#malcolm in the middle oneshot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

suck-on-a-fire-ball · 2 years

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~ Please Love Me ~

oneshot pairing: Anders x f!Hawke x Anders TW: trauma, death, grief summary: Leandra Hawke followed Malcolm’s footsteps in hardening and toughening up their eldest to take over the family should anything happen. It led to a lack of affections, despite neither of them intending to treat their children differently, despite neither of them loving either of them more. With Anders and Justice in her life, though, Marian would never have to walk around thinking she was unloved ever again and they would fight to the end of their lives to prove their love to her… unlike Leandra had.

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Leandra Hawke followed Malcolm’s footsteps in hardening and toughening up their eldest to take over the family should anything happen. It led to a lack of affections, despite neither of them intending to treat their children differently, despite neither of them loving either of them more.

Every year around the time of Leandra’s death, Marian would spiral ever so slightly. Her ability to suppress her emotions was quite impressive, if one asked Anders and her friends, but there were hints at how she was feeling.

Most of Anders’ mornings with her were awkward encounters of her berating him with random facts on serial killers and various ways one could… dispose of bodies – a strange coping mechanism of hers was to remember that her mother was not the only victim of such atrocities.

He’d nod and smile through it before awkwardly excusing himself to the clinic, unaware that when he left, she’d crumble into a mess of tears.

Most of Anders’ evenings with her would be spent in pure silence as she pretended to read a book alongside of him. He’d work on his manifesto. She’d stare into the book, but not read a single word, which was evident from the way she never turned a page. His eyes would not be as focused on his own writing either, gaze consistently drifting to Hawke to keep an eye on her…

Once it turned too late for even Anders to keep his eyes open, he’d guide her to their bed, help her get dressed for the night and tuck her in.

He didn’t know what else to do to help. If he asked her about Leandra, she’d smile and say that she was alright and that she’d just planned a little walk up to the tree where they had spread her ashes, but her mind was not okay… it was obvious… but he couldn’t get her to tell him what it was.

He knew the cycle would end in a week, but that didn’t mean this was healthy…

Maker he just wanted to help – why had he fallen for the most stubborn woman in Thedas?

…

Toward the end of that week, Anders awoke in the middle of the night to Justice alerting him of something being wrong with Marian.

Worried beyond belief, as he knew Justice’s connection to the woman meant he had an inside look into Marian’s vitals, Anders shot up to a sitting position and looked to the side, already readying healing spells -

But all that had happened was that Marian had thrashed around a bit during her sleep and managed to shake off her three layers of blankets onto the floor. She even had moved the pillow off her head.

Rolling his eyes at the overprotective nature of their beloved spirit, Anders calmed himself and let go of his healing spells.

Knowing she couldn’t stay asleep this way, he opted to stand and gather the blankets, tucking her back in. She didn’t shift in the slightest, deep asleep, and as he crawled back onto the bed, he hesitated before covering her with the pillow once more. There, sleeping on her side as always, she looked so… peaceful.

So pretty.

He opted to, as creepy as it was, watch her sleep for just a minute, and reached out to her cheek to give her an affectionate touch –

…

A tiny Marian Hawke stirred awake from a touch to her cheek.

In their current home, there was little room for all of the Hawkes, and she knew that her mother slept on the bed right above where she was on the floor. So, the touch was most certainly her mother’s.

It was new. None of her parents were very affectionate.

Unsure of how to deal with it, but not wanting it to end, Marian reached out and grasped her mother’s fingers, opening her eyes to smile up at the warm good morning she had received –

But Leandra pried her fingers away and turned away, not accepting the loving gaze back.

Confused, Marian stared up at the bed, sitting up even to try and catch her mother’s eye, but Leandra avoided her.

She watched her mother offer her father the same affection, the two locking gazes and smiling at each other before the twins jumped up on the bed to interrupt. Laughter filled the tiny cabin, the twins receiving hugs and tickles…

Marian, smiling once more, saw an opening in how to receive attention and jumped up on the bed too. The only reaction she gained was her mother turning away to slide off the bed with the others. Left alone on the bed, Marian did nothing more but watch as her family started preparing breakfast, the twins running around happily to interrupt and receive gentle pats to their heads.

Affection.

Her parents were affectionate.

Just not to Marian.

Still on the bed, Marian, for the first time in her so far short life, felt deflated and numb, hanging her head as her eyes welled with tears.

“Marian.” Looking up, a spark of hope igniting in her heart, Marian found her mother watching her. She sniffled, shifting closer to the edge of the bed in a silent request for some emotional support and reached her hands up to her mother. Leandra moved over, Marian fisting parts of her dress to tug and ask for more; a hug, a pat on the head, anything – only to have Leandra remove Marian’s hands sternly.

Tears fell down her cheeks at that, her heart breaking and all hope gone.

“Go fetch some water from the well.”

Not knowing what else to do, Marian jumped down from the bed, continuing to silently cry as she moved past her family, not unseen. She stumbled to put her shoes on, too numb and upset to have proper control over her little body.

Bethany moved over and hugged her, which did nothing to help stop the tears. But Marian appreciated it, even if Bethany asked why she was crying, not aware of the special treatment the twins were getting.

Malcolm moved over and gently guided Bethany away. Marian waited by the door, wrongfully assuming that Malcolm would come back and ask Marian about her tears. All Malcolm did was distract Bethany with some toys before continuing to help Leandra prepare breakfast.

No one helped her.

No one cared.

Quietly, Marian moved out into the cold to fetch that damned water.

…

Her eyes shot open at the touch to her cheek. Anders let out an apologetic sigh, but didn’t shift his hand away. “I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.” He tucked a stray strand of hair away from her face and smiled as her eyes searched for his gaze, locking onto it.

He didn’t look away. He didn’t regret his open affection. He didn’t turn away.

He stayed.

He matched the love in her eyes with his own love for her.

It was openly mutual, and she never had to question what he felt.

Keeping her eyes locked with his, she reached out to his pyjamas and fisted it tightly, pulling herself closer as her eyes welled up with tears.

He didn’t miss that, though, and was quick to pull her face back to double-check before she could hide against his chest.

Marian Hawke never cried.

“Marian-“ he gasped in shock. But instead of asking, he just pulled her close, curling around her as she started sobbing against him.

It broke his heart to hear her sobs… her pain…

“She didn’t love me.” The words didn’t come out as a complete sentence, words broken by sobs and gasps of air, but he had heard them.

Leandra.

A flash of anger reverberated through him. That wasn’t his emotion, though. That had been Justice, and he forced the spirit back down again.

“Stop,” Anders said through gritted teeth, before directing the word back down to Marian too, in a softer way. He remembered the various times Leandra had smiled lovingly at Marian, the times Leandra would tell grand stories of her daughter and the pure love and pride this woman felt towards Marian – but he remembered all of that being behind Marian’s back, not for the daughter to see or hear.

The only time Anders had ever heard Leandra say she was proud of what Marian had become to her daughter’s face… were the last words Leandra had said before passing away in Marian’s arms.

Only then had the woman had the courage to say it to Marian.

Whatever parenting strategy that was, Anders was very keen on never adapting it.

“That’s not true, my love.”

“She didn’t love me and I am trapped here, alive, sad about the void someone who didn’t even care about me left!”

“Hush,” Anders tried, but he couldn’t exactly fault her for her thoughts. Unless he hadn’t seen Leandra’s affection with his own eyes, he would have thought the same as Marian.

“You love me, right?” Marian asked, pulling away to look up at him.

Anders was flabbergasted by her question for only a few questions before quickly saying ‘yes!’.

“No one’s ever loved me before…”

Anders fought back tears of his own at that statement, and he pulled her back in against his chest, pressing kisses to the top of her head. In the morning, he would start telling her how each and every one of their silly, found family adored her – not for the actions she did for them, but for her personality, her silly wit, the inspiration she was to them… He would tell her how they loved her for her.

And he would say those things to her every blighted morning if he had to just to make her believe it for a split second.

He didn’t care.

She deserved to know.

Justice, not amused at having to stand back and watch, joined in by sending an aura of calmness through them, both relaxing into a dreamless sleep whilst holding onto each other.

Justice would remember to send a little bit of that calmness through their bond once every day to join in on Anders’ attempts to make her remember she was loved.

Even if all Justice wanted to do was punch someone for doing such a thing to Marian – he could deal with handling this in a calmer way.

Marian would never have to walk around thinking she was unloved ever again.

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years

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You Owe Me (Reese x Reader)

Character: Reese Wilkerson (ft. Malcolm, Stevie, Dewey, Hal, Lois & Jamie)

Fandom: Malcolm in the Middle

Categories: Reader Insert, Female!Reader

Title: You Owe Me

Summary: Y/N seems to see something in Reese that everyone else ignores, so she tries to be nice to him. Things complicate, however, when she realizes that people might not be as wrong as she thought about Reese.

I just couldn’t understand. The more I stared, the more confused I became. I had seen it, Reese was aggressive and sometimes even cruel. He was a bully sometimes. Why did I find him so interesting? Why was it that, even as I watched him chuckle to himself while doodling on that text book, I still wanted to hang out with him?

A voice I recognized got me out of my thoughts as I finally spotted Malcolm and Stevie eating lunch at a close by table. I leaned off the wall and headed their direction.

We weren’t really that close, but they were the ones I got along with best. Especially now that Dabney, Lloyd, Kevin or Cynthia weren’t there. I felt inhibited with so many intelligent people.

“Hey, guys” I called them, earning curious glances from them. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Go… ahead” Stevie replied with a small smile that I reciprocated.

“Hey, Y/N” As all response, Malcolm moved his bag so I could sit down with them. “Don’t you sit with your friends?”

“Let’s just say that they’re not really my friends…” I glared in their direction as they boisterously laughed in my absence. “Especially behind one’s back”

“Sorry to… hear that…” Stevie said, making me look at them again instead of my ex-friends.

“Yeah, what happened?” Malcolm asked me as well.

“Never mind that, I’m with you now” I showed them a cheerful smile and shrugged. “Forgive me if my conversation isn’t too interesting, though, I’m not as smart as you two”

Both Malcolm and Stevie mumbled humble replies, slightly flustered by my compliment.

“Hey” I hadn’t noticed Malcolm’s brother had walked up to us.

“Hi, Reese!” I waved at him, earning only a brief glance and a reluctant wave back.

“Give me your book” He demanded from Malcolm, who rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong with yours?”

“I got artistic, but didn’t realize I was using permanent marker”

When Reese opened his book to a random page and showed us his masterpiece, I giggled at the sight. It was full of goofy doodles like rockets, skateboards, skulls, pirates and even some comical stick figures fighting like ninjas. He heard me laughing and dedicated me a cute toothy grin filled with amusement and pride in his work.

“Don’t… encourage him” Muttered Stevie.

“I’m not giving you my book!” Malcolm complained. “Just because-“

He was interrupted by his brother as he stole the bag from Malcolm, grabbed his book and then punched him in the arm.

“Thanks!” Reese then proceeded to leave like nothing had happened, with his brother’s unpainted book.

What went on in his mind? What was behind all that goofiness and violence and why couldn’t I pinpoint it? Even worse, why did he fascinate me like that?

I watched him as he walked away grinning, satisfied with the outcome of the scene. I still couldn’t understand why I found him so interesting. Maybe because he was oddly charming, or just because he was a mystery to me.

The next day went on as usual. My stupid friends pretended like I didn’t even exist, and I didn’t know if that was worse than knowing they insulted me behind my back. Whatever, I knew I could hang out with Stevie and Malcolm and they wouldn’t mind. Maybe I couldn’t talk about science or math with them, but we did chat about TV, videogames and comics.

I walked into Reese on my way out, right after the bell rang announcing the end of the classes for the day. We hadn’t really interacted much other than because of our mutual connection with Malcolm, but I smiled at him like I always did.

“Bye, Reese!” I waved at him, and he frowned as usual. This time, however, it wasn’t the only thing he did.

“What are you up to?” He exclaimed, holding me by the shoulders and shaking me.

“What?” I was confused by his sudden outburst and tried to get away from his grip, but he was really strong.

“Why are you always so nice to me?”

“And why not?”

“Tell me!”

“You’re hurting me…”

Reese paused and let go of me, watching me intently. His greenish eyes focused on me with suspicion. I took a step back, staring at him as well and waiting for his next move.

“Bah…” In the end, Reese rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving me alone.

A part of me shouted that maybe people were right about him. Maybe he was a little crazy and was nothing but a bully. A small side of me, however, looked into his behavior without really meaning to. Maybe he was so used to people being mean to him that he was suspicious when someone was nice for a change.

“Don’t let him intimidate you” Malcolm’s voice startled me as he had arrived behind me without me noticing. “You’re smarter than him”

“I’m not that smart”

“You’re still smarter than him”

I stared at Malcolm, surprised that his own brother talked like that of him. I shook my head, knowing that their family dynamic wasn’t really my business. I sighed and continued on my way outside the building, with Malcolm walking next to me.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked, still confused about his reaction. “I just said ‘bye’ to him!”

“He’s paranoid” Malcolm tiredly explained. “He thinks you’re going to pull a prank on him or something”

“Just because I’m nice”

“Yup… Why are you that nice, by the way?”

“I don’t know, I just want to be!” I shrugged, self-consciously pushing the books I carried against my chest. “I think he can be sweet too… Deep down…”

To my surprise, Malcolm broke out in loud guffaws of laughter. After a few seconds, he looked at me and slowly calmed down.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Okay, maybe deep deep down… But still…”

“Look, Y/N, you’re really nice” He put a hand on my shoulder. “But I think you’re too nice to think that highly of Reese”

“He’s your brother!” I complained, shocked that he spoke like that.

“Yeah, and I will always defend him” Almost like he was surprised by his own words, he looked around to make sure no one heard. “But… don’t tell him I said that”

“What…?” I stuttered as he left. “But I thought… You said…”

That family sure was weird. But maybe that was why I was so drawn to them.

I couldn’t get Reese off my mind for some damn reason. Random moments of watching him goof around school kept popping up in my head. Like that time he squirted water in his mouth using a tiny water gun. Or the day I surprised him singing the catchy song to a commercial, he interrupted himself to say hello back to me, and continued. And how every time he did one of those things he chuckled or giggled to himself. I found him to be… endearing, adorable even.

I still didn’t let him take over my life, he just piqued my curiosity, that was all. But I continued with my day to day as usual, not being all that bothered when I bumped into him. Instead I kept hanging out with Malcolm and Stevie, went to class and forgot about him. Until one day he made me focus on him by the force.

I was walking around on my free period, taking in the tranquility of the school playground without all the people talking, shouting and laughing. But I guess he either had a free period as well or just skipped class, because Reese was there too.

“Hey, Y/N!” I heard his voice calling me, so I turned around to face him.

“Ah!” I squeaked when I was instead welcomed with something hitting me hard.

Something exploded over me, falling onto my head. When it did, it covered me with a gooey substance that spread through my clothes and stuck to my hair. I immediately heard him cracking up, coming to meet with me.

I was confused, but overall I was angry.

“You should have seen your face!” He pointed at me, holding his stomach as he continued laughing.

“Reese, you dumbass!” I pushed him with so much force that he lost balance and fell on the floor. “What was that for?!”

“Ha!” He said, even as I towered over him sitting on the ground. “That will teach you!”

“Teach me what? To hate you like everyone else?” I hoped my intense glare would pass on to him how absolutely furious I was since I couldn’t put it into words being so rattled.

Reese frowned, remaining silent for a moment, but he recovered quickly and stood up.

“No, to trick me trying to be nice!” He pointed a finger at me again, this time accusatorily.

“Trick you? Trick you?!” I looked up to the sky in exasperation, grunting in annoyance. “Ugh, Reese! You’re a brute and a jerk!”

“I… I…” He was suddenly rattled too.

“Maybe people are right about you” I told him before I stomped away.

I was glad that people were in class and the hallways were empty, otherwise they would all have laughed at me and maybe even give me a weird nickname that would haunt me for years. I made it to the bathroom and watched my reflection in the mirror to analyze the damage.

