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kmomof4 · 4 months

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A Scoundrel… Or a Gentleman?

Ohhhhhh, I’m so happy to FINALLY be posting this fic!!! Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s story, When He Was Wicked, I wrote the prologue - 8k words - last September, then took a six month break before sitting down and getting the rest of the thing written. I so hope I did the story justice and that you enjoy and let me know what you think!!

And now thanks to whom thanks are due!!! @jrob64 is a LITERAL SAINT for everything she did to make this fic better. She is an outstanding beta and a dear friend, but I seriously tried her patience going back over and back over and back over AGAIN trying to make this just right. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, my friend, for EVERYTHING!!!

To @hollyethecurious for all the historical info that she shared with me and asking the questions that needed to be asked and answered before the fic was ready for posting. Her support was absolutely invaluable. Thank you, babe!!!

To @motherkatereloyshipper for her work on the Prologue artwork shown below. It is soooo beautiful, I could stare at it for hours!!! Thank you so much, darlin!!! Please give her lots of love!!!

The fic is complete with a total of 9chs. I’ll be updating twice a week- Wednesdays and Saturdays.

Summary: Killian Jones has been in love with Emma Nolan since the day he met her - the day before she married his brother Earl Liam Jones. That was six years ago, and Liam has been gone now for four years. Emma and Killian have both arrived in London for the season - her to seek a husband so she can hopefully bear children, him to finally take up his duties as the earl, including finding a wife. Will they succeed in their respective desires?

*spoiler alert- of course they will. It’ll just take them a little while to get there…*

Rating: M (smut in later chs)

Words: almost 8400 words of approx 59,5k

Tags: Regency Romance, Inspired by Francesca Bridgerton’s Story, Smut in Later Chapters

On ao3 if that’s your preference.

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@Jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615 @donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings @booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @pirateprincessofpizza @djlbg @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie @soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite @jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779 @kymbersmith-90 @bluewildcatfanatic

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Prologue

There is a moment in every man’s life in which his future becomes clear. A turning point of sorts. The moment when he becomes a man, when he leaves the irresponsibility and temerity of youth behind and turns his eyes to the future. A future that he’d never bothered to think about before. Unfortunately, that moment came for Killian Jones when he first laid eyes on Emma Nolan at a supper celebrating the imminent marriage between herself and Killian’s brother, Earl Liam Jones.

After years of chasing anything in a skirt, Killian grimaced at the irony. In all that time, he’d never allowed his heart to become entangled with his many, many romantic exploits. Allowing himself to be chased until he conquered, his reputation as a rake and a scoundrel was well deserved. He’d even stopped attending church, although he assuaged the pricking of his conscience by telling himself the derelict stones of Kilmartin Abbey on the Kilmartin estate up in Scotland… no originality among his ancestors there, who were so proud of the title when it was newly bestowed about 300 years ago, they attached it to everything they possibly could... Anyway, the Abbey couldn’t withstand a direct strike of lightning, which would surely happen if Killian Jones ever showed his face inside.

Killian Jones

Worst of Sinners

He would have had it printed on calling cards if he didn’t think it would actually kill his mother. The only semblance of honor he’d maintained in his heart over all these years was the fact that the only times he’d slept with married women was if their husbands were tossers, and they’d produced at least two male offspring. Three, if one was sickly. He’d also never seduced a virgin, but even that wasn’t enough to redeem him now. Because this was the one thing that truly blackened his soul beyond all redemption.

He coveted his brother’s wife.

And had since that fateful moment two years ago. The day he met Emma Nolan. Now Emma Nolan Jones. Lady Kilmartin. Countess Kilmartin. Wife of his brother, the Earl of Kilmartin.

He could torture himself for days, thinking of every iteration of Emma Nolan Jones, but it would never change the simple fact. He couldn’t have her. She’d never be his.

Now, looking around the room where he, Emma, and Liam were enjoying some after-dinner conversation, he had to rise and cross the room to the decanter, pouring himself a drink to avoid the thoroughly besotted eyes Liam and Emma were making at each other.

“What shall we do for our second anniversary?” Emma asked, sitting down at the pianoforte, her long delicate fingers tickling the keys. Killian swallowed a low groan.

“Anything you want, darling,” Liam answered. He smiled gently at his wife as he opened the evening edition of the Times. She turned her attention to Killian.

“What do you think?”

“About what?” he asked, turning to her, a charming, lopsided smile on his face. No one took him seriously when he smiled like that, which was exactly the point. She pressed her lips into a thin line and Killian relented slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What should we do for our anniversary?”

If she’d thrust her own hand into his chest and squeezed his heart to dust, it probably would have hurt less. He shrugged indifferently. He was, after all, an expert at hiding what he really felt.

“It’s not my anniversary.”

Emma rolled her eyes, the corner of her lips lifting in amusement. It probably wasn’t a good thing that Killian spent far too much time studying the lips of his brother’s wife.

“I’m aware,” she huffed. “I was asking if you had any ideas for us.”

Killian lifted one brow quizzically. “Why would you ask me, when I have absolutely no experience in the realm of marriage or the anniversary celebration of such?”

The amusement left her face and was replaced with irritation and no small amount of sympathy. Emma rose and moved toward him.

Oh, God, he thought. Please no. There’s nothing worse than when she…

She placed her hand on his arm.

“You won’t always be unmarried, you know,” she said gently.

She shouldn’t be touching him. She couldn’t be touching him. His next words were with the singular purpose of getting her away from him.

“Am I to become your project then?” he bit out. “‘Killian can’t possibly be happy living his life of debauchery and aimlessness, so I must see him married,’” he mocked. “I am not interested in marriage, thank you very much.”

She removed her hand from his arm and backed up, her brow furrowed, her mouth a small o of hurt. Thank heaven, it bloody worked, he thought, even as the guilt surged.

“We care about you, Killian, and we want to see you happy.”

And there it was. We. Not I. We. They were a unit. Liam and Emma. Lord and Lady Kilmartin. She may not have meant it that way, but that was what he heard. As if he’d ever forget it.

“I care about you, too.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper and he shot pleading eyes toward his brother who finally gave up all pretense of reading.

“Emma,” he chastised lightly. “Killian is a grown man. Let him find his happiness when he’s ready. In his own time.”

Emma shot her husband a disgruntled look. Killian had to bite back a bark laugh. He knew Emma almost as well as he knew his brother, and he recognized the root of her irritation was at being thwarted in her attempt to arrange the people in her life to her satisfaction. Liam smirked at him and picked his paper back up as she returned to the pianoforte and sat down, her visage contemplative. It suddenly lit up and Killian’s heart rate increased with it.

“I should introduce you to…”

“Emma.” It was only a single word, but Liam’s voice held a note of reprimand in it. Leave him alone.

Emma deflated and Killian could have kissed his brother. He may have only thought he was saving Killian from Emma’s nagging, but if he had to suffer the woman he was in love with trying to find him a match - a match he was wholly uninterested in - it might be the final straw of his sanity. Truly.

“We should all go for a walk,” she said suddenly. Killian looked out the windows where darkness had finally descended over London.

“Isn’t it a little late?” he asked.

“Not with two strong escorts,” she cheeked.

“I’ve an appointment in an hour,” Liam said. He winced and rubbed his temple. “And I’ve got a headache. I think I’ll lay down for a bit before leaving.” He looked at Killian then. “But you should go.”

Absolute proof that Liam hadn’t a clue about his brother’s true feelings for Emma.

“Parliament?” Emma asked. Liam nodded and rose. “Do you want me to wake you when we return?”

“I’ll ask my valet to do it, darling,” he said, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips. Killian averted his eyes. He’d never begrudge his brother and his beloved their happiness, but he certainly wasn’t going to watch them bask in the clear love between them.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Emma assured him once Liam left, a soft smile on her face, her forest green eyes glowing. Perhaps it should disturb him how certain he was of the color of Emma’s eyes when she wasn’t even in the room, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He dreamed in shades of green these days. Emma green, the color should be called. He poured himself another drink and slammed it back, trying to steel himself for their impending constitutional.

He knew he shouldn’t be accompanying her. He knew he shouldn’t ever be alone with her. But when she smiled, he was helpless to resist her. It may leave him wracked with equal parts guilt and desire later, but he couldn’t deny himself any amount of time in her presence. Because that’s all there would ever be. He’d never act upon his desires. Never betray his brother in that way or sully Emma’s reputation. There’d never be a kiss, meaningful glances or touches, whispered words of love and affection, or moans of passion.

All he’d ever have was her friendship, her smile, and her company. And besotted fool that he was, he’d be happy with it.

She came back down wrapped in a soft yellow cloak and he held his elbow out for her to take. Resigned to his fate, he escorted the love of his life out of the house and to the street below. Lucky him.

~*~*~

As Emma and Killian walked along the street, Emma couldn’t help but think what a dear man her brother-in-law was. Oh, he’d be certain to scoff and list all the reasons his soul was as black as they came (none of which, she was afraid, were exaggerated) if she expressed those sentiments out loud, but she knew him nearly as well as she knew her husband, and Killian Jones possessed a heart of honor and had a capacity to love that was unequaled among the men of her acquaintance. And if she didn’t find him a wife soon, she’d go mad.

“Killian,” she began, turning to look at him.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted. “Didn’t Liam just suggest that you let me find my happiness in my own time?”

Emma’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, my dear,” he said, looking at her and booping her on the nose. Emma huffed indignantly as they continued their walk.

It was funny. When she met Liam, she fell head over heels in love more quickly than she ever imagined possible. He understood her in a way that she’d never experienced before. Of course, she loved her family immensely, but as the youngest of six siblings, she often felt lost in the shuffle. Killian was the only sibling Liam had, and removing herself from the hubbub of London and her large family felt like a breath of fresh air. Not to mention the actual fresh air of Scotland, her new home.

But then there was Killian. She hadn’t met him until the day before her nuptials to Liam, since he’d just recently returned home from the Napoleonic Wars on the continent. He was handsome, to be sure, but there was an undeniable connection between them that she felt from the moment she met him. If Liam understood her the way no one ever had before - the opposite side of the same coin - then Killian was like a puzzle piece that fit her perfectly. A puzzle piece she never knew she was missing. He completed her. Besides Liam, Killian was her very best friend and that was why she wanted him to be as happy as she was. And the only way that was going to happen was if she found him a wife who’d make him as happy as Liam made her.

“Finding me a wife is not among your duties, Lady Kilmartin,” Killian spoke again, drawing her from her musings.

She huffed again. “Well, it should be.”

He laughed, which delighted her immensely. She could always make him laugh.

“Very well, then,” she said, dropping the subject for now. “Tell me something wicked. Something that Liam wouldn’t approve of.” Her lips lifted in a conspiratorial smirk that he returned in kind. It was a game they played, that spoke again to how Killain somehow completed her. As much as she loved her husband, hearing about Killian’s exploits was always immensely entertaining. And she knew Liam enjoyed hearing about them, too, even if he gave a token admonishment whenever he was also present. Killian never shared too much, he had too much discretion for that, but he’d share hints and innuendos that never failed to amuse her greatly.

“Alas, I’m afraid I’ve done nothing wicked this week,” he said with a sigh.

“You?” she asked, incredulous. “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“It’s only Tuesday, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I’m aware,” she shot back, “but aside from Sunday, which I’m sure you’d leave sacred…” She shot him a look that belied her words completely, earning her another laugh, “that would leave Monday, and a man can get up to quite a bit of mischief on a Monday.”

“Not this man,” he assured her. “Not this Monday.”

“What did you do then?”

He was quiet for a moment as they continued walking.

“Nothing, really.”

There was a tone of melancholy blanketing his words and Emma stopped and turned to him. His blue eyes shone under the street lamps and Emma was shocked at the intensity she found there. A moment later it was gone and the thought occurred to Emma that Killian Jones perhaps wasn’t really the man he wished others to believe him to be. Even her.

She squeezed his arm gently. “We must find you something,” she whispered into the night.

He held her gaze a moment longer then he looked up.

“We must return. Liam will have my head if you catch a chill.”

“Liam will blame me for my foolishness of insisting on a walk after dark, and well you know it. This is just your way of saying you have a woman waiting for you, probably wearing nothing but a sheet.”

He smirked. A devil-may-care grin that made Emma roll her eyes and recall why the female half of the ton fancied themselves in love with him, even without the title.

“Don’t be jealous, my dear,” he said, the teasing clear in his voice, making Emma roll her eyes again.

“As if I ever could be,” she scoffed.

He stopped and faced her, the way his black hair flopped over his brow making her long to brush it back. The intense look was back in his crystal blue eyes and Emma had trouble drawing a deep breath.

“I know.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “It’s the only reason I tease you.” He reached up and lightly ran his knuckles down the side of her face. “You’re the only woman I know who would never stray. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.”

“I love your brother. I could never betray him.”

“I know that, too.” His hand returned to his side. He was so handsome and so in need of love, Emma felt her heart would break. If only he’d let someone, anyone, into his heart. If anyone would care enough to look beneath the handsome, yet devilish facade, they’d find the man she knew- kindhearted, loyal, and true.

They continued toward Kilmartin House and Emma took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me out tonight. I was just feeling so closed in, claustrophobic almost. The fresh air did me quite a bit of good.”

“Then I’m happy to have been of service, milady,” he said as they climbed the steps to the front door of Kilmartin House. The door opened, the butler obviously looking out for them, and Emma undid and handed him her cloak and gloves.

“Will you stay or must you go?” she asked Killian. She could just see Liam’s valet coming down the stairs out of the corner of her eye.

Killian checked his pocket watch. “I’ll wait for Liam, if he hasn’t left yet. I came on foot, so I might as well avail myself of his carriage after he’s done with it.”

Emma nodded and turned to the valet.

“Has his Lordship left yet?”

“No, my lady. I’ve rapped on his door, but he must be sleeping quite soundly. Do you still want me to wake him?”

Emma sighed. As much as she wished he could sleep longer, she knew how important this meeting was.

“No need,” she assured the man. “I’ll wake him myself. Thank you.” She nodded at him and Killian and hurried up the stairs.

Moments later, Emma’s scream pierced the night.

~*~*~

Killian had no memory of taking the stairs three at a time to rush to Liam’s bedchamber, one of two thresholds in the house he’d never breached. He suddenly found himself there, staring at the bed on the other side of the room, barely conscious of Emma screaming from where she sat on the edge of the bed as she shook the shoulders of his unnaturally pale and still brother.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Whoever that was lying on the bed, it wasn’t his brother. His brother was gone. He’d seen death in battle, but death wouldn’t dare come for Liam. Liam. Who was so strong. So steady. The pillar of their family. The one they all relied on. The picture of good health.

