/N."

Tony peeked a bit between the leaves as he heard Pepper's harsh voice, putting the binoculars in the back pocket of his pants as covertly as possible.

"Spying?" He laughed exaggeratedly loudly. "Of course not, dear. This is absurd."

The woman eyed him suspiciously, reaching into her husband's pocket as soon as he hugged her.

"So can you start explaining to me the binoculars, the camouflage clothing, and the presence of a giant plant that was not in the hallway before?"

Tony walked away defeated, lowering his eyes at the judgmental look he was receiving.

"The word "spying" is too strong, okay? Let's say I was watching them without them knowing."

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"They are already adults, Tony. You should let them make their own decisions, and it is pretty obvious that they like each other. I know that the idea of Peter and Y/N dating may be strange to you, but–"

"Strange?" He almost shouted, lowering his voice when he noticed that the music that used to come from your room had stopped, now putting his camouflage skills at risk. "Baby, I love you, but you are crazy." He whispered. "Peter is the only boy who deserves to be with someone like Y/N, and all I have been doing for the past seven months is trying to get them to confess the feelings that everyone knows exist, but they seem too blind to see. So far I remain with the verdict that the boy is right for her and I hope don't change my mind anytime soon. They are my OTP."

"OTP?" Pepper asked confused by the slang.

"One True Pairing. Honey, you are so out of date."

"All right, I'm leaving."

Tony arched an eyebrow as he watched his wife walk away and take the binoculars, shrugging his shoulders before hiding behind the leaves again. He spent almost two hours there, but nothing interesting had happened, just you and Peter going back and forth from the kitchen with greasy foods and ice cream, a spoon for two as you shared whatever it was in the aisles, sometimes even taking it into each other's mouths, making Tony look away from those nauseatingly sweet scenes.

He had a story appointment with Morgan and his presence in the little girl's room at nine was a must. The plan affectionately called "Project Starker" had failed that day, and Tony had to accept defeat as he went to your room, expecting to find you and Peter sprawled out on the bed while some nerdy movie was playing on TV.

"Y/N? Peter?"

The room was dark, lit only by adjacent lights coming through the window. Tony stumbled over a few objects along the way, walking blindly through the furniture until he was near your bed.

"Can you even see each other here? God, how–"

Tony had to interrupt the sentence, surprised to see you and Peter snuggled up to each other, sleeping peacefully while a current series he didn't know the name of played on the TV at an almost inaudible volume. He shook his head in denial, holding back a smile before nudging Peter's waist, forging an angry timbre:

"Kid, you have a room here for a reason. What are you doing in my daughter's bed?"

Peter blinked a few times, completely lost and surprised by Tony's presence.

"Mr. Stark?" He asked stunned, trying to see Tony through the shadows. "Why are you here?"

Your father raised one of his eyebrows, aghast at the sudden boldness of the teenager before remembering the younger man's sleepwalking habits. Peter probably thought he was dreaming or some shit.

"Why are you here?" Tony returned the question, crossing his arms.

"Because I'm in love with Y/N and I want to sleep next to her."

Tony opened his mouth like a goldfish, cursing himself mentally for not recording that statement, shaking Peter's body when he started to close his eyes again.

"Aren't you going to your room?"

Peter mumbled something indecipherable, tightening his arms around your body as you continued to sleep heavily on his chest.

"No, thanks for the offer."

Tony nodded to nothing, deciding to just close your curtain and ask to Friday to turn off the TV.

"Thank you for doing Y/N too, Mr. Stark. I appreciate that."

Tony laughed softly, promising himself that he would tease the boy about it the next morning, “Go to sleep, kid. I'm sure no one will leave you alone tomorrow after I tell what you said."

Stark was about to leave when he noticed Peter's feet sticking out of the covers. The night was cold, and there was nothing but a thin comforter protecting the two of you.

"Just one blanket?" He asked.

"Yes." Peter kind of whispered, pulling you closer. "It's enough."

This time Tony didn't hold back his smile, shaking his head before closing the door, leaving you and Peter in that little bubble of teenage passion.

"Point for you, Spider-Boy."

[angstyaches]

Ooooh you have a delicious writing style- it's so descriptive! I'm afraid I'm quite new so don't know your characters much yet, but if this scenario could fit I bet you'd write it amazingly! Perhaps Character A is down on their luck, longterm or short-term wise, and is walking through town, having not eaten since the morning prior. Suddenly a store window catches their eye, displaying all sorts of amazing baked goods or meat cuts, and they can't help but stare while their hunger pains have them wincing openly. Character B notices them staring before Character A even realises what they're doing.

Agh, what a beautiful prompt. I think this is actually the first hunger fic I've written on request, so thank you, anon! I hope it’s okay that I used fancy pizza; I really wanted to use Payton for this and pizza is one of the few foods they would genuinely go weak over.

Pre-Payton and Autumn Getting Together

CW: hunger, hunger pangs, stomach noises, mentions of character unable to afford (decent) food, stress, overwork (it's Payton, what did we expect?), food mention

___

Payton sighed as they felt the drizzle start to fall around them. They stepped under a deserted bus shelter and stared out, wondering if the rain was going to get worse before it cleared up.

It was a fitting end to the day – or rather, the week – they’d been having. They couldn’t wait to get home and take off the stifling shirt they’d worn to a job interview that morning and then worn all the way through their shift at the café. They just wanted soft clothes and their bed and maybe a podcast to fall asleep to.

It all seemed so far away still, their energy sapping by the second and leaving them stranded five minutes away from the tram stop. Their feet stopped moving, rooting them to the pale grey concrete.

A gorgeous smell turned their head. Frantic interview prep, snooty employers, and stuffy clothes all faded from Payton’s mind. They were stopped across the street from the city’s most expensive food store. Built into a complex from the late 1800s, it was the kind of place where a sandwich cost €12. The kind of place that sold imported goods and “foodstuffs”.

An elaborate window was positioned behind the delicatessen section of the shop, where a chef was artfully piecing together a pizza on top of a copper paddle while another sat in a brick oven. The smell of the crisping dough must have been piped out deliberately onto the street, to entice those with money to burn, and to tease those without.

Payton fell into the latter category lately. With all the time they’d been spending on interview prep and assignments, they’d been taking shorter shifts at the café. Rent was going to clean them out this month. Today’s shift hadn’t even been long enough to warrant a full lunch break; they’d only taken fifteen minutes, and had spent thirteen of them taking a nap at the break room table.

Only now did they feel the twists of hunger in their stomach, the shakiness in their legs. Payton didn’t even realise that they had edged closer to the bus stop so they could sit down on the bench, one hand resting on their belly. Their stomach hurt, and it really was no wonder when they thought about it.

The last thing they’d eaten had been a bowl of cereal at seven a.m., the same cereal they were planning to have for dinner when they got home.

Payton’s stomach groaned unhappily at the prospect, and Payton groaned too; I’m right there with you, they thought miserably, rubbing at their stomach and continuing to watch the pizza chef through the window.

They didn’t know how long they grimaced and gazed across the street before they were interrupted.

“Payton? Hi!”

Payton jumped, head snapping up to see who’d said their name, and their heart skipped a beat.

A navy polka-dot umbrella sat over her shoulder. She was wearing tight leggings and an oversized sweater, her shoulder-length hair thrown into a lazy side-bun. She was wearing no makeup and looked a little sweaty, like she was heading home from the gym or dance practice.

She was a sight to behold, as always, even as she fumbled with her umbrella.

“H-hey,” Payton stammered, stumbling to their feet and trying to appear as though they weren’t so light-headed they were seeing stars.

Autumn glanced across the street, her eyes lingering there for a moment. “Uh, you don’t take this bus, do you?”

“I – no,” Payton admitted, glancing at the timetable and list of stops. “I was just sitting. Long day. Spaced out a bit.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Autumn said, glancing across the street again. She let out a little laugh, though she seemed to consider holding it in for a moment. “I thought you were going to start drooling.”

“What?”

“The fancy pizzas.”

Payton’s heart dropped. Their face was feeling hot under their bangs. “Oh, I, uh, I didn’t even realise I was… staring.”

“Don’t be embarrassed! I watch them all the time when I’m waiting for the bus,” Autumn laughed.

Payton still blushed deeply, since they’d had no reason to sit down at the bus stop except to stare through the shop window. They were suddenly hyper-aware of their hand resting on their belly. They felt their stomach quiver under their palm, a low growl working its way through.

“You doing okay?” Autumn sat down on the bench, nodding for Payton to join her. She didn’t seem to hear the complaint from Payton’s belly. “Feels like forever since we last talked.”

“Y-yeah, sure does,” Payton half-laughed. Their shaky legs and dizzy head were thankful for the relief as they sank back down, leaving what they hoped was a healthy number of inches between the two of them. “I’ve been, um… I’m okay? I think. And – and you?”

“I’m actually… I’m great,” Autumn grinned, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I, um, I just found out today that I’m going to be Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors.”

“Are you serious?” Payton smiled, their mood genuinely lifting a bit at the sight of Autumn’s proud, shy little smile.

They often envied her for her absolute passion for musicals and acting, since they were failing so spectacularly at finding their place in the film world, but right then Payton was happy just knowing she was happy.

“Yeah! I still can’t really believe it.”

“I can.” Payton extended a long arm to pull Autumn towards them. “You’re brilliant.”

“Agh – ew, P, you don’t want to hug me!” she laughed, pulling her shoulders up tightly. “I’m all sweaty and damp!”

“I don’t care!” Payton wrapped their arms around her and pulled her close, so that their cheeks were just inches apart. “Your news deserves a hug.”

Autumn gave a deep, happy sigh as she leaned into the hug, probably unaware of the fact that the contact was setting Payton’s heart racing. It almost felt selfish, holding her like this when they were clearly getting more out of it than she was. They went to remove their arms from her, their chest fluttering as she buried her face deeper in their shoulder and kept her arms firmly around their waist.

It was lovely.

And yet, for the first time in a while, Payton felt a pang of loneliness, their core aching with the knowledge that they couldn’t hold her like this all the time. Deep in their bones, Payton wanted to kiss her hair, tickle her sides, and whisper happy little declarations of affection in her ear.

They didn’t whisper anything to her, though. They didn’t say anything as they held her. But their empty stomach was still twisting itself into shapes, and it clearly didn’t get the memo on holding Autumn quietly. A sharp growl had Payton wincing and trying to clear their throat (to cover up the noise) all in the same breath.

“Whoa, is that your stomach?” Autumn asked, lifting her head from Payton’s shoulder.

Payton’s body stiffened. “It… might be.”

“Are you okay? You must be starving.”

“I’m… Yeah.” Payton swallowed hard, letting a hand rest on their belly again.

Autumn moved back to give them some space. She was staring like she expected an explanation, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. Payton’s stomach rumbled under their hand again, bringing a twist of pain, and they didn’t know if they wanted to laugh or to cry.

“I guess I haven’t been taking care of myself too well.” They flinched again at the crack in their own voice.

Lifting her umbrella from where it had been resting against her leg, Autumn got to her feet. “Come on.”

Payton looked up at her, blinking behind their bangs. Exhaustion weighted them to the bench. “Come on where?”

A little hum escaped Autumn’s throat as she jerked her head. Her umbrella popped open and she stepped out of the bus shelter. The rain pattered against the fabric, a little heavier than it had been before.

“We’re gonna go eat pizza. Not – not there,” she clarified, gesturing towards the expensive deli. “I was thinking top floor of the Greene Centre. They sell by the slice and it’s super cheap.”

Payton swallowed again, guilt piling itself on top of the embarrassment. They felt as though they’d somehow coerced Autumn into offering to buy dinner, and the thought made them physically shudder. They got to their feet and moved a little closer to Autumn so she could hear them.

“I probably still can’t afford it,” they mumbled, staring at the ground.

“It’ll be my treat today, okay? You can pay me back by letting me ramble about my show.”

Payton gave her a shaky smile. “Are you sure?”

“Hundred percent.” That shy smile crossed Autumn’s face again. “It’s gonna sound weird, but when I found out I got the part… You were the first person I wanted to tell, Payton.”

“I... Really?” As they chewed their lip, a deep rumble came from Payton’s tummy. They frowned and folded their arms around it, noticing how Autumn's gaze drifted towards it too.

"Come on, I can't listen to your poor belly complain anymore." She lifted her umbrella a little higher with one hand – Payton was a few inches taller than her – and stuck out her elbow for Payton to link their arm through hers. “Shall we go?”

[bestintheparsec]

The Same Coin - Part 1

Prologue | Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

A/N: Thank y’all so much for the nice comments on this new series! This picks up shortly after the prologue. I had to hold back a lot for this chapter because pining is not allowed yet - patience😌 I hope you enjoy, and as always feedback is welcome!❤️

Words: 3.4k

Warnings: some mentions of violence, angst (but not the Yearning kind yet)

You’ve just finished getting ready to start the day when you hear three loud knocks at your door. Hurriedly buttoning up your blouse, you go answer it and find Steve standing outside with his hands on his hips.

“Peña’s out of the hospital and back home now,” he informs you.

You briefly remember the scene from a couple days ago. He’d been fine, of course, just bleeding out and unable to stand. A local helped you call an ambulance while you got Peña upright and put pressure to the wound. Much like he always did, he spent a bit of time swearing under his breath when he claimed you were making too much of a fuss over it. You had to drive the Jeep back, so he went off to the hospital on his own once the paramedics arrived. You made sure he was going to be okay before you left him, and Steve went to visit him so you assumed he was recovering.

“Okay,” you comment. This couldn’t wait? “Is he alright?”

“He’ll be off work and on crutches for a few weeks,” he answers. He looks down at the floor before looking back up at you.

“What is it?” you ask suspiciously.

“They...put us in charge of watching over him until he’s back at work. Mostly you.” He mutters the last part, and you raise your brows.

“What? Why me?” you ask, confused.

“You’re the one who lives next door to him,” Steve answers, matter-of-factly. He and Connie live a couple floors above you, so logistically he’s right. But that doesn’t mean you want to be his personal nurse.

“Yeah, but—” you start to say, a little louder.

“It’ll be fine,” he insists, patting you on the shoulder. “You just need to check in every now and then and make sure he’s getting some food and water in him.”

Steve grabs your hand and slips a key into it. “I’ll come by too, but you’ll be able to hear if he falls or something at night, right?”

At that, you can’t help but chuckle dryly. Yeah, you can hear plenty, alright.

~

After work, you drive back home and feel the tension leave your muscles once you step into the apartment complex. Work was uneventful, without any new leads or intel. Mostly it was just you and Steve poring over mindless paperwork. As expected, you’d gotten quite the scolding from the colonel and Messina today. This was nothing new; not with Peña for a partner. But it was the first time he’d gotten himself hurt in one of his schemes, which didn’t look good on either of your parts. You didn’t feel like hashing it out with them, so you took your warning and left, opting to chide Peña on it on your own time.

Steve had gone out with Connie after leaving today, so it’s on you to check on Peña first. The heels on your shoes clack as you make your way down the dim hallway to his door. He should still be fresh off the IV painkillers from the hospital, so he probably won’t be awake to answer. You pull out the key Steve gave you and unlock it, the cool air greeting you as you enter his flat.

It’s not your first time in his apartment. You and Steve have often had late nights here, working on some new lead after hours. Only a lamp's faded light is on, but you hear rustling inside.

“Peña,” you call out. You find him in the kitchen, trying to heat something up in the microwave while leaning on his crutches. His hair is tousled and messy, and he's in a t-shirt and loose pants—a surprising sight and a stark contrast from his usual attire. He greets you with only a glance. You almost ask how he’s feeling but the cold gesture makes you decide against doing so.

You hold up the paper bag in your hand. “Steve picked up your painkillers,” you tell him, putting it on the counter.

“No need to knock before you enter,” he remarks sarcastically, pulling his food out of the microwave.

You roll your eyes, figuring he’d be in a bad mood. “You’re supposed to be in bed. Doctor’s orders. And you’re welcome,” you counter. How does he manage to be insufferable even when fully medicated?

“You really always go by-the-book, don’t you?” he clips, the sound of his crutches clanking on the tile as he walks over to you. Jesus, Javier thinks to himself. He already has to deal with you at work, and now he has to deal with this in his own home, too?

“The hole in your leg says otherwise, although I wouldn’t say that’s my fault,” you answer tersely.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Messina seems to have made you and Murphy my punishment,” he grumbles.

You purse your lips. “Believe me, this thrills me, too, Peña. But I can’t have you collapsing on me anymore,” you say, which catches his eye. “I’ll get in trouble again,” you add, and he smirks at that.

“Ever the caring partner,” he huffs, though he’s mildly amused. He looks you up and down for the first time since you came in. He notices how you’re playing with the fabric of your shirt; another habit you have, typically when frustrated. Javier hates that he knows this, attributing it to how much all three of you are around each other. You see each other around the clock, so it’s impossible not to pick up on the little things. For a moment he ponders what you might have picked up about him—not that what you think of him matters.

You ignore the sarcasm in his voice, eyeing the box of bandages and bottles of antiseptic on the counter. In all honesty, you’re not sure how well he’s dressing his own wounds; he probably gives them a quick swipe and calls it a day. “Do you...need help changing your bandages? I know how to clean them—”

“No,” he cuts you off.

“Okay, well if you need me to get anything—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts again. “So unless you want to help me shower…” he says, sneering at the face you make.

“Yeah, I’m not sure even Steve will help you with that,” you wave a hand dismissively.

“Anyways, these meds should knock you out for a while,” you continue, changing the topic. “Which means I can get some quiet on the other side of your wall, for once.” You're only partially joking, but Javier doesn’t miss the mild embarrassment in your eyes. He chuckles without humor, but doesn’t respond.

A moment passes before you speak again and readjust the bag on your shoulder. “Get some rest, Peña,” you instruct. With that, you head back out the door as he watches you leave.

He sighs deeply, running a free hand through his hair. Why can't Murphy be the one who lives next door?

~

You continue to alternate check-ins with Steve daily, always trying to come during evenings, when Peña’s more likely to be awake. The visits are brief and somewhat civil, although they usually involve you nagging him about one thing or another and getting snippy comments in response. Really, you know he’s a grown man and all, but even when injured he’s not terribly careful.

It’s not his fault his place is getting messier—he’s not fully mobile—but his flat is usually decently tidy, most likely for his “guests”. Now the place is covered in half-empty glasses and bottles of liquor, along with random things strewn haphazardly on the floor. You’ve told him often that the papers spilling across the floor are a safety hazard for him, but he brushes you off every time.

“You’re not on the job right now, you don’t need to be an asshole,” you tell him.

“You’re not at the office now either, lighten up a little,” he rebuffs.

Javier swears that if he hears you remind him to drink more water or be more careful one more time, he’s going to lose it. He tells you as much, but you’re never able to get through to each other. It’s always been like this as partners; of course it’s no different when you’re off the clock.

You seem to be under the impression that he’s impulsive; maybe he is, and maybe he’s not proud of everything he’s ever done. But Escobar plays the game according to his own rules—playing it safe only puts more people in harm’s way. Sooner or later you might understand, but until then he’s not going to wait around worrying until you do.

~

One night, you’re met with the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the couch. He’s smoking a cigarette and barely looks up as you enter and walk towards him.

“Steve and Connie went grocery shopping and wanted me to bring you some stuff,” you tell him as you unload the plastic bags you’re carrying. “Looks like you’ve got some snacks and instant dinners to hold you over.”

“Thanks,” Peña answers, and you're almost taken aback by the tiny bit of politeness.

He picks up the prescription bottle on the coffee table and uncaps it, shaking a pill out onto his hand before picking up his glass.

You look across the room at him and frown. “Are you taking your meds with alcohol?” you ask, probably louder than necessary.

You walk over and forcibly remove the glass in his hand, replacing it with the water bottle from your bag. He looks up at you, annoyed at your snatching of his drink. “Jesus, Peña, don’t you know anything? Are you trying to get yourself back into the hospital?”

He responds by muttering something under his breath before throwing the pill back and downing it with the water.

“You know, me and Steve would have to come over a lot less if you took better care of yourself.”