I spent at least fifteen minutes in the bathroom, trying to get that goo off me. My clothes were completely ruined and I would have to throw them away, it was impossible to clean them no matter how many times I put them in the washing machine. But I had managed to mostly get it off my hair. When I was rinsing it for the third time, a knock came to the door.

“Occupied” I bitterly said to whoever was trying to get in.

“Y/N, it’s me, Reese” I rolled my eyes even if he couldn’t see me through the closed door. “You there?”

I didn’t reply, I was still mad at him. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but mostly I was upset that I saw something in him that wasn’t there. He wasn’t sweet deep down, he was just cruel. What did I do to him to deserve such prank?

“Can we talk?” He insisted, knocking again. “Y/N?”

I continued giving him the silent treatment, even if a part of me wanted to shout at him and tell him to go away. The only sign that I gave him that I was still there was the sound of the water running.

“At least let me talk to you, you don’t have to say anything” His voice sounded genuinely regretful, almost… vulnerable. It was the softest I had heard him speak.

Malcolm was right, I was too nice. Heaving a resigned sigh, I turned to the door.

“Come in…” I budged, willing to at least let him, maybe to punch him in the arm.

“I can’t, it’s the girls bathroom” In any other moment, I would have found that comment cute. But not then, I just felt aggressiveness towards him at that moment.

“What a shame” I sarcastically replied, focusing on my reflection in the mirror again.

“Please, Y/N, I… I’m sorry!” He stuttered for a moment until he recovered. “You’ve been so nice, I want to apologize!”

I hesitated for a moment, but in the end I walked to the door and opened it. Reese jumped up when we were suddenly face to face, but before he could say anything I returned to my spot in the sink. He stood in the doorway, staring at me as I wrung water off my hair.

“I didn’t mean to do it” He began saying effusively, still not trespassing the threshold.

“Then why did you, huh?” I eyed him for a moment before returning to the task of cleaning my hair. “You seemed to be having fun too…”

“I thought you would find it funny, not hate me!”

“Funny?!”

“Yeah! A friendly prank!”

“How is this funny or friendly, Reese?! How-?” I cut myself before I lost my temper and took a deep breath instead.

“I feel terrible…” I wanted to believe him, but now I was too wary of him. Especially since his hands were behind his back and it felt like he was up to something.

“Why did you do it?” I tiredly asked him, trying to keep myself calm.

“I… I just wanted to get your attention!”

“You already had my attention!”

“Really?”

“Yeah… But maybe now you’ve lost it…”

A very awkward silent settled, and Reese fidgeted in the spot. Then he finally put his hands in front of him, so I feebly glanced at them.

“I made another one” He held a big water balloon, presumably filled with the same disgusting substance from before.

“I swear, Reese, if you throw it at me, I will-“

“No, it’s for me!”

“What?”

“Then we’ll be even”

He showed me that wide cute grin again and I swore under my breath, hating to be so vulnerable to its charming nature. I watched the balloon in his hands, considering the payback opportunity.

“It will get all over your clothes” I warned him, walking closer.

“I know” He calmly shrugged as I closed the distance between us.

“Wouldn’t you get in trouble with your parents if you went back home looking like this?”

“I don’t care”

Once we were at arm length distance from each other, I paused dramatically.

“What about your hair?” I carefully studied his reaction, even if it was a late one.

“I…” He gulped, and there was clear agitation both in his features and his voice. “I-I don’t mind”

I stared at him, but he did not falter. I looked at his hair, realizing how perfectly styled it was. He probably spent a long time spiking it every day. Moving slowly, I took the balloon from his hands, but even then he did not back down.

“Yes you do” I gave him the balloon back. “You love your hair”

“Just do it, Y/N” He returned it to me, setting his hands over mine with determination to convince me. “It’s only fair”

I cocked an eyebrow and lifted the balloon over my head. Reese shut his eyes tight, bracing for the impact. He really was willing to let me do it to make it up to me!

Feeling too guilty to go through with it, I turned around and threw it at the sink instead. Reese gasped at the sound of the balloon exploding, but opened his eyes to see how the gross contents of it were spread all over the inside of the sink.

He gawked at me, blinking repeatedly as he assimilated what I had just done. Or rather, what I hadn’t done.

“Why didn’t you…?” He began, showing me a cute confused frown that reminded me of a puppy. Damn him and whatever I saw in him.

“Look, that I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I actually hate you” I sighed, smiling at him. “And I shouldn’t have said that either, I was just angry”

“Say what?”

“That you’re a dumbass… It’s not true, you’re not dumb”

He smiled, but instead of that toothy wide grin of his, it was a much smaller but much sweeter one. It looked more genuine and serious than the other goofy grin.

“Thanks” Reese finally said, and I smiled wider too.

For a moment, we both stayed silent, staring at each other. Then he suddenly took his plaid shirt off, leaving him in a yellow T-shirt, and handed me the plaid one.

“What are you doing?” I said before I considered taking it.

“Get changed” Reese energetically shook it until I finally took it from him. “Then at least you don’t have to wear that gross wet shirt”

I chuckled when he turned around to give me a little privacy. It was just that, gestures like those that told me that Reese was something more than what people thought he was.

“Fine” I grabbed the hem of my shirt, but stopped before pulling at it. “Don’t peek”

“I won’t” To reinforce his statement, Reese covered his eyes even if he was still facing his back to me. “I promise”

“Good” I quickly took my shirt off and put it over the sink as I put my arms over the sleeves of his plaid shirt. “If you do, I’ll punch you in the face”

“Good one” Reese laughed, thinking I was joking. I didn’t blame him for not taking my warning seriously, though, I wasn’t exactly threatening.

As I buttoned up the shirt, I noticed Reese slightly moved his head, tilting it to look over his shoulder. He slowly uncovered his eyes, so I glared at him.

“Don’t you dare” I said to keep him from giving in to the temptation.

“Sorry” He looked straight ahead again, covering his eyes and now also facing the ground.

I watched him carefully as I finished getting changed, and was glad to see he came through. He didn’t move other than to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

Moving to stay in front of the mirror once more, I saw that his shirt kind of suited me. It was a little too big and too long, but I looked okay.

“I know what to do!” Reese suddenly said, breaking the silence. “I’ll cook you dinner!”

“What?” Taking advantage that he still wasn’t looking, I quickly combed my hair as best as I could. “You can turn around now, by the way”

“I’ll cook you dinner!” He excitedly said, now facing me. “To make it up to you!”

I tilted my head, endeared by the sweet thought. I observed him as I rolled up the sleeves so they didn’t cover my hands, but he seemed determined.

“Are you serious? You can cook?” I examined his features, looking for any hints that he was teasing me.

“Yeah!” He nodded, excited. “What do you think?”

“That’s fair, I guess. You kind of owe me one”

“What would you like to eat?”

“I don’t know… Surprise me”

“Great! I’ll pick you up… Wait, I don’t know where you live”

“Do you have a pen?”

Reese held one finger up and proceeded to rummage through his pockets. He pulled out some coins, an empty gum wrapper, a napkin, and finally a permanent marker. Probably the one he used the other day to wreck his book.

I took it from him and wrote my address on his hand. As I did, I felt him staring at me and it made me smile a little. Were we… flirting?

“There” I returned the marker and he grinned widely.

“Cool!” Reese blew on his palm so the ink dried faster. “Pick you up at 8!”

Even if I felt stupid when my cheeks started burning, I couldn’t help but to also be excited myself. It was my chance to get to know him better and spend some time alone with him.

I hoped he hadn’t noticed I was blushing, but my hopes were foiled when he started snickering.

“What?” I averted my gaze, even if he playfully shoved me a little.

“You look small in my shirt” Reese replied, clear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up” I shoved him too, although a chuckle escaped my lips.

When Reese parked the car, I took a look at his house from the copilot seat. It was a medium size house, and the lawn was yellowish and unattended. The house itself seemed a bit messy, but somehow still homey.

We both got out of the vehicle, still silent as we had been since he picked me up. We had only said ‘hello’ to each other. Why were we so awkward all of a sudden? After the moment we shared in the girl’s bathroom, I thought it would be easier to chat with him. But maybe it was harder because of that moment we shared. Our relationship had evolved from being almost non existent to kind of flirty.

“You… You look hot” Was Reese’s attempt to break the heavy silence.

“What?” I mumbled to buy some time, feeling how my cheeks flushed.

“I mean…” Reese scratched the back of his head as we walked to the front door. “You usually look good, but tonight you look great and uh… yeah…”

I bit on my bottom lip as we stopped at the threshold and he occupied himself with looking for his keys. When he found them, however, he stopped before putting it on the lock.

“My parents are gonna love you” He said to change the subject, smiling at me.

“Wait” I put a hand over his arm to keep him from opening the door. “Your parents?”

“Yeah” He shrugged nonchalantly. “They wouldn’t let me have the house, and they insisted on meeting you”

“Your parents” I repeated, feeling overwhelmed to be meeting them.

“Yeah!” Reese insisted, now opening the door and letting me come in.

“O-Okay…” I was just… Why was I nervous all of a sudden? He was probably only introducing me as his friend, nothing more. Did I want to be introduced as something more?

“Dinner’s almost ready” Reese told me, a hint of pride glinting in his green eyes.

“Smells delicious” I genuinely said, because even if I couldn’t tell what there was for dinner, I sure was looking forward to eat it.

“Thanks, I-“ He interrupted himself, frowning as a sudden thought seemed to hit him. “Wait, where’s dad?”

That said, Reese walked away muttering something about his father eating the food prematurely. I stood there, but I laughed a little since it seemed like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

“Hey, Y/N” Malcolm greeted me, walking into the room with me. “You look pretty”

“Thank you!” I played with my hair, relieved that at least my appearance was actually good. I chuckled, though, remembering Reese’s way of expressing the same thing. “Reese thought so too”

“Hi!” Someone else said, a slightly high-pitched voice. “You must be Y/N, I’m Dewey”

“Hello, Dewey” I smiled at the younger boy. “Then you must be their little brother”

“Yeah, but Jamie is the youngest now”

“I bet is a pain to have Malcolm and Reese as older brothers”

Malcolm rolled his eyes at me, but his younger brother laughed.

“I like her” Dewey said before returning to the kitchen, where Reese’s voice mixed with a male one that I assumed was his father’s.

I leaned on the wall and Malcolm gently nudged me in the ribs.

“You doing okay, Y/N?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You look a bit nervous, I don’t know what gave it away” He grabbed me by the wrist and softly pulled at it, making me realize I had been anxiously chewing on my nails.

“Sorry” I sighed, tightly holding my hands behind my back not to do it again.

“It’s fine” He shrugged casually. “But really, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… freaking out a little”

“Why?”

“I’m really awkward around parents, you know?” Just thinking about meeting them caused my stomach to churn. I really wanted to make a good impression on them. “I… I just wanted to be friends with Reese and now I’m suddenly meeting his whole family”

“You didn’t expect to fall in love with him, huh?” Malcolm smirked at me, and I gawked at him for a moment.

“I… I’m not in love!” I whisper-yelled, hoping Reese didn’t hear. “Okay, maybe I have a crush, but…”

“Don’t worry” Malcolm chuckled. “I can keep a secret”

“You better, Mr. Smarty Pants” We both laughed at his new fond nickname.

Before he could come up with a witty or sarcastic response, however, a woman approached us.

“Hello! You’re Y/N, right?” I opened my mouth, but she continued before any words came out of my mouth. “I’m Lois, Reese’s mother”

“Hi, Lois, I-“ Without further ado, Lois took me to the kitchen to meet with the rest.

I looked over my shoulder to Malcolm in a silent request for rescue, but he shrugged a little even if with an amused grin plastered on his lips. Lois kept on talking, so fast that I barely understand anything. I caught Reese’s name somewhere in that myriad of words, but that was about it.

“You look like such a nice girl” She patted my back and basically pushed down into the chair. “Sit down, dinner’s almost ready”

The kitchen was a mess of people talking loudly, running around as well as the noise of cooking and plates clinking. Malcolm was the only person to stay calm in that craziness, as he serenely sat down in front of me and picked up a breadstick from a basket at the center of the table.

I thought that Reese could have warned me. A simple heads up would have sufficed, but he preferred to hide the fact that I was having dinner with his parents and brothers. He didn’t tell me that his parents were that eager to meet me either. Nothing.

Now I assumed I was to expect a couple of hours filled with awkward silences as well as lots of embarrassing questions about myself.

“Remind me to kill Reese?” I asked Malcolm, who boringly chew at the breadstick.

“Deal” He managed to make me laugh when he outstretch his hand over the table.

We shook hands to seal the deal as we waited for dinner to be ready.

I tried to be as polite, kind and helpful as possible. I offered to give Reese a hand with dinner, but he wouldn’t let me. The family insisted that I wasn’t allowed to set the table either, I was their guest. So I just sat there, patiently waiting to eat.

When the food was finally on the table, my stomach growled in hunger at the sight of the delicious rotisserie chicken with potatoes and varied great-smelling sauces, as well as the freshly baked bread. Did Reese make all of that himself? I was honestly impressed.

The bunch of us immediately started eating, giving our compliments to the cook for the exquisite feast. Who knew Reese was such a good cook?

Then we started chatting, and so it began. It was pretty insane:

Lois kept talking about how I could be a good influence on Reese and that lately he hadn’t been as reckless, ever since he spent more time with me, all this while the aforesaid complained under his breath.

Hal –the father, he had introduced himself –asked me lots of questions, wanting to know if I was in the same class as Reese and such. At least I assumed he meant to avoid any of those awkward silences I dreaded.

Dewey seemed to be more intrigued about what Reese had done to get me to come, did he threaten me? Had he intimidated me into that torture? He couldn’t understand why I was there.

The little one, Jamie, looked from one to the other in curiosity.

And Malcolm, all the while, was having the time of his life watching the whole thing while I suffered in silence.

“Malcolm” I kicked him under the table and mouthed the following words. “Please. Help”

“Okay” He finally spoke up, smiling in spite of himself. “Mom, dad, leave her alone. You too, Dewey”

“Sorry” Lois sat at my right, patting my arm. “We’re just excited that Reese decided to do something nice for you”

“Yeah, that means you’re quite the catch!” Hal cheerfully added.

“Stop it!” Reese said as he stood up to get the dessert. “You’re gonna scare her off!”

I had to chuckle in spite of it all. After the anxiety inducing start of the night, we were now having a more casual conversation. Then Reese put a soufflé over the table and we dug in too, moved by the delicious smell of his baking creation.

“This definitely makes up for everything” I bumped my shoulder against Reese’s as soon as he sat down to my left. “It was the best meal I ever-“

“Make up?” Lois repeated in outrage. “What did he do?”

“Oh, no…” I uttered, realizing I had messed up. “N-Nothing”

“For the love of god, Reese!” His mother insisted. “What did you do to this poor girl?”

“I didn’t do anything!” He defended himself, even if he wouldn’t meet with her eyes.

“He, uh…” I piped up, wanting to fix my mishap. “It’s kind of silly, really. No biggie, Reese was just…”

“What happened, Reese?” Hal asked him tiredly, but his son didn’t reply.

“He was sitting outside with his legs stretched out, right? And so, uh…” I gulped, seeing as Reese remained silent. “I passed by him, but I was reading a book as I walked and I tripped over his legs. Funny, right?”

“Reese, what did you do?” Lois didn’t buy my story at all.

“I threw a water balloon at her” Reese confessed. “Filled with goo”

“You did what?!” Lois’ volume suddenly increased, so much so that I winced at her shouting. “Are you really that stupid?!”

Reese clicked his tongue but didn’t respond. He didn’t seem surprised, offended or hurt by her words. He just accepted it, like he was used to it. It made me feel bad, that he truly thought himself to be that stupid or useless.

I noticed his elbows rested on his thighs instead of over the table, so I placed a hand over his forearm and squeezed it softly. When our eyes met, I smiled at him and he did too. Then, he didn’t seem all that bothered by his mother’s lecture anymore.