He took a laborious step forward.

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, strangled, and unsurprisingly Emma made no indication that she’d heard him, her screams continuing unabated. When she finally stopped to take a breath, her face turned to him.

She rose, her movements so slow and graceful, her face nearly as pale as Liam’s, Killian could have mistaken her for a ghost. She glided toward him and as she got closer, he could see the splotches of color high on her cheekbones, the sunkenness and redness of her eyes, the tear tracks down her cheeks. She grabbed his hand, her grip so tight her knuckles were white.

“Wake him up, Killian,” she begged, more tears spilling from her eyes. He met her gaze, knowing the same devastation she wore on her visage was reflected back to her on his own. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in tightly, automatically, like some kind of machine. She grabbed the lapels of the coat he wore and buried her face in his chest, moaning like a wounded animal. “It was just a headache.” Her tears soaked his shirt. “It was just a headache. How could this happen? I don’t understand!”

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t offer her any sort of comfort beyond holding her as he was now because he didn’t understand either. Between Eton, Cambridge, and the Royal Navy, he’d been trained for everything the life of a gentleman had to offer. But he’d never been trained for this.

She pulled back suddenly, the cry falling from her lips coming from the depths of her soul.

“WHYYYYYYYY??!!”

Just as suddenly as she pulled back from him, she collapsed in his arms, bringing them both to the floor. He stared, unseeing, at the far wall, wondering why he wasn’t crying. He was numb and his body felt heavy, like his very soul had been crushed. Killian’s internal cry echoed Emma’s.

Why?

~*~*~

“Could she be with child?”

Killian sat behind Liam’s desk, and blinked at the question posed to him by Lord Isaac, a short and thin man who rather reminded Killian of a rat. The representative of the Committee for Privileges of the House of Lords had a self-important air about him that grated on Killian’s nerves. Liam hadn’t been gone - he still couldn’t bring himself to say or even think the truth - twenty-four hours and here was this bastard, demanding an audience and droning on about some sacred duty to the crown. He turned his attention back to Lord Isaac, his brow furrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Her ladyship,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable carefully, as if Killian had no idea of whom he spoke. “If she’s carrying, it will make things… difficult.”

“I don’t know,” he said, enunciating his own words just as carefully. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this right now. “I haven’t asked her.”

“You need to.” The man sniffed indignantly. “I’m sure you’re eager to assume control of your new holdings, but before you can do that, we must determine if she’s carrying. Furthermore, if she is, a member of our committee will need to be present at the birth.”

Killian was stunned. There was no other word for it. “I beg your pardon?” He was amazed he was able to get the words out.

“Baby switching,” Lord Isaac said grimly, with all seriousness. “There have been instances…”

“For God’s sake…” Killian interrupted, scrubbing his hand down his face.

“It’s for your own protection as much as anyone’s,” Lord Isaac assured him. “If she were to give birth to a girl, and no one is there to witness it, what’s to stop her from switching the babe with a boy?”

Killian couldn’t bring himself to dignify that with any kind of response.

“You need to find out if she’s carrying,” Lord Isaac insisted. “Arrangements will have to be made.”

“She was widowed yesterday,” Killian bit out. “I will not burden her with such intrusive questions.”

“There is more at stake here than her ladyship’s feelings,” Lord Isaac continued, haughtily. “We cannot properly transfer the earldom while there is doubt as to the succession.”

“The devil take the earldom,” Killian snapped.

Lord Isaac drew back in visible horror. “You forget yourself, my Lord.”

“I am not your lord,” Killian growled. “I’m not anyone’s…” He stopped suddenly, realizing almost too late that he was perilously close to tears. He glared at the man in front of him, trying to stave them off. This little weasel, who didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just an Earl who had died, but a man.

His brother.

He expected that as soon as the abhorrent little rodent left, the door was locked behind him, and Killian was sure no one would observe him, the tears would finally come.

“Someone has to ask her,” Lord Isaac said.

“It won’t be me,” Killian murmured.

“Then I will.”

Killian could take it no longer and was out of the chair like a shot, grabbing Isaac by the lapels of his jacket, pushing him against the wall before the man could even blink.

“You will not approach Lady Kilmartin,” he growled, menacingly. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the damnable man choked out. Killian realized he was turning an alarming shade of purple, so he stepped back, releasing him.

“Get out.”

“You’ll need to…”

“Get out!” Killian roared.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, when you’re in a more calm frame of mind.” The man left quickly with as much dignity as he could muster and Killian closed the door firmly behind him, turning the lock before he returned to the desk.

He dropped his head into his hands and a single tear finally spilled over and tracked down his face. His chest was tight and his throat felt so narrow, it was a wonder he could breathe at all. A gasping sob escaped him and the dam broke. Killian’s anguish poured from him in a seemingly endless tide, the tears streaming down his face, soaking the loosened cravat he wore and the shirt underneath.

How had it come to this? Yes, as long as Liam and Emma had remained childless, he was second in line to the earldom. But no one seriously expected him to inherit. Liam was barely thirty and the picture of health.

Word had already reached him that men at the club were calling Killian the luckiest man in Britain. What no one realized was that he’d never wanted this. He’d never wanted the earldom. He wanted his brother.

And no one seemed to understand that.

Except Emma. Her devastation equaled his own, he knew.

They’d put her to bed last night, him and her mother, Ruth, who’d arrived quickly after his urgent summons, and she’d slept soundly all night, too worn out from the shock of it all. Killian knew, because he’d spent the night opposite the large bed where Emma slept, in one of the chairs where he imagined Liam and Emma taking their morning coffee before starting their days. He couldn’t bear to leave her or be alone with his own thoughts.

When she woke this morning, he could see the moment she remembered the events of the night before. Her eyes landed on him and he saw a moment of alarm, surprise, confusion, and then finally realization. He stood on shaky legs as her eyes filled with tears. They only lasted a moment, however. He watched as a firm resolve took over her gaze, her movements choppy and stilted as she swiped away the evidence of her anguish.

He grudgingly admired her for that and stood before her helpless to do anything useful. What were they to do? Neither of them was prepared for this. They were young, happy, carefree. They’d never dealt with death before and all the myriad details involved with it.

Who would have guessed the Committee for Privileges would get involved? And demand a front row seat to an event that should be a private moment for Emma. If indeed she was with child. Which he was not going to ask her.

“We must inform Alice,” she said.

“Of course,” he murmured. Why he hadn’t thought of that, he’d never know. Their mother would be equally devastated.

“I’ll write the note.”

Killian could only nod, wondering what he was supposed to do. The answer became apparent when Lord Isaac arrived. But he couldn’t think about that now, all that he stood to gain since Liam was gone. There was nothing good about Liam being gone. And if anyone dared to offer him congratulations…

His tears spent, Killian lifted his head and stared sightlessly out the window. He hadn’t wanted this. Had he?

He only wanted Emma. But not like this. Not at this cost.

He’d never coveted Liam’s title. The money or power.

He’d only ever coveted Liam’s wife.

And now he stood to gain everything that had been Liam’s. Except his wife. Guilt wrapped itself around his heart and threatened to strangle him.

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this.

“Killian?” Her soft knock and voice drew his attention to the door. The locked door. He rose and moved toward it, making no effort to hide his grief. He unlocked and opened the door and she stood there, as thin but strong as a young birch tree, her face pale, her green eyes round as saucers and beyond exhausted.

“I’ve sent a note to your mother,” she murmured. “Is there anyone else…”

Killian shook his head slowly. He knew he should say something to her, but his mind just refused to give him anything. He was too broken, too grief stricken. Just like the woman in front of him.

He gently took her elbow. “You should sit down. You look exhausted.”

Emma shook her head, even as she allowed him to lead her into the room and toward a chair.

“I can’t,” she murmured. “I can’t stop. If I do…” She shook her head. “If I don’t stop, I don’t have to think. And if I don’t have to think…” she trailed away and her eyes filled with tears again. It didn’t matter. He understood perfectly.

Then she turned her eyes upon him and her mouth opened like she had something to say. He steeled himself against the despair in her eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

~*~*~

Seemingly overnight, Kilmartin House in London changed.

First, Alice Jones arrived from Scotland.

Second, Emma’s own mother, Ruth Nolan was a much more frequent guest than she’d been when Liam was alive.

Third, Killian was a much less frequent guest than when Liam was alive.

And Emma wasn’t sure she’d survive that last one.

Of course, it was a comfort to see her mother-in-law. They got along well and Emma loved her. And she’d known the grief of losing her husband. But now she’d lost her son, and in many ways was in as much need of comfort as Emma herself.

And of course her own mother was also a comforting presence, having also been widowed young, but Killian was the one she needed. Killian was the one who knew and loved Liam best, besides herself of course, and Killian was the one who most understood what she was going through.

He still came to visit occasionally, but when he did, he didn’t feel there. Not like he was when Liam was alive. His eyes were distant and he didn’t come anywhere near her, beyond what propriety demanded when greeting her or taking his leave - a formal bow, a slight brush of her knuckles with his lips, murmured words she could barely hear. He wasn’t the same.

And it was killing her.

But, she reminded herself, he was hurting, too.

She reminded herself of it when she didn’t know what to say to him. She reminded herself of it when he didn’t tease her. She reminded herself of it when they sat together in the parlor and neither had anything to say.

She’d lost her husband. And she’d lost her best friend at the same time.

She was lonely. And so sad. Why had no one told her how sad she’d be? But would she have believed them? Of course not. There was no understanding this kind of grief without experiencing it for herself.

Killian was the one link to the husband she’d lost - who’d loved him as she did - and she hated him for being here, but not being here. To walk beside her in their mutual grief. So they could be a comfort to each other.

It never occurred to her that in losing Liam, she might lose Killian, too.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Alice’s gentle question drew Emma from her musings. She blinked, momentarily unable to really comprehend the question, much less answer it.

“Uh, fine,” she said after a moment, with a slight shake of her head. The soft smile on the face of her mother-in-law, coupled with the joyful sadness in her eyes, prompted a small smile from herself as well. It brought home the fact that while Alice had lost her first born, the fact that Emma was carrying a piece of him brought a measure of peace to her grieving heart. “No different than I ever have.”

Alice sat down across from her and folded her hands in her lap. “It’s remarkable. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“If it wasn’t for my missing courses, I’d never know anything was different.” And it was true. She’d been around enough pregnant women to know what to expect in the early weeks and months, and the only thing she was experiencing that might be a symptom of early pregnancy was that she was a bit more tired. But, of course, that could be the grieving as well. Her mother had told her she’d been tired for a year after her father passed. Emma experienced none of the expected quirks and illnesses other women had told her about.

She’d be happy to be losing what little breakfast she was actually eating each morning, if only so she could imagine the little one waving, hello, I’m here!

“I wonder if Killian will be visiting today?” Alice mused.

“He hasn’t been here in three days,” Emma murmured, “So I expect he will.” She’d never admit to counting the days between his visits, but she had been, and he was due for his bi-weekly visit.

“He’s grieving Liam,” Alice said softly.

“So am I.” Her voice was a bit sharper than she’d have liked. “So are you.”

“But it’s different for him,” she continued. “He’s a bit in limbo until you deliver. And that’s still six months away.”

“Well, I can’t do anything about that.”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I just hope that he begins thinking about the future soon. If you do deliver a girl, he’ll have to marry and produce an heir.”

Emma scoffed. “Killian will do what has to be done, but he’d never marry while he’s still grieving Liam and it’d be dreadfully unfair to expect him to.”

“Of course,” Alice agreed. “I just so want him to be happy. Even with Liam gone.” She sighed forlornly.

It was odd. Emma wanted Killian to be happy, too, but imagining him married was rather hard to picture. Of course, it hadn’t stopped her from trying to push Killian in that direction. But if she was really honest with herself, he just didn’t seem the type. For years, she’d had Liam and Killian had been their rather constant companion. Could she be happy for him if he found love and happiness and she remained alone? Was her heart big enough?

She was tired and feeling a bit weak as well. She stood, grasping the arm of the chair when a sudden wave of dizziness came over her.

“I think I’ll lay down for a nap,” she said. “Wake me when Killian comes, if you please.”

“Of course, my dear. That’s a very good idea. You need your rest.” A sudden gasp escaped Alice and Emma saw that she wasn’t looking at her, but at the seat she just rose from.

There in the middle of the cushion was a small patch of red.

Blood.

~*~*~

Killian stared at the almost full bottle of rum sitting on his desk. His life would have been much more bearable if that amount of alcohol was enough to get him drunk. But unfortunately, Killian was blessed with quite a robust constitution and could hold his liquor with aplomb and grace.

He glanced outside the window to see it was still some hours from sunset. Also unfortunately, he couldn’t make himself override the good manners and etiquette Alice had instilled in him from the time he was a small boy that refused to let him get bosky before the sun set.

He tapped his fingers against the desk and wondered what he ought to do with himself. Liam had been gone for nearly two months now, and he hadn’t yet brought himself to move into Kilmartin House, still living in his modest apartments a few blocks away. According to Lord Isaac, whose lectures he was eventually forced to endure, the title would go into abeyance until Emma delivered. And if she gave birth to a girl, then the title and everything with it would be his. But given that that event was still six months away, Killian felt he could get away with not taking up residence in the earl’s house. He told himself he didn’t want to move in only to have to move out again in six months.

But the truth was something else entirely. He wasn’t sure he could survive living under the same roof as Emma.

She was still living in the house. She was still the Countess of Kilmartin. And would be until she gave birth to a girl and he married. Which he was absolutely not inclined to do.

Because even if he did end up as the earl, Emma wouldn’t be his countess, and that knowledge was enough to make him seriously think about damning etiquette to hell and downing that entire bottle of rum between now and sunset.

He would have thought his grief would have overtaken the longing in his heart for Emma, that he could be near her and not want her so much he could barely breathe. But no. His heart still ached with the pain of loving her. Even being in the same room with her caused his breath to hitch and his heart to race.

And now, all that longing was intertwined with a suffocating guilt. As if there hadn’t been enough of that when Liam was alive.

Emma was in pain. Grieving. And he should be there comforting her. Who could better do so? No one had known Liam better than he did. The two people who knew and loved him best should be comforting one another in their loss. But no, instead of comforting her, he was lusting after her. What kind of bastard lusted after his sister-in-law, his pregnant sister-in-law, when his brother wasn’t even cold in his grave?

Him, apparently.

And so he stayed away. Not completely. He couldn’t get away with that, not with his mother in residence at Kilmartin House. In addition, although the title wasn’t potentially to be his for another six months, everyone was looking to him to manage the affairs of the earl.