“I don’t need you mother-henning me in the first place,” he retorts. “It’s a fucking leg wound, not something that’s gonna kill me.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” you snap back. “Unfortunately for both of us, our bosses think otherwise.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this,” he tells you, shaking his head. God, you’re infuriating.

“No? Neither did I,” you quip. “Fuck, Peña, do you not—I'm just trying to help.”

He exhales and puts the cigarette to his lips again, leaning back against the couch. You dig around in your bag for a granola bar and shove it in his direction.

“Do yourself a favor and eat something, or those meds aren’t going to sit right.” He groans but takes it, and you turn on your heels to leave.

Except, Javier never misses anything; especially not the way the thin fabric of your sleeve slides up on your skin as you hand it to him, revealing a sliver of something white on your arm.

He abruptly grabs your wrist, gently but it still takes you by surprise. “Wait,” he mutters in a low voice, stopping you mid-step. He turns your arm over, not making eye contact as he pushes the loose fabric of your sweater upwards, revealing the large white bandages that are covering the back of your arm, near your elbow. He can’t see the damage underneath, but his mouth presses into a hard line.

You bite the inside of your cheek as he examines it for a few seconds before you pull your arm away from his hand.

“I thought you and Murphy haven’t been in the field recently,” he whispers, his tone suddenly much softer than it was moments earlier.

“We haven’t,” you reply quietly. You know he’s not going to drop it by the way he’s looking at you. “It’s...from the broken glass. When the sicarios shot at us in the car,” you shrug.

“Just because I was in a hospital, you didn’t think to mention you were injured?” he sounds offended, but there’s a different feeling cutting through the air, one that you can’t place your finger on.

It really isn’t a big deal, just a few superficial gashes that will heal easily—you’ve had much worse, working in the field. You hadn’t even meant to hide it, but the bandages aren’t a pretty sight and your work attire often consists of three-quarter sleeve blouses, or your favorite cardigan.

“Peña, it’s literally a few scratches. Hardly newsworthy,” you answer, though your own voice is calm now, too.

He has an unreadable expression in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him simply, and you mean it. “And I’m not the one who got a bullet put into my leg,” you continue, offering the smallest of smiles.

Javier glances at the ground before looking back up at you, but you’ve already turned to leave.

Hunting Escobar meant you were all in life-or-death situations regularly, one way or another. But for an unknown reason he suddenly feels a bit heavier, and he doesn’t like it.

~

The radio’s playing as Javier sits on the floor, tossing away some bottles of liquor that are crowding his coffee table. Christ, your nagging was starting to get to him. He wishes the stations would play something besides the latest news on Escobar. If there’s anything he hates about not being able to work, it’s that he has too much free time when he’s home alone. That, and the fact that Escobar and his sicarios are still out there, and there’s currently not a damn thing he can do about it.

He’s been on crutches for a few weeks, and is now used to your coming and going. He watches as you drop some more groceries off in the kitchen, but notices you’re quieter than usual tonight. It’s not a proper check-in from you unless you’ve reprimanded him about not taking his meds, or skipping meals, or something else. Not that he’s complaining about a break from the incessant nagging, but his attention is drawn to the more pronounced lines that have appeared under your eyes lately. It doesn’t take long for him to drop his gaze, but he knows there must’ve been things happening at work that you haven’t mentioned. Or it might have just been one of those nights; he knows those too well. He definitely knows better than to ask about it.

“Wait,” he calls as you leave, and you take your hand off the doorknob before turning to him.

“Any new leads?” he asks. You almost have this look of pity for him in your eyes, which he hates.

You shake your head. “Messina’s running some intel by the ambassador tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll be back to business soon.”

He nods. “Thanks,” he says curtly.

Your lips press together into a tense smile before opening the door and shutting it quietly behind you.

Javier rubs the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment. He exhales quietly; there’s nothing except the sounds of the radio show and the ticking clock on the wall. What annoys him most of all is how dangerous it is when he has this much time to think.

~

It’s the weekend, so you make plans to get breakfast at your favorite spot around the corner. The few people you know prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, so you’re on your own. It’s early, but your stomach still grumbles with hunger. This makes you think of what Steve said about making sure Peña kept himself fed—you know very well that on many nights, whiskey is the only thing anyone is able to keep down. For a second you hope he hasn’t been drowning his boredom with alcohol anymore—not that it’s your problem.

At any rate, it’s probably too early to check on him, so you head out and plan to do it later.

~

Javier wakes up after an unrestful sleep, still groggy, and shuffles into the kitchen to find something to eat. He walks over to the cupboard to find a bowl, propping himself up on one leg. How much longer with these damn crutches? he grumbles to himself.

He takes the crutches out from under his arms, resting them against the wall and limping over to the sink. Pain sears up his leg and he hisses, but he hates needing the physical support—or any other support, for that matter. He’s about to fill a pot with water when he sees a package on the counter, wrapped in tin foil.

He grabs it, realizing it’s a large, warm plate of food with a note on top. Dinner. Eat, cabrón, it says in your scribbled handwriting.

For the first time since the incident, his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. You really are infuriating, he thinks. But somehow, it’s almost endearing.

~

It’s raining outside tonight, a light shower but it seems relentless. You hop over a puddle of water as you step into your complex and close your umbrella. It’s Steve’s turn to check on Peña, so you can go straight to your flat, much to your relief.

Your clothes are wet, so the cold air conditioning gives you goosebumps as you open the door. Turning on a single light in the foyer, you pry your wet shoes off, followed by the damp cardigan you have on. You’re not dry yet, but you almost feel a little better. Tonight calls for a hot shower, but you don’t have the energy for it, so you make your way to the bedroom.

You don’t bother turning on the lights as you strip yourself of the day’s burdens and change into something cleaner and lighter. If only your mind worked that way, too. As you crawl into bed, you feel as though you could just sink right in and disappear. The soft covers don’t do much to comfort you, and you’re not quite ready to lie down yet so you sit with your back against the headrest, rubbing your eyes from exhaustion. The rain continues to fall outside your window.

Images from today fill your mind. It was another day in the field, one you were supposed to spend tracking down a low-tier sicario. Instead, you found a bloody crime scene Escobar decided to leave behind to prove a point. You had no doubt Steve was at a bar now, doing what he could to drown out the sight.

It’s not something you’ll ever get used to. Despite yourself, you think of more mundane things—your many meals eaten alone, the quiet drives home with only your mind keeping you company. Somehow, it makes things easier for you this way. You don’t want to imagine the possibilities otherwise.  It’s for the best, you tell yourself on nights like this—but repeating it doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

When your head finally hits the pillow and you pull the blanket up to your chin, you can’t help but allow yourself to wonder what it would be like if you didn’t have to face all of this on your own. It’s a common thing for you; empty thoughts in a dark and empty room, before fatigue finally overpowers your conscience.

On the other side of your thin bedroom walls, Javier lights another cigarette, deciding whether he wants to turn up the volume on the TV or turn it off entirely.

He’d already heard what happened from Steve. No, he wasn’t at the scene. But he should’ve been, instead of being stuck at home and helpless. When he’s out in the field, he likes to think he’s able to stomach it all better, running on pure adrenaline. He runs his hand along his jaw, willing the anger and tension to leave him. He wasn’t even part of this mission, nor did he make any of the calls, but somehow he knows it’s going to be another long night. He’s had worse days where he can’t take it anymore, finding comfort only in the arms of some woman he doesn’t know. Even then, it’s more of a distraction than anything else.

The guilt never leaves him—it’s a weight he deserves to carry. Every decision he makes affects something, or someone else. Whether he’s ever made a good choice, he’s not sure. But when he looks at the bandages covering the wound in his leg, tracing the edges with his finger, he knows he’s tired of dragging other people down with him.

 ~

Translations:

Cabrón = asshole

~

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[thetravelerwrites]

Geteb (Troll) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Troll/Non-Binary Reader Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Troll, Non-Binary Reader, Reader Insert Content Warning: Speech Disorders, Dysarthria, Stuttering Words: 2741

A commission for @mxnsterbabe​​! After getting sick from drinking contaminated water, the reader comes home to find the plumber fixing the water problem. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Moving to Willowridge hadn’t been your first option, but it was the only one that made financial sense. You were going to school at E.U. for business management, but Coleville was just too expensive, even living in the dorms, so you transferred to the Willowridge campus. There was an apartment complex with plenty of studio apartments for the college kids, and you rented the only ground floor apartment they had left. There was a trade-off, of course. You didn’t have to climb up and down seven flights of stairs every day because the elevator was perpetually broken, but you did hear every argument, party, and session of loud sex your neighbors decided to have.

Well, college life was college life, regardless of where you lived.

The only real problem was that the water was an odd color and tasted funny, and before your first day in your new place was over, you were in the hospital for suspected salmonella poisoning. You were in the hospital for over two days, and when you were released, there was a large stranger in your apartment, looking under your kitchen sink.

“Excuse me,” You said in alarm.

The stranger jumped and hit his head on the cabinet, swearing and dropping a wrench. He stood up, and you could see he was wearing a workman’s jumpsuit. You were suddenly confronted with a solid wall of man, easily seven feet tall, with a broad… everything. He was a troll, you realized, and judging from the dusty, pebbly texture of his skin to the tusks jutting out from his lower jaw to the hair like green moss that curled around his ears, he was a field troll.

Trolls were distantly related to orcs, though they didn’t have the same warrior culture as orcs did, if you recalled correctly. They were typically creatures of nature, keeping to the forests and mountains, often seen as slow or stupid. You weren’t sure if those claims were true or not. You’d met a few before, and they seemed normal to you.

“Sorry,” He said very slowly, his voice deep. “Are you… the one… that… got sick?”

“Yes,” You replied, coming inside the apartment but leaving the door open. “And who are you?”

“Sorry,” He repeated. “I’m Geteb. I’m the… plumber… for the building. I came to… fix the pipes.”

“Oh,” You said. “What was wrong with them?”

“The pipe… that p--pulls water…. from the city… broke… and street water… got in it,” He replied in the same slow cadence. “That’s why you… got sick. Your apartment is… the first in the line. When you… got s--sick, we shut it… off. We only just now… turned it back on.”

“Well, I guess it’s good no one else got sick, then,” You said, trying not to come across as bitter.

“I’m sorry… you did,” He said solemnly, though it was an odd sound, like a puppy whimpering after being scolded. “I… b--brought you… clean water.” He pointed to several jugs of water that were stacked along the wall in the kitchen area.

You nodded numbly. “Oh.”

“Just in case. We’re flushing… the system… now. I was just… checking the water… in the tap… to make sure it’s clean.” He held up a cotton swab that was inside a tube. “It’s a test, see? If it’s blue… then it’s con…” He stopped and struggled with the word. “Co... conta…taminated. But it’s not, see!” He held out the test swab for you to inspect. “So it’s all safe. But you should… drink the jug water… just in case.”

“Okay,” You said tiredly. “Well, if you’re done, I’d like to lie down. I still don’t feel very well.”

“Oh, okay,” He said, picking up his tools. “I hope you… feel better… soon. Call the front office… if anything is wrong… and I’ll come back… and fix it… any time.”

“Sure,” You said, ushering him out of the door.

You spent the next couple of days in bed, unable to eat. You managed a few sips of tea, but there wasn’t much else that your stomach could tolerate. As suggested, you drank the water from the jugs that Geteb had brought, but mostly because you just didn’t trust the tap water anymore.

Three days afterward, when you were finally starting to feel better, there was a knock at the door. Geteb was standing there in his work clothes with three more jugs of water in each fist.

“I brought you… m--more water,” He said.

“Oh,” You said in surprise. “Okay. Uh, bring them in.”

You stepped aside and let Geteb in, who had to duck to clear the doorframe.

“I’m sorry if I was rude the other day,” You told him. “I didn’t even really thank you.”

“It’s okay! I understand!” He replied. “You felt bad. I’m cranky… when I feel bad… too.”

“I just hope I’m well enough to continue classes next week,” You said.

He chuckled. “School was fun. I remember college. Lots of parties.”

He seemed to be better at speaking short sentences. “You went to college?” You said in surprise.

“Yes,” He said reproachfully, looking hurt. “I know… I’m not that smart… but I’m s--smarter… than people think. Just because… I’m big… and I talk slow… and I have trouble… with big words… it doesn’t mean… I’m stupid.”

Horrified, you said, “Oh, no, I didn’t mean…” But then you stopped. That’s exactly what you meant, and you knew it. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for, and I apologize.”

His frown melted, and he smiled. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“What did you get your degree in?”

“S--struc…tural engin…eering.”

“Oh, wow,” You said. “That’s really impressive.”

He chuckled again. “Lots of people… don’t believe me… when I tell them… I h--have a… Bachelor’s degree.”

“Well, they’re idiots,” You said. “Listen, can I buy you a drink? To thank you and make up for being a rude asshole.”

His face lit up. God, he reminded you of a puppy. “Okay! I’d like to. I should… change clothes, I’m really dirty.”

“Aren’t you still on the clock?” You asked.

He stopped and thought about it. “Oh. Yeah. Later then?”

It was your turn to chuckle. “Later then.”

He met you after work at a local college pub and you bought him a round. Well, a pitcher for him. He had big hands.

“So, I don’t want to offend you, and I’m trying hard not to be an asshole, but can I ask something?”

“You… want to know… why I… talk so slow?” He asked with a patient smile.

“Yeah,” You replied hesitantly. “I’ve seen other trolls and they don’t talk like you do.”

“I have… dysarthria,” He said. “I had a… really bad ear… infection… when I was… s--seven… and it turned into… men…ingitus… and caused… a stroke. I was… in… a coma for… a while after.”

“Oh, god,” You breathed. “I had no idea you could have a stroke from an ear infection.”

“It’s rare,” He said. “I’m special… like that, I guess.”

You smiled at him. “How long were you in school?”

“The standard… four years,” He replied. “And then another… four years… app…p--prentice for the… plumbing job. T--that’s a long time… for people… to still think… I’m stupid.” He didn’t seem angry about it, just resigned.

“You’re definitely not stupid, Geteb,” You told him.

“It’s not just… the talking,” He said, gesturing at his mouth. “People… look down on… labor jobs. Just because… we work with… our hands… and get d--dirty… doesn’t make it… less… of a skill.”

“You’re absolutely right,” You replied sadly. “And it’s a shame people are like that.”

“You’re not… like that, are you?” He asked you.

“No, Geteb, I’m not,” You told him. “My dad was a carpenter. I know all about how difficult working with your hands can be.”

“That’s good,” He said. “Because… I’d like to… take you out again. My treat… this time.”

Your smile widened. “I’d like that very much.”

You went on several dates with Geteb. Because he was such a big guy, a lot of them were outdoors or in places that were wide open, like museums or aquariums. He liked looking at things and letting you talk, shy about talking in public or around a group of strangers. He was already unusual, and his speech impairment made him stand out even more.

Despite dating for almost a month, he still hadn’t kissed you yet, and you wondered why. You knew he was shy, but you’d been more than affectionate with him, so he had to know you wanted him to. Maybe you’d just have to do it yourself.

At the end of the next date, you said, “Bend down.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hard to kiss you when you’re way up there,” You said, laughing.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he sighed heavily.

“Do you not want to kiss me?” You asked him, teasing.

“It’s not that,” He replied seriously. “I do… v--very much… but if I… kiss you… that means… something to me…”

“It means something to me, too, silly,” You said. “It means I like you.”

“It means… more than that… to me.” He asked. “I’m… never going… to be normal… you know that… don’t you? I can’t… fix this.” He gestured at his mouth and head. “Kissing me… after so many dates… means… you’re commit…ting… to that… reality. Are you sure… you can… do that?”

“It’s not like kissing you means we’re getting married, Geteb,” You said, your brow furrowing. “It doesn’t bother me how you talk.”

“It doesn’t… right now,” He said. “But what… about in a… month? Or five? What about… when your friends… say something… or a stranger says something… that makes you… uncomfortable with… the idea… of being… with me. You may be… able… to tolerate it… now, but you… may not… be able to… forever.”

“Geteb, don’t be silly,” You said, frowning. “If someone has something to say about it, I’ll bite their ears off. And if my friends have something to say about it, I’ll get better friends. It’s that simple.”

“For you,” He said, looking away, and you took his face in your hands.

“Has something like that happened before?” You asked.

He frowned and looked at his feet. “I almost… g--got married once,” He told you. “I bought… the ring and… everything… but b--before… I could ask her… w--we got in a fight… she said… she always ha--hated… how I talked. After we… calmed down… s--she said… she didn’t m--mean it… but that’s all… I could think… about when I… t--talked to her… so I stopped… talking… and we b--broke up…” He sniffled a little. “I still… have the… ring. I couldn’t… bring myself… to return it. I didn’t want p--people… to be sad… for me. I was already… sad enough.”

“I’m so sorry, Geteb,” You said, stroking a thumb down his cheek. “Even if what she said was true, I’m not her. I love the way you talk. I can understand you perfectly fine. All it takes is listening, and I’m more than willing to do that.”

His expression looked so pained. “Are you… sure?”

Instead of answering, you turned the key in the lock of your front door, opened it, and pulled him inside.

“Let me show you,” You said. He gulped and allowed himself to be led.

Inside, you had him sit down on the pull-out couch-bed and sat in his lap. He carefully placed a hand on your lower back, as if testing the waters. You laughed softly and leaned against his body, laying your head on his chest.

“Isn’t this nice?” You asked him.

“Very,” He said, his lips in your hair. Not quite a kiss, was it was contact. “I have missed… holding someone… I have been… lonely… I guess…”

“I’m not surprised,” You said. “That’s kind of what happens when you try to keep people at an arm’s length.”

“I don’t mean to,” He said. “I just don’t… want people… to be hurt… because of me.”

“And you don’t want to get hurt, either,” You said, sitting up and looking at him. “I totally get that, Geteb. That’s a natural reaction when you’ve been hurt. I’ve been hurt too. You think my parents took it well when I told them I was non-binary? Or my boyfriend? Sorry, ex-boyfriend, because he can’t be with someone--excuse me, something--who isn’t a girl, which…” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I know it’s not the same as having a lifelong, debilitating condition that people don’t understand, I do get that. What I’m saying is that in some ways, I completely understand what you’re going through. And I want to go through it with you.”

“You’re sure?” He asked again.

“Yep,” You said. “You’re stuck with me, pal, like it or not.”

“I like it,” He said, smiling.

“Good,” You said, standing up so that you could be eye level and wrapping your arms around his neck. “I like it, too.” Then you kissed him. It was long and leisurely, not pressing him too hard if he didn’t want to go there yet.

Acceptance is a funny, powerful thing. It gives confidence to the meek, solace to the troubled, and in this instance, it made him very, very aroused. You could feel it the moment you climbed into his lap and straddled him. His hands gripped you more firmly and his kisses deepened. The tip of his large, broad tongue brushed across your lips, and you opened your mouth so that he could slip it inside, tangling with your own.

You kissed down his body, opening the button-up shirt and pulling it out of his pants. His jeans were tented, and you thought it might be painful, so you popped the button and unzipped the sipper, stroking him through his underwear, and he moaned.

“You don’t… have to…” He said between gasps.

“I want to,” You said, kneeling down. You opened the slit in his underwear and freed him, swirling your tongue around him. He grunted and his hips bucked upward involuntarily.

“It’s been… a long time…” He said. “I’m a… little… sensitive…”

“I’ll be gentle,” You said, and pulled him slowly into your mouth. A long groan of satisfaction issued from him, and you figured you were doing alright.

It didn’t take long before he was writhing under your touch, panting and gasping. He was throbbing inside your mouth, but before he came, he lay a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Can you… get undressed… please? I want… to look at you,” He asked, heaving in deep breaths. You obliged, making a little bit of a show of it. He watched you hungrily, and when you were fully nude, he reached out for you. You climbed back into his lap, and he caressed your body, kissing your neck and shoulders. You rose up and positioned him at your entrance and slowly, carefully, slid down on him.

You kissed him deeply as he grasped your hips, bouncing you a little. You braced your hands on his chest and came down harder on him, making your bodies slap together. You threw your head back and he kissed your throat, his tusks poking into the skin, his hand in your hair.