Everything settled down in the end and I ended up having a great time with the Wilkersons while we played charades after dinner. Lois was still convinced that I would do Reese some good sticking by his side since I was such a ‘good influence’ but everyone else relaxed and focused on the game instead of me.

When Reese and I got back in the car so he could drive me home, I was equally relieved yet sad to leave. His family might be a little crazy, but they were genuine and I appreciated them.

“So…” Reese began after a while, keeping his eyes on the road. “How did you like my family?”

“They were cool, but they were a lot”

“I know”

Another moment of silence followed, so I decided to lighten up the tension.

“You still owe me one, you jerk”

“What, why?”

“For what you just put me through!”

“You’re right”

“And… Wait, that’s it? No buts?”

“No, I should have told you as soon as I knew we wouldn’t be alone, but…” Reese frowned saddly. “I didn’t want you to get mad or not come. It was stupid, I’m sorry”

“Reese, you’re not stupid” I wanted him to stop feeling like that. “Maybe you’re not as… harmless or sensitive as I expected you to be, but you’re not dumb”

“What do you mean?” He pretended to be nonchalant, but I noticed how tightly he gripped the steering wheel.

“Just because you do stupid things, that doesn’t make you stupid”

“Why are you saying this?” Reese stopped the car, and I realized we had arrived.

“Because I know you think you are and I don’t want you to” Flustered by what I was admitting, I watched my house through the window. “Just because people say it, you don’t have to believe it”

He might not be the brightest, and he was a bit of a brute sometimes. But I had seen he could be sweet too, maybe even sensitive. He was just a bit of a mess, but then again so was I. After all, I knew what it felt like to have no friends, or to be judged by people. Or to hide my true feelings behind a facade. Mine was too nice, his was violent.

“What do you say we try this again some time?” Reese interrupted my train of thought. “Alone”

“No families?” I smirked, teasing him for the night we had just experienced.

“No families” He grinned, turning to face me completely.

“That sounds nice”

“Great”

“It’s a date”

“Yeah, and it’d better be amazing”

“Why’s that?” I frowned, pausing when I realized he was smirking at me now.

“Because, as I said, you still owe me, remember? And-“ I was cut abruptly when he let out a mischievous chuckle, and his lips suddenly covered mine.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it was surprisingly tender and filled with emotion and I treasured every milisecond of it. When we broke away, we looked into each other's eyes. In the end, I chuckled happily and so did he.

Tag list: @xionroxas // If you want me to add you or take you off the tag list, go ahead and tell me!

#imagine #oneshot #malcolm in the middle #malcolm in the middle imagine #malcolm in the middle oneshot #mitm #mitm imagine #mitm oneshot #reese #reese imagine #reese oneshot #reese x reader #reese wilkerson #reese wilkerson imagine #reese wilkerson oneshot #reese wilkerson x reader #reader insert #not requested

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dilfwaynes · 3 years

Note

virgin!wanda x experienced!reader?

⚢ pairings ; wanda maximoff x fem!reader

✗ warnings ; oral sex, wanda being a complete shy virgin & reader guiding her, praise kink.

a/n: not edited !! but i will be making this into a full oneshot when i have time. feedback is welcomed obvi i want her so bad bruh

navigation | masterlist | requests are open !!

“let me shower then we can watch your little white family sitcoms,” you tease bumping your shoulder against hers playfully

she rolls her eyes at you, smiling slightly at your banter and the comfort you seep into her

lessening the pain of pietro somewhat, you were one of the few who automatically welcomed and forgave her. as well as going out of your way to check on her and hang out

even after her few rejections of you trying to pry in and cheer her up, it wasn’t until you saw her watching malcolm in the middle and got into a conversation about it, that she finally warmed up to you.

starting with shyly waking you up in the morning to get breakfast with her or sitting by you for meetings or eating settings

all those shy gestures were adorable to you, especially when she picks at the hem of her clothes when shes shy or nervous/unsure

needless to say you did have fun playing at her shy nature, especially when you interlock hands with her that sometimes leads to you bringing her hand down to your thigh

if you’re feeling bold and extra needy for the witch that night, getting the okay once you feel her timidly slide her hand upper to your thigh and draw patterns against your skin

though it never went anything past that with most of the time wanda never touching in any sexual way unless you parted her to

but you couldn’t really count simple touches on your thigh sexual if you were to be honest

you sigh out feeling the steaming water pour on your skin and heating it, the release of the tension you’ve been feeling between your thighs somewhat with the scent of sandalwood filling your nose and your playlist in the background

wanda’s eyes flickers to the tiny ajar in the doorframe at catching your reflection through mirror

her throat runs dry when your eyes catches her and you simply stare back with sultry through hooded lids

she quickly turns her eyes away with flaring cheeks and pretends to busy herself with finding a sitcom for you guys to watch

not paying attention to the soft thud landing on the floor

“hi.”

with slight redden she slowly looks at you timorously, mouth going muggy at you naked with the towel on the floor.”hi”

without a second thought you walk over to her, her hand already out to catch your waist. staring up at you as you settle down on her lap and pulling her into a kiss

“wait, krasivaya devushka hold on,”she gasps out from your hold, retraining you from going back to getting her tongue down your throat.”i-i’ve never done this before”

you tilt your head at her embarrassed gaze before giggling out softly and cupping her cheeks” wanda are you a virgin?”

from the pink that tints her cheeks and lack of answer gives you everything you need to know

her eyes falters, turning away and beginning to pull away from your hands, embarrassed and annoyed, thinking you’re judging her for still being a virgin at 19 probably

you shake your head and tight your hold on her

“shhh thats okay, don’t worry baby, i’ll teach you.”giving a quick kiss to her both of her cheekbones, and lips before you gently intertwine your hand with hers, pressing your lips to her sharp jaw

you take in her shaky breathe as you take her hand and place it on your waist, taking ahold of her other one and guiding it to your throat

gripping the back of her neck and kissing her hard enough to lose your breath

moaning at the soft hesitant squeeze she gives out at your neck, her hand sliding from your tiny waist to your ass, squeezing.

“fuck wanda,” you sigh out breaking away from the kiss to take in air.”lay back”

you nudge her down towards your bed and getting off of her lap to slide down to your knees

“tell me if you want me to stop,”she hastily nods with her hands already at the roots of your hair, tugging lightly at your hot breathe on her core

scooting up her black skirt and peeling away her underwear and give a long strip against her sex, reveling in her breathy moan.

wrapping your lips around her clit and grinning at the jitter of her hips, her grip tightening in your hair

”blyad, just like that malysh,” she cries out pulling you closer by your neck and grinding on your face to cum.”so so good.”

the praise going straight to your pussy as well as wanda tugging at your hair

clamping your tongue with her walls and grinding her pussy against your face, you know shes close to cumming

“gonna cum all over that face”your eyebrows rise slightly at the sudden change of talk, her shyness disappearing.

with a final jitter of her hips and scream you feel her cumming in your mouth and leaking to your lips and chin

she pulls you up by your hair and kissing you, moaning at the taste of herself.

she gasps out before finally pulling away for breathe,”i think i kinda got the hang of it.”

she laughs breathlessly before pushing you on the bed,”my turn now sweetheart.”

#wanda maximoff imagines #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff smut #cw: wanda maximoff #cw wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff headcanons #marvel x reader #marvel smut #wlw headcanons #wlw smut

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ceterisparibus116 · 2 years

Note

****Hey! long time first time. I know you’re a bit stressed at the moment, and I thought a little fluff ficlet featuring your guys might help with that. It didn’t really turn out as light as i had set out for nor as short, its more hurt/comfort than fluff and more a oneshot than ficlet but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. i should have known better with these two, honestly. Anyway, judging from your prep fics you seem to be addressing your anxiety already, but i just wanted you to know that this random internet stranger has faith in your competency and determination and passion for your work irrespective of any exams. Also, this is meant entirely as gift—i have absolutely no expectations of you whatsoever. If it works as a little break, great! if you wait months to read it, great! if you ignore it completely, great! I don’t need anything in return. i have zero desire to add to your mental work load, you do you.****

As the door reaches its frame quietly behind him, Malcolm is met with a silence so still he is sure he is alone, and he is left to wonder a moment if Matt is still out and his caution unwarranted. Matt has repeatedly told him that he is used to the cacophony of the everyday—(“and the night Malcolm, New York is never quiet, i dont expect it to be…its just life—its just living…I wouldn’t want otherwise”, and a twitch of the lips and a “now pass the dumplings, hoarder” later, and the conversation’s over)—but Malcolm has found it rather difficult not to change his behavior. On his bad days he feels like an over caffeinated jumping bean, twitching and flinching at every noise, body absolutely certain there’s a monster behind every sudden clang, every sudden bang, he just needs to be readyforit. And he knows, he knows, that its not the same for Matt. That his heightened senses and awareness don’t equate to the hypersensitivity and hyperawareness Malcolm’s familiar with in both his personal and professional spheres, that it’s something completely unique to him, something Malcolm will never understand, not truly. But it’s the only reference Malcolm has for it, and the unfortunate connection has successfully burrowed into the wound and proliferated like a screw worm, completely resistant to removal until its had its fill, and—hm, Malcolm should probably watch something other than nature documentaries the next time he can’t sleep (a slightly less common phenomenon nowadays, thankfully).

Malcolm climbs the stairs leading to the main living area and is immediately confronted with the information that he is not, in fact, alone, gifted with the entirely delightful image of the Masked Man sitting crosslegged on the island of his kitchen, hands resting on his thighs, breaths slow and even. With a quick scan around the room, Malcolm spots the devil’s boots gathered off to the side, bloody muay thai ropes haphazardly dropped atop them, and, thankfully, no sign of similarly bloodied gauze or bandages or growing puddles of redredred. It’s this last bit of information that let’s Malcolm really appreciate the sight before him, and the final detail of the tableau finally registers.

The smile stretches across his face so quick and wide that he is absolutely sure Matt can hear it, can smell it, can feel it brush up against the skin of his face from across the room, and—yeah. There it is. A slight quirk of the lips, immediately brought back down to a neutral facade, an attempt to heighten Malcolm’s amusement with the illusion of seriousness in the face of what has to be Malcolm’s new favorite wonder of the world: a besocked Devil of Hell’s Kitchen meditating in the middle of his brightly lit kitchenette, a vivaciously yellow parakeet clinging to the right temple of his black mask and now leaning out toward the newcomer in enthusiastic greeting.

“You know,” Malcolm begins, barely trying to keep the amusement from his voice, “I can’t claim much knowledge on the matter, but I’m pretty sure meditation is supposed to be a solo activity.” Sunshine gives up on gaining Malcolm’s attention and goes back to gnawing on the fabric overlaying Matt’s brow, who seems uninterested in acknowledging this in any way let alone stopping her. Her little tail feathers end up aligning perfectly up against his cheek, and Malcolm has to bite his tongue to stifle the giggle bubbling up from his chest as he gives in to the pair’s draw and starts his approach.

“Well it used to be”—Matt replies, hushing his voice down to his well practiced ‘compassionate-but-matter-of-fact lawyer’ tone—“but we couldn’t let you yogis out do us with your goats”.

“Parakeet meditation?”

“Sunshine meditation”, Matt corrects immediately. “Sounds better.” His lips pull to the left, cocky. “I’d know.”

Malcolm stops in front of the island, and angles his chin up towards Matt’s covered face, where the smirk has comfortably settled itself as Sunshine’s new neighbor. Malcolm’s lifts his (shaky) hand to find it’s own home on his boyfriend’s shoulder, and uses it to give the man the tiniest of jostles that Matt instinctively absorbs before it can affect Sunshine. She doesn’t notice at all, nor does she pick up on the light pall that has settled over the room in the new silence, just determinedly making her way down Matt’s face to where his mask ties collect tantalizingly over his collarbone, waiting for mischief.

Matt releases a self deprecating scoff and a sad smile sparks momentarily before fizzling out as he dips his finally parakeet-free head towards the counter.

Yeah. It was a bad night. And he wasn’t planning on sharing.

But Matt’s hand does rise to meet his own and stays there, so Malcolm accepts it as the part acknowledgment part apology it is and gives him a moment to get to a place where he can speak. (They’ve talked about this. And its ok. Matt’s working on it—they’re both working on it).

It was the mask that gave it away. Matt seems to be an expert at cutting out sensory noise, but some is more niggling than others, especially without sustained attention on another activity (like, say, bludgeoning the criminal element) to compete with it. Add to that that haptic sensation seems to be one of the more difficult to shut out, and Matt not removing his mask while alone in a safe place (and Malcolm’s apartment is safe, he’s sure of that now) makes for a definite red flag.

Matt licks his lips, and, in a move so evocative of Sunshine he’d laugh if the humor hadn’t firmly left the room, starts absently picking at one of the cuticles on Malcolm’s enveloped hand.

“It wasn’t—it wasn’t anything I haven’t seen a thousand times. Or—or anything big like Fi—no one’s moved in yet, I mean, to take over. It was just…” Matt trails off, clearly frustrated with himself. But judging by his body language (he hasn’t withdrawn from Malcolm, hasn’t removed his hand, hasn’t turned his head in that way that means he’s listening for judgment, ready to either go on the offensive or internalize the criticisms that mimic his own), Malcolm is pretty sure the frustration is focused on his ability, or inability as it is, to describe the problem rather than on the fact that there’s a problem at all. Progress. But still not self disclosure, not really, and if this is going to be a healthy and intimate relationship, thats what they need, and maybe he should start for him? He’s pretty sure he knows what’s weighing on him, it might help to point it out?

Malcolm decides to stay quiet and let him get there. He knows he doesn’t respond well to probing and questioning, especially when he feels he’s on unsteady ground. And this is about trust; Matt can trust Malcolm with his vulnerabilities and Malcolm can trust Matt to speak honestly and for himself (he doesn’t need to speak for him, no matter what information his mind is gathering, he doesn’t need to cast light on every little thing), and its ok if he doesn’t get there this time, progress doesn’t happen all at once, it’s in small steps, and I am willing to let go and trust myself—

Sunshine evidently gets bored and wonders across Matt’s chest to use their joined hands for scritches, and the warm softness of her feathered head seems to help cut through some of the tension.

“It wasn’t ‘just’ anything. It was wasn’t anything new or anything organized, but it was a lot, all back-to-back, and it wouldn’t let up, and I couldn’t take a breath, and it was all so normal,” Matt rattles off, and there’s more to it Malcolm knows, not just in Daredevil, but in his chosen profession as well, in the senses he can’t turn off, in this city and all it’s life which he loves so so deeply but can never escape. The latter of which Malcolm can relate to, though on a more familial plane.

The confession releases some tension in Matt’s neck that Malcolm didn’t even notice—(he shouldn’t have missed that, shit. No, no. It’s ok. He doesn’t have to be perfectly attuned to everyone around him all the time. Matt’s not Dr. Whitley. No one is the Surgeon. I am willing let go and trust those who care about me)—and Matt gets up off the counter, carefully maneuvering Sunshine safely in his hand while he brushes by Malcolm’s form to put her back in her cage (a brand new squarish custom job complete with a shiny toy knife mobile and a red straw man shredding toy that looks suspiciously like Matt’s old Daredevil suit. He should probably tell him about that).

He’s opening his mouth to do just that when Matt’s suddenly in front of him, mask off (and when did he do that? ‘Not a ninja’ Malcolm’s squash-sculpted ass), and this time it’s Matt reaching for his shoulder, it’s Matt with the inviting, understanding smile, the imploring eyes directed just behind him, and, ok, why is this suddenly so much harder?

“So,” Matt begins, fully aware of the role reversal and absolutely loving it, the asshole. “Forgoing the contextually tasteless ‘Quid pro quo’ Silence of the Lambs joke—“

“Is it really forgoing it if you mention it in full?” Malcolm interrupts skeptically.

“Forgoing it”, he grins, but waits a breath to move his hand from Malcolm’s shoulder to his face and step closer. And, you know what? Yeah, this is maybe more of a positive development than he thought. Or at least he has a second to think so before Matt continues, “How was your day, dear?”