It was the least he could do. For Liam. For Emma.

He may not be able to be her friend at the moment, but he could make sure her finances were in order.

She didn’t understand. And he knew she didn’t. She’d often come to visit him when he was working in the study of Kilmartin House - going over various solicitor’s and land steward’s reports - looking for their previous camaraderie, he knew, but which he was unable to give. Not yet.

“My lord?”

Killian looked up at the door to see his valet, Smee, and a footman wearing the unmistakable green and gold livery of Kilmartin house.

“A message from your mother,” the man said, approaching with an envelope in his outstretched hand. “She said it was urgent.”

His brows rose on his head. Urgent? That was new. His mother had sent him nearly daily missives, or it seemed like it anyway, but they were never more than just prattling on about the doings at Kilmartin House. She was likely just trying to keep herself busy.

Once Smee and the footman left the room, he opened the letter.

Come quickly, it said. Emma has lost the baby.

~*~*~

Killian himself was nearly killed several times, not to mention the numerous pedestrians who were in his way, as he raced on horseback to Kilmartin House.

But now he stood here in the foyer, holding his crying mother, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

A miscarriage they called it. It seemed like such a small word for such a profound happening. And why had they called him? This was the province of women and doctors. Of which, he was neither. What could he possibly do?

But then it hit him. He was the earl.

Slowly but surely over the last two months, Killian had been stepping into Liam’s shoes. And now that process was complete. The final nail in the coffin, so to speak.

It took nary a thought to murmur comforting nonsense to his mother as he led her to the downstairs parlor, her sobs abating.

“It’s like losing Liam all over again,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed. And he did. While Emma had been pregnant, a small piece of Liam still existed on this earth. And while he wasn’t yet prepared to step fully into Liam’s shoes, by the time she delivered, he would have been, and he would have done everything duty demanded. For Liam, his child, for Emma.

But he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t. Not yet.

That last fragile link to Liam was snapped and he was right back where he was two months ago.

“How is she?” he asked.

“In shock,” she answered quietly. “She’s been crying. She can’t seem to stop. She asked for you.”

Killian’s head snapped toward his mother.

“Me? Why?”

Alice’s face was surprised. “She wanted you.”

“But… I can’t…” he stammered.

“Yes, you can.” His mother looked confused at his refusal. “You have to,” she insisted.

Killian shook his head vehemently, his hands starting to tremble. “I can’t go in there.”

“You can’t abandon her!”

“I’m not! I didn’t!” he cried, the grief breaking free. “Liam abandoned her! Liam abandoned me!” he shouted. His voice shocked him. He sounded like a wounded animal - pained, panicked, confused. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. “She was never mine to abandon!”

“Killian George Alaster Jones!” his mother cried, shocked. “How can you say such a thing?”

“Mother,” he all but moaned. “She needs a woman. What can I do?”

“You can be her friend,” she said softly.

“No. I can’t. Not yet.” The anguish on his mother’s face was real and he knew his was the same. In a move of utter and pathetic cowardice, he rose and ran from the room.

~*~*~

If there truly were nine circles of Hell, then in the month since he’d taken on his duties, Killian surely must have taken up residence in one of the lower levels of Hell on earth. With every new ceremony, each document he signed as Kilmartin, and every “my lord” he was forced to endure, it was as if Liam's spirit was being pushed further and further away.

Everything that had been Liam’s was now his.

Except Emma.

And Killian was determined to keep it that way. He would not bring that last insult to bear against his brother’s memory. He’d seen her, of course. And offered his best words of comfort. Which were, truthfully, woefully inadequate. And both he and Emma knew it.

He’d been more relieved that she was physically unharmed than upset over the loss of the child. But he couldn’t very well say that.

Their mothers, for some reason, felt compelled to describe the event in gruesome detail, a chamber maid trotting out the bloodied sheets as proof that Lady Kilmartin had indeed lost the baby. Lord Isaac had nodded in approval when presented with the evidence, but had then added that Lady Kilmartin would still need to be observed closely for the next few months to be sure she was not increasing. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to circumvent the sacred laws of primogeniture, he’d asserted.

The rage inside Killian at that statement nearly propelled him to pick up Lord Isaac bodily and throw him out the window, but he managed to control himself by the most tenuous of grips.

He still hadn’t moved into Kilmartin House. He knew it was expected, but the circumstances at the house hadn’t changed, and Killian still couldn’t bring himself to live in the same house as the woman he loved.

Who now stood at the threshold of his study. She looked thin and pale, but her green eyes flashed.

“Emma?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

He was shocked. He couldn’t deny it. She’d never been here. Not when Liam was alive. And certainly not after.

“I wanted to see you.” The rest of her statement, her accusation really, went unspoken. You’ve been avoiding me.

Was this improper? He hadn’t a clue. Their relationship now was so different and ambiguous, he couldn’t guess what rules of etiquette applied. He motioned to a seat and she took it, her fingers twisting in her lap.

She finally looked at him, her gaze intense, grief and anger swirling in their depths.

“I’ve missed you.” Make that an even lower level of hell.

“Emma…” he tried.

“You are… were… my friend,” she said, angrily, swiping at the tear that tracked down her face. “Besides Liam, you were my closest friend!”

Emma, I…” he tried again. He was a fool. And a coward. And he didn’t know what to say to her.

“Where have you been?”

“I…” He was speechless. Brought down by an angry and grief-stricken face, and a mountain of guilt. Although guilt for exactly what, he couldn’t pinpoint any longer. It came from too many sources to make sense of anymore.

“I needed you.” The plaintive need in her voice nearly undid him. “You knew him best. You loved him the most, besides me. Why didn’t you come and help me?”

Killian looked down at his desk. He couldn’t lie to her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth either.

“I don’t know,” he settled upon instead. She was quiet and Killian couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“That’s it then,” she whispered.

“I guess so,” he replied sadly. The sadness threatened to consume him. In the eyes of the ton, he may have gained much, but in reality, he’d lost everything. And the one person who needed him the most… he couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t stand to be near her. Because the grief and the anger and the love and the guilt were a never ending flood, and he was drowning.

The ticking clock on the mantle was the only accompaniment to her swirling thoughts. She looked at Killian and took in his tense shoulders, his rigid bearing, the unbridled grief on his countenance mirroring hers.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he finally said, taking a tentative step toward her. Then another. Then another. Then he was kneeling before her, his hand on her knee. “I’m so, so sorry, Emma.”

“Why did this happen?” she cried. “I don’t understand!” The tears poured from her eyes and Killian gathered her into his arms. “It isn’t fair!” She clutched at his jacket, holding on for dear life as all the grief, all the anger, all the confusion that she thought she’d already released burst forth from her all over again.

“It isn’t fair that it happened to me!” she lamented. “It isn’t fair that this happens to anyone! Oh, what am I to do?”

“I don’t know.” She could just hear him murmuring into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. And the comfort she felt from him holding her was almost more than she could bear. For the first time in months, she felt safe and warm. And not alone.

Her tears finally spent, she pulled back from him.

“Will you come back? To Kilmartin House?” she asked, her voice shaky. “Will you stop ignoring me? I still need you.”

She could see the tears in his own eyes, grief and something else she couldn’t identify, as she waited for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t know what to say to you. Didn’t know what I could do, so I stayed away.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. She still clutched at him, unable to let him go, or the warmth and safety he gave. “I knew that’s why you were staying away, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.” He released her and stood, even as her arms reached for him again. “I’ll take up my residence in Kilmartin House.”

He could deny her nothing. And living under the same roof couldn’t possibly be any worse than what he’d already had to endure. And if it was, and it did actually kill him, then so be it.

“Thank you. That will… that will be a great comfort to me. And your mother as well.” She paused for a moment and rose. “You know, you were to be his father, in a way.”

Killian felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop.

“What did you say?” The words were soft, weak, he could barely catch his breath to get them out.

“The baby,” she replied, turning toward him. “In the absence of his father, you’d have been the closest thing he had. And even with him gone, having you here will help me let him go. Let them both go.”

But Killian didn’t hear those last words. His heart started beating again at a gallop and the blood rushed in his ears. All he could grasp from her statement was that he would have been a father to the baby, and that knowledge destroyed him.

The title, the lands, the money, the power, the responsibility were all his now. The only things that weren’t were Liam’s wife and child. And now Emma was telling him that wasn’t true either.

He grabbed Emma by the arms. He was shaking, and she looked frightened but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let her go.

“No!” he cried. “I can’t! I won’t! I’m not Liam!”

“Of course you’re not,” Emma cried out, thoroughly alarmed at the sudden change that had come over Killian. She’d never seen him like this. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, his grip on her arms painful, but her words to try and reach him, to get him to release her, fell on deaf ears. He looked wild, crazed, like a cornered animal that would either make a last desperate attack to try and save itself, or fall over and wait for the final killing blow.

“You can’t ask this of me,” he breathed, the strength and energy that fueled him, completely disappearing. He still held her tightly, but his eyes were finally seeing her and not some vision playing out in his mind. “I can’t do it.”

“Killian, you’re hurting me,” she whispered. “Please let me go.” He released her suddenly, the recrimination in his eyes and the restored blood flow in her arms bringing tears to her eyes.

“I’d… I’d better go,” she said, pulling away from him. She looked at him for a moment more, trying to make sense out of what just happened. She’d never seen Killian like that before and it frightened her. She wasn’t afraid of him, though. Even after that, she knew with utter surety that he would never harm her and would protect her to his last breath.

“Perhaps… perhaps it would be better if you remained here instead of Kilmartin House.”

“Y- yes,” he stammered, nodding with a jerky motion. “I think that would be best.”

Not only had she lost Liam, and her child, but it was now clear she’d lost Killian as well. And she didn’t quite know what she would do about that.

~*~*~

Once Emma was gone, Killian sat back down behind his desk and poured himself a tall drink.

He’d made a promise to her and broken it almost in the same breath. He’d spent the last month fulfilling the duties of the earl and then Emma’s words made him realize something.

She truly had no inkling of his feelings for her, and as long as that was the case, as long as she didn’t understand how much he hated himself for every step he took in Liam’s shoes, he couldn’t be near her.

And that brought him to a decision. Rarely in life had his path been this clear. He slammed back the rum and rose from his desk. When he arrived at his bedchamber, he found his valet carefully folding a cravat.

“Smee,” he asked. “What do you think of India?”

~*~*~

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! Next ch will be up on Saturday!

#a scoundrel… or a gentleman?#krystal writes #inspired by francesca bridgerton’s story #art by motherkatereloyshipper

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aleeyenn · 5 months

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SHAKING YOU hi more Bedtime Story(Pillowbook) headcanons please you can't just go in tags and say the BEST Pillow headcanons EVER then go "that's enough headcanon rambling" WRONG!!! LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER. ITS NEVER ENOUGH HEADCANON RAMBLING

OMG THANK YOU FOR YOUR CURIOSITY!!! i don’t have many headcanons off the top of my head since they usually come up during convos about them with my friends But! i am currently writing a pillowbook fanfic and it has mentions of some sweet headcanons/scenarios in there!!! here is your teaser:

- when pillow and book clean up after a g&d or yoyle chess session, pillow brushes her hand against books and book gets a bit flustered and apologizes each time, but pillow reassures her saying that it’s okay and that she did it on purpose

- pillow asks book to read her her favorite stories so she can know more about her interests and what she likes. as she does this, pillow kinda like cuddles up to her and book messes up her words because of the closeness (she is soooo touch starved) and pillow thinks it’s amusing but she doesn’t say anything

THATS KINDA ALL I CAN GIVE YOU FROM MY FIC … it’s at 7.4k words right now (it’s my first actual written piece OMG!) and i find that i’m a slow writer and i can only write when i get bursts of motivation so it’s taking a while BUT THE TENSION IS BUILDING! it’s definitely a romcom and i’ll announce when it’s out! (i’ll probs publish it on ao3 btw)

aside from stuff from the fanfiction i’m writing i think i can pull a few extras out of my sleeve

- pillow would look into books history to learn about her more and she would find that she received a little gold star her cover in bfdia 10. she would put a gold star on book when she thinks she’s doing good at something as encouragement for her to keep it up and book would be motivated by this

- book knows oragami. after she finds out that pillow is doing things for good luck she shows pillow how to make paper cranes and she tells her if she makes 1000 paper cranes it’ll give her good luck… and so she does! in a single day somehow… and gives them to book to wish Her good luck

- pillow generally picks up on every little detail about books mannerisms … but that’s a given when you’re talking about pillow LOL

- naily and price tag are like. the number one pillowbook fans HEELPPP LIKE THEY SET THEM UP AND STUFF and read into them together… they’re their instigators brah. they’re their wingmen. this headcanon came from the pillowbook fic “who cares?” on quotev PLEAASEEE IF YOU ARE A PILLOWBOOK FAN READ IT ITS THE BEST FANFICTION IVE EVER READ IN MY LIFE I AM NOT KIDDING i would go on more but i’ll go on forever… i love it so much Please read it(and author of it, if you are reading this HIIIII YOURE THE BEST)

IM SURE THERE ARE A LOT MORE BUT ITS REALLY LATE AND I HAVE TO GO TO BED SO I CANT THINK HARD ANYMORE… THANK YOU FOR READING AND YOUR INTEREST IN MY HEADCANONS! IT MAKES ME SO HAPPYYY

#joyjibberjabber

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personasintro · 1 year

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I avoid posting/ commenting on negatives as much as possible but I think it’s really selfish for readers to ask to advance the plot/ alter the plot. I have an author friend and she goes through a lot of planning, mind mapping, editing, fixing the layout etc. and that’s like every chapter, it’s a repetitive cycle. It takes soooo much energy, research, and willingness to write, trust me. For the readers who are getting tired of the plot, or feels as if the frequency of updates are not enough, maybe it’s time for you to explore another story. Pause for a while. I go through phases of being into one genre and then the next I find myself exploring another coz I loose interest because of many factors but I’ll comeback to it and it’ll be like reading it again for the first time. It’s not the author’s responsibility to cater to all your requests. They have a plan just trust them!!! Don’t cross the boundaries they set. Please be respectful and be mindful of peoples hard work which results to these books that give us a delightful experience and an escape from our realities. Let stories be a safe place and just enjoy the ride, it’s really not that hard 🥺

i love you Mimi, i may have been a silent reader but always cheering you on whatever comes ur way! You’ll get through it 💜when I say MH saved me, it really gave me a reason to look forward to another day. I hope your hard-work and passion for what you do comes back to you as great joy and success.