“I’m… close…” He wheezed.

“Me too,” You whimpered, speeding up. You felt the rush of pleasure hit your body just as he abruptly pulled you up and came all over your thighs and his jeans.

“Sorry,” He said as you collapsed onto his chest.

“It’s okay,” You panted. He held you close until you got your breath back. “You can use my mini washing machine to clean your clothes. I don’t have a dryer, though, so you’ll have to stay until they dry. It could take a while.”

“I d--don’t mind,” He said. “I can sleep… on the floor… if that’s okay.”

“I’ll make us a nice pillow fort,” You said. “Good thing it’s the weekend. We can just stay in our fort and order out and be naked the whole time.”

“The best weekend… ever.”

“Yes, it does. And we can do it every weekend from now on. What do you think?”

“I think… that sounds like… heaven.”

You stood up and dragged him to his feet. “Shower first.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[ayatosmlktea]

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫𝑾𝑰𝑫𝑬

Pairings: Bokuto x Reader

Genre: Fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Just a lil something I wrote for @soltserra​ one night! This song is based on Worldwide from Big Time Rush and I highly HIGHLY recommend listening to it while you read because 1) it’s a masterpiece and 2) it makes the fic 10x better

Also I literally know nothing about sports so pls...be kind :3

The news comes as a shock to Bokuto, he knew that eventually it was going to happen but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, being drafted into one of the biggest volleyball teams in the world. Of course he was excited, he had been thrilled so much so that he could barely contain his excitement and had nearly grabbed the manager in for a hug before remembering to remain professional.

 His dreams were finally coming to fruition and the first person his mind thought of after hearing the offer was you. His rock through thick and thin, his highschool sweetheart. Unable to wait any until he got home he dialed your number, bouncing with excitement as he waited for you to pick up.

Frowning when his call went to voicemail he figured you must have been busy, it didn’t matter. That meant he’d get to share the news with you in person!

Rushing home, he stopped along the way to pick up your favourite takeout to celebrate. Their lives were about to change in the best way possible and there was no one else he wanted to go on this journey with.

Practically running home, he bounded up the steps to your shared apartment two at a time eager to tell you the good news.

Upon entering the apartment he found you fast asleep on the couch, placing the food on the kitchen counter Bokuto sat down next to you, gently stroking your hair.

“Hey love, I got dinner” he says softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. Pulling the light blanket over your  head you groaned something incoherent into the cushions.

“I got your favourite! Sushi burritos” At the mention of food you poke you head out from under the blankets, suddenly wide awake.

“Food” Bokuto laughs loudly, wrapping his arms around you to plant wet kisses on your cheeks.

“So you’ll wake up for food but not me? That hurts” he sniffles before continuing his assault of kisses all over your face.

“Move, I’m hungry” Turning your head away from his face you struggle to slip out of his arms.

“Can I at least have a kiss for being the world’s best boyfriend and bringing my beautiful girlfriend her favourite dinner?” Bokuto pouted, you had gotten used to his childish temper after being together for so long but for some reason right now it was funnier than usual.

“If you wash the dishes too you might get one later” Flashing him a cheeky smile you shoved your hands against his chest, walking into the kitchen to inspect the food. Not even waiting to sit down, you lean on the kitchen island unwrapping your food and take a hasty first bite.

“So there’s something I wanted to tell you about!” Bokuto says abruptly. Your eyes leave your burrito, with a curious look on your face.

“I got an offer to play for that American team I was telling you about”

“Oh my God! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you Bo” You knew how big of a deal it was for him to get drafted by this team, putting down your food you shuffled over to give him a hug.

“I know right! We have a few weeks to get settled into our new place. We should probably start packing tomorrow” The longer Bokuto rambled on, the bigger the pit of dread grew in your stomach.

“We?”

“Yeah, you and me babe.” His smile is so hopeful and full of excitement that it feels wrong to have to crush his spirits.

“I-I can’t go with you, I can’t just quit my job and move across the world with you”

Bokuto’s face fell instantly, he hadn’t expected this. He’d been so caught up in telling you the news, that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might not be able to come with him.

“I’ll come visit you! But for now, it’s not possible. I’m sorry”

“It’s fine! Like you said, you can come visit me” He was trying to brush off his disappointment for you, but you knew that he was upset. The rest of dinner was spent in an uncomfortable silence.

‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾　　☽༓·*˚⁺‧͙

It had been almost three months since Bokuto had seen you, the two of you tried to call as often as you could but it was difficult with the time difference. While you  were on your lunch break Bokuto was already fast asleep. The only time you really got to spend with each other was on the weekends, and even then it was never enough. 

The way your eyes would become glossy with tears never went unnoticed but he didn’t want to say anything that would make you cry. It ripped his heart into shreds knowing that you were crying and he couldn’t do anything about it. He sent you pictures everyday along with cute messages reminding you that he loved you. Bokuto spent most of his nights going through old pictures and videos of the two of you  together. 

On days where they weren’t able to call at all, he’d go through his voicemail until he found an old message from you. It didn’t matter what you were saying, the sound of your voice alone was enough to help ease his homesickness.

Volleyball took up a lot of his time and most of his energy but you were always on his mind. Everything he was doing was for your future. The sooner he became successful, the sooner you’d be able to come live with him in America.

Lately,you seemed more distant. You didn’t send him as many texts like you usually did and whenever he tried to make plans to call you, there was always something keeping you busy. Doubts of you falling out of love with him were putting him on edge, the rational side of him tried to convince himself that he was being paranoid for no reason. You were an honest person, and if you were falling out of love with him he trusted you to tell him.

Regardless, the thought of not having you in his life was enough to start affecting his playing. His serves were off, his spikes were not timed properly. He’d been yelled at by their coach more times in one week than he had in his entire time spent on his highschool team. It was beginning to irritate him, as much as he wanted to get his head in the game he couldn’t stop worrying about you. Thoughts of you dating another man, kissing someone who wasn’t him, holding someone else’s hand were all starting to drive him crazy.

When practice ends, Bokuto leaves feeling frustrated, he knows  he can play better than that. He knows what he needs to do, he knows how to time his jumps so why can’t he just focus on the game. Pulling out his phone, he scrolls through his notifications hoping that you had sent him something, anything to make his disappointing day a bit better.

But there’s nothing.

He doesn’t even want to eat, his mood is so sour that all he can think of is taking a shower and crawling into bed. His emo mode reaching new levels of pettiness. The walk back to his apartment is spent hoping that you would be able to call him. A week of bare minimum communication was making him crazy. He could only imagine what it would be like if you were to actually walk out of his life. The thought alone makes his throat constrict.

“Why do you look constipated?” A distinct chuckle instantly grabs his attention. His eyes dart up from the sidewalk to find you standing outside of his apartment complex. For a second Bokuto doesn’t know how to react, his mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether or not he’s hallucinating.

“Are you gonna stand there all day or are you gonna let me in? I’m hung-” Bokuto races forward, grabbing you and enveloping you in a bone crushing hug.

“I missed you so much” he mumbles, suddenly finding it hard to get his words out. He’s so sure that he’s dreaming and any second his alarm will go off, waking up once again to an empty bed. But the smell of your shampoo is right under his nose and your arms are squeezing him back in a way that feels too real to be a dream.

“I missed you too”

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining”

“I requested a transfer to our American branch, that’s why I’ve been distant this past week. I was so excited I didn’t want to give anything away” You confess shyly, averting your gaze from his face. Cupping your cheeks with both of his hands he leans down to kiss you passionately, the feeling of your lips against his after so long feels so good that it sets every nerve in his body on fire.

“I love you, so much” he says, tightening his arms around your  body. All the doubts he’d been having immediately disappeared. It was stupid to think that after all this time a little distance would come between you two. It didn’t matter where you were, as long as you were together Bokuto was complete.

“I love you too Bo”

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 7

"E-Eddie?" Bill's voice, loud and clear, echoed throughout the apartment just loud enough to be heard over the sounds from Eddie's Walkman, "Wuh-wanna come with me down to the p-puh-park?" Hastily, Eddie pulled his headphones from their place atop his head, leaning up on one elbow. His limps felt heavy, his eyes bleary with semi-sleep, a fog shrouding his brain. He was lying in bed, having never gotten out of it since he woke that morning- it was a Friday today, and his Fridays were always void of classes, so instead of getting up and starting his day with Stan and Bill at 7:00 am he had stayed in bed until, well, now- it was just past 5:00.

"Shit," Eddie hissed to himself, clicking 'pause' on his Walkman and setting both it and his headphones aside. He really hadn't meant to stay in bed so late. He hadn't eaten anything yet today, and silently cursed himself for it. He was afraid that he was developing a habit of missing meals; without his mother here to tell him what to do as she used to, he was forgetting all sorts of things. Sonia had been the very best at keeping Eddie on a set schedule, fitting meal times perfectly in between his medication times and getting him out of bed at 6:30 am sharp every morning, even weekends and holidays (which he had hated, but understood). Not having her here was strange- other than food, Eddie found himself forgetting to shower and do his laundry, too. He wouldn't have a single clean outfit if it weren't for his roommates.

"Eddie?" This time it was Stan who called, his voice just on the outside of Eddie's door, snapping him from his thoughts, "Are you dead in there or something?" With three knocks, Eddie called out 'come in!' and the door slipped open. At once, Stan frowned, already knowing that, so far, Eddie had spent his whole day in the same spot and had yet to do anything productive. One could tell by Eddie's disheveled hair and lack of shirt alone. "I'm making you something to eat and then you're coming down to the park with us," He said, his tone flat, leaving no room for argument. With a quick glance over his shoulder (towards where others were most likely waiting) Stan pushed into the room and shut the door behind him, "Come on, what do you want to wear?" As Stanley crossed the room to stop in front of the dresser, Eddie pushed his blankets aside. He felt a little weak, a little dizzy- most likely from the lack of nutrients- and silently cursed himself for losing track of time to such a degree yet again- he wondered how he had done it. With his trashy 12-hour mixtape playing in his ears he must have fallen into some sort of daze.

"Anything's fine," He shrugged, wiping at his eyes with the heels of his hands and then moving to stand at Stan's side so he could dig around his drawers on his own, "How'd your day go?" Stan was passing Eddie subtle, rapid glances, ones that clearly weren't meant to be noticed but were noticed anyways. You didn't have to be a genius to see that Stanley was nervous for Eddie, either his physical or his mental health- both of which were in decent enough places, by the way- and that he was probably desperate to go into some sort of mother mode. Instead of beginning to pester and maybe scold, he replied in a cool, collected voice,

"It was nice. Ben, Beverly and Richie caught me while leaving school," Stan's last Friday class ended at noon, so Ben, Bev and Richie must get out then as well, "and asked me to come down to the café with them." For a brief moment, almost unnoticeable, Eddie froze, and then forced his limbs to continue looking for suitable clothing.

"Ben, Beverly and Richie?" He asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and uncaring, "Are they here too then?" At once, Stan chuckled, shaking his he ad and bumping his elbow gently into Eddie's.

"No, Ed, Richie isn't here." Eddie gawked, startled as a rapid gone-and-then-gone thought shot through his head (how did you know Stan do you suspect that-), and was about to protest (yes, he had been curious about Bev and Ben too- but Richie had been his main curiosity, though he'd sooner die than admit it) but Stan continued before he could, "He and Bev had to work. Maybe we can stop by after the park. Ben's here, though," With a smile and another chuckle Stanley continued talking about his day. He had ordered a coffee, black, as usual, and chattered away with the three others before Beverly and Richie were swept behind the counter. Then, he and Ben had stuck around for a little while until Mike arrived, and then sooner or later Bill as well. Now, Ben, Bill and Stanley were here to gather up Eddie to go bird watching or sight seeing or whatever you called walking around and listening to Stan point and chatter about grackles or crows. Eddie had reached for a sweatshirt and Stan had rapidly shook his head, noting how hot it was outside today and that Eds would cook alive. Instead, he pulled out a short-sleeve button up tee laden with stripes of different colors, reds, yellows, dark blues and whites, along with dark grey jeans that were rolled up just above his ankles. "There," Stan said with a smile as Eddie finished slipping on a pair of white socks, "You look like you haven't been dead all day now." With careful hands, Stan leaned forwards to try and flatten down the mess of Eddie's hair. The shorter boy tried to flinch away with an exasperated groan, but gave in after a moment of fighting and let himself be pestered over. A small, tiny little part of him noted how nice it was to have Stan caring for him like this, how similar it was to the way his mother used to, but he pushed that thought away because he did not want to compare his mother to Stan.

"Thanks, idiot," Eddie grumbled after his hair was finally regulated, bashful and red in the face. The two boys, side by side, caught each other's eyes through the mirror. Stanley smiled, and one hand raised to rest on Eddie's shoulder.

"'Course, Eddie. Come on," He flicked his head, motioning for Eddie to follow, "Let's find you something to eat."

*****

Eddie had been greeted warmly by Ben and Bill, and then promptly fed leftover chicken caesar salad and the tallest glass of water he'd ever had. After he finished his food, a little embarrassed because Stan had been watching him like a hawk to make sure he ate every last bite, the group had left the apartment complex and made towards Back Cove Park, where they now walked side-by-side-by-side-by-side. Truth be told, the endless expanse that was the North Atlantic ocean was breathtaking, and the setting sun lit the rippling waves aflame. Though Back Cove Park was nothing like the Barrens, the footpaths did lead you towards a copse of trees about half the size of the jungle that was back in Derry. It was really nothing in comparison, but with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore no more than 100 feet away from the tree line, you could almost imagine that it was.

"You're going to break something Bill!" Eddie had his hands planted on his hips, face upturned to watch as Bill scaled a spindly pine tree, it's branches spiraling up and up and up and getting thinner with each, "You know the branches get weaker in the fall and winter, right? They could snap out from right under you and you wouldn't even be able to do anything!" Despite Eddie's worrying, Bill continued upwards with a haste that was almost inhuman- he was like a goddamn monkey for Christ's sake, taking his steps two branches at a time and giggling like a child each time something creaked underneath him. At last unable to continue watching (his anxiety was mounting steadily) Eddie spun on his heel and trekked away through the underbrush. Dried leaves crunched underfoot with each step thanks to the soft mulch covering the forest floor, and, if anything, that reminded him of the Barrens the most. In the fall the tangle of bushes and trees would turn orange and red, and then a deep brown, shedding their foliage and creating some sort of crackling sheet not unlike like some musical instrument. Stan and Ben were stood beside one another looking over a wide clearing and chattering about something Eddie couldn't quite piece together.

"But that raises another question," Stan mumbled, tapping his chin with one finger, "How would we get it down here? We don't have a car, and I guess we could bring it all down by hand but that would take a while," Ben straightened up, snapping his fingers as a grin split his face.

"I've got it! Mike's grandpa works at a farm, and I know he's got these big ATVs- Gators, I think they're called. I'm sure he wouldn't mind lending 'em to us for a day or two."

"Lending who what now?" Eddie stepped up on Ben's other side, his curiosity piqued. He glanced over the space before him where the trees thinned out for a good 50 feet and then grew dense once more. The break in the trees let slanted sunrays pass by to bathe the clearing in a golden glow.

"Eddie, perfect!" Ben turned to him with that same beaming smile, "What do you think-" He held out his hands, as if presenting a large project, a masterpiece he was very very proud of, "A clubhouse. No, wait- does that sound, like, lame? I... I don't know, but I've been eyeing this place for a while and I think it would be great to build in. Me and Stanley were talking about digging into the ground and making a sort of... underground hideaway so no, like, park rangers come by and report it. We could have a hidden trapdoor and everything. No one would even know it was there if we got it built fast enough!" Eddie took a brief moment to process, both Ben and Stan staring at him expectantly. Ben's words had come out in such a rush they put Eddie's chatter to shame, and despite his thoughts constantly racing a mile a minute he couldn't seem to comprehend what had been said. Slowly, he pieced together this plan, and then, his mouth dropped open as he fought to find the right words to express his outrage.

"Are you insane? Building a clubhouse in the ground?" A hand raised to pinch at the bridge of his nose, a sigh pressing out of his lungs, "With all the bugs and mold and fungus and shit? It's not safe to be digging around in that! And how would we even make it? As if we know anything about building a whole-ass clubhouse!" Stan's own smile overtook his face and he took a few steps closer.

"That's the thing! The cold will kill all of that gross stuff, and make the ground easy to dig without us getting all caked in mud! Before the snow falls we can have it built and winterized! We'll make it watertight, too! Ben knows how to do all of that!" The way both boys were smiling was reminiscent of two children who had just requested a puppy for Christmas- they were hopeful, pleading, almost- if Eddie said yes to this silly little idea then it would be decided. With Eddie's approval, Bill would think the idea as totally safe, and if Bill agreed then everyone else would too. If they could get Eddie to agree with them, then convincing the others would be easy. "Ben's in architecture, Eddie. He knows all about safety and building- he'll make sure everything goes okay." With a heaving sigh, Eddie let his shoulders sag, a frown on his face. He was reluctant to let this happen, but... well, if he supervised everyone to make sure no one did anything stupid then maybe it would be kind of cool. Maybe. And, if Ben really was in the architecture classes then he must know what he's doing.

"Fine," Two fists pumped into the air and a cheer rang out, "But, if anyone gets hurt, even once, I'm shutting it all down! I'm not letting you all get tetanus or aids from rusty nails and shit like that, okay?"

"We won't, don't worry! Come on," Ben punched Stan gently in the shoulder, "Let's go find Bill." At once, the two sped away, into the trees and in the direction of Bill. Following the crashing and crunching of fallen branches and leaves were their voices, loud and clear in the still, Autumn air, shouting up their crazy idea to Bill who must still be perched in the pine tree much like a bird Stan might find interesting and document in his bird book. With another heavy breath, Eddie turned back to the clearing, and really absorbed the details of the small place he was standing in. He missed the Barrens- the sad attempts at building dams, and even an attempt at building treehouse had been massive failures but they had still been lots of fun. Here in the small forest of Back Cove Park there was no bone-like bamboo to rattle eerily in the wind, calling silent warnings of fictional quick mud and tigers and creating the perfect environment to play jungle hunters. Here, there were no sewer drains spilling greywater into the Kenduskeag, which tumbled endlessly through the woods without restraint. Here, there were no paths trodden by children's feet, no trails flattened by generations and generations of walking and running and sneaking during a game of guns- but maybe, Eddie thinks, that will be okay. A clubhouse. A probably illegal underground clubhouse. It would give Eddie a new place to be, to spend his time. It will be a reason to return to these forests and to create new paths with new people, and maybe those paths will help them all one day just like the familiar ones back in Derry would have carried you away from the wrath of Henry Bowers. As Stan and Ben continued shouting their plan skywards, Eddie let the idea of a clubhouse grow on him just a tiny bit. A bud of excitement, even happiness, settled in the pit of his heart. It was warm and comforting, and he held to it tightly. Maybe this really was a good idea.

*****

By now the sun had set and cast the world into darkness. Though Eddie couldn't read his watch with the lack of light, he had to assume it was at least 9:00 pm and he was still in the forest with his friends; Bill, Ben, Stan and he had cleared some of the leaves from the clearing to expose the tough grass underneath, then Ben had found and rolled the smoothest stones he could find into the place to use as makeshift chairs. Now, the four were sat facing one another, a single flashlight in Bill's hand pointed upwards and casting an ominous too-white light over their faces that dragged shadows underneath their eyes and gave them the appearances of ghosts.

"Wait really? Like, full-on OCD? Not just... being a perfectionist or something? I know a lot of people say they have OCD when they actually don't," Ben was leaned forwards with his elbows on his knees, his steady gaze trained on Stan's who, in turn, had his hands clasped tidily in his lap.