Son of a—

Okay. Malcolm will admit. It is possible, nay probable, that he isn’t engaging in the ol’ reciprocity game here on the whole self disclosure vulnerability front. And he appreciates the casual tone, the touching, the attention to whatever details Matt’s senses are picking up and feeding into that uniquely specialized brain, but he’d just rather not…Wouldn’t he?

Malcolm sighs. I’m willing to let go and yada yada yada.

“He called me six times today”.

There. He said it. It’s done. It really shouldn’t be this hard, they’ve talking about his father before, and Matt has always been startlingly receptive. But then again he’s no stranger to complicated relationships with parental figures himself, and it’s in his nature to take the bad with the good. Expects it even, sometimes more than he should.

“I didn’t answer.” He’s almost shocked at the bit of pride that’s seeped into his own addition, but it can only grow when he see’s it register and then reflected on Matt’s face as well. It’s this bit of confidence, of conviction, that prompts him to declare, “I’m not going to. Not anymore.” But he darts his eyes away from Matt even before he can finish, unwilling to see if he detects the lie Malcolm is only half sure isn’t there.

“That’s good,” Matt’s slipped back to his lawyer voice, and it’s honest and understanding, but a bit detached, and its exactly what Malcolm needs. Not enthusiasm he might disappoint, not doubt that will eat away at him, just acceptance of the conviction and nothing more. “What should we do now?”

Ah, an ambiguous question intentionally shaped to be interpreted as either changing the subject or offering his help depending on whatever Malcolm is up for dealing with at the moment; he’s definitely in full lawyer mode now. Well, apart from the very unprofessional proximity, and swipe of his thumb back and forth across his cheek. He honestly may love this man—and isn’t that something?

“Twizzlers, sleep, or sword fight?” Malcolm asks, letting the seriousness take a back seat for the night. He feels good now, or better rather, and Matt evidently does too, at least enough to embrace the levity.

“That depends,” Matt starts, shaking off the professional veneer in favor of a suggestive bounce of his brows, “Is ‘sword fighting’ a euphemism?”

Malcolm buries his bark of laughter into Matt’s palm a moment before popping back up to exaggeratedly gesture to his weapons display and exclaim, “No, I meant with those!”, and has to stifle another fit when Matt’s pretend disappointed face is briefly overtaken by genuine interest—okay, hard yes on the weapons playdate. But that can wait for the future. At present, there’s something a bit more enticing. ”Now ‘Twizzlers’, on the other hand—definitely a euphemism”.

Matt wraps his arms around him in full, and his chuckle trickles it’s way over his ear. “And where does this ‘twizzling’ happen, Mister Bright, the bed or the couch?”

Malcolm opens his mouth to answer, but Matt is already walking him backwards towards the bed, so he kisses him instead, taking the moment to shake off the lingering anxiety that chased him home, and he can feel Matt’s body do the same beneath his palms.

And it’s good. Because they’re willing to let go. And willing to trust. Small steps.

Oh. My. Gosh. This is amazing? Like, firstly, your kind words and the fact that you thought of me at all, I can't tell you how touched I am.

And then this fic? Things I loved:

The sheer softness

These two boys trying so hard to do better and help each other

The slight hypocrisy inherent in all their interactions that is kind of adorable

SUNSHINE MEDITATION

Literally everything about this sentence: "Ah, an ambiguous question intentionally shaped to be interpreted as either changing the subject or offering his help depending on whatever Malcolm is up for dealing with at the moment; he’s definitely in full lawyer mode now." 😍

Not to mention the absolutely gorgeous prose! (Although here I think Malcolm would call me out for mentioning what I just said not to mention, just like he called Matt out for failing to forego that joke.)

This is just - agh. Today is definitely a bit stressful and you have singlehandedly made it so much better.

#matt murdock #malcolm bright #daredevil #prodigal son #oh my gosh i'm in love

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anything4our-moony · 3 years

Text

By the Water Fountain

Pairing: Draco x Harry

Word count: 4.6k

Rating: T, mild language

Warnings: mention of excess drinking

Prompt/Summary: from @lxncelot‘s 100 dialogue prompts:

8- “Keep talking, I want to fall asleep to your voice.”

43- “Why didn’t you tell me?”

68- “But I’ve never told you that before.”

This is my first time posting a oneshot on this blog; I hope you all enjoy! <3

•••

Harry honestly didn’t drink very often.

He would occasionally have a beer with friends at dinner or a glass of firewhisky on special occasions. He was typically the designated sober friend when Seamus and Ron wanted to get drunk and sing karaoke in muggle bars, ensuring that they made it safely to their homes at the end of the night. He didn’t mind; he loved seeing his friends happy.

But after the day Harry had, he welcomed the blurred around the edges effect that crept into his vision as he downed his 4th drink at a local pub, and it was all because of Draco Bloody Malfoy.

Harry and Draco’s paths began to cross quite frequently, Harry working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Draco being the healer to patch up his wounds when his Gryffindor heart outweighed his rational brain and got him into dangerous situations. The fifth time Harry ended up at St. Mungo’s, Draco simply shook his head and muttered, “We have got to stop meeting like this, Potter.”

After getting over the initial awkwardness of ‘used to be enemies but are now grown adults with bigger issues’, they started to form an almost friendship. They both frequented a small, family owned Middle Eastern restaurant on their lunch breaks that was nearby the hospital, and after running into each other one two many times, decided to start sitting and eating together. “Because there’s no need to give the staff double the work, Potter.” Draco had scoffed when Harry had raised an eyebrow at his suggested arrangement. But he never complained.

Harry sat on the stiff, wooden barstool, stirring his drink mindlessly and staring at the glistening ice cubes, possibly hoping they had advice for him, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“This seat taken?” Ron Weasley sat down next to Harry and gestured to the bartender. “Can I get a pint of whatever you have on draft?” He turned to look Harry up and down. “You look like hell.”

Harry raised his glass a bit and mutter “Cheers, mate.”

Ron snorted. “Who is he and what’s he done to make the great Harry Potter run away to a bar to get plastered alone?”

When Harry first “came out” to his friends, Ron was the first to accept it. He had a conversation with all of their male friends and told them if they ever said anything cross to Harry about it, he’d hex their bollocks off. He was so grateful for Ron’s unwavering loyalty.

“How do you know it’s a bloke that’s got me gutted?” Harry replied, still staring down at his drink.

“Please.” Ron scoffed. “You’ve been staring at that drink like it might lay you on a couch and start giving you relationship advice.” He took a swig of his drink and added “Plus I’ve known you since you were eleven, mate. You’re not as mysterious and hard to read as you think.”

That made Harry laugh and then groan. He put his head in his hands. “Ron. I think that I might fancy someone.”

Ron looked startled, but replied, “Harry that’s great! Anyone I know?”

Harry moaned into his hands and hesitated but finally answered. “I think...I think I fancy Draco Malfoy.”

Harry hadn’t come to this realization quickly. Obviously he knew he was into blokes, but he never really considered anyone he was already acquainted with as an option. His small dating pool consisted of first dates with internet matches and set ups with friends of friends whose only similarity to Harry was their mutual queerness.

But Draco was...well, Draco. He would insult and tease you to your wits end, but was fiercely protective of the people he loved being their backs. He was outwardly cocky and arrogant, but when Draco sat next to Harry’s bed at St. Mungo’s chatting with him hours after his shift ended, he would confide in Harry all the ways he was immensely unsure of himself. He confessed how frightened he was that someday he wouldn’t be allowed to continue his work because the wrong person wouldn’t want an “Ex Death Eater” saving their life. He admitted that he had been utterly terrified during the war; that he wandered out early on, but had no idea how to get out without risking his and his parents’ lives. He even thanked Harry for the time he saved him in the room of requirement.

“I never showed you even an ounce of kindness, yet you risked your life just to save me. I didn’t know anyone could be that selfless.”

Even after all that, Harry still hadn’t put a name to what he was feeling for Draco. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was until that morning; the morning that caused him to end up in the pub in the first place.

Harry met Draco for lunch at their usual spot. They were talking about the recent Quidditch match that they had both read about in the Daily Prophet.

“I don’t know why the Harpies don’t just go ahead and make Ginevra the starting seeker. She’s not doing any good on the bench, and she can fly circles around that Malcolm chap.” He sipped his coffee and continued, “I bet she could even give you a run for your money.”

Harry laughed and took a bite of his falafel. “She could definitely kick my arse at this stage in my life. I haven’t been on a broomstick since the last time I tried to give Rose Weasley a flying lesson, and I think even she was better than me by the end of the day.” Draco flashed an easy smile at him.

They paid for their food and began to walk towards the hospital. There had been a misfired jinx at Harry’s work, resulting in all of the plumbing pouring out fruit pastilles instead of water. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal to him, but he was glad to have the rest of the day off regardless.

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit. The restaurant hadn’t been busy, so Draco had a few minutes to spare before he needed to return to his shift. They decided to take a seat on the edge of an old fountain in the middle of the square.

Draco looked at the water and laughed light heartedly. “Muggles are so odd. Why would anyone throw money into the water just to watch it sink? Do they know that it’s useless down there?”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “It’s a superstitious tradition. You throw the money in and make a wish, and it’s supposed to come true. I’m not really sure why, though. Maybe because you made some odd kind of offering to the god of water fountains.” Draco pursed his lips and considered this.

“Here.” Harry said and reached into his pocket and pulled out two sickles. He handed one to Draco and closed his eyes. “I wish that the pipes get filled with candy at work more often so I can spend more time with my dear friend Draco.” He threw the coin over his shoulder, and it

splashed into the water. Draco smiled. He stared at the coin in his hand for a long moment, and just as Harry was about to open his mouth and say something, he closed his eyes and closed his hand around the coin.

“I wish that the world will someday see me for the good things I do in the present and will do in the future rather than the bad things I did in my past.” He tossed the coin over his shoulder and opened his eyes.

Harry stared into the grey eyes he had lately been becoming more and more familiar with. There was a hint of sadness there, but also a look of steadfast finality. He knew that Draco would continue to try and pay for his mistakes time and time again, whether through healing those who needed him or reinventing himself into the kindhearted, compassionate individual he was today. A gust of wind suddenly blew his platinum blonde hair into his face, and without thinking, Harry reached up and gently pushed it out of the way, revealing his grey eyes once again. Draco stiffened, and Harry dropped his hand and looked away. After a too long pause, Draco cleared his throat.

“I’ll- I better go inside, then.” He stood and brushed off the back of his trousers. Harry, carefully avoiding his eyes, nodded and stood as well. They both murmured awkward goodbyes and went their separate ways.

•••

Harry rested his elbows on the sticky bar top and groaned again. He fancied Draco Malfoy, and now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover.

Ron spluttered a bit, then finally said, “Well, it could be worse. At least he’s pretty attractive.”

Harry shifted his gaze towards his friend, frowning. “Yes I’m quite aware of that, thanks.” He sighed. “I think I just need to have a few more drinks about it.”

Ron smiled and patted Harry on the shoulder. Suddenly, his phone chimed, causing Ron to jump. He was still having trouble getting used to muggle technology.

He frowned. “Uh oh. ‘Mione says baby Hugo’s got a stomach bug. I better get home and relieve her for a bit.” He stood up and said pointedly to Harry, “It’s not the end of the world, mate. If you think it’ll work, ask him out. If you don’t-“ he shrugged “I guess you’re on the right track.” He gestured towards Harry’s empty glass. “Listen, don’t try and apparate in your condition. Get a cab or something, and call me if you need anything.” Harry grunted a response, not knowing if he could say anything coherent in his state. Ron patted his shoulder again, then turned and headed out the door.

Harry sighed, then asked the bartender for another drink.

After a while, the crowd in the pub began to dwindle down, and Harry realized he should probably make the trek home. He stood up and saw stars and knew Ron was right; he definitely could not apparate like this, unless he wanted half of him to end up in the Pacific Ocean. But there was one problem- Harry didn’t have any muggle money for a cab, and he was too drunk to remember what to do in this situation. He remembered Ron’s offer and picked up his phone and went to his recent calls. He was about to choose Ron’s contact when he saw another name.

‘Malfoy’ with a green snake emoji.

Harry giggled and grinned, and thought ‘what the hell?’ He stepped outside and clicked the call button.

It rang one and a half times, and a gravelly voice grumbled, “Potter? What the hell are you doing, do you know what time it is?”

Harry snorted and replied, “Yes Draco, I do know how to read.” He giggled. “Just because I’m not in Ravenclaw doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

There was a short pause, and Draco remarked, “Are you drunk?”

“Hmm”, Harry mused happily, and said, “Extremely.”

Draco let out an exasperated sigh, and there was a shuffle of movement on the other line. “Where are you?” He demanded.

Harry looked and his vision swam. “Um. London?” He heard Draco inhale and start to say something, but quickly continued. “I’m just kidding, hah. There’s a street sign, but I don’t know what it says. Maybe I can’t read...” he trailed off. Then he spotted a familiar sculpture in front of a small park, and he perked up. “Oh! I see my statue!” He narrowed his eyes at the golden replica of him that had been placed there not too long ago. “It’s really embarrassing that they put that here. And I don’t think I’m actually that tall.”

Draco sighed again, and said, “Potter. I’ll be there in approximately 4 seconds. Please try not to die.” The line went dead, and Harry heard the *crack* of someone apparating next to him.

Put together, ready for the day Draco was already a sight to see; his pure blood upbringing instilled a need to constantly look flawless, no wrinkles or hairs out of place. He had immaculate posture, and one could tell by merely looking at him that he was someone important. But rumpled, hair perfectly messy, fresh out of bed blinking sleep from his eyes Draco? Well.

He was so beautiful Harry could cry.

“Hi.” Harry grinned drunkenly at him. Draco pursed his lips, looking equally amused and annoyed at the same time.

He murmured a simple, “Hello.”

Harry stared at his face, so gorgeously illuminated in the moonlight, sharp edges softened by the glow. Even in his drunken state, he wondered how he missed this; how he hadn’t recognized the burning need to stroke his ivory skin, run his fingers over his sharp nose, his lips...

Harry shook his head and sighed. “I’m drunk.”

Draco’s mouth turned up slightly at the corner, and he simply replied, “Quite.” He turned to look around. “We can side along apparate as long as you don’t try to do it yourself. Otherwise we’ll both end up splinched between here and Merlin knows where.” Draco put one arm around Harry’s waist and the other firmly on his bicep so they were chest to chest, while Harry tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

Draco looked at him softly, expression unreadable, and asked, “Are you ready?” Harry swallowed and nodded, trying to ignore how close their faces were. Harry closed his eyes and hoped he didn’t vomit as the familiar feeling pulled at his stomach and the air swirled around him.

Just as quickly as it had started, everything suddenly stilled. “Harry.” Draco whispered. Harry opened his eyes to see Draco staring at him intently, with the same soft and confusing look as earlier. “Come on, I’ll help you up the stairs.”

Harry vaguely noticed that he didn’t quite recognize where they were, but he was focusing most of his attention on breathing steadily. He was extremely aware that Draco kept a firm hand on Harry’s waist as they walked up the stairs to a quaint little townhouse. Draco unlocked the door with the key and quietly let Harry inside.

At this point, Harry could feel his eyes starting to close on their own and his legs start to grow weak from exhaustion. Luckily, Draco led Harry to a bedroom with a beautiful wooden four poster bed. He sat down on the edge and rubbed his temples while Draco rummaged through a dresser. He pulled out a shirt and a pair of sleep pants and handed them to Harry.

“I’ll run and get you a glass of water.” He patted the top of Harry’s head before exiting the room and closing the door behind him. Harry quickly changed out of his stiff work clothes into the more comfortable ones Draco had leant him. He ran a hand through his unruly curls and moved to lay down. Draco came back with a glass of water and a small vial.

“Take this in the morning. It’ll help a bit.” Draco smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. “I never thought I’d have to be the one to rescue Harry Potter from a drunken escapade.”