This makes me wanna cry because you’re absolutely right 😭 either way, it’s very disrespectful of readers to do this even if they think it’s “only just feedback” and sometimes it matters in what way you give it to the author. The moment the author has their own opinion about it or doesn’t agree with them, it’s a train full of hate and bad energy. It’s very sad to see this and even harder to experience almost every month. I love sharing my stories with people, but they tend to forget that I’m writing my own story how I like it and I just decided to share it. Regardless of that, it’s a beautiful thing to share it with the world. It’s not something I haven’t said already, but the moment you set your boundaries on your own blog, there is always someone who calls you mean and rude for doing so and that’s so freaking wrong and toxic.

#ask

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venusandsaturnsrings · 1 year

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VENUS I have soooo many ideas for taru.... ranging from prisoner taru with warden darling cause yk he's in prison rn to icky angel taru who has nasty thoughts about the human hes supposed to be keep safe<33 -chubby darling anon who's brain's so rotted it's seeping out

this hit me in my pussy!! blinking wide eyed at u prisoner taru… my single braincell is rolling around like a marble i hope u kno how genius this is… i am KISSING YOU!! taking some creative liberties with the prison design since idk what it’ll actually look like… utc since i got a bit carried away soz T^T

includes: afab gn reader, prisoner taru, guard reader, a good handy, and whiny taru!!

you found the early morning rounds to be the least enjoyable portion of your day. the prisons was created out of a series of circles with intricate arching hallways to connect them. architecturally, it was to make the layout confusing for any prisoners looking to escape should they not have a map. equipped with an irritating amount of locked doors and special keypads, no one who wasn’t supposed to leave would be able to. enter the eleventh harbinger Tartaglia.

all of the other guards and employees hated his presence thus Wriothsley burdened you with tending to him twenty-four seven. initially, you had cringed knowing his reputation but… being his watch dog constantly meant less work navigating the building so ultimately, you were game. bring him three meals a day, tend to nay wounds, and keep one eye on him at all times; an easy job for you. when you first met no words had been exchanged beyond your vague introduction to the food he was receiving. you got a sharp nod in response but his furrowed brows and slight pout indicated that he wasn’t pleased, you assumed he was likely used to more elegant dishes, but this is prison. he gets what he gets. Tartaglia slowly began to warm up to you, his slight chatter coming through the bars that separated you from him; it was more like a grate considering there was both horizontal and vertical metal. you had eventually insisted on bringing one of the prisons spare chairs over so you could sit while he talked your ears off and Wriothsley quickly conceded, just happy to know he wasn’t causing you any real problems. it wasn’t like you could do much else other than entertain since there was a door between the chamber and the rest of the jail; this particular cell was saved for high risk offenders which any harbinger more than qualified for.

after some time of swapping stories and bandaging the occasional scratch he obtained from punching the walls in frustration, the two of you were rather well acquainted. Tartaglia told you all about his family, most exciting missions, and even slivers of his life prior to joining the Fatui. you shared tales of your friends, favourite hobbies, and the best spots in Fontaine for spending sunsets; nothing too personal as you were more than aware of his conniving nature and couldn’t fathom metaphorically putting the bullet in the chamber for him. he never complained about your reservations, though, merely enjoying a voice responding. Tartaglia is lonely, you figured. lonely with his psyche rotting away in this prison cell as he awaited appealing the charges wrought against him. it was one evening that you made perhaps the largest mistake of your life.

diner had been served and he groaned about having mashed potatoes for the nth day in a row. you had shrugged in response as you couldn’t control the meals given out. he ate reluctantly, shifting endlessly on the chair bolted to the ground. his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the fixtures of his cell in a way that made nervousness settle in your gut. once his dishes had been taken away and you returned, the flush across his face was beyond noticeable and, to your chagrin, you had looked him over just long enough to notice the member twitching through the fabric of his administered pants. he eyed you, slowly coming to narrow in on the apex of your inner thighs. with a slight shift, he let out a pathetic and garbled groan, face tightening further.

“i… i’m a tad sorry it’s just… it’s just been so long since i’ve had the time to relieve myself… can’t help it i’m… i need something. you can turn away but please i’ve gotta…”

the look he gave you between glances at your chest, face, and clothed pussy said more than his words could. he carried on.

“yer’ just so pretty n i can see everything… makes me wanna touch myself n you so so bad n i just need to… hurts a bit, honestly.”

his laugh was sour when he trailed off. you gulped, mouth suddenly dry and almost imperceptibly rubbed your thighs together but, of course, Tartaglia noticed. his hips raised and head lolled slightly to the side.

“ya want it too, huh? i could… i could get real close to the bars… put myself through n you… can touch if if ya want… can finish me off.”

against your most base inhibitions, you nodded hesitantly and he sighed, rising from the bed. as he approached you noticed just how tall he is for the first time. at least six foot two and with arms flexing as he shimmied the pants down before pushing himself against the grate, he was nothing short of a man who could kill you if the bars didn’t exist. yet, Tartaglias member was pulsing with need. twitching and leaking from the tip, his hips involuntarily moved for a couple thrusts against the cold metal and he whined. your hand reached out and hesitantly gripped him while a moan already spilled past his lips. you stroked him soft and slowly as he pressed his forehead to the bars and gripped them between his hands. settling into an even pace, you fisted his cock with vigour he clearly loved if the groans and soft begs for more meant anything.

“so close… fuck… gonna… in your hand…”

his breaths were laboured and you threw caution to the wind, leaning down just enough to slide his tip into your mouth. he twitched against you and let out a guttural noise as he came into your awaiting mouth and down your throat. you swallowed quickly and upon standing straight up again, you caught him slack jawed and wide eyed staring at you. you spoke before he could.

“i uh… didn’t want to have to clean it up…”

#rubbing my thighs together tbh!!#you are so smart my dearest… i won’t u so bad #cmere lemme kiss u!!#maybe give u head too idk #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #chubby darling anon my beloved <3 #chit chats

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pleaseeeimjustagirl · 7 months

Text

It Girls Ramadan Guide

Hey babesss I am soooo excited Ramadan officially starts this week and I wanted to post a Ramadan guide for my fellow Muslim girliesss if you aren’t Muslim but are participating in Ramadan this is a good guide for you as well.

Setting Intentions

♡ Before Ramadan starts set your intentions. What do you want to improve on this Ramadan? What charities do you want to donate to? Even if you aren’t able to reach all the goals you set Allah rewards us based on our genuine intentions.

♡ Journaling. I highly recommend journaling your intentions and your experience this Ramadan. Keep track of your mood, as well as your Quran readings, and prayers. I will link a Quran Journal as well as a 30-Day Ramadan Journal Ramadan Legacy Planner.

♡ Vision Board. I’ve seen some girls online recommend creating a Ramadan vision board and I agree! Create a vision board using Canva and Pinterest, or you can use a poster board and magazine. This will help you see your goals not just read them. Place your vision board where you can see it so you're reminded of your goals daily.

Nutrition

Suhoor

♡ Eat a balanced suhoor meal. Eat a meal high in protein, protein takes a while to be broken down so it’ll help you at the beginning of the day. Eat carbs and fats you will need as much energy as the average hours we fast during Ramadan are 12 to 18 hours depending on where you are.

♡ Drink water. One of the things I struggle with every Ramadan is my water intake. Try to drink at least two 16oz bottles of water during Suhoor. Hydration is super important you don't want to pass out due to severe dehydration.

♡ Drink electrolytes. Drinking electrolytes is very beneficial before fasting they help your body retain water while you are fasting. Do not overdo your electrolyte intake because too much sodium is bad.

Iftar

♡ Do not overdo it. I know going a long period without food can make you want to eat everything in sight but it is important to eat a well-balanced nutritious meal after fasting. When you overeat this may cause indigestion and other stomach issues.

♡ Avoid eating too much fried, salty, and high-sugar foods. Moderation is key I know during Ramadan my mom makes all of our favorite Ghanaian dishes and they aren't the most healthy options. That doesn't mean you shouldn't eat them or avoid them you can eat them but in moderation. Eating too much of these foods in the moment may feel good because they cause us to release feel-good hormones like dopamine and serotonin but they can make fasting the next day very difficult.

♡ Eat whole foods. The best food to break your fast with is fruit! Specifically, a date to begin with and then other fruits like pineapple, watermelon, oranges, strawberries, mango, and other fruits you like. I would recommend you eat more water-based fruits to hydrate your body.

♡ Drink water. I mention this twice because it is very important that after you break your fast you drink water make it a goal of yours to have six to eight glasses of water daily.

Movement

♡ Create a Ramadan workout plan. I know a lot of us girliesss are on weight loss journeys and we want to be snatched before the summer but we also don't want to stress out our bodies while fasting and exerting needed energy. Create a workout plan that starts low and goes slow. Limit intense cardio, and train at a lower intensity, if you lift try to lift heavy before suhoor which means you’ll need to wake up earlier. If you prefer to workout after Iftar break your fast with something light so that your stomach won’t feel so heavy when you workout.

♡ Walking. I recommend getting in sedentary movement throughout the day, so instead of taking the bus walk if where you're going isn't that far. Walking is beneficial for so many reasons I’ll link this article.

♡ Yoga and Pilates. I love both of these exercises they are perfect for my girlies who are fasting. Pilates especially is perfect it is very low and slow in movements but still gives you amazing results. Yoga is perfect for relaxing especially if you deal with anxiety, sore muscles, back problems, and trouble sleeping I recommend trying yoga.

Increase Your Iman

♡ Prioritize Prayer. Make sure to pray all five of your daily prayers and do them on time try your best to not delay your prayers unless you have to.

♡ Read Quran. Some of you might be hafiz of the Quran and I know it is common for hafiz to try and finish the Quran from start to finish during Ramadan so maybe you can make that a goal if you are a hafiz. For my girlies who are like me and haven’t finished the Quran but Insha Allah we will! I recommend trying to read at least 10 verses of the Quran daily that's better than not reading it at all.

♡ Watch Islamic Lectures. I recommend spending your time online watching Islamic lectures like Omar Suleiman, Mohammed Hoblos, Mufti Menk, Dr. Sh. Haifa Younis, Akhi Ayman (he is perfect for younger men), and many other amazing lecturers. My favorites are Omar Suleiman and Mufti Menk they explain Islam in such a beautiful way and spread the message perfectly.

♡ Charity. This month is the best month to give to those in need. You can donate to many organizations, and help send aid to Gaza/Congo/Sudan, create a fundraiser for your local masjid in need, feed another fasting person, help prepare Iftar at home, and so much more. Charity not only blesses us with good deeds but there have been studies proving random acts of kindness are good for our mental health we produce dopamine when we donate or help others.

♡ Pray Tahajjud. I swearrrr if you have anything you desire in this life this is the best prayer you need to pray! Allah is closest to the earth during the last third of the night and he is there to listen to our dua’s and repentance. You can only pray Tahajjuud after you sleep. Tahajjud is hard to catch because it involves having to leave our sleep for the sake of Allah. One Mallam explained Tahajjud so beautifully he said “Tahajjud is like a personal invitation from Allah Not everyone can get in most people are asleep during that time.” If you have anything you want badly pray Tahajjud for it, especially during this holy month. So try your best to wake up an hour or two before the fajr prayer and pray Tahajjuud I will link a video on the benefits and how to pray Tahajjud for those who don’t know how.

These are a few tips for my girliesss I hope Ramadan is a blessed month for all of us! Thank you for all the support babes! we are getting close to 500 followers!!!

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mrfartpowered · 16 days

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old headcanons by @cunningweiner & yours truly!!!

we don’t necessarily subscribe to all of these anymore — most were written before we even watched the finale — but I can see exactly what we were thinking LOL

below the cut, read about painted nails, braces, Randy’s health, weinerham, and more!!!!

Randy paints his nails real

Usually black but sometimes he gets adventurous (when Howard says the black nails emo)

Whiteout nails & sharpie nails are his fave……..someone save him ✊😔

HE also Does Not take care of them. He lets them chip until they’re either completely gone or he just paints over them again

I just know his hangnails are AWFULLL

On a similar note, Howard has a scheduled monthly mani-pedi

he does NOT shower tho

Never gets them painted, he just like to feel pampered

His hands are DELICATE!!!

Randy is afraid of the dremel tool the artists use so he doesn’t go

HOWARD CROSSDRESSER REAL‼️

Not trans, not a drag queen, but a secret third thing

He just likes to feel pretty ok!!!!! but has has not yet, and honestly may never, wear his dresses/skirts/wigs/heels out of the house

Randy has HELLLLLA scars/bruises/clicky joints cuz he’s reckless and stupid ‼️‼️

RANDY EPILEPSY CANON🗣️🗣️

Loses ninja powers…keeps brain damage 😍

Howard def needs braces but bullies his dad out of getting them cuz waaah wah it’ll look nerdy wah 😫 and then he has rlly fucked up teeth his entire life but he’s too proud to just get the damn braces

Randy’s like “invisalign™️?….” So naturally Howard can never give him the satisfaction

He would have gotten too if it wasn’t Randy who suggested it

Howard uses twitch slang. Pog, fail, epic, etc

he wants to be a streamer SOOOO bad😫😫

Randy has richass parents but bc of whatever their job is, they’re gone a lot. He keeps it a secret cuz who wants to have S1 Steve Harrington syndrome??

Howard is SOOOOO showy with Randy — especially at events and when he gets jealous

Randy has to play arm candy all the time cause Howard is vain and likes the way he looks with Randy

He’s very possessive

In return, Randy is a GRADE-A SHOWOFF as the ninja if Howard is around <33 at a certain point Howard has to be like “dude u HAVE to tone it down, ppl are starting to think maybe ur not 800 years old” “wdym??” “800 year old divine warriors don’t say WHOS THAT CUTIE PIE IN THE SQUID SHIRT”

Randy and Howard are SOOOO coupley throughout high school but it takes them foreverrrr to put a label on it

They def practice kissing on each other

But for a while they’re like pshhh that’s just biffer stuff!! Wdym not everyone does that 👬

Howard falls first but Randy falls harder I will die on this hill

Randy is a shower singer. Howard records him secretly (blackmail 4 Deborah 🫶)

#rc9gn #randy cunningham 9th grade ninja #randy cunningham #howard weinerman #rc9gn headcanons #weinerham #randy cunnigham #ninj-originals

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wild-karrde · 1 year

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Part 3: The Jester

Series Master List | Previous Part | Next Part

A/N: Soooo uhhh... here's Part 3, featuring my favorite boy Chuckles. If you're new, Chuckles has his own fic, One Step at a Time, but I figured it was time he gets some *ahem* love. If you know what I mean. THANK YOU to @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this for me and screaming with me about the boys. There is absolutely going to be a Part 4, and it will be longer.