"Yeah," He nodded, his curly hair a mess of bright browns and stark blacks thanks to the lighting, "If that's how you want to put it. I'm taking medication for it and stuff." Stan looked as if he were about to continue when Eddie cut in with a smile on his face,

"I remember one time Stan had come over to my house and I went to the bathroom for like- not even five fucking minutes. I left him in the kitchen and when I came out- oh my God," Eddie was already trying not to laugh, biting at his bottom lip to hold in the string of giggles that threatened to escape him, "He had organized everything. In five minutes! All the slats on my blinds had been straightened, all the dishes had been stacked big to small- the dishes!" Amusement grew in his chest, and he let it out in a sound one might imagine a coked-up chipmunk to make. He raised one hand to let it hover over his mouth, his eyes squinting, "I walked- I walked into the kitchen and caught him turning all my cans to face the front of the shelf!" Bill had cracked his own smile, a wide and toothy grin, and soon Ben had picked it up as well. Eddie wasn't certain why this was suddenly so funny. After being in bed all day his energy had shot through the roof. His laughter only grew and grew as he went on foretelling his story, his eyes beginning to glisten and his chest threatening to hurt. He didn't have his inhaler, but the slight concern he felt at that thought was quickly smothered by another wave of cackling, "I- I-I went hey! and he spun on his heel, his face all red- it- it was-" Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, his face hurting with his mirth, "He had a can of- of corn and- when he spun around he tip-" Through gasps for breath, wheezes that left him dizzy, he forced out, "He tipped over everything else on the shelf, too! All his hard work- like dominoes! Oh my God my mom was pissed! Stan was so- he looked like he was gonna die!" At last, Eddie couldn't hold himself together any longer. His amusement was contagious, and throughout the course of the story Bill and Ben had grown giddy all the same. Now, the three were howling, heads tipped back, rocking back and forth and fighting to get ahold of themselves while Stan on sat bashfully, a grin on his face. Briefly Eddie wondered why this felt so goddamn funny but found he didn't care.

"It was... I felt horrible," Stan had to raise his voice to be heard over the laughter of the three, his face visibly reddening even in the weak light, "Canned foods are expensive, and I didn't have the money to reimburse her or anything!" The howling laughter didn't cease, and, well, Stan decided that maybe this situation was funny enough to let himself laugh. His grin cracked wide and now he was giggling all the same, all flushed and breathless just like anyone else. Eddie was nearing physical pain but wow was that feeling fantastic. A good hard laugh was something rare to him and he always tried to soak in the moment when it arrived. His lungs burned, his head throbbed, and his eyes spat tears down his face. He glanced at Bill through bleary, slotted eyes and then at Stan and then at Ben, who were all laughing just the same, giddy off the feeling of being with one another. That feeling was just like when Eddie was with Stan and Bill, but amplified now that Ben was here too. That feeling was fantastic- That feeling was cut abruptly and Eddie shrieked like a madman as a sudden hand shot around his shoulders- all of a sudden, just like that, he was being pulled backwards into something, into someone- an arm around his throat in a chokehold threatening and dangerous and memories bad memories Henry Bowers and bullies and-

"Ooooooh looks like somebody Got Off A Good One!!" A fist was pressed into the top of his head and the sudden spurt of panic was gone again all at once- that giddy, light, precious hilarity returned and so did Eddie's grin as Richie trapped him in his arm and gave him a harsh noogie. It burned and Eddie didn't care as Richie continued off with that stupid MovieTone Newsreel Announcer voice, "Yowza, Eds, just YOW-za! You've got the stuff, kid, you've got the stuff for live theater! Sign right here on this dotted line and I'll get you on a stage! You'll make it big I know you will-!"

"Get off, Richie!! Beep fucking beep!" Eddie was giggling again, clawing at Richie's arms as tears streamed from his eyes, "Let me- Let me go!" He kicked and thrashed, writhing as a chorus of laughter continued on bright and bouncing. Somehow Eddie managed to wriggle free like a fish, and then he was rocketing up and bursting into a run as Richie reached to trap him again. He leaped from his seat on the rock, smiling from ear to ear- just as he had gained his freedom he saw Richie reaching to capture him once more but Eddie wouldn't let that happen. He glanced a single time over his shoulder to see Richie's own warm grin- that split second of time, no more than a heartbeat as Eddie's eyes locked with Richie's in a silent challenge, Eddie saw what was most likely the greatest thing he ever would. Richie's glasses were gently lit by the harsh LED from the flashlight- underneath the stupid coke bottles perched on his nose, Eddie could see the deep brown tone of his eyes and the way his smile pinched them gently in the corners. His teeth were miraculously straight, as if he'd had braces at some point in his life, and his cheeks wore a high flush. Eddie's head snapped forwards again and he set off into the forest, the darkness, hearing Richie's voice echoing behind him.

"I'll git ya Spaghetti! I'll git ya good 'n then I'll wrap y'up like a big 'ole presen', put ya undah my tree!" The New Yorker's accent rang through the trees with an almost surreal undertone, sending a shiver down Eddie's spine. Exhilaration ripped through him, lighting his veins aflame with a shaky happy-fear he didn't quite know how to explain. He was letting out little squeaky sounds, things like giggles of terror but he wasn't scared in the slightest. His chest was swelling with an almost-sick feeling, but it was a good kind of almost-sick. The emotion was confusing but reminded him strongly of childhood and he accepted it with open arms. As he crashed haphazardly through the undergrowth, eyes strained in the darkness, Eddie wasn't concerned in the slightest for what he might be pushing through- poison ivy, thorn bushes- shit, he could walk right over a corpse and he wouldn't be afraid for his health! Though certain he was not being too quiet, Richie was being even louder. Eddie had the upper hand here thanks to his significantly smaller, less gangly, more agile frame and also his ability not to be a big lumbering goofball every second of the day. Wyatt the Homicidal Bag-Boy was gone, and Richie was back in his place with his crooning, teasing, playful voice, "Eddie, my love! Come out come out wherever you are!"

Eddie's stomach did a weird little backflip, probably a symptom of his excitement as he decided that he was far enough away to start searching for a hiding spot. Years and years of hide-and-go-seek experience came flooding back to him, and he bit at his bottom lip to stop from making a single sound. He dropped into a crouch, scanning his surroundings in a flash; the darkness made it difficult to navigate, especially since everything was so unfamiliar as of now, but Eddie could work just fine with the silhouettes of trees and bushes. The beam from the flashlight danced through the trees, bobbing and waving around as Richie blundered closer by the second. Cheater, you shouldn't get a light, Eddie thought and then almost let out a bubble of laughter driven by his own delirium- he reached out a hand and brushed the brittle, hardened leaves of a bush, crawling immediately closer and trapping one between his fingers. Rubbing the surface rapidly, he deducted that it wasn't poison ivy (which had an oily feel, even when the leaves were dried) and used both hands to part the branches and skitter right through. He kept his head low, his shoulders and elbows tucked in with an expertise you could only get form having done this a billion times already. Hiding places like these were Eddie's specialty- this bush was small with tight-packed branches, but he was smaller and could fit just fine, whereas someone lankier like Bill or Stan would not stand a chance.

"Come ooooon Spaghetti-man!" Richie called out in a sing-song voice, only about 100 feet away, "If you don't come out right this instant I might just have to lure you, and trust me, you don't want that! My singing is just i-rre-sis-tible!" Eddie patted around him, finding a smooth, round stone about the size of a golf ball and clutching it tightly. Risking his spot just for a moment, he slid his front half out and pulled his arm back- then, with as much force as possible, he sent the rock flying. If everything had gone according to plan, the rock would have flown far and called Richie's attention away; that would have allowed Eddie to scurry back to the others with a smug smile to wait for the Trashmouth to give up and return to see him sitting proudly. Sadly, everything did not go according to plan, and the stone barely made it 10 feet. Eddie's throwing hand wasn't horrible- he considered himself rather strong for his size- but his vision sure was, and the rock collided with a thin, wiry tree and went clattering into the brittle leaves before making any great distance. At once, the beam of the flashlight went whipping towards the sound, and Eddie felt his heart leap into his throat. That almost-sick feeling went waving through him again as he shot back into the bushes and curled his knees into his chest, slapping a hand over his mouth. Through his mind ran the word shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit but he was grinning like an idiot and trembling lightly with stifled howling. The flashlight clicked off- now, total darkness ruled the world.

"Heeeeeeeeeere Eddie Eddie Eddie!" Richie's voice was like a breath of wind, far-off and terrifying. Eddie balled his hands into fists and bit down on the knuckles of his left, the right one wrapped tight around his knees to hold them as close, as out of sight, as possible, "Why are you hiding from me like this?" That was the last thing Richie said- the silence that followed was stifling. Far off, Eddie could hear the voices of his other friends, Bev's dancing titter was familiar now, as was the powerful tone of Mike's. All seven of them were here in the forest right now. Following that realization was another wave of childish glee, along with a swell of affection that was there and gone in an instant. Who knew Richie could move so silently? Not a single breeze stirred the branches, and not a leaf crunched under the sole of a sneaker. Eddie's own rapid breathing sounded much too loud, and he wouldn't be surprised if the thudding of his heart was as noisy as the beat of a drum. Anticipation, cold, crept up his spine and fed him a sudden alertness. It felt as if the world had brightened for a second, as if his eyes had sharpened and began to see crystal clear just for a blink. The outline of unruly hair, a mass of it, was suddenly discernable from the shape of the nature. Richie's head was bent, half-kneeling, and he was slinking around like a ninja. It was only for a brief moment that Eddie could see him before he was gone again, swallowed by the shadow, but he had been much, much closer than before- Eddie bit into his knuckle a little harder, afraid he would let out a squeak like a mouse.

The quiet seemed endless. Time lost all meaning. If it weren't for those far-off voices, Eddie would have been convinced that time might have frozen entirely. The air was cool and fresh, warmed to a pleasant bite and not the bitter iciness it would have been otherwise thanks to the days sunniness. Through the leaves blocking the sky Eddie could see faint glittering stars, but the pollution from the Portland lights almost smothered them entirely. It was fascinating to him- back in Derry, the stars had been crisp, clear, displaying their constellations with pride. Now, here, it was the polar opposite. Curious. Somewhere an owl hooted and Eddie jumped. Leaves crumbled beneath him- a twig snapped under one heel. He didn't even have time to register that he had made a noise.

"Eddie!!!" Eddie shrieked, a total screech, ear-splitting, blood-curdling, horrific enough to freeze the blood in your veins. Hands plunged through the foliage and then he was being dragged out by the arms, yanked to his feet and then swept right off of them as he was thrown over a shoulder. "Sure an' begorahh! I caught me-self a boyo, an' a foine one at that!"

"Richie! Richie!" Eddie was squealing as a hand wrapped tightly, securely around his waist, and then Richie was spinning, twirling Eddie with him in endless dizzying circles that brought out that bubbling fountain of laughter once more. "Richie no- no, put me down- Richie!!"

"I caught me-self a boyo! A foine, foine boyo!" Richie picked up a tune to his words, some improvised nothing-ness that was too, too funny. He began to dance, prancing around on light feet and rocking Eddie all around as he sang his words. "I caught me-self an Eddie!" Eddie's lungs were hurting again because of his lack of breath, tears rolling down his face in steady streams. Richie was laughing too and the sound of it made Eddie's stomach do it's little backflip yet again. His laughter was hearty, loud, the sound of someone who was entirely happy with life and all of it's wonders. The spinning didn't stop until Richie almost stumbled, stomping down on his shoelace and drawing out another cry from Eddie as he almost went to the ground. "Wooooah! Sorr-ee 'bout tha', Spaghe-i-man, rough rough wa-ers it be!" Richie took on the voice of a sea captain, dragging up the image of an old man with a peg-leg and a pipe hanging from a mouth full of golden teeth. Eddie was laughing only harder.

"Put me down you fucker! Let me- let me go!" Eddie began to pound on his back with his fists, and at last that flashlight clicked on again. The light was blinding after the absence of it, but Eddie couldn't care less. He was on cloud nine.

"Something tells me you wanna stay up there, Eds! Something tells me you- you wanna stay where you can see the whole world!" Richie took one more grand spin, a pirouette that would put a beginner ballerina to shame. It would have been impressive if Eddie hadn't had his eyes screwed shut to stop the flow of tears.

"Fuck you, Tozier! Let me down!" Alas, Tozier didn't comply. Instead, he began to hum the tune of 'Here Comes the Bride' as he took overdramatic, high-kneed steps towards the direction of the others- the hand that isn't wrapped tightly around Eddie's waist moves up to capture his legs, which had begun to kick and had almost knocked him right in the glasses.

"Watch the toes, Eds, you don't want to knock out these pearly whites, do you?"

"That's what I'm fucking going for you jackass!" Eddie brought his elbow back into the back of Richie's head, knocking it forwards with a dull thud and an 'oof!'.

"Oh-ho, you're in for it now, Eds! You asked for it!" And then, Richie began to tickle. Eddie felt his heart stop, and then begin to thud much too quickly. He could handle teasing and carrying and stupid singing but tickling- oh no, he didn't have the breath to deal with that. He was howling again, curling instinctively in on himself as much as he possibly could- which wasn't a lot, since he was tossed over Richie's shoulder and locked into place. Fingers jabbed and poked at his ribs, his sides, and he was in pure hysterics.

"No- No no no Richie Richie stop! Stop it stop it ohmygodRichieRichieRICHIE-" Eddie no longer had any breath. His screaming laughter had halted, now no more than painful wheezes. Tears soaked his face, soaked the back of Richie's shirt, and his cheeks were a bright beaming red. He wanted to scream at Richie to stop, to let him be, to please please spare him but oh my GOD he couldn't take it- Richie's hand pulled away and Eddie sucked in a heaving breath, his chest pulsing with each and every one as the lasts of his laughter forced it's way out. He felt like he was suffocating and for once it wasn't because he didn't have his inhaler.

"There," Richie said, the smug grin basically audible in his voice, "That'll teach you, Eds. No more elbowing!" Just to defy him, Eddie bumped him in the back of the head again- and then instantly regretted it as he felt Richie shift to tickle-attack him again.

"No! No no I'm sorry it was a joke-" Richie's own laughing burst out, and the hand dropped as he nearly doubled over. The tickling hand went to rest on his knee, and now he was the one howling away, that jovial sound echoing around the trees with a dream-like authenticity. It was bliss.

"Oh, Eddie, Christ you're just- you're a hoot!" Richie spoke as best he could through his growing breathlessness, and finally put Eddie down back onto solid ground, though the shorter boys knees wobbled as his own dizziness held strong. The two boys fell apart beside one another, grinning and sobbing and cackling like maniacs, fighting just to stay upright as their contentedness fed off of one another and radiated in warm, yellow rays. Minutes passed, more than 10, before either boy could regather themselves. Surprisingly, Richie was the first to go silent and manage to catch his breath- and then, just as Eddie did the same, the tone shifted, growing warmer yet. Eddie's eyes raised, locking with Richie's own. The Trashmouth wore his toothy smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners, bright as stars behind those coke-bottle glasses. Something heavy settled around them, something Eddie had never felt before and didn't recognize. Richie's head tilted, and the smile fell into something smaller, more serene, and yet almost ten times prettier. "I like the sound of your laugh, Eds." His voice was uncharacteristically sincere, and it took Eddie by surprise. The sudden flat tone was dripping with... affection? He wanted to answer, to say something back like 'Yours is nice too' or 'I like the sound of you shutting up' or anything at all, but before he could piece together a coherent phrase Richie was moving again. "Come on," He grabbed Eddie's hand- no, more like his wrist, and with no intent other than to guide him- and began to head back in the direction of the others, "I'm sure they'll want their light back."

Eddie's face was warm and red, and he had seemed to lose his voice. He felt like he was glowing with a soft light- and he felt like Richie was doing the same. He had never, ever laughed like that before. He had never, ever felt that free and normal and human. There was no voice of Sonia Kaspbrak, no warnings of broken necks or arms or noses, no shouting over bugs and thorns and rashes. For those last minutes, Eddie Kaspbrak had been just that- Eddie Kaspbrak. For once in his life he had not been Eddie Kaspbrak, son of Sonia Kaspbrak. He had just been himself. With Richie's hand around his wrist, dragging him, he wanted nothing more than to relive that moment forever and ever. If he died right now and went to heaven, he was certain that those moments alone with Richie would be what heaven was. The sound of his stupid, goofy laugh, the soft, almost manic dancing of those big, brown eyes, that lanky arm around his waist- that is what heaven was. Eddie found himself wanting to go back in time. The two arrived back with the others.

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 22

summary:  what if riza never went to war?  riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

read on ao3

1914

but you're a king and i'm a lionheart

When Chris had invited Riza and Mia around to the bar for dinner, Riza didn’t expect her daughter to be whisked away immediately by Vanessa as soon as they set foot inside the bar. Chris approached with determination.

“We need to talk.”

Anxiety settled in Riza’s stomach. What was all this about? There was no room for argument as Chris turned on her heel and walked away, expecting Riza to follow.

Riza wondered if this had something to do with Roy. He’d suddenly called shortly after arriving at work that morning to say that he wouldn’t be home until late that night. He had some work to do, but he was sorry, and he loved them both. She didn’t think much of it, just told him to be safe and got on with her day. Then, Chris called shortly afterwards, encouraging Riza to come for dinner. While she thought it would be lovely to spend the evening with her mother-in-law, there was a tiny niggle in the back of her mind that something was happening behind the scenes.

Chris led the way through to the backroom of the bar, into her home. She led Riza into her kitchen without any kind of indication of what the topic of discussion would be, and that made the wait worse. Was this something she needed to worry about? Riza’s thoughts were interrupted by Mia’s happy squeal from somewhere in the house, followed by Vanessa’s laugh.

Uncertainty clawed at Riza’s heart. She wanted to ask what was going on but knew better. Everything Chris did was for a reason, so if she was leading Riza away from Mia then it was something their daughter shouldn’t overhear. Riza bit her tongue.

Once inside the kitchen, Chris gestured for Riza to sit.

“Roy will be working late tonight, but I’m sure you already know about that.”

“He called this morning,” Riza confirmed.

Chris nodded. “He’s going to do something tonight, and wanted you brought here as a precaution.”

“What’s he doing?” Riza asked. Her stomach tightened at the serious look on Chris’ face.

“He’s going to fake someone’s death using his flame alchemy.” There was no hesitation, she stated it as bluntly as she could.

“Oh…" Riza's heart thudded inside her chest at the revelation. "Wait.” Riza paused, something clicking inside of her mind. “Does this have anything to do with Maria Ross?”

It had been all over the papers for a few days. Apparently the soldier had killed Maes Hughes. Initially, Riza had scrutinised the photo and wondered how that woman could have taken someone else’s life. She’d been an exemplary soldier, according to the news, so why would she murder one of her own? The story didn’t quite add up for Riza, and it didn’t for Roy either.

They hadn’t spoken much about it. They didn’t get a chance really when Mia was around. However, he’d spent more time in his study in the evenings after Mia had gone to bed. Riza would pop her head in and ask if he needed anything, only to be greeted by a tired smile and the reassurance he was all right. She’d spotted Maes’ name on the papers in front of him, alongside Maria Ross', which Roy had quickly scribbled down then scored out. Riza knew he was investigating his friend’s death and was worried for him. Roy explained he couldn’t do it at work, so would spend an hour or two looking over things. Sometimes Riza offered her own input but couldn’t do much. She had a good eye for details but wasn’t in investigations. Still, she could be someone he could talk to about it all.

Chris nodded. “It does. He’s going to fake her death tonight.”

“How though?” Maria Ross was in prison. What was he up to?

“He’s staging a prison break and will “kill” her.” Chris used finger quotations to explain herself.

Riza swallowed.

“It’s all staged though, don’t worry. He has a dummy at the ready that I helped procure the ingredients for. Breda came to me with some things he needed, and I helped the operation along. Havoc will protect Ross and help get her out of the country.”

“So, why bring Mia and I here?”

“Roy asked if I could invite you for dinner, partly as a precaution but also because he probably felt guilty he wouldn’t be home tonight.”

Riza nodded, things falling into place. He had sounded regretful on the phone earlier when he said he wouldn’t be home.

“Why is us being out of the house a precaution?”

Chris shrugged. “Beats me, but I have a pretty good theory.”

“What is it?”

She regarded Riza quietly for a long moment, which only caused frustration to build.

“Chris, please. If my daughter is in some kind of danger then I deserve to know what it is.”