Harry snorted sleepily. “I’m usually not one to drown my sorrows, but there’s a first time for everything.”

Draco pressed his mouth into a hard line and retorted, “Who’s the lucky girl that got to break The Chosen One’s heart?”

Harry just stared at him confused for a moment, before blurting out, “I’m gay.” Draco raised an eyebrow, and he continued, “Like, really really gay.”

Draco once again got that unreadable expression on his face, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. “Well, I hope whoever had you ‘drowning your sorrows’, as you so eloquently put it, is worth it.” He started to stand up, but Harry clumsily grabbed for his hand.

“Wait no.” He frowned. “Keep talking, I want to fall asleep to the sound of your voice.” Draco’s face reddened (and Harry was way too drunk to consider what that meant), but nodded and sat back down.

“What would you like me to talk about, then?” Harry closed his eyes and relaxed. “Tell me more about your wish. At the fountain.”

He heard Draco’s breathing, not slow and even, but not panting either. Harry was vaguely aware that he was still clutching Draco’s hand. “I know that there’s no excuse for my actions. I’m well aware that I hurt more people than I can even begin to understand,” he hesitated, “but I hope someday I’ll be remembered as someone who eventually started to help rather than hurt.”

Harry wanted to keep listening, wanted Draco to talk to him until his voice gave out, but exhaustion was slowly taking over. He softly squeezed Draco’s hand and murmured, “I’ll always know that. I’ll remember.”

As Harry drifted off to sleep, Draco whispered, “Thank you, Harry.”

•••

Harry woke up the next morning feeling as though he had been repeatedly run over by the knight bus. He groaned and sat up. With a start, he realized he was not in his bedroom. He looked around the light grey room as the events of the night before came flooding back to him. “Oh Merlin.” He moaned and put his head in his hands.

“No, sorry, just me.” Draco smiled as he walked through the door. He set a mug of steaming tea next to Harry and said, “Three sugars and a pinch of cinnamon.” Harry looked up at him, squinting a bit as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“You know how I like my tea.” He stated blatantly. “But I’ve never told you that before.” Draco looked away, embarrassed.

“I’ve eaten lunch with you almost every day for the past four months, Potter. It’s an insult to my intelligence that you think I’m that unobservant.” There was no malice in his voice, only light hearted teasing. He looked at the bedside table and handed Harry his glasses and the vial he placed there the night before. “This won’t cure a hangover, but it’ll make it a hell of a lot more bearable.”

Harry mumbled a thanks and slid his glasses onto his face. He downed the potion in one gulp and grimaced. Draco laughed at whatever face Harry was making. He grumbled, “Remind me never to go near alcohol again.”

“Duly noted.” Draco said with another grin. “Come one them, I’ll make breakfast.”

Harry walked into the living room and noticed the blanket and pillow laid on the couch. “You slept on the sofa?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “My bed was a bit occupied for the night.”

“I would have shared.” Harry replied without thinking. Draco looked away and busied himself in the kitchen.

What on Earth was wrong with him, Harry wondered idly. Draco apparently had the uncanny ability to make Harry say whatever was on his mind, both drunk and hungover it seemed. Draco started to hum to himself while he buttered bread, and Harry walked over and sat himself on the counter and allowed himself to really stare.

Draco was in the same rumpled shirt and sleep pants he had been wearing when he rescued Harry from the streets of London the night before. His hair was a bit flattened in the back from his pillow, and he had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Harry let himself daydream about

getting to witness this every morning; waking up to Draco, looking like a slightly disheveled Adonis, making Harry breakfast. His heart yearned for the domesticity of it all.

He didn’t realize he’d been caught staring until he looked up and his eyes met Draco’s. His cheeks warmed and he but his lip, embarrassed, but didn’t look away. He tapped his fingers on the counter anxiously. Draco stared at him for a moment longer then looked away, continuing his cooking. “Are cheese toasties alright? I always like a bit of comfort food when I’m hungover.” Draco smiled at him, a small but still dazzling smile.

“You don’t have to do that for me, I’m fine with anything, really.” He looked down at his fingers still tapping the counter.

Suddenly Draco’s hand covered his, halting his anxious tapping. “A bit restless, are we?” he teased softly. Harry looked up, about to respond, and realized Draco’s face was mere inches away from his own. He wasn’t sure if it was the leftover alcohol in his system or if it was his stupid, reckless Gryffindor heart, but something in him made him suddenly close the distance between them to kiss him.

As soon as he did it, he regretted it and pulled away. He leaped down from the counter and stumbled away towards the living room.

“I’m- er, sorry, I’ll just...” he stuttered. “I’m going to go.”

Draco reached an arm out to him. “Harry, wait-“

“Thank you for, um, all this. I-“, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “See you later.”

He quickly disapparated, leaving Draco standing in the kitchen looking confused, his arm still extended towards Harry.

•••

Harry hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch since he had arrived in his flat 3 hours earlier. He laid on his back with his arm flung over his eyes, his head still pounding from the hangover and his mortifying actions in Draco’s kitchen. His heart sank every time he thought about it. The

truth was, even before Harry’s discovery of his more than friendly feelings towards Draco, he’d cherished their relationship. Ron and Hermione were great friends, but they were everything to each other and often were lost in their own bubble, which was something Harry couldn’t and didn’t want to compete with. His relationship with Draco was something Harry had all to himself. It was effortless and easy, and he found himself looking forward to any time they spent together. He knew he’d ruined everything, and he was already grieving the loss of their friendship.

There was a soft knock on his door. He groaned. A local football team had been going door to door selling magazines to raise money for some kind of tournament for the past week. He got up and slowly walked to the door. As he opened it he said, “Look guys, I already bought a subscription last week, I’m really not interested in-“. He looked up.

Draco stood in the doorway with a tentative smile plastered on his face. He held up a brown paper sack and said, “You left without your breakfast.” Harry blinked at him, not processing what was going on. “Er-“, Draco rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, “can I come in?”

Harry blinked and nodded, stepping out of the way. Draco walked to the sofa and sat down. He looked back at Harry, who was still standing by the doorway looking flabbergasted, and gestured towards the empty seat next to him. Harry swallowed and slowly walked to the couch, sitting as far away from Draco as the tiny love seat allowed.

They were both silent for a moment. Harry started to tap his fingers anxiously on the cushions, but he remembered what had happened the last time he had done that near Draco and decided to put his hands in his lap instead.

Draco finally broke the silence by saying, “Do you remember Blaise Zabini?”

Harry pursed his lips at the odd question but answered, “Of course. He works over at Gringotts now, right?”

Draco nodded and continued, “He and I had a sort of fling in our fifth year. Very casual, very secret, but still very real.”

Harry stared at him blankly until realization dawned on him. “So...you’re saying that you’re-“.

“‘Like, really really gay’ as you so eloquently put it last night.” Draco smirked at him, and Harry gave him a tentative smile in return. Draco nonchalantly slid his knee closer to Harry’s and looked at him until he finally met his eyes.

“And”, he began, ”I think that I’d like to give you a proper kiss, if that’s alright with you.”

Harry swallowed loudly but managed to say, “I’d like that very much.” Draco smiled and slowly raised his hand to stroke Harry’s cheek. He moved towards him painfully slow, and Harry closed

his eyes and exhaled, parting his lips in a slight ‘o’ shape. Draco closed the last few inches between them and pressed their lips together.

Draco’s lips were soft and warm as they moved slowly against his own. Harry slid a bit closer and placed one hand on Draco’s knee and the other at the nape of his neck, twisting his fingers in his hair and deepening their kiss. Draco slowly slid his tongue along Harry’s bottom lip and let out a soft moan. Harry, in a moment of blind confidence moved his hands to Draco’s thighs and pulled him onto his lap, never breaking their kiss. He felt Draco skim his teeth along Harry’s lip as Harry slid his hands underneath Draco’s shirt, resting on his hips and gently tracing circles on his bare skin. Draco moved his hands into Harry’s hair and tugged gently, making him gasp and accidentally breaking their lips’ embrace. Draco pressed their foreheads together, eyes still closed and trying to catch their breath. Harry opened his eyes and silently traced his fingers across Draco’s facial features like he had longed to do last night. Draco leaned into Harry’s palm, still straddling him with his hands tangled in Harry’s ebony hair.

Harry was the one to eventually break their silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco quirked up an eyebrow. “You mean why didn’t I tell you that I’m gay, or why didn’t I tell you that I’ve wanted to snog the hell out of you since I was fifteen? Either way, it’s not something that just easily comes up in conversation, Potter.” He rolled his eyes but stroked his thumb against Harry’s face.

“Well you could’ve told me either way. I-“, Harry stopped. “Wait. Did you say fifteen?”

Draco but his lip. “I was a prat, I know. But I didn’t know how else to cope with falling for my sworn enemy. Very un-Slytherin of me.” Draco shifted so he was now sitting next to Harry with his legs stretched out across his lap. He held Harry’s hand in both of his and gently stroked his long fingers. “How long have-“, Draco stumbled, “Er-, when did you, um, realize?”

Harry laughed quietly. “Well I’ve known I was gay since I was 17. But I only discovered my feelings for you-“, Harry put his hand under Draco’s chin and pulled his face up to look at him, “less than 24 hours ago.” Draco’s face was so comical he couldn’t help but laugh. “I knew I felt something for you; a tug in my stomach perhaps. But I only put a name to it yesterday. You know, drowning my sorrows and that whole bit.” Harry paused, watching Draco’s face, then continued, “And I think you are, by the way.”

Draco looked at him questioningly. “Are what?”

Harry smiled a crooked smile at him and replied, “You said you hoped whoever I was drinking about was worth it.” He pushed Draco’s hair out of his eyes like he had only yesterday at the fountain. “And I definitely think you are.”

Draco sighed. “Bloody Gryffindor’s. Ridiculous romantics, the lot of you.” But he beamed at him and pulled Harry in to kiss him again before saying, “Harry Potter, you have the most brilliant soul I have ever had the privilege of encountering.”

Harry grinned and pushed him down on his back into the sofa and moved to hover over him. “Now who’s the romantic?” Harry stared into those granite grey eyes and smiled before kissing him once again.

•••

If you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading my fic! Please feel free to reply or message me with what you thought, any comments of suggestions for my writing, etc.! <3

#Drarry #Draco Malfoy #drarry fic #Harry Potter #HP #Harry potter fic #slytherin #Draco x Harry #EWE #Draco fic #Draco fanfiction

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itsabluefloor · 5 years

Text

Snowbaz oneshot: prompt request.

Prompt request: Mordelia catching Snowbaz all loved up and teasing them with Malcolm. Loved writing this one, please send more<33 And tell me if you like this one.

“You know your eyelashes flutter?” Baz says, taking a good look at the boy beside him. Both of them are laying tightly wrapped in each other, covered in the warm morning light. Making Simons' skin even more golden than it already is as a canvas for his moles and freckles. They woke up over an hour ago, but none of them seem to want to wake up.

“Yeah." Simon lazily answers before even thinking. His curls splayed out on the pillow beneath them. "Or wait, what? They flutter?” He opens his eyes for and looks up at Baz.

“Yeah” Baz whispers back, holding back a yawn, "when we’re really, really close, they flutter"

“How do they flutter?" Simon asks again, sitting up in the bed, now curious. "Like ‘her eyelashes fluttered as he looked at her’ kind of flutter? Or like a bloody butterfly flutters his wings?” Baz shakes his head and holds back a laugh to answer the curiousness that is Simon Snow.

“Maybe the first one I think. What, you haven’t noticed before?” He answers sitting up straighter too.

“No, I don’t think so? No one has ever told me anyway. It's not like Aggs ever noticed stuff like that and no one has been as close to me as you two. Do it again!” Simon hurries through the sentence. His eagerness taking a slight hold of him where he sits.

“Do what?”

“I don’t know. Get close, make them flutter.” Simon says, blinking his eyes to prove the point. Which only makes Baz smile even softer than before, if that’s even possible when he's with Snow.

“Make them flutter, wow” Baz repeats to himself before he moves one of his fingers slowly towards Simons' eye, as carefully as possible. It's not like he wants to stab them again. He did that once, by accident in third year, and as funny Snow looked with an eyepatch, Baz is not that bad of a boyfriend. Not this morning anyway.

“No, wait!” Simon stops him panicking slightly before standing up on his knees to find his phone and reaching it to Baz. “Film it”

Baz laughs again “You serious?”

He earns a decisive nod back. «I’m curious,” Simon explains as he lets his back hit the mattress again.

“You’re such a tosser,” Baz says, but takes the phone either way. He presses play on the camera and then with an American accent, explains the video like he is doing a magickal science project. Mostly because he knows that Simon loves his American accent...

“First try on the experiment; how does it look when Simon Snow's eyelashes flutter.” He says with a stern voice. Making Simon laugh out loud before he finally settles down. Too afraid to move and get stabbed in the eye. Cause that was not a good experience as he remembers it.

“You ready?” Baz asks with a smile and earns yet a nod from the boy beside him. He is just about to again, carefully touch the lash, when someone barges in the door. Immediately followed by a disgusted outbreak and the door closing harshly.

"What the fuck are you lot doing? Dad said no fucking in the house and you're making a porno?"

Baz and Simon jerk quick as lightning up from the pillows. Simon with cheeks as red as tomatoes and Baz with his usual, unaffected look. Both shirtless.

"What have I said Mordelia, if you don't knock you don't go in," Baz says, his voice as stern as his fathers.

“And for your information, we weren’t making a sex tape." Simon pipes in, his voice a little smaller. He still isn't sure that Mordelia is not a vampire herself as she looks and acts exactly like Baz did when he was here age. Like right now, she's just standing there with a big smirk on her mouth like she just found the best blackmail material ever.

"We weren’t even fucking,” Baz says, standing up from the bed and closing the window, earning a mine from Simon. “Now at least.” He adds, and Simon tries to hide the blush rising from the comment.

“What the hell were you doing then? With a phone, in the bed, you on top of him?” She asks. Giving suggestively looks at both of them as she speaks.

“Snow wanted to see how it looks when his eyelash flutters,” Baz answers for the both of them and Mordelia delivers a disgusting face again. "It was cute,"

“What even” Is all Mordelia answers, before quickly giving up on finding what weird thing they do when she’s not here and instead reaches into her pocket to get her phone. She plops down on the sofa in the room and Baz practically jumps up to shove her out again the second she does.

"I'll tell mom if you don't let me hang with you!" She shouts when he tosses her over his shoulders. Making Simon laugh out loudly. "I'll tell dad!" She tries again but has no chance of getting down from her vampire brothers’ hands before she is over the threshold and the door is closed between them again.

"You know that she will tell Malcolm, right?" Simon asks as Baz joins him on the bed again.

"I know, but he won't be home for a couple of hours, Daphne won't care and it's still morning and I don't want to stress any more than I have to." He says tiredly. Simon stares at him weirdly.

"What?"

"I mean, who are you and what have you done to my overthinking, emotional mess that is my boyfriend? Did you finally cave in and tried human blood or?"

“No, I did not kill anybody today Snow.” He would never bite a person for food and they both know it. "And are you calling ME a mess? You're the definition of mess Snow." Baz teases back, leaning in to tuck a curl behind his ear.

"Wasn't me who was pining after my roommate for years without telling them." Simon laughs, shoving Baz's shoulder playfully where they lay face to face.

"Wasn't me who took three years to realize that my girlfriend never really liked me in that way." Baz shoots back and Simon gives him another shove along with an offended look.

"Truce?" Baz asks and reaches out his hand for him to take. Simon cackles at that but shakes it nevertheless along with a soft: "truce"

Hours pass before Simon is too hungry to stay in bed any longer and needs food asap. Baz grudgingly joins him down to their grandiose, marble tiled kitchen and opens the fridge filled to the brim with different kinds of food, along with a couple containers of pig’s blood. Baz takes one out and then looks back into the fridge to find something to eat.

"Dinner leftovers?" He asks.

"Nah," Simon answers from his kitchen stool behind him.