Pairings: OC Crater x f!Reader, OC Chuckles x f!Reader, mentioned Gregor x f!Reader

Fic Rating: E (18+ MINORS SKEEDADDLE)

Warnings: language, fingering, PiV sex, anal play, mention of cum eating, marking, sex toy use, mention of foursome (in case you were wondering what Part 4 might entail)

Word Count: 6.5k words

Weeks pass with you and Crater continuing to meet in secret. He already reads you so easily, knowing what you need and when you need it with a shared glance or a subtle touch. There are nights he practically peels you apart until you’re laid bare for him, shuddering in the aftermath of however many orgasms he deemed necessary, but there are also nights where you don’t have sex at all, just enjoying one another’s company like you always have.

Tonight seems as though it’ll be the latter. It’s been a hard week with too many fighters going out and too few returning. Crater’s even lost a few brothers, and yet, somehow, he decided you were the one that needed consoling, showing up late in the evening with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Now, you sit perched on your desk with him in your rickety chair, the two of you a respectable distance apart as you sip the amber liquid in your glasses. Some of his men are still milling around in the hangar outside of your office, and you wonder if it’s to avoid going back to barracks that will be emptier than they were a week ago. You spy Strike, Chuckles, Guin, and even the medics Sticks and Stones speaking quietly to each other. Chuckles catches your eye for a moment before turning and speaking to one of the droids working on his fighter. His words don’t carry to you, but you can see how tired he looks. Grief is a part of the job, but it takes a toll regardless.

Crater’s quiet, his eyes more distant than usual. You suspect he’s doing the same thing as his brothers, biding his time until he’ll be too tired to count the empty bunks and think of their previous occupants. He’s lost fewer men than most, but you know each one weighs heavily on him.

“Rough week,” you murmur, staring into your glass. Not a strong start to a conversation, but you hope it’ll open the door for your friend if he needs it.

“Heard special ops might be back on Coruscant soon,” he notes, purposefully ignoring your statement as he swirls his whiskey. You take the hint, adjusting accordingly.

“Oh?”

“Gregor commed last night. Asking to meet up at 79s when he gets back. Couldn’t give an exact timeframe other than ‘soon’. Sounds like things haven’t gone great for him either the last little bit.”

You hum under your breath. In the chaos of the last week, you’ve hardly thought of the commando. A small pang of guilt settles into your stomach. You still wouldn’t say you like him, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t worry about him. You’re glad to hear he’s safe.

Crater’s studying you, and you meet his gaze.

“What?”

“He asked how you were.”

Your entire body suddenly feels warmer, and you take a sip of your drink to try and hide it, even though you know that won’t work with Crater.

“You gonna see him?” he asks.

You shrug. “Dunno.”

“I won’t be jealous.”

You smirk into your glass. “Wasn’t particularly worried about that.”

Crater taps his fingers on the arm of the chair. “You given any thought to what I mentioned a while back? With him and Chuckles?”

A jolt of electricity licks up your spine as the memory takes hold of you. You laying on your bed with Crater’s cock buried deep in your ass while he fucks you into your mattress, sweat slicking your skin as he whispers filth in your ear.

“I bet you’d love to have Gregor’s cock in here too. Maybe he takes your sweet little cunt while I pound your ass. But that still leaves your mouth. Maybe I get Chuckles in here to fuck that smart little mouth while Gregor and I take you. Would you like that, pretty girl? To be ruined by three men at once?”

Yeah, you’ve given that plenty of thought.

You shift as your cunt clenches around nothing, and Crater huffs before taking another drink.

“You want me to talk to him and Chuck?”

You catch your lip between your teeth. “If you did, I’d want the rules to be the same as they are with us. And we’d need to be careful.”

“Of course.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his voice. “I’d already planned on making the ground rules clear if you wanted me to approach them. They’ll know the limits and boundaries. The big thing I need to know from you is what you are looking to get out of it. How you’d want it to go.”

You allow your gaze to drift back out to where Chuckles is standing with his brothers.

There’s always been something between you and Chuck, although neither of you have ever made a move to explore it more. You’ve often found yourself snuggling into his side at 79s, even sitting on his lap a few nights, his hand settling protectively on your lower back as the two of you cackle uproariously at whatever antics are taking place around you. But you’d never thought there was anything more to chase after. Especially not after some of the fights you’ve had. And he’s never approached you, not like Gregor or Crater have, so you’ve always assumed there isn’t much interest on his part. But still, you know you trust him. And if you’re honest, before Crater came along, when you were alone in your bunk at night with your fingers buried in your cunt, it was a different member of the 28th who you cried out to as you came undone.

Crater’s staring at you, waiting for your response, and the corner of his mouth twitches, as if he can read your mind. You stutter out a response, hoping to distract him and derail your thoughts of Chuckles.

“I’d want… I’d want it to be something to blow off steam. I’m not really looking to be romanced or anything.”

“You never are.”

You huff indignantly and toss a wadded up piece of flimsi at him. He catches it, eyes boring into you. You haven’t said exactly what you desire, and he knows it. His voice is a low rasp, and you feel your face heat even though you are certain no one outside of the office can hear him.

“Ask for what you want, pretty girl.”

“I-I want it to be rough. I want the three of you to use me. I’d want to feel it the next day. I want to get out of my head, and help you all do that as well.”

Crater watches you for another moment before leaning back in the chair. “I think we can manage that. I’ll talk to them both when Gregor is planetside. If that’s what you want.”

It’s his last check for your confirmation, ensuring you’re really all in on this.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “It is.”

He nods. “Good. Now, what do you need tonight?”

You’re taken aback. You didn’t think he’d be up for anything right now, and you certainly weren’t about to ask, but his posture has shifted to something less rigid. His legs are splayed a little wider, and he seems more relaxed, and now you find yourself wondering if this isn’t just for your benefit. He’s relaxed with you, and maybe you can finally help him for once, taking him out of his head in the same way he does to you. You don’t want him thinking about empty bunks or burning fighters.

You hop off the desk, standing over him until you have one of his thighs straddled between your knees.

“I need you to take what you want from me, Crater. And then I need you to sleep here with me.”

He knows what you’re doing, and you think he’s going to push back on the second half of your request for a moment. Instead, he tosses back the rest of his whiskey without breaking eye contact, letting one hand drift to your thigh, gripping you firmly and rubbing circles with his thumb against the fabric of your jumpsuit.

“Alright. Close the door then.”

You step away from him and head towards the entrance to your office. You can see the hangar has mostly emptied now, with the final few stragglers heading for the exit. Chuckles is among them, the last one out. As you go to shut your door, he turns back and meets your eyes. You can see his gaze flick to Crater, still in your office, before it moves back to meet your face. There’s something in those familiar brown irises that you can’t identify, and you briefly consider calling out to him. But before you can make up your mind, he puts on his helmet and leaves.

Something in your stomach twinges, but you ignore it.

You shut the door.

—

A few rotations later, you’re in your office when there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Crater enters, helmet still on.

“You busy?”

“No more than usual,” you reply without looking up from the datapad you’re punching away on.

He doesn’t remove his helmet. “Color?” His voice is lower in the modulator, almost as if he’s whispering.

You inhale sharply, finally looking up at him. His head is tilted to the side, evaluating you. He’s never come to you in the middle of the day before. And you suddenly realize why he’s probably here.

“Green,” you breathe.

He closes and locks the door, and without another word, he goes to your makeshift bedroom, returning a moment later with your plug.

“Strip and bend over the desk.”

You can’t shuck off the top of your jumpsuit fast enough, dragging your panties with it to your knees and bending over. You rest your elbows on the wooden surface as you have many times before with him, unleashing a shuddering exhale as he comes to stand behind you.

“Gregor’s back,” he rasps as he pulls your top desk drawer open, retrieving the bottle of lube you’ve hidden there for your more impromptu encounters in your office. You hear it click open, and you shudder with anticipation. “Chatted with him and Chuckles this morning. If you’re still alright with it, we’ll be by this evening after Gregor and I get out of our briefings.”

“Lucky for you, my schedule is clear,” you tease. You and Crater both know you hardly ever have plans.

He dips his helmet in a nod. His gloved hand comes to rest on your back, arching it slightly until your ass is presented to him. You feel some lube dribble onto your asshole, and you shudder at the chill as he presses the plug against you, working it in and out of you slowly until it’s fully nestled inside of you.

“If I had time, I’d break you in myself right now, but that’ll have to wait until tonight. Leave that in,” he growls. “And wear something nice.”

“Yes, sir,” you pant. You don’t know how you’re going to get through the next few hours like this.

“And don’t you dare go back there and touch yourself,” he warns.

You whine.

“I’ll see you tonight, pretty girl.” And with that, he slips out of your office, leaving you stripped bare and bent over your desk, trying to catch your breath. You slam the button under your desk that locks the door again, bracing yourself on your palms as you try to get your legs to stop quivering at the feeling of the plug pressed inside you.

Fuck.

You stumble into your back room on wobbly legs, wanting desperately to climb into your bed and stuff your pussy full with your vibrator. But Crater always knows somehow when you disobey him. Last time, he tied you up with some silk rope and toyed with you until you cried and begged for release. The rope was still tucked in your bedside drawer, a silent threat.

Not what I’m looking for tonight. More hoping for instant gratification. So I’ll behave. This time.

You quickly dig through your crate of clothes, finally finding the parcel you’d purchased a while back. Ever since you and Crater started sleeping together, you’ve tried to find a few more pieces of lingerie to add to your sparse wardrobe. Nothing expensive since you’re on a budget and Crater has a penchant for tearing delicate fabrics, but this one you’ve been saving for a special occasion. It’s a dark grey bra and panty set that matches the grey accents on the 28th Combat Wing’s armor perfectly. The lace tickles your skin as you pull it on, and you glance at yourself in the mirror briefly, admiring the way your breasts are pushed together. A tiny fake gemstone sits embedded on a charm that dangles between your breasts. It’s a deep magenta, the main color of the 28th. It really had been too ideal to pass up.

Perfect.

You pull your jumpsuit back on, trying not to think too hard about how full you feel as you recompose yourself and step back out into the garage.

The hours drag on. For better or worse, no one really bothers you, and you are able to mostly remain in your office, leaving you squirming in private as you try to get through your paperwork while not thinking about how tonight's going to go. When you finally hear the main lighting systems begin to power off, signaling the end of the day, you can’t help but sigh in relief. Stretching your arms above your head, you stand, heading out in the garage to make sure everything got put away properly at the end of the day and that all of the droids made it back to their docks.

It’s almost deafeningly silent in the darkness, and you keep to the path illuminated by the emergency lighting, taking your usual route through the hangar. Everything looks to be in order until a loud clanging sound makes you jump.

You halt and hear another loud clatter followed by a few muttered curses and some indignant beeping, making you pause in the darkness. Under one of the emergency light beams, you spot movement. A mohawked head pokes up out of a cockpit of a Headhunter, and you watch as a tool is tossed out of the fighter, hitting the floor with a loud clang right next to a borderline belligerent droid. You sigh, heading over to see what the fuss is about.

Chuckles is hunched over in his Z-95, muttering to himself as you quietly ascend the stepladder he’s pulled up next to the fighter. His armor is stacked on the ground next to the ladder, and as you reach the top step, you see he’s changed into a black tank top rather than his regulation undershirt with the Republic cog emblazoned across the chest. He’s leaning forward, giving you a view of some of the lines of the tattoo on his shoulder blade, flexing in the dim lighting as he grumbles unintelligibly. His arms and shoulders have several long, deep scars on them, more than Crater or any other pilot you’ve seen. Even his knuckles and fingers have a few light patches where the skin has had to heal. You wonder what caused them, and wonder if it’s tied to the large scar on his face. He’s burrowed under the flight controls, unaware of your presence, and you watch him for a few moments before leaning forward.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask at a volume that’s slightly louder than necessary.

Chuck jumps, smacking his head on the underside of the console with a loud curse. You giggle as he sits back in the seat, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at you.

“What the kriff, Bolts?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing in here?”

“My karking eject handle isn’t working.”

“You know you shouldn’t pull that in the garage, right?”

He glares at you again. “I’m well aware. But I can’t even get it primed. Something’s jammed.”

You raise an eyebrow down at the droid, R0-G3, that’s parked just below, who beeps to inform you he was in the process of repairing it when Chuckles showed up.

“Why can’t you let Rog do it? That’s his job.”

Rog beeps angrily in agreement, and Chuckles glowers at him. “He said he wasn’t going to finish it until tomorrow, and I won’t have time to check it tomorrow before we head out the next day.”

The droid beeps again, flashing his charge indicator, which is warning him it’s starting to get low. It seems he’s expended a good chunk of energy arguing with the pilot. You chew the inside of your cheek, something telling you there’s more to the story here.

“Why do you need to check it? Don’t trust the quality of work around here?”

Chuckles freezes, unable to meet your eyes. “Of course I do. It’s not that, it’s just…” He sits back heavily in the seat, his eyes fluttering closed as he releases a long sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. You jerk your head at R0-G3, and he takes his leave, rolling off towards the far door that leads to the chargers. You lean on the edge of the cockpit, resting your chin on your forearms.

“Alright. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not especially,” he mumbles from beneath his fingers.

You pick at some of the paint that’s peeling along one metal seam, changing tacks. “Crater talked to you about tonight, right?”

One of his eyes appears between his fingers, locking with yours. “Yeah. He said you’re onboard with it. That you asked.” For a moment, his gaze is as piercing as his brother’s, and you fight the urge to squirm as he analyzes you.

“I did.”

He hums, letting his hands drop to his lap and studying you. “I need to get this fixed tonight. Don’t really want to get into specifics. Just needs to be done. Even if I miss…all that.”

You nod, noting the way his fingers brush the scar on his cheek that you’d always thought of as sort of his trademark. The damaged skin seems to pull his mouth into a perpetual smirk, but to you it has always been obvious that the event that caused it was anything but joyous.

“If that’s the case, then we’d really better get this fixed,” you conclude, and before he can protest, you scale the rest of the ladder and climb into the cockpit with him, settling into his lap. He inhales sharply, and you wiggle your hips a little bit more than necessary as you duck under the console, pressing your ass against where his codpiece would normally be. It doesn’t take long before you feel something else that’s hard as plastoid pressing against you.

“BOLTS! Maker almighty, what the kriff are you doing?”

“Helping you fix your ship. That’s my job.”