She eyed Riza once more before nodding. “There’s dangerous people roaming around Central right now. They each bear a matching tattoo. An Ouroboros tattoo. They’re tied to the military somehow, but we don’t know why yet.”

Ouroboros… Riza had seen that word mentioned before, years ago in an ancient history book. She was sure it had been in her father’s study. “What does the tattoo look like?” At the mention of a tattoo, her back tingled lightly as a reminder. She hadn’t discussed any form of tattoo with anyone in a long time. They weren’t popular around Amestris, so weren’t a regular topic of conversation.

“A snake eating its own tail.”

That definitely sounded familiar to Riza. She was sure she’d seen it on Roy’s desk at home, half-hidden by other pieces of paper.

“And these people pose a threat?”

Chris nodded. “We don’t know who they’re targeting, but yes, they do. Just be cautious, all right? Know that if you ever need anything, I’m just a call away as well.”

Riza sat back in her chair.

“I have no reason to believe they will contact you personally, however, just keep an eye out," Chris warned.

“I will,” she swallowed. She was still in a daze from all this new information. It was weighing on her heavily. If Roy was targeted by them, who was to say they wouldn’t use her or Mia to get to him? She shuddered at the thought.

“Roy Boy asked if I could at least fill you in on what was going on tonight, and promised he’d answer any questions you had as soon as possible,” Chris added. “He sent me a coded message earlier and then a quick call. I have the letter if you want to see it?”

Curiosity got the better of her, and Riza nodded.

As Chris left the room Riza remained in place, processing the information she’d been given tonight.

This was… big. Riza knew of his plan to get to the top and was well aware of everything that entailed now, but… Now it was real. He was taking steps here that, if found out, could get him court-martialled. Her stomach twisted. But she knew him, and she knew his team. They were smart as hell. And if Chris was on their side too, helping them along, it eased Riza’s worries a little bit.

“I also have this, if you could pass it onto him?” Chris handed her an envelope along with the piece of paper. The front was blank, giving nothing away. “More information for him.”

This was usual practice between them both. Over the years when Riza and Mia had gone to visit Chris and Roy’s sisters, messages in letters had been passed onto Riza to be delivered to Roy. Riza knew he’d been overreacting when he insisted on not getting her involved in anything. And she’d been right. What was so dangerous about picking up a handful of envelopes to hand over to her husband?

“I will.”

“I’ll get us a drink.” Chris excused herself and left Riza with Roy’s coded letter.

It was a story. There were various names on the paper, each one starting with a specific letter at the beginning. Those letters were used to spell out the words of his message. Riza didn’t bother to read the story he’d crafted. The message itself was all that held her attention at that moment.

 Jailbreak MR. Get Riza and Mia for dinner. Love both.

 She smiled at the last part, her finger stroking over the paper.

Sometimes Riza would read the story just to see how he managed to fit it all together. Riza had tried it too in her spare time, leaving little notes for him in his office at home. Then he'd started doing it as well without a word of warning. His were far cuter than hers, with a message of ‘I love you’ left all over the house. Soon, it was common practice and they’d shown Mia how to do it too. Her messages weren’t long or complex, but it was just a bit of fun for the small family.

“He’s a dramatic one,” Chris snorted. “Jailbreak,” she muttered. “I don’t know where he got that flair from.”

Riza laughed. “He used to always tell me it was from you and wondered how I couldn’t see it.”

Chris shook her head and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “He’s a strange one, that’s for sure.”

“He certainly knows how to keep us on our toes,” Riza murmured, turning her focus back to his letter.

“He didn’t want to speak to you about it over the phone, is my guess. Too many people potentially listening in.”

“I know,” Riza reassured her. “I just hope tonight goes well for all involved.”

“That fake corpse was perfectly constructed,” Chris replied, sipping at her water. Her cigarette was absent from her lips. “And Roy, having a flair for dramatics, will make sure it’s well presented.”

Riza’s stomach turned. “Where are they taking Maria?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation away from the “corpse”.

“No idea. That was need to know only.”

Humming in agreement, Riza took a sip of her own water.

“I had another reason for bringing you here tonight, Riza.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve expressed interest in the part of becoming a part-time informant.”

She nodded. “I have.”

“Have you ever been interested in working the floor? You can absolutely say no,” Chris added, lifting her hands in front of her to placate any objections. “All you’d have to do is sit and talk to people.”

Riza cocked her head and considered it. Then grimaced. “No. The whole reason for me to come and collect the messages from you and the girls was to stop people thinking Roy was cheating on me by going out on “dates” with them. What would happen if word got out at his place of work that his wife was cheating on him?”

“A fair point, and a very good answer,” Chris chipped in. “However, I suppose I worded that incorrectly. Let me rephrase that, would you be interested in talking to people to gather information rather than simply collecting messages?”

“In what way?”

“Military wives love to gossip. They come in every Friday night. While their husbands sit in the bar, we have a space for them to catch up and basically moan about their partners for a couple of hours. It’s in the back of the bar, in that room just off to the right as you go out.”

Riza had noticed the door there but hadn’t thought much more of it. She’d never been through there.

“Your upstart Colonel husband would be a good talking point for those ladies,” Chris ventured.

“Are you asking me to gossip about my husband?” Riza frowned.

“Not at all, but you would be welcomed into their social circle openly. Roy Boy is certainly making a name for himself, especially after coming to Central, and he’s a hot topic of conversation.”

Riza wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “Only good things, I hope?”

“Of course. Mostly because he’s a breath of fresh air with all the old stuffy military officials that usually frequent their company.”

She still wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “And I assume these conversations are all innocent?”

Chris shook her head. “Riza, all those women are old enough to be Roy’s mother,” she chuckled. “They dote on him because he’s a kind kid who's friendly and polite to everyone. Always the charmer," she snorted. "Vanessa very quickly put an end to any possible… not so innocent thoughts. She went in there one Friday gushing about Roy’s beautiful wife and his adorable daughter.”

She laughed when Riza’s cheeks turned pink at the compliment, and Riza coughed to hide it.

“I’m not jealous,” Riza assured Chris. “I just don’t want pointless gossip to ruin his reputation.”

“If anything, they love your little family even more now. They ate it up. It’s the truth, of course, but they really do say nothing but good things, I promise. The girls covering the party make sure of it.” Chris sat back in her chair. “It was just an idea,” she relented. “Some other way for you to help. Military wives on a Friday night can be very animated, and I thought you stopping by would get them to open up even more. It’s completely up to yourself," she relented. "It can be a onetime thing or a regular occurrence. It was just something to try."

“I’ll consider it,” Riza stated carefully. She’d need to weigh her options and if she could find someone to look after Mia if Roy was working.

“That’s all I ask. Roy told me a while back you were interested in being an informant, and the idea occurred to me after that last Friday night.”

“What happened last Friday night?”

“Lots more oohing and ahing over your perfect family,” she smirked. “Honestly, they eat it up Riza. You should come and see it for yourself someday.”

“Are you suggesting we’re not perfect,” Riza quipped, smiling over the rim of her glass.

“No one is perfect,” Chris replied with her own smirk. “But they are correct. You are a beautiful woman and Mia is extremely adorable.”

Chris guffawed while Riza mumbled her thanks at another compliment from her. She was sure Chris only did it because she got a kick out of it.

“Every word of that is the truth,” Chris stated assuredly. “Come on, let’s go and see what Mia’s up to. See if she’s tired out Vanessa yet,” she chuckled.

*          *          *

Mia was half asleep as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom. The offer to remain at Chris’ for the night was there, but Mia had school tomorrow morning so it would be easier for Riza to just take her home. Her mother-in-law had also offered Roxanne’s protection. While Riza appreciated it and welcomed the determined and eager look on Roxanne’s face, she politely declined the offer.

Riza had only been in bed for fifteen minutes or so before she heard the front door opening. Her body tensed in its half-asleep state, but relaxed when she heard Roy sigh from downstairs. Lights were turned off as he climbed the stairs. With heavy footsteps, he reached the top of the stairs but stopped outside Mia’s bedroom door. Riza heard it creak open as he checked in on her. The house turned silent as he did so.

Their bedroom door opened and Riza looked up. Like his footfalls suggested, he looked exhausted, but he still offered her a smile.

“Hi,” he greeted. Roy’s voice sounded a little hoarse as he spoke, discarding his military jacket over the back of the armchair on his side of the bed.

“Hey,” she smiled. “How did it go?”

“Everything went well. The plan went off without a hitch.”

Roy kicked his trousers off and placed it over his jacket on the chair. His shirt however was discarded into a pile on the floor, so he remained in only his boxers. Climbing into bed, Roy wrapped his arms around Riza tightly, giving her a squeeze. A kiss was pressed to her forehead and Riza sighed into it, her body relaxing now she knew that he was home.

“Maria is safe?”

Roy nodded. “On her way to Xerxes.”

“Xerxes? That’s quite a distance,” she commented, racking her brain to try and think how far through the desert that was.

“We’ve determined that whoever is behind it all is working throughout Amestris,” Roy yawned. “I wanted to be safe. I have some associates from Xing, and they’ll escort her there.”

“And are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled tiredly.

“Chris told me what you had to do with the… corpse.” Riza grimaced. Her tired mind couldn’t think of a better or more tactful way to word it.

“It was fine. I saved someone’s life tonight, that’s what matters,” he yawned again, but his expression quickly turned pained. “I did become the villain for doing it though.”

“How come?”

“Edward always seems to be in the wrong place at the right time,” he mumbled. “He saw me ‘killing’ Ross. I had no idea who was tailing him or if he was compromised so I had to go with the murder story.”

“I’m sorry, Roy.”

“It’s all right,” he sighed. “But thank you. The kid hates me for sure now,” Roy chuckled. “But he’ll be on his way to Xerxes soon enough too so he can find out the truth.” His eyelids fluttered closed.

Riza looked up as his eyelashes splayed across his cheeks and his face finally relaxed. The day’s events had been weighing on him, and she was loath to take up any more of his sleeping time.

“Get some rest, Roy,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He grunted softly in response, deepening the kiss for a moment. “Just what I needed to feel better,” he grinned. It was that dopey smile that he only showed when he was tired, and Riza loved it. “Plus, I’ll need it. Tomorrow will be another long day.” Then, she felt him pause. “There’s… something coming up in a few days. I anticipate we’ll need to go after one of the people with the Ouroboros tattoo. Can you go to my mother’s that night?”

“Is this something I should be concerned about?”

Roy shook his head. “No. And I mean it,” he added earnestly. “I really don’t anticipate anything like that coming your way, however, it would give me peace of mind to know you’re all together.”

“You know I can handle myself,” she quipped lightly.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead again. “But until I know exactly what I’m dealing with and how to handle it, it would let me breathe easier if I knew my pregnant wife and my daughter were under my mother’s protection. She has a whole labyrinth of tunnels underneath her bar. If the wrong people come knocking then you can hide under there and I’ll come when it’s safe.”

“The wrong people, huh?”

He nodded. “The Ouroboros gang,” he drawled. “Keep an eye out for anyone with that tattoo by the way. I have a picture of it in my office. I’ll show you it tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, your mother already explained it to me.”

His eyelids drifted closed again and Riza smiled. She lifted a hand to caress his face lightly with her fingers. He flinched in fright but turned his head to press a kiss to her palm.

“Get some sleep,” she prompted.

“You said that before then distracted me,” he grumbled.

“I can take that kiss back,” she joked, moving out of his hold. This caused him to latch onto her torso even tighter.

“Please don’t,” he begged. “I’m sorry,” he gushed dramatically.

“Go to sleep, Roy. I love you.”

He hummed with a smile. “Love you too.”

[13-reasons-ideas]

Finding Peace In Another Part 20

A/N: Trigger Warning: This chapter contains explicit depiction of sexual assault. I have put the assault in italics so you can skip that part if you are uncomfortable reading it. As always, feedback is appreciated and much love!

On Monday Montgomery was out sick. He had gotten a cold over the weekend and spent most of his time at my place in bed alternating shivering and sweating with a fever. He insisted that he go back to his place and I go to school this morning as I protested vehemently. He argued that both of us missing school would not only be, quote, “detrimental” to my education but would also raise people’s suspicions about if our friendship was deeper than they thought. I reluctantly agreed, making him promise to stay in bed and continue resting. I spent my morning before class with Cyrus, hanging out listening to music. I texted Montgomery in History to check up on him, not expecting an answer any time soon. The morning was very uneventful. We had a chapter quiz in English and then started watching the movie adaptation of the book. The day got very interesting at lunch however. Bryce was being very charming and attentive. He even sat next to me at our table. I assumed it was because he was just trying to be friendly. “Hey Becca, can I ask you something?” Bryce asked me suddenly as lunch was ending.

“Yeah sure Bryce, what’s up?”

“I know you said never to ask you for help in math but... I could really use someone familiar with the stuff to help me out?” He asked me, innocently. I deliberated my answer for a few minutes before replying.

“Alright. I can try and help, but I make no promises it will make you understand anything more.” I said, adding the disclaimer so he couldn’t say I screwed him over if he didn’t do well.

“Nice. Meet at my place after school? My parents are away on vacation for a week.”

“Sure. I’ll see you then.” I made sure to pay attention as Mr. Daniels explained this week’s concepts to us in class, so I could try and explain it to Bryce that afternoon. I decided not to bother Montgomery with it and didn’t let him know about hanging out with Bryce. It’s just tutoring, and he lives literally four houses away from me. Besides, he’s one of Monty’s best friends. It’s not like he would try anything. Then why did I feel a pit in my stomach the rest of the day? After school I went to my locker to grab my things and let Bryce know I would meet him at his place in 15. We arrived at roughly the same time and went inside. He was polite and offered me a bottle of water and made himself a snack, offering me something to eat as well, which I declined before going up to his room to study. I sat at his desk as he plopped himself down on his bed and we began studying. I started with the basics. Good old Pythagorean Theorem. “So, if a2+b2=c2 is used to find the hypotenuse of a right triangle, and if you have one where side a is 7cm and side b is 12cm, then what would side c be when rounded to the nearest 10th?” He grabbed his pencil and started to work out the answer.

“Uh... 13.9?” He asked, unsure. Checking over his work, I smiled at him.

“That’s right.” I gave him a few more examples before having him solve for side a or side b.

After an hour or so, he seemed to begin to struggle as I moved to more complex topics. I rolled his desk chair closer to his bed so I could watch his process as he worked through the questions in the book. He seemed to not be grasping anything from the last ten minutes. Sighing, I moved to sit on his bed and try to guide him through the procedures. He scratched his head and placed hand absently on my knee while I looked over his answers. I didn’t pay it much mind, figuring he hadn’t noticed what he did, until his hand started moving up the inside of my thigh. “Bryce... what are you doing?” I asked him, unsure of what exactly was happening. Or rather, hoping it wasn’t what I thought it was. His hand stopped just about at the top of my thigh and he looked at me as if it was completely normal for him to be touching me like that. My heart started to speed up.

“How are my answers?” He asked, his hand creeping a little higher.

“Uh. They’re fine. Bryce. Please stop touching me.” I asked nicely hoping he would stop. He stopped moving his hand but scooted closer to me. “Bryce. I-I don’t want this. I’m not interested in you like this. And what about Chloe?” I asked him, trying to get him to stop.

I felt him grip my arm with his other hand. “She isn’t going to find out about this is she? I see the way you look at me. Are you sick of wasting your time pining after whoever you think about when you could have me instead?” He said, his voice low and slightly thick with arousal. His grip on my arm tightened as he touched me through my jeans. I tried to get away. I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he was too strong. Years of sports had done wonders for his strength.

“Please no Bryce. Don’t do this. I don’t want this.” I begged. I tried to push him off me but as he leaned in and kissed me roughly, it felt as though my soul had left my body and I was watching the scene unfold from above me. I was completely unable to move or speak at that point. I could feel him push me down on the bed and unzip my jeans. He pulled them down, lifting my hips as he did so. He played with my underwear before taking those down too. I heard him undo his zipper and watched him pull down his jeans, stroking himself as he crawled on top of me. I closed my eyes. I felt his hands holding my hips, the feel of his hands on my body sickening me, felt him entering me over and over.

“So tight for me.” I heard him groan as he violated me. I just wanted it to stop. Why couldn’t I say anything. Why didn’t I text Montgomery and tell him I was coming here? I felt Bryce pull out and heard him finish himself on his bedspread. The bed shifted as he got up and went to go clean himself up. I laid there, frozen for what felt like an eternity. I felt myself come back and my brain started to clear. Getting up quickly I put my pants back on as fast as I could. I gathered my things before running from the house. I ran the half block to my house and burst open the door. Dropping my things at the door I ran upstairs and turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it. Taking off my clothes, sick at the sight of blood in my underwear, I threw them to the side. My face felt wet and I realized I was crying. I climbed into the shower carefully, finally noticing the pain between my legs and sat down on the tub floor. I sat there for an hour and a half sobbing and scrubbing my body, trying desperately to get the slimy feeling to go away. Even after my skin was rubbed raw, I still felt dirty. Getting out of the shower, I gathered my clothes, went to my room, and put on one of Montgomery’s shirts I had stolen from his closet and the loosest pair of bottoms I could find. Before I could think better of it, I went downstairs and grabbed the rubber gloves I used to clean with and the candle lighter. I went back to the bathroom, picked up the ruined panties, and lit them on fire before dropping them in the garbage can and watching them burn. With the underwear gone, I crawled into bed and cried myself to sleep. I hadn’t even realized Montgomery had texted me back while I was at Bryce’s to say he was feeling better and couldn’t wait to see me tomorrow.

[into-crazy]

Man Under the Makeup Pt. 5

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Female Reader series

Warnings- Cursing, doubtful thoughts?

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “Man Under the Makeup” tag lovelies!💘

You couldn't get Arthur off of your mind since that night. Going to bed every night thinking about him, to waking up wondering if he was okay. If he was still alive. Hoping he didn't get arrested. Though it's only been a couple of days- 5 to be exact- not that you're counting intentionally. Alright, alright.. Yes, you are counting intentionally. But who could blame you? It was worrying having him out there like that. Watching the news every night, Joker and the mobs tend to be the top topics.

Fire breaks out at the Wealth ball led by the Joker! Dangerous criminal Joker still at large! Violent clown group follow the Joker, shutting down major roads! All of which continue to make the headlines, and not in a good way- according to Gotham City P. D.

The only reassurance being the occasional calls you get from him. A different number each time, since he doesn't have his own line. Picking up the phone and hearing his voice on the other end, you would always exhale with relief. His calls wouldn't last too long- maybe 15 minutes at the most. Still, every call you make sure to ask how he was doing. Checking in on him.

Arthur refuses to hang up the phone until you confirmed you were fine. He tries to call every chance he gets, but he also doesn't want to overdo it. Since you work during the day, he calls more often in the evenings. Leaving sweet voicemails when you don't get the chance to answer the phone- like when you're not home yet or taking a shower.

~~

Slowly trudging through the entry doors of the complex you reside, you make way over to the mailbox area. Heavily exhaling as you stick the key into your box.

It's been a long, frustrating day. You were supposed to be home 3 fucking hours ago, however that wasn't the case. One of the other main secretaries was apparently fired yesterday. So lucky you- of course- were required to handle your regular work, AND cover for hers as well! It wasn't fair for you, having to stay longer than everyone else. Especially on a Friday night! But, that's the way it works. It's either suck it up and stay, or be fired right along with her. You've worked too hard to get this job, work in the city was difficult to come across. You can't afford to lose it when there's bills to pay and food to put on your plate.

Opening the small box, you lazily collect the contents inside. Shutting the door, you look over the mail. Junk mail.. junk mail.. water bill.. Flipping through each, one of the envelopes catches your attention. Unsealed, with child-like handwriting, it was addressed to you. Opening it, you pulled out a small, plain white card.

This reminded me of you. See you soon! Signed Arthur.

Unfolding the card, it revealed a beautifully dried flower inside. Pretty array of light pink petals, with a slim stem. A wide smile plastered across your tired face. Your mood completely turned around as happiness filled your chest. Rapidly radiating throughout the rest of your body. It's one of the sweetest gestures you received. Sweet, darling Arthur. Closing the card ever so smoothly, you head up to your apartment. Joyously awaiting his next phone call.