"Okay, how about a sandwich?"

"´Yeah okay"

"What do you want on?" Baz asks again, finding some bread from the drawer.

"I don't know, normal sandwich stuff?" Simon shrugs back

"Normal sandwich stuff, you tosser." He insults back but still picks out some cheese and etcetera to make one for Simon. He is just about done when Malcolm enters the room.

Two hours too early.

"Good day boys" He announces as he picks up his paper at the table Simon's sitting on. "Or should I say morning for you two?” He asks, looking them up and down.

"Father," Baz greets back as neutral as possible. Pouring himself a cup of blood to go with the food. "Didn't think you would be home so soon. Would have put on some more suitable clothes if I had known" He tries to excuse himself.

"I did text you to say that the meeting went quickly, but you were probably too busy with Simons phone to see that message." He says, and Simon chokes on the food in his mouth. Baz can't hold his redness down this time either and stops in the middle of a sip. Malcolm just smiles smugly at himself.

"Ehm, what do you mean?" Baz finds the words to ask after a couple of seconds.

"Mordelia told me about how she found you two this morning, and you know what I said about these kinds of activities in the home when you're guests."

"Father." "Sir." Both Simon and Baz say in unison, desperate to tell the truth as quickly as possible.

"Calm down boys, just be careful right?" He answers smugly again and rises from his chair along with his paper. As he walks out the door he says behind him; " And use protection!" Both Simon and Baz are left completely stunned in the kitchen. Neither of them knows just what happened.

"Forget about you," Simon says after he has collected himself a bit. "What has happened to your father?" He asks, taking a big bite of the sandwich.

Before Baz has the chance to answer he hears through the wall a weak: "Did it work dad?" "Oh, you should've seen their faces" And then a high five.

"Mordelia happened to my father." He smiles to himself and leans in to kiss the mole on Simon's neck before going back to his cup. “That little devil.”

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #fluff #snowbaz fic #firstfic #writing prompt #send prompts #why am i doing this

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ciestessde · 5 years

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Ghost Clones

Who cares what some teenager saw in the middle of the night? Grant didn’t believe ghost stories.

So why did those three human-sized crates make him so uneasy?

Grant was just doing his rounds around the ship. Something he must have done a million times. So then… Why was he so jumpy?

He tossed the ball in his hands again. Damn that idiot for telling that stupid ghost story. Who cares what some drunk-off-his-ass, sleep-deprived, overworked teenager saw in the middle of the night?

Grant would bet all the money he was making on this job that the kid would have made out with a poster and said he’d met a mermaid the next morning! Jeez…

So then, why? What had him on-edge?

A rat scurried across the deck in front of him, and he dropped the baseball, nearly jumping out of his shoes. Grant cursed. He needed a drink himself, actually. Blowing on his hands to warm them from the early-autumn air, he grabbed the ball from the floor and headed below for his personal stash.

The corridor dripped and creaked. Grant nodded at Middle-Aged-Malcolm as he passed, then at Shortstack-Steve. Steve gave a rowdy, “Hi, Mister Grant!” from behind him. Grant replied, “Hey, Steve.”

Steve came around a corner ahead of him with a “Heya, Grant!”

Grant froze. He turned. And saw Malcolm going up the stairs to the deck.

Alone.

… Had he already drunk tonight? “Grant?” Steve was giving him a concerned look. “Uh… s’nothin’.”

He shook his head to clear it and continued shambling down the corridor. He REALLY needed that drink if he was this jumpy.

More of his crewmates greeted him in the barracks. He ignored them in favor of his booze. He sat on his bed, setting the ball in its place on his pillow, and popped the cap off the first one he grabbed.

He took a long drink. “Much better,” he mumbled. “Wind ‘as some bite to it tonight, eh?”

Bruce slopped himself onto his bed. Grant grimaced. Bruce was a good guy, but he’d rather the slob had sat on a garbage can first. His bed would be cleaner for it.

“Or maybe tha’ lad’s story ‘as gotten to ya?” Bruce jeered. Grant glared, but didn’t dare make eye-contact. He sipped from his bottle, hoping Bruce wouldn’t notice. He noticed. “Oh-ho! I never thought I’d see the day the Great and Punctual Grant The-Goody-Two-Shoes would be scared by-” “Shut up!” Grant snarled at him.

And he did. “... Hang on. Yer serious?” Grant studied the label of the bottle in his hands. “Haven’t you noticed something… off?” “No’ really, no.” Bruce was looking at him blankly.

Grant sighed. “Just… nevermind.” Taking one last swig, Grant stood and handed the bottle to Bruce. “Ay, before ya leave, I’ve a message from-”

“-What does he want me to do now?” Grant interrupted with a sigh. Sometimes being “The-Goody-Two-Shoes” had its downsides. Like getting extra responsibilities without any extra pay. “Said ‘e wanted ya to check on the new cargo. Thinks we might ‘ave stowaways-”

The hairs on Grant’s neck stood up. ‘Please don’t say it.’

“-Malcolm says ‘e ‘eard voices from insi’e the crates.” Swallowing, Grant just nodded and left.

He cursed all the way to the hold. Oddly, there was a gas mask hanging outside the door. Apparently, the crates held some kind of dangerous something-or-other. The mask was in case it leaked. Or, that’s what the kid had told them. The kid had also said the crates were haunted.

Grant put the mask on anyway. Better safe than sorry, right?

Huh. Looked like Ol’ Middle-Aged was right. He could hear voices coming from inside. Looking in the window, he thought he could see a figure standing above each crate. They were blurry -- someone hadn’t cleaned the window properly, huh? He’d find out who it was and chew them out later. Bracing himself -- ‘Just some drunk teenager’s story!’ -- and with a few last curses for good measure, he slammed the door open.

“Oy! What do you lot think you’re doing, huh?!” They turned their heads in his direction. There was something off… They were still blurry?

‘... Must be the mask, then.’ Cursing the gas mask for not letting him see their faces clearly, he stomped over. “Stowaways ain’t… t-tolerated… on…”

He’d gotten close enough that they weren’t blurry anymore. He could see their faces. Or rather, face. For some reason, they looked familiar. And- they all looked the same. The same height. The same clothes. The only difference between them -- was one didn’t have hands, one didn’t have a nose… and one didn’t have a mouth.

And… They were all children. They hadn’t been standing above the crates. They were standing ON them.

That was that, then. He was drunk. He had to be.

Then one of them -- the one without hands -- spoke. “Father…?” His voice sent chills down Grant’s spine. For some reason, the way it echoed emptily -- it reminded him of a hospital.

He and the three strange boys stared at each other for a few seconds. In which time, Grant couldn’t make himself move. But he noticed something he definitely should have sooner. The boys were see-through.

Then- the expressions on the boys’ faces changed. Their eyes glowed red, their fingers became clawlike, and- -was the room shaking?!

A drawn-out howl broke Grant out of his shock. “FAAATHEEERRR!!!”

He ran.

Where had everyone else gone? No one stopped him from sprinting for the outside. For some reason, he felt like that was the only way to be free of them. But they blocked every attempt he made. He ran down every hallway, up every staircase, but every time was met by a pair of red eyes.

He was cornered. No options left, he ran inside the barracks. He tried to hide under the closest bed -- his bed -- but too late. They were already here. Walking toward him, blocking any escape. No weapons near him -- what would even work against a ghost?!

“WHY?!” They spoke in unison. Gone was the empty echo. They sounded like thunder. “WHY?! FATHER! WHY?!”

He couldn’t breath. They were getting closer, trapping him.

And he couldn’t breath! He ripped off the mask.

The boys froze. Everything froze. Nothing moved -- not him, not the ghosts (ghosts!), not the air. There was no sound of dripping or creaking. Even the waves were silent.

Then-

“Hang on,” the boy with no hands -- the leader? He was in the middle -- turned to the one with no nose, “Does he look different to you?” No Nose nodded. No Mouth was squinting at Grant.

No Hands walked up to where Grant was crouched. He stared at him a bit longer -- then started laughing. “Ha! Oh my -- I’m so sorry, Mister Grant!” He turned to the other two, “It’s okay, it’s not him!”

No Hands crouched and held out an arm -- was he trying to help him up? -- and said cheerfully, “Sorry! We thought you were someone else, heh!”

Grant didn’t grab it.

After a few seconds, No Hands stood up straight. He glanced around awkwardly, then paused. And smiled.

“Cool!” No Hands pointed an arm at something. “Hey, do you mind if we borrow that?” Grant cautiously turned his head to see what he was pointing at. It was the baseball on Grant’s pillow.

Grant looked back at the boys. All three of them no longer looked like they were going to kill him and devour his corpse. They just… looked like three excited little boys. Three excited, see-through little boys. Slowly, Grant nodded.

“Awesome!” No Nose shouted. No Hands ran over to the bed -- and lifted the ball. With no hands. It just- floated in front of his arm. Where his hand would be. But wasn’t.

“We’ll bring it back before we leave! Promise!” And like that, they ran out of the room.

Through the wall.

… Yep. He was definitely drunk. Had to be.

After all, he’d just realized why they looked familiar. All three of those boys… They looked just like that teenager- -who’d told them the ghost story to begin with… And who’d told them to wear that gas mask…

… Oh.