You pull a penlight from your breast pocket and click it on, turning upside down to examine the eject mechanism under the seat. Everything looks normal.

“Try to arm it for me.”

Chuck sighs above you, but leans over you, one hand resting on your hip as the other flicks the eject switch on his console. You see the indicator light blink green, and you cautiously reach your hand out to the handle.

“There should be a little give if it’s actually disengaged,” Chuckles says. “If there’s no give, then it’s not actually armed.”

You gingerly tap the handle, and he’s right, the thing doesn’t budge a millimeter.

“Hm.” You trace the connection along the floorboards, following it under the flight console to where you originally found Chuck. “Can you hand me the driver that’s in my right back pocket?” you ask.

He huffs.

“It’s right there, Chuckles. And if Crater actually talked to you, that’s going to be one of the more tame things you’re doing tonight.”

You feel his cock jump where it’s pressed against your ass, and you playfully grind backwards a bit. The grip on your hips tightens, and Chuck huffs again before you feel a tug on your back pocket and the tool is thrust under the panel at you.

“See, teamwork makes the dream work,” you snicker. You can practically feel his eyes roll at you, but he doesn’t say anything else.

It only takes you a few moments to pry the panel loose and find the wiring. You can’t keep from wiggling and pressing back into Chuckles, and about the fifth time you do, you swear you feel him grind against you, but you ignore it, focused on your task.

You finally find the source of the issue, a broken connection in the wiring, and you tap his thigh, reaching behind you again. “Soldering iron. Other back pocket.” He hands it to you without protest this time, and within a few moments, you’ve got the connection fixed and look back between your and Chuck’s boots at the indicator light for the eject. It’s still on, but this time, when you tap the handle, there’s give. You sit up, your hair flying in every direction, grinning triumphantly. “Think I got it, but double-check that’s what you’re looking for.”

Chuckles leans over you, but without you climbing out of the cockpit, there’s not much room. He winds up practically doubled over you, his breath hot against the back of your neck as his fingers find the handle. You watch him give a slight tug, just enough to move it slightly.

“That’s it,” he says directly into your ear. “Perfect.” There’s a pause before he leans a little more forward and kisses your cheek. “Thanks, Bolts.”

Your face flushes with heat as he sits back, which feels ridiculous. This man is going to claim every part of you later if things go to plan, but here you are, giddy over a kiss on the cheek. “No problem,” you murmur, keeping your voice steady despite your fluttering stomach. “Now make sure it’s off so we don’t both get thrown out of here.”

You hear him huff a laugh as he leans forward and disarms the eject while you clamber back under the console to replace the panel. Once that’s done, you sit back against him, propping one foot up and allowing your head to drift back against his shoulder.

As much as you two bicker like drunken Jawas sometimes, Chuckles has always been your friend, another person you trust, even if you want to push him in front of a speeder at times. He takes your tools from you, carefully setting them on the top of the ladder before wrapping one arm around your waist, hesitantly letting the other hand rest on your thigh.

A silence settles between you two as you sit pressed together. You allow your hand to drift over his, resting there, and he presses his cheek against your forehead. You can feel the day-old scruff against your skin. His chest rises and falls, pressing against you, and with every passing breath, the anticipation seems to grow, making the air around you feel charged with electricity. This isn’t the first time you’ve sat like this with him, but normally, it’s done out of necessity, squishing together in a booth as more brothers arrive at 79s. Chuck’s hand has often found a place on your thigh, resting comfortably there. It thrilled you in the past, even though you’d always figured it would go no further.

You both know tonight is different.

Finally, he breaks the silence.

“So why me?” he asks. “Gregor and you needed to fuck it out. Crater’s… well he’s Crater. But why involve me?”

You reach up, letting your hand rest against his unmarred cheek. He doesn’t pull away, but watches you carefully. “Because I trust you, Chuckles. You’re right, Gregor started as a way to blow off steam. And so did Crater. But I wanted to… explore something, and Crater and I both agreed you and Gregor are the ones to explore with. I know whatever happens tonight will stay between us and won’t wind up scratched into a ‘fresher stall at 79s.” You swallow hard. “And… I care about you, more than I think you realize.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sigh. “Do you trust me?”

His brows knit together. “Of course.”

“With your life?”

“Where’s this going, Bolts?”

You interlace your fingers with his. “Did you know, I check every fighter that leaves this place myself? That is what’s going to happen tomorrow night before your squad leaves the following morning. I will be up all night if I have to, double-checking every millimeter of your fighter to make sure it’s up to snuff and will bring you back here.” You pause again, meeting his eyes. “Bring you back here to me.”

Something shifts in his gaze, and his expression softens. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “The eject didn’t work right when I got this,” he says quietly, tapping his scarred cheek. “I was in an uncontrolled spin, losing altitude, and no matter how hard I pulled, the damn thing wouldn’t work. When it finally did work, it launched me into the canopy, and that’s when I got cut. Broke more bones than I can count. Punctured a lung. And then I hit the water. Thought I was going to drown because I was too hurt to swim, and water was just leaking into my mouth through my cheek. It… it was the most scared I’ve ever been. I don’t want that to ever happen again. If I go out, I want it to be quick. I-I don’t want to have time to think about it. So, I always check.”

Your chest aches as you turn in his lap to straddle him, bringing your hands up to cradle his face, finally running your thumb along the raised skin on his cheek where the canopy’s transparisteel sliced him open. His eyes bore into you for a moment before he closes them, relaxing into your touch. Your heart twists at the thought of him, broken and bloodied in the seas of Kamino with his face flayed open, certain he’s going to die.

You kiss him.

It’s gentle and tender. There will be time for hunger and urgency later, but right now, you want to reassure him. You want him to know how much he means to you, that you care for him, and above all, you want him to know that he can trust you.

And something sparks within you as he kisses you back.

He’s careful and slow, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Warmth floods through you as he hesitantly traces his tongue along your lower lip, and you allow him entry, burying one hand in his short mohawk and cupping his jaw with the other. He probes your mouth gently, and you feel him melt into you, his grip loosening on you but still keeping you pressed against him. You’ve kissed Crater, hells, you’ve even kind of kissed Gregor, but nothing felt like this. Chuckles is consuming you, and you know you could easily get lost in him just like this. You want to, but after a few moments, you rest your forehead against his, stroking his cheek gently. “I will never let that happen to you again, Chuckles. Ever. You are too important to me.”

He meets your gaze for a few moments, and something unspoken flickers in his eyes before his face breaks out into a grin. “You know, if I’d known all this, I might have tried to get you out of that jumpsuit sooner.”

You understand what he’s doing; he’s not good with sentimentality. He’s always dealt with humor. He’s allowed his jester’s mask to drop more than he ever has before, and you will treasure the trust he put in you in that instant, but if he’d allowed the moment to linger, it wouldn’t be Chuckles.

But you also can’t deny that you already want to kiss him again.

Instead, you roll your eyes, turning around to face forward once more and resting your back against his chest. His hands slide down to your hips, and you feel him readjust. He’s still hard as durasteel, maybe more so now. You give a playful grind, and he gasps behind you.

“You’re playing dirty, Bolts,” he growls in your ear.

“I thought you liked it dirty. Weren’t you the one just talking about getting me out of my clothes?”

His fingers slide to your stomach, tracing the zipper of your jumpsuit upwards until he snags the tab up by your throat. “Indeed I was.” He playfully nips at your earlobe, pulling you closer with his other arm. “You got any cameras in here?”

“I’m flattered you think I have that kind of budget.”

He tugs the zipper down. “Good.”

You lean into him, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder as he fully unzips your jumpsuit. He rests his chin on your shoulder, watching hungrily as each new centimeter of your skin is exposed to him. When the zipper is all the way down, he slips his hands inside of the rough fabric, tracing his fingers from your collarbone to your breasts before he gently cups the lacey grey garment you’ve chosen for this evening.

“This feels rather impractical and fancy,” he hums in your ear. He pinches the charm in the middle, huffing a laugh. “Pretty though. Especially on you. Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

You shrug out of the top half of your suit, trying to hide the way your lips quirk at his praise and the heat in your face. He trails kisses along your bare shoulders as he helps you push the rough material downwards. “Very impractical,” you agree. “But not expensive. Meant to be ripped off of me.”

He laughs again, a low growl that rumbles through you, and his hands are on your skin again, rough and warm as you sit nearly bare in his lap. He slips one hand inside your bra, grazing your nipple and causing you to writhe in his grip. He squeezes your breast and you moan. “Lift your hips,” he grunts in your ear, and a thrill shoots through you. You comply, and he manages to push your suit down past your knees, helping you as you kick it the rest of the way off along with your boots. You go to pull your panties down too, but he stills your hand. “Leave them on.”

You sit back, and Chuckles immediately groans. His fingers reverently trace over your abdomen before they find their way between your legs, parting your thighs, and he inhales sharply when he feels the warm dampness there.

“Matching panties? And you’re soaked. Bolts, you’re filthy.”

His fingers are thick and warm against the seam of your undergarments before he slips his fingers under the lace, running his digits through your slick and bringing it to his lips. He moans as he tastes you.

“Fuck, you taste good.”

“You wanna taste more?” you ask, quivering as his fingers glide back between your legs.

“Not yet. Right now, I want to fuck you in this cockpit. I wanna think about how your pretty pussy feels wrapped around my cock when I’m flying.”

“Sounds distracting,” you reply in a tone far breathier than you care for.

“I hear I think better with my dick anyway,” he counters as he toys with your clit.

“Crater said to wait for them,” you gasp, desperately clinging to the last of your resolve.

“Since when do you take orders from the captain?” he teases, grazing his teeth along the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “I thought it was your garage, your rules.”

“Since he started leaving handprints on my ass for disobeying him.”

He hums as he slips a finger inside you. “Seems like you want it right now though. I’d slide right in no problem with as wet as you are.” He nuzzles against your ear as he adds another digit and starts driving his fingers into you, rutting against your ass. You moan as he slips his fingers in and out of you, digging your nails into his arm. “Do you want my cock right now?” he rasps in your ear.

You hope Crater will appreciate how compromised you were later as you grind against Chuckles’s palm.

It’s really his fault for not getting here sooner.

“I want it. I want you to fuck me,” you moan.

“Lift your hips again for me then.”

You obey as Chuckles rolls down his pants enough to pull his cock out, pulling your panties to the side and notching himself at your entrance. You feel his knuckles graze you as he pumps himself. His other hand grips your waist.

“Sit.”

You sink down slowly on him, and you hear his head thunk against the headrest of the seat as you clench, gradually adjusting around him until you’re fully seated in his lap.

“Can feel the plug in your ass,” he grits out. “Crater said you might let us all take you at once, but I didn’t think he meant there. Maker, I can’t wait to feel you.”

You give him another squeeze, trying to pretend you have an ounce of composure as his fingers find their way back between your legs, playing with your clit.

You’re glad the garage is empty as you and Chuckles give into your carnal desires in the seat of his cockpit. You start off grinding slowly against him, allowing your walls to adjust around his thick member before you begin carefully bouncing up and down on him, ensuring to keep the head of him inside you before you drop back down on his thighs. It doesn’t take long for the wet slaps of your cunt slamming against him and your moans to start echoing throughout the empty garage.

He’s a talker. Of course he is.

“Maker, Bolts. I never thought you’d let me fuck this sweet little cunt. I’ve fisted my cock so many times, thinking about what it’d feel like to have you wrapped around me like this, but you’re so much warmer and wetter than I ever could have imagined. You’re like a fucking vice. I’m gonna fill you tonight. Take you in every way I can. Fuck, how are you so soft?” He presses against the small of your back, tipping you further forward as he thrusts up into you. His fingers trace the bruises on your hips and ass. “Crater leave these?”

“Mhm,” you moan, catching your lip between your teeth as he presses gently against the marks.

“You gonna let me leave some of my own tonight, sweetheart? Gonna let me brand you when I claim you?”

“Fuck, yes, Chuckles.”

He groans, gripping your hips harder. You brace yourself against the edges of the cockpit, ignoring the burning in your thighs and calves as they protest the awkward position. It’s nothing compared to the feeling of Chuckles inside of you, and right now, that’s all that matters to you as you chase your pleasure. You’ve been wound up all day, and Chuckles is finally giving you what you’d longed for, rubbing your thighs together at your desk for hours.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps guide you up and down. Sweat dribbles between your breasts as you ride him frantically, chasing your high. He adjusts, and suddenly he’s hitting the perfect spot inside of you. Your head tips back and your brows pinch together as you frantically roll your hips, trying to ensure the head of his cock strokes the same place again and again.

“‘M so close, Bolts. Gonna cum in this pussy right now and then gonna have you clean my cock off. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fuck, I can’t wait to fuck your ass. You’re gonna be screaming my name all night, sweetheart. You close?”

You whine as he slips his hand back between your legs, circling your clit. “Yeah. Yeah I’m close.”

“Gonna cum on my cock, Bolts?”

“Not if she doesn’t want to get edged until she’s crying for the rest of the night,” a voice calls out from the darkness.

You and Chuckles freeze in the cockpit as two figures step into the light: Crater, who’s glaring at you, and Gregor, wearing a cocky smirk. Both of them are stripped down to only their under suits and boots, and Gregor’s wearing a tank top of some burger joint you don’t recognize, but it shows off his arms nicely. Both of them have bedrolls slung over their shoulders. Chuckles’s thumb rubs against your hip, and you clench around him.

“I thought I told you to behave yourself,” Crater reminds you, his tone the low and dangerous baritone you’re more than familiar with.

“Technically, you told me not to touch myself in the backroom of my office. And I didn’t,” you reply sweetly.

“You’re right, she is a brat,” Gregor giggles.

“Better a brat than an asshole,” you pant, ignoring how relieved you are to hear his ridiculous laugh again.

Gregor is completely unphased by your words, snickering as he climbs the ladder, leaning on the edge and looking over your body. “Good to see you too, Bolts,” he jeers, gripping your chin and kissing you. You dig your teeth into his lower lip defiantly, and he grunts. Chuckles gives an indignant huff, thrusting up into you slightly to remind you he’s still there. You squeeze him as hard as you can and he groans as you release Gregor.

“I still fucking hate you, but I’m glad you’re safe,” you mutter.

Gregor just winks at you.

“Out of the fighter, you two,” Crater growls. You playfully roll your eyes, but oblige. Chuckles gasps when his cock slips from you, still hard and now glistening from being inside of you.

“Sorry,” you whisper teasingly. “More where that came from though. Promise.” You kiss him again before readjusting your lingerie and climbing down the ladder, coming to stand in front of Crater. His eyes are practically glowing.