~~

Stepping out of a steamy shower, you heard the ringing of your phone coming from the living room. Wrapping a towel around your freshly clean body, you hurriedly make way to the phone. Each step leaving a trail of water behind. Snatching it off the receiver, you waste no time in answering. "Hello?"

"Hey y/n," Arthur calmly speaks, groaning slightly at the sound of you. "Mmph, how nice it is to hear your lovely voice. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

He has this way of speaking to you sometimes that gets you weak in the knees and full in the chest. Starting out super brazen with his words- telling exactly what's on his mind, a deep husk in his voice. Then quickly shying back, higher pitched with a more considerate remark.

"Never. It's always nice hearing from you," you tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder. Taking a brush, running it through your wet locks. You can hear an ongoing noise in the distance. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

"I am now," he acknowledges, "I'm calling you from a payphone, farther down the street from the crowd."

You giggle, picturing him all clowned up standing in a phone booth. Hunched over, with the phone glued to his ear. Trying his hardest to confide your conversation more than what it already is. "Glad you could call. I received your card earlier," you return.

"Oh," he replies enthusiastically, "I was hoping you would."

"It's beautiful, thank you." You reply, lightly tracing the brush bristles with your fingertips.

"N-no need to thank me," he continues bashfully, "I'm sorry I've been so busy lately." He curses himself for not having the time to see you. Caught up with wrecking havoc throughout the city, it's hard enough as is to catch a break for himself. But the last thing he'd want, is you to feel inclined being put second to anything.

"It's okay Arthur," acknowledging you understand. Though it does bother you, you won't let him know it. You fully understand that he has to do what he has to do.

"No, it's not. I haven't made the effort to see you, but I will. I will make the time for you, y/n." He promises over the line. Gazing out the window of the booth, determined on making it a top priority. Because right now, you are his only real priority. Sure, running a gang, robbing banks, and torching buildings is fun and all. But at the end of the day, who is the one he calls? Who's the one he runs to? Who is the one that he- dare to admit- cares about?

Arthur kept his word. On your days off, plus select nights, he'd take you out. Of course, he always came and left as Joker. With the full on paint and costume, accompanied with at least 2 henchmen. Besides not trying to get caught, he also takes great caution in making sure no one identifies you. Upon your request, wishing to stay secluded in the privacy of your life.

It was difficult- clearing restaurants, finding empty theaters, getting him into your apartment undetected. Which wasn't really that hard once you both figured it out. It was just a matter of timing, bribing, and if it had to come down to it- threatening. But for you, it was worth it to him.

Time spent together was limited, due to him having to get back to business. By limited, it simply means he's unable to spend the night or fully remove himself from Joker- appearance wise. Never, by any means has he once rushed your valuable time together. Especially the calmer evenings which consisted of watching a flick and eating takeout in your place. He enjoys those the most.

There is just something special about being wrapped with you in the serenity of your home. Getting to witness you at your most comfortable- hair completely let down, hardly to no makeup, comfy clothes. Moments where you're both able to fully relax mentally beside one another.

He's very gentle and respectful towards you- very much Arthur. Contrary to how the Joker is with pretty much everyone else. To the world out there, he's labeled a monster. A complete, psychotic nut job with no consideration for his actions. A man who will kill anyone in his path. Cruel and heartless. You ignored all that talk. Yeah, he may be a bit extreme, but never with you.

Arthur still couldn't believe how lucky he is to have a woman like you in his life. Although he has you, he's still stuck in that "too good to be true" mindset. Been nothing but let down and hurt his entire life. By the people he considered friends, those he looked up to as role models, family.. Even his own mind gets the best of him sometimes, creating false illusions. Broken promises that he wish were true. Only tearing him down once he comes to the realization that they weren't.

Yet here you are, a beautiful light shining into his world. His body felt warm in your tender presence. He just couldn't fully grasp it. The thought that you were a hallucination pondered his mind on some occasions. Resulting in him having his panic attacks and laughing fits. Many when he's alone, and a few in your company.

However, with every word from your soothing lips, every soft embrace, each beautiful gaze when he meets your eyes- just prove to him you are in fact- real. Canceling away all those conflicting concerns. No doubt, he's falling for you. Hard.

End of part 5. Sorry it was so short!

[mercurymetals]

i could never be alone

I apologise for how long this took @rose-obsidian. Writing yan!Bruno is honestly so difficult for me, I just can't do my man dirty like that... So please forgive me, but this is 100% self-indulgent fluffy domestic Bruno content. I went full in on the caring reader vibes tbh. There’s just like... a 2%, barely-passable yandere bit at the end.

Warnings: None. But skip this one if you don’t like fluff.

You can barely contain your excitement as you reach out to knock on the door. It's not often that you come over to visit your boyfriend - not for a lack of wanting on either side, but because he rarely gets a day off, spending most of his time outside with his team, or in that favourite restaurant of his. Most of your time together is spent in there too, which can be awkward considering his teammates often hang around on the other end of the room, throwing amused glances your way.

But today is different. In the morning you woke up to a text from Bruno asking you to come over when you're up. You immediately flung yourself from the bed and made a mad dash for your closet. You didn't bother making yourself look too fancy, just presentable enough to leave your house, and practically speed-walked the entire half hour of a journey to Bruno's place.

And now here you are, unable to stop yourself from smiling as you wait by his front door. It's been a little while since you've last seen him, as he was away from Naples on some business. You don't know the details of what he does, but you never inquire too deeply. Bruno doesn't seem to enjoy sharing about it either, so you don't prod. What matters is that he's back, and clearly has earned himself a rest - a rest which he is choosing to spend with you. You couldn't be more happy about that.

After a few more seconds, the lock clicks and the door swings open. You are greeted with the sight of Bruno in a loose white T-shirt, and dalmatian-patterned pants that you recognise to be a part of his pyjamas. He's also wearing similarly-patterned slippers.

He opens his mouth to greet you, but you don't give him the chance. You throw yourself into his arms, clumsily pressing your lips to his as a way of saying hello. Bruno is surprised for a moment, and then you feel him laugh against your mouth as he returns the kiss, embracing you in his arms. He pulls away just enough to quietly say your name, then leans in to kiss you properly, tenderly, his lips fitting perfectly against yours.

"I missed you," you say when he pulls away again, and he smiles.

"So I see," he says, tugging you inside the house and closing the door. "I missed you as well. Come on."

The two of you make your way to the living room, where the small television is currently playing some news program. You suspect Bruno switched it on more for background noise than anything, given his extremely limited TV license (a discovery that left you highly disappointed the last time you visited).

The rest of the room is bare of anything interesting save for layers of dust on the shelves. You drop your bag on the sofa and turn to Bruno. "Let me help you out with cleaning a little."

He blinks. "What? No, I did not invite you here to do my chores for me--"

You roll your eyes. "Oh please. Dusting a little won't take that long. Just let me do it, and then we can relax for the rest of the day."

It's not that you're crazy about neatness, you just want your boyfriend to have a decent space to come back to every evening, at the very least. The place is modest, but the lack of memorabilia beyond a few photos in the bedroom makes the house feel lonely and vacant. It's really no wonder he doesn't like staying here much.

Bruno gives you a measured look, but finally gives in. "Alright. But in that case I'm helping, too."

There's no point arguing with him, so both of you dig through his kitchen cupboards until you find some old dust cloths and cleaning spray bottles, and then you get to work.

The announcer on the television is currently discussing the rising problem of drug abuse in Italy, which is far from an exciting soundtrack to do chores to. Bruno seems to think the same, for he reaches for the remote and switches it, leaving it on some pop music channel.

As it soon turns out, dusting to the tune of Survivor blasting in the background can in fact be very motivating, and what was supposed to be a quick sweep through the room ends in a full-blown house cleaning session. Spring started last week, so you reckon it's only appropriate.

Once you're done dusting, you set to the task of sweeping the floor, while Bruno searches for a vacuum he's sure must be somewhere in the house. His search is briefly interrupted when you decide to passionately lip-sync to Lady Marmalade, using the end of the broom as your microphone.

At one point you get really into it, and perhaps get a little inappropriate with the broom. Bruno tries hard to stifle his laughter, but loses the battle when you try to lean on the handle sexily and the brush slips against the floor, causing you to lose your balance. You only just manage to catch yourself from falling, and Bruno makes a passing comment about teaching you the ropes someday. You take note of this to question him on another day about.

When you're done with the living room, you move on to the kitchen and wipe all the counters down. Then you go through each cupboard, throwing out old and expired products (mainly tea bags and unused spaghetti noodle packets years past their expiry dates; and on one occasion an ancient jar of tomato sauce which neither of you dare try opening). You are unsurprised to see Bruno's fridge is largely empty, but you still go through it and get rid of a couple of stale vegetables, and a bottle of ketchup so old you can't even get it to spurt anything out when you test it.

Two hours and some more poorly done performances by yours truly later (although you do manage to rope Bruno in on singing I Want It That Way with you, which ends in a nice make out session that is then tragically interrupted by you going into a sneezing fit from all that dust in the air, much to Bruno's amusement), everything is tidied up and sparkling clean.

But you're not done yet.

You insist on going grocery shopping, intent on cooking dinner for tonight. You know one of the reasons Bruno loves that restaurant of his so much is because he's never really had the time to learn how to make anything more complex than an omelette, and you intend to treat him to something nice after having forced him to spend half his day off doing chores with you. All that said, Bruno doesn't seem to mind this turn of events, going along with your plans with a smile and no complaints.

But both of you feel a little icky after all that work, so you decide to take a shower together before leaving. It's a bit of a squeeze to fit both of you in the cubicle, but you're not in a particular hurry, and you enjoy a companionable silence against the hot stream of water, cleaning up with slow, relaxed movements, careful not to disrupt or bump each other.

Your favourite part is when Bruno quietly offers to wash your hair for you, and the feel of his long fingers soothingly massaging your scalp is nothing short of heavenly. You don't think you'll be able to stand the idea of having to wash your hair by yourself after that experience.

The shopping trip itself is brief but enjoyable. Bruno lets you pick out most of the products, although you have a disagreement when you try to add some apples to the cart, which Bruno vehemently refuses to purchase. You give it up, but promise you'll change his mind yet on the delicious fruit in the future.

Back at his place, so soon as you're done putting the groceries away, you send Bruno off to the living room for a break. He's insistent on wanting to help you out, but you're more insistent on the fact he's useless in the kitchen and anyway it's really not a big deal, you like doing this kind of stuff. You get a feeling he's not entirely pleased to be leaving all the work to you, but he does as you say and you have the kitchen to yourself.

You've known Bruno long enough to know his tastes, and you set about making a risotto using his favourite porcini mushrooms. With having to prepare the rice and the broth, it takes you about an hour to finish, and you take a few minutes towards the end to grill some scallops as a side dish, since you know he loves them.

You're almost done setting everything on the plates, when Bruno walks into the kitchen with a yawn. You smile. "Took a nap?"

"Yes... But tesoro, whatever you made smells amazing."

You grin in satisfaction. You do feel a little guilty for having tired out your boyfriend all day, but at least you'll be making it up to him with this.

A few minutes later, you discover your cooking not only smells amazing, but tastes it as well. You're glad you managed not to botch it, and you and Bruno clean your plates in no time, enjoying a glass of white wine each to go along with it. Bruno is particularly delighted by the scallops, and you watch him eat them with an uncharacteristic excitement. You wonder how long it's been since he's treated himself to something he likes, but you don't want to bring the mood down, so you don't ask about it.

You finish your evening by curling up on the living room sofa together, limbs tangled and your head resting on his chest as some cheesy romantic movie plays on low volume on the TV.

But there's something on your mind. Something that even after a whole day together, Bruno hasn't brought up.

You put your hand on his chest, and run your fingers on the open part of his jacket, tracing the patterns of the black lace against his skin. You can tell he's looking at you now, but he still doesn't say anything, so you speak up first. "Caro... Don't you have something you want to tell me?"

The text you got that morning mentioned there was something he wanted to discuss. You were so excited to go over and spend the day with him however, that it nearly slipped your mind entirely. Until now.

There's a beat of silence, but Bruno gives in quickly. "Yes. I do." You think he's trying to find the right way to say it, and he speaks carefully when he finally continues. "You've heard of what's been happening recently around Naples. The streets may not be as safe as they used to be any more. Being with me automatically puts you in danger..."

You suddenly feel uneasy. He's not... he's not about to break up with you, is he?

"...But at this point, I prefer it to the idea of you being all by yourself."

You shift so that you can meet his eyes. "What do you mean?"

He's frowning. "You live alone, tesoro. I don't like that."

You tilt your head. It's true that you live on your own, but... What exactly is he getting at?

Seeing your expression, Bruno clarifies: "I think I'd like you to stay here with me. Permanently."

You stare at him for a long moment. Permanently? He wants you to move in with him? Well, that's... That's a little sudden. You don't hate the idea, but you're not sure if you love it, either, for a variety of reasons, which you soon try to explain to him. "Bruno, living together would be lovely... But you don't exactly spend much time here. Besides, my place is much closer to my work."

"I can take you to work, and pick you up afterwards. Or if not me, I can send someone from my team," he argues, and you recognise that tone of voice. It's one that tells you he's made his mind up about something. Normally when you hear it, you don't bother arguing back, knowing Bruno is prone to staying committed once he makes a decision.

"Your workplace should be safe, but as for where you stay... I feel more confident about being able to protect this place, than worrying about your safety from far away,” Bruno tells you earnestly.

You chew on your lip, mulling over his words. Even if he's right, it's just a little unexpected. You didn't exactly come here ready to give up your old lifestyle. But... he does have a point... But also... Argh, you really can't decide on the spot like this!

Bruno sees your hesitation, and sighs. "Look, tesoro... Vita mia... Let me put this another way." He holds you tighter, a loving but firm embrace. "I'm not letting you leave here again. Even if I have to keep you here by force."

You don't reply to that, slowly lowering your head and pressing your cheek to his chest. Well... He's probably not actually serious about that last part, but you find it moving that he cares this much. And, looking back on the day you shared together... Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, to turn this house into a place he wants to come back to. To turn it into a home.

"Alright," you agree quietly. "I'll move in with you."

Bruno relaxes against you. "Good." His hand starts petting your hair gently, reminiscent of that time in the shower earlier today. You lean into the touch, closing your eyes.

"But Caro... I didn't bring any clothes with me, or anything..."

"I'll lend you something of mine. Come on, let's get ready for bed."

How could you refuse that? You let him pet you for a little while longer, but eventually the two of you slink off the couch. Bruno switches the television off, and tugs you along to his bedroom. You follow after him rather happily.

[wistfulcynic]

The Very Witching Time (5 / 6)

SO I would like to begin by sharing a snippet of conversation I had with @thisonesatellite when I first told her my plans for this fic. I don’t remember all the details but here’s the gist: 

Me: *tells* 

Me: “It’ll be four chapters, about 20,000 words.” 

Her: “It’s so cute that you think you can write that in 20,000 words.” 

Me: “20k. Max.”

HAHAHAHAHAHA so obviously I WAS WRONG. I tragically underestimated the number of words I would need to tell this story. So now there are six chapters. AND THAT WILL BE ALL. 

Ahem. ANYWAY. 

In this chapter Emma and Killian deal with the aftermath of the curse breaking, there is some bonding and some sexy times and a library that will make you DROOL. 

Thanks as always to @cssns for the brilliant event and @gingerchangeling for the gorgeous art. 

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian.  

RATING: M

AO3 | Tumblr: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4

TAGGING: @thisonesatellite, @stahlop, @mariakov81, @kmomof4, @snowbellewells, @jennjenn615, @resident-of-storybrooke, @teamhook, @thejollyroger-writer, @winterbaby89, @darkcolinodonorgasm, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd @shireness-says @scientificapricot @tiganasummertree

(if you’d like a tag, please let me know!)

Chapter 5: 

Emma was never quite certain how she got home that morning. A soft haze obscured her recollections of the journey, like the delicate lace of frost on a winter windowpane or a particularly tedious Instagram filter. On top of the woozy exhaustion that always plagued her after intense magic use there was also the discovery of Killian’s true nature, the visions with their troubling revelations about Cora and his past, plus breaking a freaking curse, and if that weren’t already more than enough to make her head spin, that kiss… the soft, wet warmth of Killian’s mouth on hers would render her dizzy and faint even if she hadn’t channeled immense amounts of magic mere hours before. 

It is therefore, as you will surely agree, unsurprising that all she could ever remember of making her way back to her house was the radiant sunshine dappled by late autumn leaves, the sharp bite of frost the air, and Killian’s hand warm in her own, his arm around her shoulders and his body solid and reassuring as she leaned against him, her head tucked against his shoulder, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin. 

He guided her straight upstairs to her bedroom, helping her out of her wrinkled and leaf-strewn gown and into her pajamas before tucking her under her quilt. His fingers traced her cheek with the gentlest touch and she caught his hand, sensing his intent. 

“Don’t go,” she murmured. “Stay with me.” 

“Are you sure, love?” 

Such a simple phrase but she could hear every shade of meaning in the tone of his voice, Emma marvelled. The desire not to leave her warring with hesitation, uncertainty over what exactly his place was in her life now that he no longer wore the guise of a dog. She understood, and she knew there were important conversations they needed to have, but also she was desperate for sleep and certain she wouldn’t manage a wink without him there beside her. She squeezed his hand. “Stay.” 

He smiled and nodded and removed his own rumpled shirt and trousers before sliding into bed behind her, snuggling close and wrapping her securely in his arms. Emma sighed and was asleep in an instant. 

She awoke in the late afternoon just as the sun was dipping below the horizon, its bending rays bathing the sky in fiery blaze orange and softer coral, shot with streaks of heliotrope and brilliant rose. Only a sunset could make those colours go together, she thought with a smile, but in it they were breathtaking. 

Killian was still behind her, the protective curl of his body around hers so achingly familiar despite his altered form. From the cadence of his breathing she knew he was awake, though his only movement was his fingers twisting absently through the ends of her hair.

She turned in his arms and was met by his smile, brighter and more brilliant than any sunset, flooding her racing heart with a wave of warmth and sparks born of a different sort of magic. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“Better.” She smiled back at him. “Good. Wonderful, in fact. Starving.” 

He laughed. “Shall we have some dinner?” He moved to slide from the bed, halting on a sharp inhale when she laid her hand flat against his bare chest. 

“I’m not just hungry for food, Killian,” she said. The tingle in her blood was making her dizzy again but the day of restful sleep had restored her strength and she was buzzing and energised and ravenous. 

He caught her meaning instantly and his eyes widened, glazing with answering hunger and heat and a trace of doubt. “Are you—” 

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she cut him off. “I am, completely. I’m still not certain how we broke your curse or shared my magic or what any of this is or what it means, but I know that I’ve never felt anything like this connection between us and I really, really want to make it physical. I need to. Is that okay?”

“You will definitely not hear any argument from me, love.” 

He gave her another of his impossibly familiar grins and she took a moment to marvel at just how much of the man had been present in the dog without her even noticing and then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

In common with many witches Emma’s beliefs, in the abstract, were very open about sex. Far from being considered sinful it was seen as a natural and integral part of life, elemental as water and air, earth and fire. 

In the abstract. Practically speaking Emma was a shopkeeper in a small town where everyone knew everyone else and people talked. Where the local witch taking up with anyone would be a point of extreme interest to far too many people and there would be expectations and pressure and questions, and all things considered Emma had always found that celibacy was simply easier. 

Meaning it had been some considerable time since she’d been touched. And she had never, never used her magic during sex. 

Yet when Killian’s mouth opened under hers and his hand caressed her bare skin she found herself overcome, helpless against the rush of power that thrummed through her. Not her power, though. His. 

“How…” she gasped when they broke apart for air, unable to form any more complex words but certain he would understand. 

He did. “It’s in my hand, I think,” he said. “The magic that healed it. There was so much of it and not all got used. It’s— part of me now.” He stroked her cheek with his left hand and she could feel the vibrations of the magic it held. “And what’s part of me is part of you,” he whispered. “That’s how you feel it too. I think.” 