So that was why he’d been so jumpy.

~~~~~

If you liked this, please REBLOG!

AO3 version

Buy this OSW as an ebook for $0.99 here!

OSWs Master List

{This is part of my “OneShot Wednesday” project - I’m trying to write a one-shot every week that other people have requested! Original Requests one week, and Fanfic Requests the next.

You can vote for the next OSW here until Oct. 9th, or find the current poll on my Tumblr, Twitter, or Website!

While I will try to keep track of all the requests I receive regardless of how they’re sent, you should send Fanfic Requests through the pinned tweet on my Twitter, and Original Requests through either my email ([email protected]) or my Patreon (if you’re a patron) if you want to make sure I see them.

Just about everything goes -- I’ll tell you if there’s a problem. But if you want to know more about how they work, you can read about Original OSWs here, and Fanfic OSWs here.

So please send me ALL the ideas!!! I will make sure to recognize whoever’s idea/request it was in the work – just ask if you want to remain anonymous.}

#oneshotwednesday #ghost #clones #horror #original writing #writeblr

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thelallybrochlibrary · 6 years

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Outlander fics in which the characters are in college/university for some or all of the story. Happy Reading!

Autumn Leaves by @mydeerfriend

A RogerxBree College AU in which Brianna Randall is spending a semester abroad in Oxford and literally runs into Roger Wakefield, the most gorgeous professor in history ;)

Back To You by balfeheughlywed

Claire, a college senior, transfers to Scotland at the last minute to finish out her undergraduate degree after she breaks up with Frank. She meets Jamie on campus and sparks fly - and then she discovers he is the boyfriend of her new roommate, Laoghaire.

Beautiful Mess by @icanbeurbestbet

After a traumatic childhood accident that took her parents and left her disfigured, Claire moves to Edinburgh for University and is introduced to a world like no other. She dives right in and hits the ground running but has a lot to learn and little time to do it in.

Caught In The Middle by Clairexfraserx

Claire Beauchamp is about to start her first year in medical school at the University of Edinburgh. In her student halls, she meets four strangers, Jamie, Geilis, Ian, and John. All five utterly different from one another. As their friendships grow, they form bonds that will leave them with unforgettable consequences.

This story is rooted in friendship, love, finding yourself, and learning what it means to be a young adult in this modern era.

dear darling by Sabaxoxoxo

A completely self-indulgent Jamie/Claire 1950's college AU oneshot

The Doctor and The Captain by @kalendraashtar

Jamie and Claire meet in College.

A Far Away Infinity by @sapphiresassenach

Modern Jamie and Claire are best friends from their college years with a passionate, but complicated past. Jamie now lives in America and Claire in Scotland. After five years apart, the past comes back to challenge them like never before.

Happy Not-Quite-Accidents by connielotte

Having just moved up to Edinburgh for grad school, Claire gets some unwanted attention at a pub. Rather than risk telling the truth - her boyfriend is back in London - she goes for the safer option, picks out the biggest guy in the pub, and says she's with him. Lucky for her, one Jamie Fraser plays along.

College AU including but not limited to: med school drama, fake relationship drama, real relationship drama, and rugby.

I could teach you something new by @displaceintime

In which Claire and Jamie resolve a misunderstanding in the best way possible.

An interruption in the first law of thermodynamics by @whiskynottea

Jamie and Claire meet in High School and the adventure of togetherness begins.

Librarians Note: This fic starts as a high school AU and transitions to a college AU.

Lecture Etiquette by @diversemediums

Outlander College AU one shot in which Jamie is a distraction… a good distraction.

Life Drawing by @writtenthroughtime

Prompt: This would totally be an AU fic but I would love to see Claire teaching a figure drawing class and Jamie being one of the students draws her.

Near and Dear by basketcase1880

Claire is friends with Jenny at university, unfortunately, Claire doesn’t have any family to spend Christmas with, so Jenny invites Claire to spend Christmas with her family. Enter one James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser (and a little boy with curls to rival her own) and Claire suddenly feels her life has been lacking a LOT of things.

of the gentle eyes by @philtstone

“How’s the thesis coming?”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat and scratches one cheek, leaning down to tug the ancient laptop back into his lap. She catches a hint of his aftershave but none of her own floral hair products, which means he didn’t shower at her apartment. Something about the break in pattern makes the lump in her throat grow tighter. “No’ bad. Bulldozed my way through a couple’ve paragraphs.”

“To the tried and true tunes of the Jamie Fraser Capercaillie angst playlist?” she asks solemnly, croaking a bit around that lump.

She thinks Jamie must notice, because he meets her gaze.

"Better'n Taylor Swift," he says. Claire pouts.

Perfect Distractions by @written-rebellion

Claire studies too hard, Jamie’s a completely smitten puppy, and all the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios.

Poetry Love by rebecandrd

AU - In which 23-year-old James Fraser leaves his farm in Inverness to study Literature in London, a city he has only been once before, with his uncle Dougal. There he meets Claire Beauchamp, his new Poetry teacher.

A Royal Affair by @jules-fraser

James Fraser, first heir to the throne enrolls at the prestigious University of Oxford where he meets Claire Beauchamp, the only female student on campus who doesn't care about his title.

Short Skirt, Long Jacket by @owlish-peacock36

Jamie receives a welcome surprise at university. Modern Outlander/College AU. One Shot.

The Set Up by jamiemackenziefraser

College students and best friends Claire and Jamie are secretly dating. While back at home for a break, they go on a getaway to a lakehouse with their friends. Shenanigans ensue when Geillis insists on setting Claire up with Frank. Unable to dissuade her without giving away her secret, Claire is forced to play along, much to Jamie's dismay.

Study without desire spoils the memory by fardareismai for @imagineclaireandjamie

Imagine Claire visiting Frank at the university and she meet a certain red headed Scottish student.

A Tale Of Two Friends by AussieOutlander

Jamie and Claire have been best friends since childhood. But over the past year, something had changed.

Claire has been dating Frank for almost nine months, when Jamie begins seeing a mutual friend, Geillis. She knows she should be happy for him, finally having fun and finding romance with a nice girl like Geillis, but she isn’t, she hates it, and shes not sure why...or is she?

There’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve just met by fardareismai

Claire Beauchamp is looking for a roommate for her last year of medical school. Once she decides on a girl named Jamie, she’s in for several shocks.

Vander’s Human Physiology by @abreathofsnowandashes

Jamie is annoyed with Claire and a so she grasps a moment of inspiration to make it up to him.

When Life Plays Fair by @whiskynottea

Jamie and Claire meet at a masquerade party.

Witchcraft In Your Lips by catrinwrites

Modern AU/infinite loop fic

Aspiring actress Claire Beauchamp is elated when she is accepted into a prestigious postgraduate acting program in Scotland; even more so when she discovers her chemistry with fellow student Jamie Fraser exists as much off stage as it does on. When a Samhain weekend trip to the Highlands - and Culloden battlefield - reveals that their connection may extend even further than they realize, Claire and Jamie must unravel the mystery of the past before it ruins their future.

Librarians Note: You will need an AO3 account in order to access this story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Librarians Note: If you have written or read a Modern Day AU - University/College themed fic please let us know - we would love to add it to this list! Also, we have a number of fics here that we found on AO3 but were unsure if the author has a tumblr. If you spot an author on this list that has a tumblr account not linked above, please let us know!

#outlander #fan fiction #*category #modern day au #university #college #education #updated: 1/26/2021 #*category: college au #outlander fanfic

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rocksalt-and-pie · 2 years

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btw yeah. not a big fan of A Little Life. not because of all the typical ao3 warnings that it should come with (major character death, underage, graphic depictions of violence, dead dove do not eat) or the blatant straight-baiting in the blurb (lifelong friendship between four guys my ass) (just say it like it is. Malcolm technically isn't even a main character, and neither is JB if we're being super nitpicky) but the entire thing really feels like an unedited fanfic??? not that it's "bad writing" or a "bad book" in that sense (not saying that fanfics are necessarily low quality writing, feel like I should mention that) it just feels like someone wrote a fanfic that was planned to be something else entirely, posted it without anyone beta-reading it and then kept updating it without ever changing anything about the beginning? especially the first third feels all over the place like "making it up as I go" and then "well I guess we're just overthrowing the entire first draft but instead of rewriting the beginning we're keeping it because it was a lot of work"?

or, alternatively, someone who wrote a oneshot first that ended up somewhere in the middle/towards the end then got lost in the world building and decided to include all of it in the final draft because they couldn't bear to kill their darlings

#also i feel like there is a lot of stuff that could have been left out and im not even talking about the graphic descriptions of you know #also the thing i have the biggest problem with is the blatant lack of female characters like wtf!!!#how can you write such a thick book without ONE important female character! like i was convinced the author was a man until half waythrough #whenever she introduced a new male side character i was like OH GREAT ANOTHER MAN we don't have enough of those already #also like. yeah we get it he has had a terrible life. yeah that might as well happen. obviously.#like maybe tone it down just a little bit i would have been convinced even before that other thing happened 🙄#but this way it's just yeah well. yeah. of course #tbh i have a lot of problems with the entire thing sdhfjfkdfj #that's what i meant by did someone even edit this or was it just published no questions asked #mp

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igottahavemorechristopherwalken · 6 years

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When you get this, respond with five things that make you happy! (: Then send it to the last ten people in your notifications.

Aw, thank you! I’m so sorry for responding to this extremely late. I think this has been sitting in my inbox for quite a while now…I’m also not sure exactly how I was in your notifications, since this is a side blog, and I’m only able to like, reblog, and follow people from my main blog @jenniferlovesthebeatles. But anyway, here are five things that make me happy!

Listening to music. As you can probably tell from my main blog, I’m a huge Beatles fan, but I love all sorts of music. The ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s are my main comfort zone, but I listen to some more modern music as well.

Watching cartoons, especially nostalgic ones, like SpongeBob SquarePants, Hey Arnold!, and My Life as a Teenage Robot. :)

Watching TV shows, like M*A*S*H, Seinfeld, Friends, Frasier, and Malcolm in the Middle.

Playing games. I play some mobile phone apps, like Happy Street, Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp, My Tamagotchi Forever, Postknight, and Bonbon Cakery. I also am really into RPG Maker games, like OFF, Yume Nikki, OneShot, Farethere City, and End Roll!

Seeing that people enjoy this blog! I’m really happy that this blog still gets activity. I know that I don’t post on here everyday, but I’ve gotten a good number of followers over the years, and I think I’m actually one of the few (fairly) active Christopher Walken blogs left on Tumblr.

#inbox #blackphoenixwings

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capnjay21 · 6 years

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the importance of being idle, 12/12

A/N: aloha! I posted this on AO3 a little while ago, but it has yet to make it onto tumblr. I wanted to say thank you so much to everybody who stuck along for the ride, it wouldn’t have been anymore than a oneshot without you! I’ll ramble a little more at the end, but here it is.

Rating: M

Catch up on: AO3 | tumblr

the importance of being idle get-out-of-my-apartment-(no-really-get-out)-you’re-hot-but-I-got-shit-to-do rock ‘n roll AU. Captain Swan.

Neither the fragrant dispensable hand soap, the superior quality of microwavable goods nor the silent as smoke bathroom door could make living in the Blackbeard’s Revenge tour bus a salvageable experience.

Admittedly, she’d only been there for just over twenty-four hours.

But it still fucking sucked.

After watching the Jolly Rogers drive away, she’d had little else to do except move her camera equipment and her small suitcase onto the other bus. Of course, the only free bunk happened to be right next to Blackbeard’s, but at least she wasn’t ousting any back-line equipment. If she was going to be here for the next month and a half, she would keep her head down and stay out of trouble, collect her money and go.

And try not to think too hard about the band that had driven away.

She spent the entire day in her bunk, alternating between attempting to read and adjusting settings needlessly on her camera, ignoring any offhand remarks sent her way. Blackbeard’s Revenge clearly had their own rhythm, the radio flipped onto some postseason baseball game while they alternated between relaxing and trying to coax a rise out of Emma. There were only so many ‘and how goes our forlorn freelancer, darling?’ she could take before she took a leaf out of Tina and Killian’s book and socked one of them in the jaw, but their every jibe strengthened her resolve. The only small mercy she could think of was the lack of Neal, since he had his own car he’d been using for that leg of the tour.

Eventually, the men dozed off and Emma was left in peace, scrolling idly through her phone. She didn’t text Killian. Her immediate instinct was to wait and see if he texted her first, but remembered too late that they never actually got to a point where they’d exchanged numbers — she only had his because of the note he’d left in her apartment that very first night. Along with his shirt.

(The shirt she had, in a moment of weakness, decided to throw on.

She’d brought it on the tour under the pretext of giving it back to him, and it had sat at the bottom of her suitcase until she could find the right moment — which now, of course, had obviously passed her by. It felt oddly symbolic of her entire relationship with Killian, to her chagrin.)

August had messaged her a string of salsa dancing women emojis, assuring her she’d pull through the other side. In response, she’d merely sent him a tired looking selfie with the book she’d secretly swiped from his bunk; Pinocchio. His reply was scandalised.

I knew there was a reason you said no to my fairytales. ‘Finding your own destiny’ my ass.

<b>that’s not v gentlemanly </b>

They’d bantered for a few minutes before she let the phone lie, a dull ache settling in the centre of her chest. She missed him. She missed all of them.

And before she let the rattling of the bus on the highway lull her into an afternoon nap, she couldn’t stop feeling the phantom scratch of stubble against her temple as a kiss was laid there, a murmur of sweet dreams, Emma, carrying her away.

***

BR had managed to recruit some local band last minute to open for them that night in New York, a city where no shortage of musicians lurked waiting for a chance like that to come along. They’d been okay, the style leaning a little too far into pop-punk for Emma’s liking, but dutifully she took photos and acted much the same as she had on every other night. It was a job, now. Nothing more. Take photos, go to bed. No lingering backstage, no welcome distractions, no banter as the venue was set up — all she cared about was her finger over the shutter release and the thought of getting back to her bunk, Killian’s shirt folded neatly underneath her pillow.

She’d gone back to the bus immediately after the gig. Even with that vestige of him surrounding her, it had been a restless night’s sleep.

They were performing just one more show in New York, and the next morning Emma couldn’t help but let her thoughts stray to the fact that it would be the last time she worked with Neal. If it weren’t for the fact that it left her alone with Blackbeard’s Revenge she would’ve been more relieved, but as it stood Neal was both a buffer and an inconvenience. They both knew it in their unspoken, mutual agreement; this would be the last time they saw each other. There was no use prolonging their association — the past was firmly in the past, Emma had closure. She didn’t know what Neal had, but it sure as fuck wasn’t anything that concerned her, and there was something decidedly liberating about finally setting fire to that chapter of her life, and letting it go up in smoke.

While most of her freedom to decide had been taken from her over the past day, it felt good to still be able to make some choices.

As the hours ticked by into the early afternoon, Emma was flicking through the photos she’d already taken from the last month or so, Blackbeard and Isaac playing cards in the seating area, with Pan listening to music as he lay back in his bunk. Jefferson had disappeared a few hours ago. It was a bitch to get into the city from the parking lot they’d been assigned near Newark, but the bassist seemed to be the only one interested in giving it a try. Emma couldn’t bring herself to give it a go, and it was highly likely the other three had already been before. The precarious peace, however, didn’t last long.

The door at the back of the bus swung open, sunlight beaming through and making Emma blink against the sudden brightness. Assuming it would be Jefferson returning, Emma didn’t spare it a glance — he was easily the most tolerable of the lot of them, but that didn’t make him any less complicit in the reason she was there.

“Ah,” Blackbeard greeted loudly, and Emma reached for her headphones. The least she could do was drown him out. “Jones. You’re late.”

Her head shot up so fast her neck cracked.

To her utter disbelief, Killian Jones stood silhouetted in the doorframe.

It took mere milliseconds for his eyes to find hers, a vivid blue like the glow of a lighthouse scattered on the waves. Although rationally she knew it had scarcely been a day and a half, it felt like far too long since she’d seen him, and she wrenched her gaze away to try and take in the rest of him — somewhat dishevelled in appearance and, if she wasn’t mistaken, wearing the same rumpled clothes as the day before. With his raven hair sticking up at odd angles on the back of his head, he looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep.

“Apologies,” Killian was saying to Blackbeard, “this place isn’t exactly convenient to reach.” Blackbeard waved a dismissive hand, before turning back to his game.

Before Emma could even fire off a query about why he was there, Killian cut her off.

“Pack your stuff, Swan,” he said, “we’re going.”

She didn’t move.

“What’re you doing here?”

Killian let out an exaggerated huff. “What does it look like? I’m attempting a dashing rescue.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Isaac hummed in amusement from his spot on the sofa opposite Blackbeard. Emma ignored him.

She didn’t get why everyone was being so goddamn calm.

As if sensing her hesitation, Blackbeard quirked an eyebrow in her direction. “You’re welcome to stay, Miss Swan, if you so desire.” The look he gave her could be described as leery at best. “But he has come all this way, and even I don’t advocate for that sort of cruelty.”

“Time is rather of the essence, love. Cab’s out front.”

Killian was watching her earnestly, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it darted out to wet his lips. He was nervous, by now she could read his posture like a map, and something about it suggested to her that his sense of urgency had little to do with a taxi fare.

What the hell was going on?

Cautiously, she reached for her bag, gaze darting between the man in the doorway and those sprawled on the sofas. “You’re saying I’m allowed to just walk out of here?”

Blackbeard spread his hands. “Of course.”

“No invoices in the post?”

“Not even for your pilfering of my vastly expensive soap.”

Emma wasn’t about to wait around for them to change their minds.

She gathered her stuff as quickly as she could, shoving any loose items around the bunk back into her suitcase before carefully disassembling her camera and safely packing away all of the components. After she descended the ladder and made a quick check of the sheets for anything she hadn’t seen, she threw one last look over her shoulder at the three members of Blackbeard’s Revenge. Malcolm was still lying on his bed, eyes closed with his headphones on, not having even acknowledged the turn of events. Isaac and Charles’ attentions had returned to their game.

Emma opened her mouth to try and check one final time that she was in the clear.

“Call,” Charles said mildly, “you really do have the worst luck, Heller.”

“I’m sure my luck will improve once you stop using those two extra aces.”

They weren’t even the slightest bit interested, and she owed them nothing. So, after throwing them the proverbial middle finger, she merely stepped out of the bus and into the early afternoon sun. Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, guiding her to the entrance of the parking lot where two cabs were already waiting. From their brief distance, she could see August, Robin and Smee in one, Tina in the other, with piles of their equipment stuffed in between.

“Killian —?” she started.

“Sorry to press you, love,” he smiled widely at her, before throwing a furtive look back at the bus, “I’m merely eager not to tempt fate.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“You’re going home,” he said firmly, and the heat from his hand just erred on the side of scorching through her sweater. “That’s all that matters.”

“But how —?”

They’d reached the taxis, and all too suddenly the door had swung open to the first and she realised there was an empty seat beside August. Killian brushed a hand over her hip just briefly before he retreated to the other, dropping into the backseat beside Tina. Emma, entirely baffled but not too fond of questioning her good fortune just yet, saw she had no other choice but to buckle in. When she entered the cab it was to a few scattered cheers and August squeezing her hand affectionately.

She may have no goddamn clue what was happening, but it felt good to be back.

***

The Jolly Rogers were going to get signed.

The moment the door to the cab had shut, August, Smee and Robin were practically tripping over each other in order to relay the good news, an energy thrumming through them that she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. Apparently, they’d had some incredibly busy twenty-four hours.