“Think you’re cute, don’t you?” he says quietly.

You shrug. “Like I said, didn’t technically disobey.”

His fingers reach out, toying with the charm between your breasts. “Well, we’ll see how long that technicality deprives you of an orgasm tonight.”

You shiver but try to keep yourself composed. “Chuckles, can you hand me down my suit and boots?”

The pilot goes to toss them to you, but Crater snatches them out of the air. “Oh no you don’t. You wanted to get out of your clothes so much, you can walk back to your office like that.”

You open your mouth to retort, and Crater raises his eyebrow in warning. You’ve come to recognize that look and all that it entails if you keep pushing your luck, so instead, you tuck your tongue in your cheek haughtily.

“Alright then.”

A/N: Part 4 soon... and it's gonna be another one over 10k words.

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @wizardofrozz @ariadnes-red-thread @extrahotpixels @justanothersadperson93 @leftealeaf @meekaielmyersh99 @kaminocasey @echos-girlfriend @lucyysthings @obihiddlenox @merkitty49 @littlemissmanga @clonecyaree @baba-fett @sleepingsun501 @rexxdjarin @samspenandsword @babygirlrex0504 @ladytano420 @fxlsealarm @runforrestr @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

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duraznita-frescante · 1 year

Text

🌱 — “and then we’ll have breakfast in the morning.”

⇒ regressor! grian & cg! mumbo

⇒ word count: 994

⇒ summary: the night mumbo tells grian he’s taking a break

…

🌿 — my first tumblr fic hee hee this was written soooo long ago but I fixed it up some and I think it still holds up. just some good ol hurt comfort short and sweet. enjoy!!!

“What do you mean you’re leaving?”

Mumbo let out a shaky sigh.

“Not for forever, just… Just for a while,” he tried.

“That’s not— where? Where could you possibly go?” Grian asks frantically.

“There’s much more out there than Hermitcraft, Gri, I want to see it, I need something different,” he tries to explain what he barely understands himself.

“But— But…” Grian is overwhelmed, Mumbo could see it clear as day and he knew his birdy would be as well.

“I’ll be back, I promise. I just need to clear my mind, work on myself, by myself,” Mumbo tried, not sure if he even fully believed himself .

“When?” The winged man asked with a slight bite in his tone. He didn’t mean it, Mumbo knew he didn’t mean it.

“Tomorrow night,” he answered as if it were an apology. It was just long enough to get everything sorted but short enough that he wouldn’t change his mind from now until then.

Grian’s face screwed up in that particular way that Mumbo knew what was to come. He came close to quickly crashing little, barely opening his arms before being crashed into, wings enveloping him on either side. Soft sniffling followed shortly after.

“Don’t keep your sad in, darling, you know I don’t like it when you hold back the tears,” Mumbo sighed, tugging Grian up and into his arms. The poor thing clung to him and let out choked cries.

“It’ll be okay, sweet thing, I promise,” He comforted.

Grian shook his head into Mumbo’s shoulder, “It can’t!” He cried.

Mumbo smiled sadly. So dramatic, he would have said if Grian’s dramatics were not so sincere as they were now.

“Yes, it can, darling, and it will. You have so many friends here to be with you and take care of you,” Mumbo began to choke up as well.

A selfish, cowardly part of him had hoped that he didn’t have to deal with this part. That he wouldn’t have to go through the hurt of explaining to his baby that his caregiver was leaving for a very long time. But as much as it would hurt him, he knew it would hurt Grian about a hundred times more.

“They’re not you! I need you.” Grian was a mess after that, all snot and tears.

“I know, I know,” Mumbo responded softly. The little was far too small and upset to listen to reason anymore. Every little hiccup for air and rough sob made him want to take it all back, tell his birdy that it was all a cruel joke and that he’d never do such a horrible thing as leave his birdy all alone.

But he couldn’t. Not for Grian. Not for himself.

“You want a bath? Hm? When was the last time you groomed your wings?” Mumbo began to ask as Grian’s sobs turned to harsh hiccups.

“Um… I— I dunno…” the younger mumbled.

“That’s alright, let’s get you all nice and clean for bed,” Mumbo walked them both over to their master bathroom, setting a now regressed Grian down on the toilet lid, and began to run a warm bath for his birdy.

Grian whined as Mumbo took his time checking the water temperature, leaving his side.

“Oh, we can’t have that, shh…” Mumbo stood over the younger and held his face gently with his hands, rocking slightly to try and calm the little best he could. Once the water was getting near the top, he shrugged off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-up.

“Ready?” He asked quietly.

Grian silently raised his arms in response, allowing Mumbo to undress him and place him in the bath with no fuss. Very uncharacteristic of the little, but Mumbo wouldn’t comment, he’s sure he has plenty on his mind right now. He took his time scrubbing over his partner as this would be the last time for a while. And oh that hurt so much to think about.

“Close your eyes, darling,” Mumbo directed just as he had hundreds of times before. Grian quickly screwed his eyes shut, not wanting any water to run into his eyes. And just like hundreds of times before, Grains wings fluttered behind him as the water ran over his face, a deep-set instinct that never failed to make the both of them giggle. And today was no different, Mumbo sputtered as he was splashed with water and Grian laughed as if getting his caregiver soggy was the funniest thing in the world.

“You always do this! I don’t know why I think it’ll be any different!” Mumbo exclaims with a smile.

“You should have just come in here with me, then your clothes wouldn’t be ruined,” Grian shoots back, obviously ageing back up a bit enough to say full sentences without bursting into tears. But Mumbo knew better than to assume he was big again. He also knew that Grian was most definitely taking the “suppress my feelings until the problem is gone or until I physically cannot anymore” route to cope with his announcement of leaving.

Mumbo wondered if he could even help him through that before he left, but he severely doubted he could. He’ll have to talk to Xisuma about it, to make sure Grian doesn’t spiral.

“My clothes aren’t ruined, just a bit damp,” Mumbo explained carefully, not wanting to say anything to upset his little one any further. The wrong amount of teasing might just push him over the edge and devolve into tears once again.

Eventually they finished up and Mumbo wrapped Grian in a fluffy towel and they spent the rest of the night sitting together by lamp light. Just as the oil began to burn up and the flame was about half as bright, a quiet voice piped up.

“Don’t leave,” it begged.

“I’ll be right here all night, Gri,” the other responded.

“And then?”

“… and then we’ll have breakfast in the morning.”

#mcyt agere #agere writing #hermitcraft #cg! mumbo #r! grian #age regression #sfw agere #mumbo jumbo #grian #requests open #<< see pinned!!!#nita writes

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somekndofnature · 9 months

Text

Summary:

We're back in the present fam! Inuyasha and Miroku have a heartfelt talk and he does his best to convince Kagome to be their manager again. Kagome gets a first taste of the new music.

Notes:

Hello all! It has been a helluva week. This story has been my only escape and comfort. So, I hope you all enjoy. Might post another chapter later if I'm feeling cute. 🤪

Soooo... the music. There's a lot for this chapter. First, 'Little Lion Man' by Mumford & Sons and disclaimer: just because I still like songs from this band does not mean I agree with any of their personally held beliefs. It honestly feels weird that I need to type that but... better safe. Anyway, next is a song by Tim Minchin called 'The Absence of You'. Please look this up on YouTube. You won't regret it. The music is stunning. The next one is 'Panic Station' by Muse.

And finally, we get to 'hear' the first song from Inuyasha in this chapter. It is a song that I feel really portrays how he has felt the last six years without Kagome. So, if you would like to listen to the song, this is the YouTube link.

I hope those links work. I'm not exactly savvy with these things, but I'm learning!

AO3

Chapter 6: Is Ever What It Seems

Present day…

Inuyasha shook away the invasive memory of the first time he made love to Kagome, wondering what possessed his mind to conjure it in the first place. Not that he didn’t think about it… often . He found an enormous amount of comfort in reliving that peaceful moment. This wasn’t the time, though, no matter how tempting. It wouldn’t do him any good to get his hopes up. He had a long way to go before she would trust him enough to be that vulnerable again. Not to mention, his pants were getting tight. The last thing he wanted was to greet her again with a full-blown erection—if Sango managed to convince her to stay.

“You look nervous,” Miroku said, interrupting his thoughts.

Inuyasha snorted. “Yeah. No shit, asshole.”

“Did you expect this to be easy?”

“No,” he snapped before crossing his arms over his chest with a dejected sigh. “I just didn’t realize how much I had hurt her. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know it was a lot but—”

You broke me.

He shuddered.

Miroku took a deep breath. “Do you want my advice?”

“No,” he answered reflexively, before giving it more serious thought. Inuyasha sat forward and shrugged. “Uh… yeah.”

Miroku tossed his dark hair out of his eyes while fighting to suppress the smug smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Inuyasha’s stomach soured in an instant; maybe this was a mistake.

“Look, you arrogant prick, are you gonna be helpful or not?” he slumped back into his chair.

Miroku chuckled. “Take it slow. That’s my advice. It’ll take a while to rebuild things between you.”

“Keh, tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay.” His friend sat a little straighter. “Kagome asks Sango about you all the time.”

Inuyasha’s head whipped towards him. “Really?”

“Yes,” Miroku said with a nod. “They spend quite a bit of time talking about you.”

“That’s a good sign, right?”

“I would think so,” he replied before reaching forward and grabbing his wrist. “Just… don’t get into something you’re not ready for.”

Inuyasha frowned. “I don’t—"

“Believe it or not, I understand your hesitation before,” Miroku explained. “Kagome is your mate. We’re talking about a lifetime commitment here.”

“So?” Inuyasha lifted one shoulder. “You’re doing that with Sango. You’re getting married.”

“Yes, but I’ve had other relationships before Sango,” he said. “How many women have you even been with?”

“What the fuck does that matter?” he sneered.

“Well, you always seemed very experienced from the outside,” Miroku replied. “But now I know that was all a lie.”

“Keh.” Inuyasha crossed his arms over his chest and tried to keep his irritation from boiling over.

He wasn’t really mad at Miroku; he was mad at himself, at how badly he had fucked things up. This building rage was going to need an outlet and the only target for his anger was the hanyou that looked back at him from the mirror each morning.

“Seriously?” Miroku prodded. “You didn’t sleep with any of those women? Even Kikyou?”

A low growl built up in his chest. “No, not even Kikyou.”

“Wow. Why did she stick around for so long?”

Inuyasha rested his head against the wall behind him, fingers playing at the edge of his jeans pocket. “Mutually beneficial? She didn’t mind that we weren’t intimate so long as I supplied the good drugs. And there were times that I thought she played for the other team, but even relationships like that have their limits, I guess. I haven’t seen or heard from her since the night I OD’d—not that I really want to.”

“So, how was it mutually beneficial?” Miroku asked with a frown.

He shrugged. “She kept other women away for the most part.”

“Including Kagome…”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly while his shoulders bunched with tension.

“So, how long has it been?”

His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Inuyasha,” Miroku said while rolling his eyes. “How long since you’ve been laid?”

“Christ, man!” He snapped, shoving his hand into his pocket and withdrawing the slim vape pen. “I’m sitting here baring my soul and that’s what you choose to focus on?”

Miroku gave him a moment to take a long pull and calm his already frayed nerves. “Level with me, how long?”

Inuyasha released a whispy cloud of vapor from his lips, rolling the herbaceous flavor around his tongue as his agitation lessened. “Almost six years, I think.”

His friend hissed in sympathy. “Ouch.”

“Got no one to blame but myself.” He snorted and took another hit. “Besides, that isn’t what I miss most about Kagome.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miroku smile. “What do you miss the most?”

He inhaled from his pen again while staring at the entrance to the restrooms, willing her to reappear. “I miss talking to her. She always made me feel lighter… like I was finally at peace. She quieted my mind and taught me how to just… be. Whatever I felt—happiness, sadness, anger—I could just exist with them, could even manage to see the beauty in them, without fighting against it all the time.” He sighed. “Now, nothing seems beautiful. It all just passes right through me and leaves no imprint.”

Miroku remained quiet long enough for Inuyasha to get self-conscious. He wasn’t normally one to spew out such sappy romanticisms. He used his music to communicate with the world. It was easier to try and put all those feelings to a melody than say them straight to someone’s face.

He took a cautious glance in Miroku’s direction and grimaced. He was moon-eyed and fluttering his lashes with a dreamy sigh.

“What?” Inuyasha sneered.

“Sometimes you manage to say the most wonderful things to exactly the wrong person.”

“Huh?”

Miroku rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one you should be telling this to, dickhead. Save the sweet talking for the girls,” he hissed, gesturing over Inuyasha’s shoulder.

He whipped around, mouth going dry as he watched Sango and Kagome approach the table again with puffy red eyes. Jumping to his feet, Inuyasha was struck dumb. All the words that he had just spoken to Miroku swirled around in his head like a letter goulash.

Kagome looked at him with her brows raised in expectation. “Inu?”

“B-beautiful!” he said, loud enough for every head to turn in their direction.

Inuyasha heard Miroku snickering from behind him while Sango stared as if he had just lost several IQ points.

“What?” Kagome asked in a soft tone.

He cleared his throat as his gaze found the white tips of his Chucks. “You-you’re beautiful.”

“T-thank you.”

“I’m sorry that I lost my temper,” he said, working up the nerve to look her in the eye.

Kagome’s baby blues stared back at him with timid vulnerability in their depths. “I appreciate that.”

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he whispered, reaching out to grab her fidgeting hand. “But you’ve never been worthless, Kagome. Certainly not to me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she released a shaky breath.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Miroku asked, interrupting the intimate moment.

Every eye turned to him. Sango looked ready to throttle him, but Inuyasha was thankful for the distraction. There were so many things he needed to tell her; most of them too intimate for a public space like this.

Kagome cleared her throat but didn’t pull away from him. Inuyasha rubbed his thumb along the back of hers.

“The verdict is that I’ll listen to the music,” she answered before meeting his gaze. “Then I’ll decide.”

“Okay,” he said, leading her back towards her chair. “We can listen to it right now.”

“Ummm…”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” Sango interjected, coming to Kagome’s side and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “We have a previous engagement.”

“What?! What engagement?”

His friend’s eye narrowed. “Kagome came here to have a relaxing time with a friend—i.e. me. So, we are going to get pampered.”

“Wait,” he said. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Kagome replied. “I’ll call you once I get home.”

“But—”

“Inuyasha, stop smothering her,” Sango snapped.

“I’m not,” he snarled in return.

Kagome swallowed hard and worked herself out of both their holds. “I’m gonna grab a coffee before we go.”