She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. It’s— I mean, it shouldn’t—” 

“Emma.” His hand slid from her cheek to her hair, his eyes soft and amused and desperate. “I’m sure there’s a fascinating explanation but right now I do not care. Do you?” 

“No.” She pulled him back down to her, surrendering completely to the energy that sparked wherever their skin met, and the intensely arousing sensation of someone else’s magic flowing through her. 

Why the fuck not? she thought. Nothing about Killian had ever been what she expected, why should sex with him be any different? 

He took the lead and she let him, another new departure for her, let him slip the clothing from her body with an infuriating lack of haste as his hands and mouth unerringly sought out every spot that yearned for their touch, heightening her pleasure layer upon layer, higher and higher, impossibly high, until she was sobbing and clawing at him and prepared to beg. 

And when he finally —finally— slid inside her, joining their bodies in tandem with their hearts, the magic was an inferno, consuming them as they clung to each other, as they moved together in a rhythm both ancient and uniquely their own until the waves of magic turned to ecstasy and they fell apart, in pieces and more whole than they had ever been. 

Emma had no idea how long they lay together, entwined and still joined, but by the time she felt capable of thought and movement the last rays of the sun had faded and the light through her bedroom window was the glow of the pale moon above the treetops. 

“Gods, I’m starving,” she said. 

“Again? Give a man a chance to recover, love, after you wring him dry like an old flannel.”

She laughed. “This time I’m talking about food.” 

“Well thank fuck for that. I could definitely do with some nourishment.”

~~ 🌕 ~~

They raided the kitchen and feasted on whatever they could find that required no cooking: roasted corn and squash left over from the Samhain bonfire that seemed so much more than just a day ago, bread spread thick with butter and honey or generous slices of cheese, apples and slightly stale soul cakes and very hot tea. 

Emma was so hungry she’d have eaten anything and cared little for the taste but it was all delicious, spiced by the magic still sparking in the air and the pleasure of eating with Killian, properly this time, with him sitting next to her at the table rather than under it. 

“So,” said Emma, once the most demanding of their hunger pangs were quieted. “It feels really weird asking you this, after… well, after everything, but your last name is Jones, right? I remember from the vision.” 

“It is.”

Emma’s brow creased as she tried to kick her sluggish brain into gear. “Killian Jones,” she mused. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“I’ve no idea. I spent most of my life on the sea or in England, though I have lived in Boston for the past few years—” 

“Boston,” she interrupted, as faint bells began to chime in her memory. “Harvard University Press. Was it a book cover? Did you write a book?”

“Aye.” 

A very inelegant snort of laughter burst from her.  

“What?” Killian grinned at her mirth but his eyes were puzzled. 

“Sorry.” She held up her hand as another wave of giggles overcame her. “Sorry. I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear you say that without remembering how you used to bark it.” She laughed again and this time he joined her, blue eyes twinkling. 

“You might want to get over that,” he teased. “I say ‘aye’ rather a lot. It’s a navy thing.” 

“I’ll do my best.” She wiped her eyes and breathed deeply to stifle the giggles. “Anyway, you were saying you wrote a book.”  

“Ay— er, yes, I did. A history of the traditions of witchcraft from England to North America.” 

“That’s it!” She snapped her fingers triumphantly as the pieces fell into place, then waved her hand in a circular motion ending with it palm up in front of her.  Nothing happened. She frowned and waved it again, with more of a flourish this time but the same lack of result. Killian watched her curiously as she stared dumbfounded at her empty hand then rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I’m an idiot,” she said. “I forgot I’m so low on magic. It’s practically zinging through the air but none of it is the kind I can use. It’s a weird feeling. Anyway, I was trying to summon your book from my library but it looks like that’s not happening so I guess we’ll just have to get it the mundane way.” She looked at him, mischief glinting in her eye. “You’re a history professor, right?” 

“Ay— I am.” 

She grinned. “You’re going to love this.” 

Grabbing his hand she pulled him up from the table and along behind her out of the kitchen and through the living room to a door that he had never seen opened for the whole of the time he had lived in her house. Emma opened it and guided him up a narrow and winding set of worn stone stairs, her movements quick and certain despite the darkness. 

“Sorry there’s no light,” she said. “I’d put some on, but, you know, no magic.” 

“It’s okay—” began Killian and then they arrived at the top of the stairs and the words died in his throat as his mouth fell open and his eyes widened and he gaped with an expression of mute stupefaction that he would have known was comical even if Emma hadn’t burst out laughing at the sight of it. 

“Pretty great, huh?” she said. 

Killian had been in many extraordinary libraries in his time, from the stately magnificence of the Bodleian at Oxford to the hushed gravity of the Reading Room at the British Museum, from the sprawling glory of the New York Public Library to the actual Vatican Archives, where he hadn’t even been able to enjoy himself for fear of breathing improperly and getting kicked out. 

But none of them had prepared him for Emma’s library. 

Every inch of the walls was lined with carved wooden shelves, precisely fitted to the graceful curves of the circular room and broken only by the door they’d used to enter and another on the other side, and randomly placed windows of varying sizes and shapes through which pearly moonlight slanted, illuminating the round and sturdy oak table at the centre of the room and the rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of books. These rows curved around and around in the endless arc of a helix, twisting up much farther than his eye could see to the very top of the sharply pointed tower. 

Killian swallowed hard and with immense effort found his voice. “Why did we never come in here before?” he croaked. 

Emma shrugged. “I usually just summon the books I need. It’s kind of a pain to dig through them by hand so I came up with a spell that sorts them based on the criteria I give it.” 

Killian turned his astonished gaze on her. “You have a librarian spell?”  

“Yeah.” Emma frowned at him as he began to laugh. “Why is that funny?”

He shook his head. “It’s just my friend Belle would not be happy if she knew that was a thing. You could put her out of a job.” He looked around again, struggling to grasp the extent of her collection. There must be thousands of books, he thought. Hundreds of thousands. “You really have my book in here?” he asked her, ridiculously flattered at the idea. 

“Yep.” The room shifted with no apparent motion and a tall, rectangular window that Killian felt certain had been a good ten feet above their heads moments before was right where they stood. Emma pulled a book from the shelf beside it. “Here it is.” She held the book up in the shaft of moonlight from the window so he could see its familiar cover. “I enjoyed it.” 

“You read it?”

“Of course. I read everything written about witchcraft. It’s important to know what’s going on in people’s minds. Your book was better than most, though of course there’s a lot missing.” 

“Missing?” 

“Uh huh. Oh, don’t worry, it’s not your fault,” she hurried to add when she caught his disgruntled look. “Most of the stuff you left out I’d’ve been worried if you’d included. We keep it hidden for a reason.” 

“That… makes a lot of sense, actually,” acknowledged Killian, somewhat mollified. 

“Mmmm,” agreed Emma. “Um. Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“What made you want to study the history of witchcraft?”

His expression shifted and he gave her an odd look, wondering and tinged with awe. “You did,” he said softly.  

“Me?” 

“Aye. I didn’t know it was you at the time, of course. I just wanted to find out more about the witch Cora was looking for.” 

“But why was she looking for a witch?” asked Emma, voicing the question that had been niggling at her for some time. “For me, I guess?”

Killian blew out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Now that is a tale,” he said. “Do you mind if we sit, love, and I’ll tell you all I know?”

“Sure.” Emma returned his book to her shelf and they sat together at the table, in large and ornately carved chairs that were far more comfortable than they looked. 

Killian took her hand in his, absently, caressing her knuckles with his thumb as he began his tale. “Cora has practiced witchcraft all her life, taught by her mother as I believe most witches are,” he said, looking to Emma for confirmation. She nodded, and he went on. “She was always fascinated by the High Magic and by the stories of ancient witches who had great power, and she spent quite a lot of time studying those things. During the course of her studies she found a prophecy—” Emma made a disgusted noise “— just fragments of it but it enthralled her to the point of obsession, and from then on she pursued it single-mindedly. Over the years she pieced together more and more of it until she believed what she had was nearly complete.” 

“And what exactly was in this prophecy?” spat Emma. 

Killian looked startled at her tone but replied easily. “It speaks of a day when dark magic would be driven from this world for good. Of a witch descended from centuries of those who did not have to hide their gifts, with distilled power of her ancestors who would seal the breach. It... speaks also of that witch’s true love, whose aid she would require to complete the task. A man who could be her saving or her undoing.” He lowered his eyes, the flush on his cheekbones obvious even in the moonlight. When Emma remained silent he looked up to see her staring at him in disbelief and building fury, and his embarrassment became consternation. 

“What is it?” he asked.  

“That’s what this has all been about?” she hissed. “Nearly tearing open the barrier, nearly killing you? All because of that old thing?”

Killian frowned. “What old thing?”

Emma pushed her chair back and stood as the room shifted again. She stomped —there was no other word for it— over to a bookshelf and grabbed a leather-bound book as large as a dinner tray and thick as a club sandwich, then stomped back to the table and dropped it in front of Killian with an echoing thud. Killian’s eyes widened as he caught the title: Viarum Finis Omnium. The end of all roads. 

“Bloody hell,” he breathed. 

Emma hefted the book open and began ruffling through its pages. “Hmmm?” she said absently. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Killian waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture, though she wasn’t looking at him. “It’s just when I was doing my dissertation I’d’ve given my left nut to read this book.”

“Oh.” Emma paused, frowning at the book like she couldn’t fathom why anyone might find it important. “Well, you can read it now if you’d like. But I’ve got others that are loads better.” 

“Others…” said Killian faintly as she turned another page and found what she was looking for. 

“Here it is,” she said triumphantly, it being apparently the wrinkled and faded and folded piece of parchment she snatched from the book, handling it with a casual indifference that made the historian in Killian want to cry. She snapped it unfolded with an angry flourish and held it out to him. 

“Is this the prophecy you mean?” 

He took the parchment from her gently, touching only the edges. “This is it!” he exclaimed. “This is the whole thing. But… have you always known it was about you?”

“It’s not about me.”

“What?” He looked up at her and she scowled. 

“I mean, it’s not necessarily about me. It could be about anyone in my family. It could be about no one. It could —and I’m gonna be honest, this is my take— be complete bullshit.” 

He managed not to roll his eyes. “I know you don’t think much of foretelling, love—” 

“That’s the truth.” 

“But are you sure there’s never been anything to suggest that this is about you? Cora is not nearly as clever as she thinks she is but she did devote her life to figuring out this prophecy and she did identify us both… and if you and I aren’t the witch and the man it refers to then that leaves rather a lot of odd things unexplained.” 

Emma folded her arms across her chest, her expression that of a child who won’t admit it’s bedtime. “Such as?”

“Well, there’s your garden magic,” said Killian. “For a start.” 

“What about my garden magic?”

“It recognised me. The first time I stepped into the garden the magic there knew me. It welcomed me like an old friend, and warned me that danger was coming. It told me to protect you.” 

“Hmmm,” said Emma, still scowling.  

“And your own magic, love,” continued Killian, gentle but relentless. “You shared it with me.” 

“I did do that,” Emma unfolded her arms and sighed. “Which shouldn’t be possible. Witches can link their power but to share magic with someone who has never practiced, and so easily… Well, it basically can’t be done.” 

“And yet it was done.”

“But not because of a stupid prophecy—” 

“And how can you explain my hand?” He held it up. “How did I get my whole hand back, and with added magic?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. You’re right. There’s a lot that’s weird about all of this, though I’m just never going to believe that any of it can be explained by a prophecy. There’s gotta be more to it.” 

She took his left hand in hers, examining it closely. “Why did Cora take your hand in the first place? I’m assuming she arranged for it to be damaged.” 

“Aye, and then she amputated it with magic. I’m not certain why exactly but I imagine she was Shown something that told her you would need it, or need something I could do with it.” 

 “Shown,” echoed Emma grimly. “Which means she has the gift of sight,”

“Sight, aye,” Killian agreed, “but interestingly not perception. She found the prophecy but she couldn’t fully understand it, so she turned to her Sight for answers. Which it provided. But I’ve always suspected she misinterprets the things she Sees.”

“And that is why the Sight is next to useless,” scoffed Emma. 

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that Cora’s Sight what drives her. She asks to be Shown things and then acts decisively on what she Sees. She asked to be Shown the witch from the prophecy but her Sight couldn’t conjure you, so she asked to See the man instead. And was Shown me. This was years ago, when I had just joined the navy. It took her about two years to track me down after that.”

“The first vision,” said Emma. “She— did she really destroy your whole ship?”

“Aye,” said Killian grimly. “A few well-placed blasts of magic and the whole thing went under. It was the worst disaster in modern British naval history, and there was no logical explanation for it. And I was the only survivor.” His hand clenched into a fist on the tabletop. “It was declared an Act of God and afterwards the navy gently suggested that perhaps I wasn’t best suited to a career with them. Gave me an honourable discharge and no option of appeal.” 

“Oh, Killian.” Emma covered his fist with her hand and he unclenched it to grip her fingers tightly. “What did you do?” she asked. 

“Well, I had no family and no employment and no place to go. And a rash deal with Cora that left me in her debt, which is of course exactly where she wanted me. She came to me in what she claimed was generosity and offered me a job doing her dirty work and I thought why the fuck not? How much worse could my life get? Only it turned out that my life could get considerably worse. Cora was in search of any information she could find about the prophecy, and she, as you saw, did not hesitate to use her magic, and me, as weapons to obtain it.”

“But you stayed with her.” 

“Aye, because I felt I had no other option. Exactly as she knew I would. I believe her aim was to corrupt me to the point where I could be used to destroy you. ‘The man can be her undoing,’ remember. Cora interpreted that literally to mean I would be able kill you as she couldn’t.” 

“But what stopped her from killing me? Or at least trying to, I’m actually  not that easy to kill.” 

He chuckled, as she’d hoped he would, and shifted his hold on her hand so their fingers were linked. “Her Sight told her it would be disastrous to attempt it. I can only assume it Showed her the same thing about me.” 

“Which is why she cursed you instead of just killing you.” 

“Indeed. It was a bit of a gamble, my challenging her like that, but I figured what else could I do? It was either run with my theory that the Sight had instructed her not to kill me or die anyway, either of starvation or wolves.”

Her hand tightened on his, her mouth thinning as she thought of how she had nearly lost him before they’d even met. 

“What was on that paper you found? That you threw in the fireplace?”

His mouth twisted wryly. “It said ‘Killian Jones is the man in the prophecy.’ Not much, I grant you, but once I knew that, and realised that she knew it and had likely known it since the beginning, a lot of things that had always struck me as peculiar suddenly fell into place. Like why she needed me, why she would go to so much trouble to get me in her control.” 

“But do you think she showed you that deliberately?”

“I do. She must have, she’s not careless enough to leave anything lying around unless she intended me to find it.” 

“But why?”

His thumb rubbed absent patterns on the back of her hand as he thought. “This is all just conjecture,” he said after a short pause, “but I believe she realised that I wasn’t fully on board with what she was doing. As awful as the things I did for her were, as much as they ate away at my soul, some small part of me always resisted, found little ways to thwart her. And she needed me fully committed. I believe she thought that if she let me go I would be lost again as I had been after I was discharged from the navy. That I would eventually come back to her of my own volition and then she would have me.”

“But you didn’t. You didn’t go back.” 

“No. I was determined not to, no matter what it took. I knew I had to find a way to stop her, and the first step would be to learn as much as I could about that prophecy, and about witchcraft, and about the particular witch she sought.” He smiled at her. “About you. So I became a historian, specialising in the history of witchcraft and the occult.” 

“And Cora kept waiting for you to come crawling back,” said Emma, an edge of deep satisfaction in her voice. “But you never did, so she had to come to you. And she found you a successful college professor.” 

Killian chuckled. “Aye. She must have hated that.” 

Emma thought about everything he’d been through, all he had suffered, and how he had still come through it all and beaten Cora at her own game. Love for him surged in her chest. “You’re amazing,” she sighed. 

He flushed bright pink and rubbed at a spot behind his ear, exactly the spot, Emma noted, where he had loved to be scratched when he was a dog. “Ah, I don’t know about that,” he muttered. 

“I do.” Emma wanted to crawl into his lap and have her way with him right there in her library, but she suspected he would be horrified by the prospect of fucking anywhere near ancient books so she settled for leaning across the table and kissing him gently. 

He returned the kiss but when they broke apart he shook his head. “I’ve done some awful things, Emma. You don’t know—” 

“I don’t need to,” she interrupted. “I’ve seen you, Killian, the essence of you. You’re a good man.” 

“I’m not—” 

“You are. And I love you. All of you.” 

“Gods, Emma,” he whispered, leaning close to her again, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t deserve— I’m not— ah, I love you so much.” He kissed her and she sighed, snuggling as close as she could get. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured against her lips.

“Why not stay here?” She couldn’t resist teasing him. “We could—”

“On the books?” He pulled back to gape at her, his eyes as horrified as she’d known they would be. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Love, I don’t think you fully realise just how valuable, how important these books are—” 

“I was kidding,” she soothed him. “We’ll go to bed. And afterwards, I’ll tell you all about my plan for giving Cora what’s coming to her.” 

“Mmmm,” he growled. “That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

~~ 🌕 ~~

The next morning they went to the shop together, almost as they always had except that the forest was as warmly welcoming as a frosty collection of trees can be and they walked along the path side by side and hand-in-hand. When they reached the edge of the village Emma could feel Killian tense, but they strolled unimpeded down the streets and no one they encountered reacted in any way to the sight of Emma holding hands with a strange man or stopped to ask her where her dog had gone. 

“Hmmm,” said Killian, frowning as Leroy went past them with a gruff nod and no hint of surprise. 

When they reached the shop door he kissed her and squeezed her hand before releasing it. “I think I’ll go see if I can find some new clothes, love,” he said. “And discover if my credit cards still work after I’ve been missing for several months. And I really should contact someone and let them know what happened. Er, as much of it as I can tell them, at least.” 

Emma nodded. “You can use the computer in the back room if you need to. And there’s a shop at the corner of Main and Oak that sells men’s clothes.” 

“Aye, I think I remember it. I’ll be back soon.” He kissed her again, then headed off towards Oak Street. Emma watched him go and tried not to feel bereft. 

“Don’t be an idiot, he’s only going two blocks away,” she told herself firmly. But after nearly three months of Killian being constantly at her side even a short separation felt weird, and the shop empty and echoey without him. 

Fortunately he returned in less than an hour, dressed in new jeans and a soft blue sweater that brought out his eyes. “This is nice,” she murmured as she snuggled into his chest and rubbed her cheek against it. “Almost as soft as your fur used to be.” 

He chuckled. “I thought you’d like it.” 

The shop door opened and Mary Margaret entered. 

“Hey, Emma,” she said, not looking at them as she rummaged in her bag. “ I have to get to school but I just wanted to be sure you were okay, since you were closed yesterday. And yes I know you’re usually really tired after Samhain but I thought I’d check in anyway. Aha, there they are. Classroom keys, thought I’d left them at home.” She looked up, grinning. “Oh, hey Killian.”  

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance and waited. 

Mary Margaret’s eyes darted from Emma to Killian and back again and her bright smile began to fade. She opened her mouth then closed it again. Her forehead wrinkled. She began to blink rapidly and pointed at Killian with a shaking finger. 

“What… you’re… who…” she stuttered. “You are Killian… aren’t you?” 

“Aye,” he replied, short and sharp like a bark, and Mary Margaret’s eyes bugged.  

“Oh my god,” said Emma, elbowing him in the ribs. “Do you have to?” 

Mary Margaret’s eyes were so wide Emma was afraid she’d lose them. “But you’re… how… what… WHAT?”

Emma took pity on her. “Killian was cursed,” she said. 

“Cursed,” repeated Mary Margaret. 

“Yep. By Cora, actually.” 

“Cora— wait, my stepmother Cora?”

“Mmm hmm. Remember I told you I thought she might be a practitioner.” 

“I—” Mary Margaret swayed slightly and Emma darted over to catch her before she could fall. “This is a lot to take in,” she gasped. 