From Jefferson’s mansion in Connecticut, it had taken around eight hours of straight driving to get them back to Storybrooke, Merida testing the speed limit at any moment she could — it was a race against time, they’d decided, to see if they could make something of the exposure from the national tour before the news that Blackbeard’s Revenge had dropped them hit the press. There was no telling just how Gold Records would spin the news, and just how much of an effect it might have on any potential labels interested in signing them.

As it turned out, somebody had been waiting for them. Eric Triton had never been the bitter sort, he had confessed to them, but if his time with Blackbeard’s Revenge had taught him anything it was that he far favoured the reward that came with nurturing a band who actually cared about music to playing whatever it took to top the charts. After his departure from Blackbeard and company he had turned his attention to producing, eventually partnering up with the Poseidon Music Group after a providential meeting with the CEO’s daughter on a beach, and had made it his business to constantly be scouting for new talent ever since.

Apparently he had attended their gig at Warehouse 4, the one Emma herself had skipped what felt like a hundred years ago, and he was one of the calls that had Smee’s phone vibrating for days afterwards. You could imagine his exasperation when Blackbeard’s Revenge got to them first.

It was why, he’d told them, he almost felt glad that they’d been dropped from the tour — it gave him a second shot. The moment one of his contacts had alerted him to the disagreement at Jefferson’s mansion he had started camping as near as he dared to the town line, predicting correctly that they would be racing back to Storybrooke as soon as possible. He accosted them as they stormed into town, and the next thing they knew they had an invitation to play before Poseidon himself next week. Which was only a formality, of course. The deal was as good as done.

“Have you guys slept at all?” Emma gaped, and the dark rings around their eyes spoke volumes.

All three of them were giddy, exhausted but exhilarated, and constantly iterating just how glad they were that she was able to share in their good news, but not one of them would say a second word on just how they managed to wrangle her out from Blackbeard’s grasp, insisting that it wasn’t their story to tell. Emma had an inkling of just whose it was, but her curiosity only compounded the longer she sat sandwiched between August and the door of the cab.

It was a couple hundred bucks for the fare, something she insisted on covering once her cheque from Blackbeard’s Revenge came through, but mercifully they wouldn’t be paying for all the way back to Maine. The taxis dropped them off in New Haven, at a trucker stop they'd agreed to meet Merida and her coach at. The driver was offering the trip pro bono out of something she denied was affection, but it did mean they had to work around her schedule — hence why they were cramming most of their equipment between them in the taxis.

“We don’t have anywhere to live,” Robin had pointed out, “and we didn’t have time to find a motel. We haven’t stopped moving since we left you!”

It was here that Emma was finally able to approach Killian. While the others milled around outside, perched atop amps and keeping an eye on the flow of traffic for Merida’s coach in the early evening, Emma watched him slip away and head into a diner, not wholly unlike the one they were abandoned at all those weeks before.

A fluorescent green light blinked in and out of life overhead, and a buzzer went off somewhere behind the counter as she entered — loud enough to draw Killian’s gaze instinctively. He had just finished buying sustenance by the look of it, and once his eyes landed on her a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He held out a paper bag towards her.

“Onion ring?”

Emma took one of the proffered items. “I thought you hated onion rings.”

“You don’t,” he pointed out.

For a moment they chewed in silence, her on an onion ring and he on what looked like a carrot stick, before wordlessly moving back outside. Behind them, the neon light from inside the diner shimmered, casting fluorescent shadows against the crunch of gravel underfoot. From twenty or so feet away Emma watched August stand, take ten paces in one direction, then turn and walk back. Everybody was waiting for something, some new start. Anticipation tickled through the air.

“I heard about your record deal,” she found herself saying, “congratulations.” Although a little stilted in its delivery, the sentiment was earnest. She was still wrapping her head around things but she couldn’t be more proud of the Jolly Rogers.

“Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” Killian demurred, but she could see the pleased flush working its way up from his collar. “We were just lucky to come across the one person in the industry who might hate Blackbeard more than we do.”

Lord knew Eric had every reason, if what Emma had heard was true.

“Still, it’s exciting.”

“It is,” he agreed.

A few pregnant seconds passed, and Emma waited for him to volunteer the information he must know she was eager to find out — just how the hell she was there, and not back in a tiny bunk on Blackbeard’s bus resigned to another evening of ignoring their jibes as best she could.

“Killian…” she began.

“Carrot stick?”

Emma waved the bag away, along with his futile attempt to divert attention. “How is it that I just walked out of there?”

Killian shrugged, making every effort to appear nonchalant. He almost succeeded. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does,” she insisted. His and the others’ reluctance to discuss it only had her anxiety climbing higher and higher, wondering just what stipulations Blackbeard had latched onto her release. “If you’ve traded your soul to Hades for me then I want to know about it so I can —”

Thank you? Knock the living daylights out of you?

“—make it right.”

The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked upwards, the static light of the diner casting his eyes in an electric blue. Alive, aware. Watching her as closely as he always had. “You’d climb down to hell for me, would you, Swan?”

“If I had to,” she replied neutrally. A fierce truth rang with every word.

“Well, you needn’t worry,” Killian continued brazenly. He finished his final carrot stick as she waited for a response, crumpling up the packet in his palm and letting it drop into the trash can beside them. “My soul is safe and sound. We merely offered to cover the cost of your termination fee and Blackbeard was amenable.”

The declaration caught her off guard; the termination fee was five thousand dollars, that had been non-negotiable. If the Jolly Rogers had that sort of money lying around they would have already offered to foot the bill — she may not have known them long, but she knew that much. They were great people who cared about her wellbeing, and she couldn’t imagine August at the very least permitting the act of driving away from her if they had the means to release her. It was why she spoke her next words with a cautious, amused confidence.

“You guys couldn’t string enough cents for a cardboard box, no less five thousand dollars.”

“That’s the thing about commerce, darling. Money is easy enough to acquire if you have something of value to trade for it.”

He had his guitar, of that she was certain — by the edge of the curb she could see Robin leaning against the familiar case. Killian was avoiding looking at her, reaching a finger behind to scratch at the shell of his ear. Emma’s heart steadily began to beat a rhythm against her ribcage. To her spinning mind, it sounded a lot like Lavender Rose.

“And what was that?”

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.”

For a moment Emma blinked, lips parted, not entirely sure what he was referring to. For a petrifying fraction of a second she imagined Blackbeard had insisted the band break up for her to be let go, but belatedly shook the thought when she remembered Eric Triton and the record deal that supposedly awaited them in Storybrooke.

His gaze dropped and she followed it, before suddenly realising the silver chain she could usually see peeking through the collar of his shirt had vanished.

This, here, is the Jolly Roger.

His watch.

Killian was still speaking, but her eyes were fixed on the absence of the accessory.

“Did I forget to mention the casing was overlain with sterling silver? An ivory clock face, seventeen jewels — and all natural sapphires, not synthetic, mind. Fetches about eight thousand dollars at retail. One of only fifty novelty Peter Pan watches made in 1955, I believe.”

Emma didn’t care about that, not about sapphires or rubies or silver.

He’d said, he’d told her; that watch was the last thing he owned of his father’s.

“Cruella Feinberg gave me a fair price back in Storybrooke when I went to her. I could’ve probably gotten more if I hadn’t rushed it, but I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to track the BR bus after New York.”

He seemed to notice that she hadn’t so much as murmured a response, and squeaked out the remainder of his explanation. “I, ehm… I was in something of a rush.”

Emma couldn’t wrap her mind around it. This sodding impossible man had found time in between trying to negotiate a deal that would decide the future of his entire career to trade away his most valuable possession, for a girl who had barely been able to tell him that she liked the song he wrote. For her. She was stunned. Fucking mortified. Beyond moved.

Despite your best efforts, Swan, I was utterly charmed by you.

Thank you, she had said, when he’d first shown her the watch. Somehow it didn’t feel like enough now.

She became more aware of the way he was angled towards her, hanging on her every breath. Fuck, she had to say something. She had to say something.

“You sold your watch for me?”

She thought he might turn away, cower from everything she was asking of him — that after all that, she needed to be sure. She needed to hear it, just one more time. She wanted the beat of Lavender Rose thumping through her, the scent of rusted strings on his shirt. He’d already done so much, but she couldn’t let him get away without saying it, not with her heels slammed into the earth the way they were.

Tell me, she begged.

Killian’s vibrant blue gaze met her head on, like he knew — he probably did.

“Aye,” he said.

Emma wasn’t sure which of them moved first — she thought it was her, she hoped it was her — but after several long seconds her hands wound their way around his shoulders and he was dipping his head to meet her. When their lips connected, she sighed; at once familiar, she knew these lips by now. She knew the way he kissed, as he undoubtedly knew hers, she knew the way his hand would curl at her waist to scratch against the leather of her jacket. She knew the way his mouth would part, the way he would breathe unevenly through his nose against the skin of her cheek to avoid breaking away.

She knew his heart.

He would let her pull away, if she wanted to. After everything he would let her let him go.

Not that she would.

Killian’s right hand rose to brush reverently against her cheek and at once they parted. A flicker of what she knew to be trepidation flashed in his eyes, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Something inside of her crumpled, and it felt like only really then that she understood just how many times she had let him down. Knowingly and unknowingly both.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she said instead.

Killian’s shoulders lifted in the barest shrug, his finger tracing a line behind her ear to wind its way around her hair.

“I’m done dwelling on the past.”

To his evident delight Emma tugged him back down to her, this time for longer than before. It was only when they broke apart to the whoops and crows of three other, equally delighted, people, that she realised just how not-alone she and Killian were. The other three Jolly Rogers watched from their spot at the side of the road with matching shit-eating grins.

Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, whose arm had moved around to tuck her closer into his side. “I’ll never be able to get ten minutes alone with you, will I?”

“I could do with a break.” At Emma’s look of disbelief, he shrugged. “What did I say about refraining from kissing me after you’ve had onion rings? I can barely stomach you.”

Merida’s bus pulled into the parking lot to the chorus of Killian’s yelp, with Emma leaving him clutching at his side as she walked back over to the others.

***

"Swan?"

The hoarse whisper hovered just over the low rumbling of the bus, barely loud enough to rouse anybody from sleep —but then, Emma hadn't been sleeping. She had a feeling Killian hadn't been either.

When his face popped up over the edge of her bunk, eyes bright in the dim light, it all but confirmed it. He looked abut as wired as she felt, and she met his gaze warmly. He beamed.

"Mind if I —?" The guitarist gestured to the slim line of space between her and the railing at the edge of the bed, and in response Emma shuffled away to allow him a little more room. As quietly as he could, Killian hauled himself up the ladder and slid in beside her. "Christ," he muttered," these beds weren't made for two — ow." He knocked his head on the tip of the ladder and scowled, while Emma stifled a laugh.

A glance at her watch informed her it was nearly two in the morning. It also made her stomach twist both pleasantly and anxiously all over again when she thought about watches. The accessory had played crucial roles in some of the worst and best moments of her life now.

Killian, meanwhile, had righted himself as best he could, slinging his right arm over her hip and tugging her closer. Emma did not resist, and even nudged her leg between his.

"Hello," Killian murmured, just before their lips met gently.

Emma smoothed her hand up his chest, stopping once it reached the curve of his shoulder. "I'm sorry you sold the watch." She wanted to be a little more articulate than she had been when he'd first told her — it was important to her that he knew that.

"I'm not," Killian replied with the barest shrug. At Emma's disbelieving look he carried on, rubbing a hand down her back. "Honestly, Emma. It was just a piece of jewellery."

"You said it was the last thing you had left of your father."

For a moment he was silent, eyes dropping down to her fingers tracing patterns into the front of his shirt. "My father was not always a decent man," he said finally, although it was clear the words had been difficult for him to get out. "I'm sure he'd be happy to see it go to a deserving cause." Before she could reply he hastened to continue, murmuring her name to cut her off.

As she watched him expectantly, he breathed out an uncertain laugh. "I, erm… forgive me, I have to know. You're not going to get off this bus and change your mind, are you?"

His hand had frozen on her lower back, almost frightful of her response. With his mouth twisted in a wince and his body tensing, he appeared so much like somebody bracing for an impact that she laughed and knocked her forehead into his chest.

She could feel his smile into the crown of her head, but he worked on putting some space between them all the same. "I'm serious," he said, although the mirth in his eyes somewhat belied it, "I'm not sure I could make it through another of your unpredictable tides."

After a moment the laughter subsided, she let herself watch him, truly take him in a way she hadn't done for some time. His eyes appeared a deep navy in the low light, his left eyebrow raised in that barest approximation of hope she had come to see there, lips parted just so like he was waiting for her permission to breathe. Emma touched a hand to his cheek and his eyelids fluttered shut, leaning into the movement. He would let her back away, even now. Even with her in his arms he was offering her that one final chance, and she felt affection surge for him all the more because of it.

"I'm not changing my mind," she promised.

Killian's eyes flew open, watching her carefully.

"I want to see where this thing goes. I'm not saying I'm not terrified, because I am." Like standing at the edge of this unknown precipice, a jump she'd come so close to so many times before with this man — but now she was ready. "I'm petrified."

"I can feel you shaking," he hummed quietly, pressing a kiss to where her neck met her shoulders. "Trust me."

"I do," she murmured. "I want this future with you, and that's what scares me. Does that," she paused, pulling his face back up to meet her eyes, "does that sound crazy?"

Killian shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which quickly morphed into something more confident.

"It sounds like music to this pirate's ears."

Emma laughed, a loud, happy thing, and Killian did his best to hush her by drawing her into a kiss. For a few moments they just lay there, chuckling silently and trading affection, the slant of his lips against her own a welcome feeling. It was just as she felt his hand sliding lower across her back, sending a shot of excitement through as his eyes met hers, his intent clear, that she remembered exactly where they were.

And that they weren't entirely alone.

"Guys, that was adorable, but I swear to God if you have sex on this bus I will never forgive you."

Tina's voice pierced the silence like bursting a balloon — Killian instinctively shot back from Emma, which only led to him smacking his head onto the railing behind him at the edge of the bunk. Emma immediately snorted with laughter, which only increased as he rubbed the back of his head and sent a reproachful look in her direction.

"We'll turn you into Merida."

Robin's voice, too, floated down from further up the bus. Emma was grateful for the dark as she felt her face begin to heat up — it was hard enough laying herself bare in front of Killian, let alone his three best friends. Because she was certain, as much as she could be, that August would also be awake. The damn guy didn't miss a thing.

Tina made a noise of agreement. "Merida specifically said she wouldn't tolerate any funny business."

"Yet somehow," Killian bit back, "she tolerates you lot just fine." After a moment he clearly has no interest in ending, he reluctantly sat up on her bunk and shuffled back towards the ladder. Emma's hand on his leg served as her only protest, and Killian lifted it to place a kiss on the back of it. "I guess I'll have to wait to finally show you a good time, Swan," he winked, "and have you remember it."

Bizarrely, she found herself thinking of one of the post-its he had given her in Storybrooke so long ago. She'd very much like to know how it felt to hear him scream.

"I guess you will," she replied, making her intent clear.

She could tell Killian just resisted letting out a low whistle, before dropping down the ladder.

"Much better," Robin assured them. "No 'good times' should be had on the bus. Only terrible, not good times."

"August, stop reading," Tina urged, "I know you're doing it. Nobody can have fun on the bus!"

A barely distinguishable rustle came across from August's bunk. "Don't bring me into this."

As the teasing escalated into a sock skirmish (thus determined, claimed Robin, by August's tendency to use socks as missiles when disturbed) Emma forgot about her embarrassment. They were good at that, the Jolly Rogers. Helping her forget. Making her feel comfortable even when the only place she had ever felt safe was a hundred miles away. They had driven for hours through the night so that they could get to her, had defended her even when her opponent had been one of their closest friends, had cared for her. Without strings. Unashamedly. Wholly.

Mary Margaret would always be her sister, or as close to a sister as Emma would ever get. But these guys?

They were her family. The one she had chosen for herself.

And the one she would continue to choose, every fucking chance she got.

***

"You ready?" She had asked, a week later, as Killian wiped his palm on the edge of his jeans. To try and get rid of the sweat, she knew, it was practically rolling off of him in waves.

"As we'll ever be."

Emma squinted through the viewfinder on her camera, using Tina fiddling with the height of the microphone as her focus point. Beside her, Killian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxiety driving from him. At the other end of the room, Poseidon himself, his executive assistant and Eric Triton were just settling themselves into three large chairs. With their high backs and elaborate deorations around the arms, thrones was the first word that popped into Emma's head when she'd seen them. Imposing, powerful. Intimidating as hell.

Part of the reason Killian was reminding himself to breathe in and out.

"You heard what Eric said," she assured him, "this is just a formality. It's practically a done deal."

Killian looked at her sharply. "Not if he doesn't like us."

"He will."

The activity in the room was slowly beginning to wind down, each party slowly running out of ways to delay the inevitable. Emma gave him a gentle shove.

"Now get lost so I can take some decent photos, yeah?"

This time when Killian smiled down at her, she could tell he meant it. It was one of those goofy, wide smiles she had found he couldn't keep back when she was around. It had a somewhat irritating habit of making her stomach drop pleasantly. He smoothed a hand down her back.

"Such glowing words of encouragement," he mused, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

"Why bother?" she smirked once he pulled away. "It's not like my lack of encouragement ever held you back."

In response he patted his hand against her, and gave her one last amused glance over his shoulder before heading over to the others. His strat, perched primly against the wall, was soon lifted and slung over his shoulder, as he exchanged a few quiet words with Tina and August. Robin was settling himself down onto the stool behind his kit, and Tina then hummed a few quiet tests into the microphone.

Emma, meanwhile, took a few preparatory shots. After deciding the look Killian had sent her was altogether too deliberate, she stretched her arm behind her back — true enough, her fingers grazed something stuck there. Tugging it free, she realised it was a post-it. Some things never changed.

Wish me luck.

—K x.

When their eyes met again, she shook her head with a smile. He didn't need luck.

Soon enough, the low murmur of noise in the room slowly sunk into silence, Eric no longer murmuring into Poseidon's ear and the huge man instead surveying the group of musicians in front of him. Despite herself, Emma felt her pulse begin to thump a little bit quicker, glancing between the two sides of the room.

The twang of August's bass lurched from one of the amps, before fizzling out into nothing as he rushed to still the string.

Poseidon shifted in his seat. Emma's finger hovered over the shutter button. Killian cleared his throat.

Robin lifted his drumsticks to eye-level, pausing before clacking them together —

One, two —

Three, four —

The shutter clicked. The room exploded with sound.

And that was it.

And that’s it, folks! An epilogue will follow sometime in the near future because there are a few loose ends I’d like to tie up and I will always love my jolly rogers. almost as much as I love all of you! thank you so so much for your endless support + patience with my gaps between updates, I’ve loved being able to tell this story in the way I always wanted to.I hope you all liked how it ended, and maybe I’ll see you next time on another project!

peace & love / over & out!

-jay x

#jay writes #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs crew #ouat #emma swan #killian jones #cs au #the importance of being idle #complete #here is the finale!#I really hope you guys like it #it's been quite the ride #so for the final time #enjoy!

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