Flabbergasted, Inuyasha watched her go without complaint before turning his livid glare on Sango. “What the fuck? How can I win her back if I don’t even get to be around her?”

“Right now, that’s not my problem.”

A low growl built in his chest. “I thought you were gonna help me.”

“Inuyasha, calm down,” Miroku said from across the table. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Shut up! I want to know what the fuck she thinks she’s doing.”

Sango pursed her lips. “I’m trying to make up with my friend, if you don’t mind. You weren’t the only one who let her down, you know?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I chose you, Inuyasha,” she hissed. “Everything you put her through, and I knew about it all, but I chose you. I didn’t talk to her for over a year because I didn’t know how to apologize for that.”

Inuyasha’s jaw tightened as a new load of guilt landed heavy on his shoulders.

“Kagome’s right,” Sango continued. “She may have left, but we are the ones who abandoned her… after everything she did for us.” She looked between both the men at the table with their heads bowed in shame. “We have a lot of faith to rebuild between all of us.”

“Fine,” Inuyasha sneered, while reaching forward to unzip the front pocket of Kagome’s suitcase.

“What are you doing?’ Sango asked with lingering irritation in her tone.

He fished around and withdrew her airline information, thanking every kami in existence that she hadn’t changed her travel habits. The woman was anal, with hardcopy backups of all her information. Pulling out his phone, he took a quick picture of the flight number.

“Inuyasha?”

“I’m not letting her get away that easy,” he replied, before packing everything away again.

He looked up with a smirk as Sango rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t sound creepy, at all.”

He scowled.

“What doesn’t sound creepy?” Kagome interrupted, coming up behind her with a paper cup in hand.

Inuyasha straightened, worried that he had been caught.

“Nothing,” Sango dismissed with a wave. “Let’s get going. I’m suffocating on the amount of testosterone in here.”

She circled the table and snatched up her purse before leaning forward to give Miroku a quick kiss.

“Have fun,” he said with a smile.

Inuyasha stood when Kagome approached him and wrapped her arms around his middle. A lump lodged in his throat as he melted into the embrace. He squeezed her closer, memorizing the feel of her slender body and intoxicating scent.

Mine , his demon sighed in satisfaction.

She pulled away too soon and smiled up at him. “It was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ve missed you, Kagome,” he said while nuzzling against her cheek.

He heard her sharp inhale before she admitted, “I miss you, too.”

Inuyasha almost sank to knees. “Then stay,” he whispered, cupping her face in his hand.

Kagome shook her head and took a step back. “I can’t, Sango and I have plans.”

“That’s right, bitch!” Sango interjected. “We are gonna tear shit up!”

Inuyasha tossed a glare in her direction.

“Just send me a link to the playlist,” Kagome said as she gathered her things.

“But,” he replied, feeling panicked at her inevitable departure.

Both women took a step towards the door before he leapt forward and grabbed Kagome’s free hand.

“Wait!”

“Inuyasha?” She turned to look at him with her brow raised.

“Just, really think about it,” he pleaded. “I need you with me, Kagome.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I will. I promise.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Thank you.”

“Alright Romeo,” Sango said from beside her. “Now let her go. We’ve got places to be.”

It was harder than he thought, letting go of her hand. He wanted to hold onto her forever, but eventually he found the strength. He peeled his fingers from around hers and released her, returning Kagome’s wave as they slipped out the door.

Inuyasha turned and walked back to the table before plopping into a chair and covering his face with his hands. “That went worse than I imagined.”

“Really?” Miroku said from across the table. “I thought it went well.”

“Keh, how d’ya figure?” he mumbled while dragging his fingers down his face.

His friend shrugged. “She didn’t refuse.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “She was just too nice to do it twice in one sitting. You know how ‘Gome is; she’s too sweet for her own good.”

“Have a little more faith in her, Inuyasha,” Miroku chastised. “You asked her to think seriously about it and I’m sure she will.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better,” he grumbled.

A heavy silence settled between them for several long moments. Inuyasha tried to muster any feelings of hope but only managed a mild dread. He slumped further in his chair with a sigh.

The shroud of despondency that was his constant companion had lifted in Kagome’s presence but was quickly retaking its rightful place. Her light and happiness had shined on him for only a moment, warming him from the inside out. Now, he was growing cold once more. A shiver stole through him.

The scraping sound of Miroku’s chair across the wood floor pinned his ears against his head with irritation.

He circled the table and stopped in front of Inuyasha. “What are you doing today, besides wallowing in self-pity?”

“I don’t wallow,” he sneered while crossing his arms over his chest.

“You do,” Miroku deadpanned. “And it’s unhealthy.”

“Fuck off.”

Instead, his friend stuck out his hand. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“I’m not gonna let you sit here and lick your wounds all alone,” Miroku said, grabbing his wrist. “The girls went out to have some fun and so should we.”

Inuyasha reluctantly let his friend pull him onto his feet. “Fun?”

“Yes, fun,” he replied while dragging him towards the door. “You know, what normal people do to cheer themselves up when they’re feeling down.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath but allowed his friend to lead him out of the coffee shop and onto the busy sidewalk. He cocked one ear towards Miroku’s yammering, just barely managing to grunt or nod at the right time. His attention was elsewhere.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and typed in a quick Google search; Inuyasha had a flight to book.

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

Kagome pushed through her hotel room door with a grunt and flipped on the first switch she could find. Soft light filled the generic beige space, somehow managing to look both inviting and spartan at the same time. She was used to frequent travel and lonely hotel rooms, but tonight the emptiness settled in her gut like a cold ball of lead.

She let the door slam closed behind her and wrestled her small rolling bag down the short hallway, stopping by the bed. Kagome collapsed onto the mattress and fell back with an exhausted sigh. Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much; she hadn’t realized just how much she missed her friend. It had been so fulfilling to spend time with Sango, but now that she was alone, all the emotions that she had suppressed throughout the day were coming back to haunt her.

The betrayal that she originally felt upon showing up in the coffee shop still lingered, despite Sango’s multiple apologies. Kagome couldn’t help it. Even when she was trying to make positive and healthy changes in her life, Inuyasha’s shadow haunted her. She was trying to move on, to put the past behind her, and yet all her efforts were futile. The past demanded reconciliation, no matter how hard she tried to run from it.

Kagome sat straight and squared her shoulders, reminding herself that she was the only one who governed the course of her life, nothing else. In the end, the decision that she was contemplating was hers alone to make. She had power; she had agency. Her future was completely in her control.

Feeling a little more settled, she turned to her suitcase and unzipped it, withdrawing her pajamas and toiletry bag. She kicked off her shoes and padded towards the bathroom, pausing next to her purse. Through the slightly gaped opening, she saw her phone screen shine back at her.

Inuyasha had sent her a link to his playlist while she and Sango were getting manicures. Kagome had managed to ignore the gnawing curiosity until now, but it was calling to her. She picked up the phone and opened the link, brow raising when she saw only four tracks in the queue.

She dug her ear buds out of her purse and popped them in before selecting one at random. The first notes began to play as she headed into the bathroom, their heaviness and deep tenor startling her. It was out of the norm for the punk singer.

Kagome dropped her items on the counter, brow furrowing as she listened. It was rough and she could tell that Inuyasha had played all the instruments. The bass wasn’t as smooth as when it was in Sango’s hands and the percussion lacked Miroku’s childlike thrill, but it was still impressive… and different.

Inuyasha’s raspy voice held a festering pain, instead of the usual irreverent sarcasm. As she listened to lyrics that seemed to be pulled straight from his soul, her heart twisted. She could feel the raw vulnerability in his words and ached along with him. The story he told was full of regret and the same struggle that every sentient being on the planet toiled through; the struggle to accept yourself.

Tears welled in her eyes, but Kagome forced herself into her normal bedtime routine, removing her makeup and washing the day away from her face while trying to convince herself that the moisture on her cheeks came only from the water. She dressed in her dark green sleep shorts and black tank top before crawling back into bed and flipping off the light just as the last track began to play. It started with the humming silence of white noise before being broken by Inuyasha’s deep voice.

“I haven’t showed this to others yet because…” He paused for a long moment. “Well, it’s rough… but so far, I think it tells you everything you need to know.”

He took a deep breath and Kagome heard the subtle stilted entry of a bass in the background for several seconds. She began to relax before his urgent voice whispered into her ear.

“ Paralyzed, going out of my mind, can’t seem to help myself …” he trailed off before returning with the same anxious tone. “ Hear your voice, see your face, call your name, stuck in a living hell .”

Her breath hitched as his tenor turned desperate, growling the last few words as if they pained him.

“ And I sleep just to leave this reality,” he crooned without giving her a reprieve. “Then I wake and it takes you away from me. I can't believe you and I are out of time; I never said goodbye. ”

There was a pause where it felt like something was missing, a beat of silence that yearned for a voice before the crash of a guitar blared.

“ You were the only thing worth living for! ” he half-sang and half-shouted. “ How could you go and leave me here; I’m all alone! ” Several heavy power cords sounded in rapid succession. “ So, I walk this earth half-alive, til the day I die. I’m killing time, killing time…for you.”

Kagome threw her headphones off before a sob burst from her lips. The absence of Inuyasha’s voice both soothed and tore at her. The emotion in his words matched hers; she had so many regrets, so much that she wanted to say to him. Her hand was reaching for her phone and dialing his number before she could think better of it. She heard it ring twice before being answered.

“’Ello,” Inuyasha rumbled from the other side of the line.

Her throat constricted; she didn’t know what to say. A breathy whimper burst from her lips.

She heard the rustling of fabric. “Kagome? What is it? What’s wrong?”

The blatant concern in his tone ripped a trembling breath from her chest.

“Kagome! Are you okay?” he asked, his worry palpable even over the phone. “Baby, you gotta answer me.”

“I-I’m fine,” she choked out, the frantic endearment making her heart ache.

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“I just… had a nightmare,” she fibbed through tears.

He released a relieved breath. “And you called me?”

“I shouldn’t have,” Kagome blubbered. “S-sorry, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No!” He bit out a quiet curse. “I don’t mind. What was your nightmare about?”

“I-I-I don’t even remember,” she fumbled. “I just woke up crying and needed to hear your voice.”

“Does that happen often?”

“What?” she replied with a watery laugh that held no trace of humor. “The waking up crying or needing to hear your voice?”

“Both.”

Her voice cracked as she answered, “Yeah, actually.”

“Dammit,” he hissed. “This is difficult.”

“What is?”

Inuyasha huffed in frustration; she could picture him running a hand through the shaggy bangs around his face. “Listening to you cry like this without being able to hug you.”

Her heart swelled. “Would you? If you were here?”

“Baby, say the word and I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he replied in a low tone that sent shivers through her.

Kagome tensed. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t do anything except make me feel more confused than I already am,” she whined. “I shouldn’t have even called you.”

“You can call me anytime, day or night.”

“So could you,” she accused. “And yet you never have.”

“It’s not the same,” he explained.

“How?”

“Because I’m the one who fucked up,” Inuyasha replied in a heated tone. “I have no right to come strolling back, asking for a place in your life, especially if you’ve already moved on and are happy.”

“And yet you got Sango to lure me here for this surprise attack?”

He growled. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

She ignored his flimsy excuses and scoffed. “Well, what if I am happy?” Kagome lied through her teeth. “What if I have moved on without you?”

Inuyasha went alarmingly quiet for several moments. “Is that true?”

Her grip on the phone tightened as she bit at the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t lie to him again.

“’Is it?” he snapped, making her jump.

“What does it matter?” she cried. “Things are what they are. You made your choices, and I made mine. That’s the end of it.”

“We both know that’s bullshit,” he hissed. “It matters to me. I want you with me ‘Gome… and I want you happy.”

The heartfelt sentiment, so close to what she had heard moments before on that playlist, pulled another sob from her throat. “I don’t know if you can get both.”

“Gimme a fuckin’ chance, at least!”

She flinched and sucked in a sharp breath at the anger in his voice. “I should go.”

“No!” he shouted before tempering his tone. “I just—I just need you to give me a chance. You said you would really think about it, but it sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I haven’t,” she assured him. “I’m keeping my promise.”

“Have you even listened to the music?” he asked, reminding her of their first meeting.

Kagome paused, thinking back over her emotional experience with it. “Umm.. not yet. I haven’t had the time.”

“Keh,” he scoffed. “If you’re not going to take this seriously then—”

“I am taking it seriously,” she interrupted. “If you recall, I was off the clock today, spending time with a friend. I’ll get back to work when, and if, I feel like it.’

“So, you’re basically telling me to go fuck myself,” he drawled.

“No, of course not. I’m saying it’s my life, Inuyasha,” she replied. “I’ll decide what type of toxic situation I step into.”

“I’m not fuckling toxic!” he shouted before his mouth audibly snapped shut.

Kagome sighed and rubbed at the headache forming behind her eyes. “This conversation is getting us nowhere. I should go.”

“Wait,” he pleaded. “Are you feeling any better?”

Her brow furrowed. “What?

“Your nightmare,” Inuyasha explained. “Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep?”

A reluctant smile found Kagome’s lips. “Yeah, I do. Thank you.”

“Keh, don’t thank me,” he dismissed. “I’ve probably only reminded you why you left in the first place.”

She hummed. “Quite the opposite actually.”

“What does that mean?”

“To be honest,” she murmured. “I haven’t felt this alive in six years.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

The silence stretched between them for several long moments before she released a pent breath. “Goodnight, Inuyasha.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” he replied cryptically. “Get some sleep, ‘Gome.”

She hummed in a non-committal tone. “I’ll do my best… bye.”

The phone beeped twice before going silent. She still felt lonely but a little warmer than before. Something about Inuyasha’s attitude caused an unbidden hope to bloom in her heart, no matter how hard she fought against it.

Kagome sighed and turned on her alarm before flipping off the light switch. She had a flight at eleven in the morning that she couldn’t miss. Then she could put all of this history behind her where it belonged and make a decision with a clear head.

She slumped against the mattress and tried to ignore the ghost of Inuyasha’s scent that her mind conjured from ephemera. He still smelled so good, inviting her to nuzzle and snuffle against him like some love-struck bitch. Kagome groaned at her own thoughts; she couldn’t be this far gone already, right?

She turned and punched the terrible hotel pillow into submission before settling on its lumpy corpse. Kagome tried to ignore the ominous darkness pressing in around her as she hunkered into the covers. She didn’t want to admit to herself how desperately she wanted Inuyasha’s arms to encircle her or how much safer she would feel within them.

#inuyashaxkagome #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #inuyasha x kagome #modern au #inukag fic #rockband au #here with you #chapter 6

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