“I get it,” said Emma. “Really I do.” She rubbed her friend’s back in a soothing motion as Mary Margaret concentrated on breathing. “And I hate to put pressure on you,” Emma continued, “but actually I’m glad you’re here because Killian and I could really use your help.”

“Well, I mean, of course I’ll help you if I can,” said Mary Margaret, once her shock had passed. “What do you need?”

“Do you think you and David could come to my house tonight?” asked Emma. “We’ll give you dinner. Killian’s promised to cook.”

“Come to your house,” repeated Mary Margaret, eyes bugging again.  

“Yep.” 

“Your house?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Your house where I’ve never once been because you never invite people there, even though I’ve been your best friend for ten years?”

“Ah. Yes, that’s the one.” 

“And you want us to walk there, I suppose?” Mary Margaret had gone into full teacher mode, hands on her hips and eyes shooting daggers. Emma had to make a conscious effort not to squirm, and not to hex Killian who was leaning against the apothecary counter, trying without much success to stifle his laughter. 

“You’ll have to really,” she told Mary Margaret. “There’s no road.”  

“So you want David and me to walk through the forest? After dark?”

“Yeah, well the forest right now isn’t as scary as it used to be,” began Emma, trailing off when Mary Margaret fixed her with the Look she gave her students when they refused to share their coloured pencils.“But Killian and I will walk with you if it makes you nervous,” she hastened to add.  

Mary Margaret took a deep breath, then another. Then she nodded. “I think… we’d like that. The company and the dinner.”

“Great.” Emma sighed in relief and sent a fervent prayer to the goddess that she would never have to see Mary Margaret’s teacher face again. “How about you meet us back here at about six?” 

“Okay.” 

“And don’t tell Dave about me,” Killian added, with a wicked grin. “I’d like it to be a surprise.” 

~~ 🌕 ~~

At ten minutes to six that evening the streets of downtown Storybrooke were largely deserted, which is unfortunate as anyone who had been on them would have been treated to the sight of the town sheriff being dragged down Main Street by the hand, ruthlessly and at breakneck speed, by the fifth grade teacher. 

“What is all this about?” David grumbled. “I know you’ve always wanted to see Emma’s house but this is a bit extreme.” 

“It’s not about the house,” said Mary Margaret impatiently, then amended. “Well, it is a little bit about the house. But mostly it’s about something I’ve been dying to tell you all day but I promised I wouldn’t and you know how I am with secrets, David, I’ve deleted at least ten texts to you spilling the whole thing and I can’t take it anymore. Would you hurry, we’re nearly there.” 

Seconds later she flung open the shop door and pulled him inside, to where Emma was just finishing counting the register. 

“Hey, I’m nearly done,” she said, carefully ignoring the buzzing excitement that was emanating from Mary Margaret in almost visible waves. 

David looked around, trying to figure out what had his wife in such a tizzy. He didn’t blink when Killian sauntered out of the back room, though he did scowl, as he had every time he’d seen that dog.

Hold up, thought David.  

“Mary Margaret,” Killian said, kissing her cheek. “Lovely to see you again.” He nodded at David. “Dave.” 

David stared for a moment then his face took on the deeply satisfied expression of one who had guessed right all along. “Well at least you didn’t lick her face,” he said. 

“Not anymore, mate,” said Killian. 

“KillianwascursedandCoradiditbutEmmabrokehiscursebykissinghimcanyoubelieveit?” said Mary Margaret, all in one breath. 

“I always knew there was something off about you,” said David, then his eyes narrowed. “Where did you get those clothes?” 

“Shop down the road,” replied Killian. “Thank goodness no one thought to cancel my credit cards.” 

“And what exactly were you wearing before you went to the shop down the road?”

“I was dressed when I was cursed and still dressed when I became uncursed,” said Killian with a smirk. “Good bloody thing too as I wouldn’t have fancied a stroll through the forest of a frosty November morning tackle out, as it were.” 

David opened his mouth again but Emma interrupted. “Stop interrogating him, David, you’re off duty. And anyway, we’ll tell you the whole story over dinner,” she said. “Let’s get going.” 

But Mary Margaret couldn’t wait and she peppered Killian with questions as they walked, and by the time Emma was speaking the words to allow her and David past the garden wards she had pried the entire story from him. 

“I just can’t believe it,” she said for the millionth time as she sat with Emma and David on the sofa while Killian prepared dinner. “I mean, I can believe Cora is evil and I can believe Killian has been a man all this time. He wasn’t really that convincing as a dog, was he? Now that I really think about it, I mean.” 

“I always suspected,” said David smugly.

“You always suspected he was really a history professor cursed by your stepmother-in-law as part of her attempt to flood this world with dark magic?” said Emma, with admirably restrained sarcasm. “That’s some killer detective work right there.” 

David had the grace to look chastened. “Okay, point taken, but I did always think he wasn’t quite right as a dog.” 

“Me too,” said Mary Margaret decidedly.

“Well don’t tell him that,” laughed Emma, “He’s very proud of his dog cosplay.”

Killian called to them that dinner was nearly ready, and Emma led her friends into the kitchen where the large table was set for five. 

“Are you expecting someone else?” asked David. 

“Yeah, I am,” said Emma, looking slightly shifty. “And I’m gonna need you guys to trust me.” 

“Trust you?” 

“Yeah.” The wards around the garden sounded an alarm, and Emma and Killian exchanged glances. “That’ll be her,” said Emma. “I’ll be right back.” 

She returned a few moments later, accompanied by Regina. 

David and Mary Margaret gaped. 

“Regina is here by my invitation,” said Emma, before they could speak. “She’s going to help us.” 

“Help us… how?” asked Mary Margaret.

“Against my mother,” Regina replied. “Miss Swan—” she took a deep breath and started again. “Emma has asked for my assistance in defeating her.” 

“I feel like I’m way behind here. Why does she need to be defeated?” asked David. “Didn’t you take care of that on Samhain?”

“We’ll explain everything over dinner,” said Emma. “And our plan. But first, Regina has something else she’d like to say to you.” 

She gave Regina an expectant look and the dark haired woman grimaced slightly before turning to Mary Margaret. “I want to apologise,” she said. 

“A— what?” said Mary Margaret faintly. 

Emma wondered if she should feel guilty for piling yet another shock on Mary Margaret, who had already had quite the day. But she needed her friend to trust Regina. 

“For the way I treated you,” Regina elaborated. “When we were growing up, and—” she swallowed hard. “—just before your wedding. I owe you an apology for that as well,” she said, turning to David. “I could make excuses, but I won’t. I was awful, and the reasons why don’t matter. I just— I wanted to say I’m truly sorry, and I am going to do better. In the future.” 

The room was dead silent for an uncomfortable moment, the only sound the hissing and bubbling of the food on the stove. Then Mary Margaret stood and approached Regina. Tentatively she put her arms around her stepsister, ignoring the other woman’s flinch. “I accept your apology,” she said. 

Regina’s shoulders slumped as the tension drained from her body, and she actually patted Mary Margaret’s back. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

Emma smiled and Killian put his arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple. “Well done, love,” he murmured in her ear. “I think the food’s all ready, now. Shall we eat?”

“Yeah. Let’s eat.” 

[smoochcal]

numb without you (part twenty-two)

a/n: finals have been draining my creative juices, but I’m done for the semester and I’m hopefully back on my writing grind. enjoy this update as it is inspired by el as always. feedback is much appreciated so please let me know what you think. enjoy a full update in calum’s point of view! read part twenty-one here.

pairing: readerxluke

playlist: numb without you by the maine, messy by twin xl, medicine by new hope club

word count: 1.5k

rating: PG-13

summary: calum goes to visit y/n and is surprised to find her there with luke

warnings: mentions of sex, hostility, swearing

reminders*: Y/N = Your Name; RM/N = Roommate’s Name (Calum’s roommate)

Calum’s POV:

As you inch closer and closer to the arrival of your first-born daughter you find yourself filled with both excitement and fear as you aren’t sure what fatherhood will look like on you. You and Y/N aren’t in the best situation, but you are trying your hardest to make things run smoothly as you don’t want to add extra stress on anyone’s life. You spend a lot of your time these days looking through baby name books and annoying RM/N. She’s nearing the end of her semester of school and you find that her studies are taking up more of her time than either of you would like to admit.

Today in particular RM/N’s head is three feet deep in her textbooks. After bugging her to the point where she seemed completely annoyed with you, you decide to head over to Y/N’s house in the hopes that she will cook you something or at least want to order take out with you. The two of you haven’t spent much time together lately as she is nesting in her apartment and you and RM/N have been spending most of your time together. You know that there was a time where Y/n and Luke were getting closer with one another, but they’ve been best friends for as long as you can remember and you really doubt that Luke had the balls to anything more than give her a peck on the cheek every now and then.

-20 minutes later-

You pull into the parking lot of Y/N’s apartment complex, your stomach already grumbling in anticipation of one of her infamous grilled cheeses. There is a small thought in the back of your mind that is worried that you might be catching Y/N at a bad time, but your hunger gets the best of you and before you know it you are parking your car and walking the all too familiar path to her apartment.

You knock on the door twice and wait for her to answer, the weight of the spare key she gave you weighing down the keyring you are currently holding. After standing awkwardly outside her door for about five minutes, you take it upon yourself to let yourself in. Normally you would’ve just assumed that she wasn’t home, but you saw her car in the parking lot, so you know she has to be inside. You feel a little bit of guilt using the spare key that she gave you, but she gave it to you for a reason. Whether this reason was similar to the reason you’re about to use it is not something you are willing to think about right now as all you’re focused on doing is seeing Y/N and eating something…and soon.

The next minute and forty-two seconds are something you wish you could forget. Moments after walking into Y/N’s apartment you realize why she wasn’t answering her front door. The bedroom door cracked open was the only indicator that someone was home. Her apartment always had this kind of chaotic nature to it. The furniture was mismatched, and the decorations jumbled, but nothing could describe Y/N more. You didn’t want to walk into her room as she was probably taking a nap, but once you heard her squealing from behind the almost closed door you decided to investigate further.

The moment you opened the door you regretted your actions. You expected to see Y/N sleeping peacefully in her bed or watching another telenovela considering her mild obsession with them, but what you actually saw was something you wish you could erase from your memory entirely. The reality of the situation is that you saw Y/N and Luke in the process of taking off each other’s pants, something you never wanted to see…ever.

The minute Y/N saw you she shrieked causing Luke to jump back and nearly give himself a concussion by knocking his head on the wall. You gave them the space and privacy they needed to compose themselves and firmly planted yourself on the couch with your head in your hands. The most alarming part of it all is that Y/N and Luke seemed so comfortable around one another. And you feel absolutely stupid for not noticing it sooner. Luke has always had a thing for Y/N and Y/N has always had a thing for Luke, you just truly didn’t think they would act on their feelings. Or at least not this soon given the circumstances.

About fourteen minutes later both Y/N and Luke come out of Y/N’s bedroom, both looking as mortified as ever. You can feel your cheeks still burning and Y/N gives you a small smile before sitting next to you on her couch. Luke excuses himself to the kitchen where you see him pouring glasses of water for the three of you. You try to break the awkward silence, but you don’t know just where exactly to begin. Luckily Y/N jumps in and starts the conversation first.

“I know I shouldn’t have given you that spare key,” Y/N laughs much to your surprise. You thought she would be as mortified as you are, and maybe she is but she definitely isn’t showing it.

“Oh, come on, you know I didn’t come here with the intention of walking in on you and curly over here…” you start, knowing that statement was way more awkward out loud than it was in your head.

“No we know Calum I’m just messing with you…from the looks of it you didn’t even know Luke and I are dating which is hilarious because everyone else we’ve told said it was way too easy to tell,” Y/N responds, smiling wider at the mention of her and Luke being together.

You were happy for her, happy for them. You know how long the both of them wanted a relationship with the other, but you can’t help but feeling a little betrayed by the whole situation. Obviously, you don’t have those kinds of feelings for Y/N, but a little part of you wanted her to have those kinds of feelings for you. And you know it is selfish you have a loving girlfriend who is supportive of everything you do an almost too cool with the whole soon to be a parent with another woman thing. But some selfish part of you wanted Y/N to have feelings for you because of the whole situation that you are in with her at the moment.

“I’m just a little surprised, that’s all. I can’t believe Luke finally grew some balls and asked you out,” you reply, unable to hold back the snarky nature of your tone.

Luke scoffs at your comment and the blush in your cheeks only seems to grow, but you try your best to not let it get to you. The three of you change the conversation to the baby and how her arrival is getting nearer with each day that passes. You can see the excitement in both Luke and Y/N’s eyes, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t find it kind of cute that they were tackling this together. It is actually kind of a relief. You have RM/N on your side, but you worried how Y/N was going to do on her own with your daughter.

You spend about three hours at Y/N’s place before you decide to call it a night and go home to your girlfriend who is probably still studying away. You are happy for her and Luke, truly, but the uneasy feeling is still in the pit of your stomach. Luke had so many years to make his move on Y/N, but of course he had to wait until she was kind of unavailable to actually do something about it. You know you don’t really have the room to be upset, but you can’t help it. You are jealous. Not that you want to be romantically involved with Y/N, both of you are kind of occupied in that sense, but you still are jealous.

You miss Y/N your friend and you are worried that you may never get her back. You’re worried that this whole situation, your one-night stand with her, your daughter as the result of it, everything has changed because of your one mistake. You know you should probably talk this out with someone, but Y/N is in a very emotional state because of the pregnancy and RM/N is busy with her studies and Luke certainly won’t understand. So instead you just sit in your parked car in your driveway wallowing in your own self-pity for what seems like hours.

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Loki Laufeyson x Reader ~ Rest Assured [Pt.5]

[My Marvel Masterlist]   [Previous Part]

A/N: Just a friendly reminder that event that take place in the current and future chapter will not be following the canon MCU timeline for the sake of this story!

Word Count: 1368

“What?”

“(Y/n) is ill, Loki,” Frigga explains shakily. “Ever since the announcement, she has not been well.”

“W-Wh- … How is that possible? She shouldn’t-”

“The healers were unable to cure her, and I the same. Believe me, Loki, I tried, but her heart was too heavy with sorrow to put up a fight. She kept awake every night, waiting for a sign of your return.”

“You should have stopped her. There are spells to make her sleep.”

“She enchanted the doors with a spell unbreakable to my knowledge. I spent many nights pondering over the possible words and phrases that unlock the hexed barrier, but nothing I’ve tried works.” The queen chuckles sadly, shaking her head with an amused smile that barely tugs at her lips. “You know as well as I do that (Y/n) is exceptionally skilled in sorcery; her magical prowess is beyond her age.”

Loki smiles fondly at the thought of his own mother, a talented and skilled sorceress, being unable to rectify her former pupil’s spells. He remembers the countless nights where he would walk past the library, ready to settle into his bed for a well-deserved night’s rest, only to turn back to find (Y/n) seated on the floor with her head buried in an ancient tome detailing the steps for many complex enchantments. Despite having Frigga and Loki as her instructors, (Y/n) had wanted to learn more. “She traveled quite far and frequently to search out many great sorcerers. If my memory serves me correctly, only one of those who educated her was able to sate her busy mind.”

“Yes,” Frigga agrees, a bright smile now gracing her once solemn expression, “I remember the day after her return, you explained to me how a sorcerer from another realm was able to open her mind and show her many treasures in life she never knew existed. She came back a better woman than she already was.”

“I wish to see her at once.”

From his seat on the throne, Odin has his head tilted towards Frigga, the two rulers discussing their plan in hushed voices. The God of Mischief’s demands were expected, but it was decided by the AllFather, upon Frigga’s insistence, that the order of execution would rest upon Loki’s shoulders; his response and actions will dictate what happens next.

“Who is the leader amongst all of you,” the AllFather inquires, his voice echoing throughout the large room.

With his hands fisted at the seams of his trousers, Steve steps forward from the group of heroes. The captain hesitate to speak for a moment, unsure of what title to use when addressing the ruler of Asgard. Several titles assigned to those of royal rank come to mind; those safely apply to royalty on Earth, but Asgard may have their own set of titles. Thankfully, Thor is quick to notice his fellow hero’s struggle and introduces the super soldier.

“Father, this is Captain Steven Rogers. He is also known as Captain America to the civilians of Midgard.” 

Steve expected the God of Thunder to stop after announcing his name, but Thor continues to give a brief summary of Steve’s life as an Avenger and the skills he possesses, leaving the super soldier time to consider how he will address Odin.

“I instructed Thor to have your team divided into units of three to serve as guards for the duration of your stay. Have you done so?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” answers Steve. The suddenness of Odin’s voice, partially due to the fact that the super soldier tuned out Thor’s biography of his life, startled Steve into using the first title that came to mind, but the AllFather says nothing, so he continues with an explanation. “The entire team is well aware of their partners, the shift they have been assigned to, and rotations will occur. My group will check in at the beginning and end of each day to ensure everything is running smoothly.”

An approving nod is all Steve needs before he returns to stand with the rest of the Avengers as a loud knock resonates. Loki pulls the hood of his cloak over his head right when the doors swing open to reveal several palace servants. 

“Your chambers have been selected based upon the number of units Thor has reported to me. Should any of you require something or wish to speak with me, these attendants will assist you with those needs. You have no need to worry about speaking while they are present; all of them are sworn to secrecy.”

“Thank you, Father.” Thor kneels before his parents, paying respect to his father for allowing Loki to briefly visit Asgard, especially during such a crucial time. “I promise you, on behalf of my brother and the Avengers, that we will not do anything to disappoint you.”

“You are dismissed.”

“Wooooah,” Sam gasps as he steps into the room he will be sharing with his super soldier friends. “Check it out, man! Even the rooms are gold!!” 

Shaking his head with a smile, Steve props his shield up against the leg of a desk in the corner of the room before exploring the room himself. He spares a quick glance over to Bucky, who has not said a word during the entire journey.

“You okay there, Buck?”

“Yeah,” the man in question breathes out with a sigh. “I’m just confused.”

With his brows furrowed in confusion, Steve walks over to his best friend and places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He is worried that the events are proving to be too much for the former Winter Soldier to handle. 

“About what?”

“Why are we here, Steve? I thought Loki was supposed to remain on Earth for all eternity or whatever. What business do we have here, escorting him around?”

“Because, despite everything he did, Loki is still a living being with emotions. Just like how you had trouble with everything goin’ on in your head, he did too. He may be rude at times, but that’s just how Loki is, and with his worries about not being back on Asgard, it was just too much on his plate. We got Thor’s father to agree to this deal so that Loki can figure out all that stuff and return to his less-irritating self.”

“But why do I need to be h-”

“Oh. My. God. Guys, you need to see this!”

Turning their heads to investigate Sam’s findings, the two are stunned to witness the incredible view overlooking all of Asgard that was originally hidden behind a set of heavy velvet drapes.

“See, Buck? It’s not that bad here. I think you’ll enjoy the next couple of days here.”

“She was beset by inquietudes so dark even I could do nothing to soothe her mind… Not a minute went by where she was not worried for you.”

From outside Loki and (Y/n)’s shared room, Frigga explains to Loki about the events leading up to (Y/n)’s current state of health. The queen cannot stop the tears flowing past her cheeks as she watches her son’s face morph in horror at the recounted details. Guilt overcomes her every time she tells Loki that she tried to help (Y/n), though there was little she could do.

“She stopped eating after it became clear that you were never going to return, and sleep was never achievable, but she still held onto that small bit of hope that you would appear one day. That was the day we could no longer enter your chambers.”

Approaching the enchanted doors with anger-- directed at himself and Odin-- fueling his strength, Loki places a palm onto the cold surface of the barrier, closing his eyes and allowing the magic to enter his mind. Many different sensations overcome him, but the one that stands out the most is an overwhelming sense of sorrow entwined with the spells he taught (Y/n), followed by the presence of foreign magic. He tries to reach out to the unfamiliar force with caution, however his body is immediately shocked by burning orange sparks, breaking Loki’s concentration. 

“Oh, darling,” the God of Mischief murmurs, “What have you done…”

[Next Part]

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