A/N: I don’t know why I try writing fluffy things, because they’re awful most times. I also changed the lyrics of LOFP a little, sorry.
Word count: 2,066
A faint noise rang in my ears, but not nearly loud
enough to pulled me out of my heavy sleep. Only seconds later, I felt the faint
squeezes on my arms. When I finally managed to open them, the room was too dark
for me to see anything properly.
I rubbed my sleepy eyes, feeling just how sore they
were. I blinked a few times, before finally being able to see shadows in the
“Daddy, daddy” she cried again, forcing down my gaze.
author: @broodybell pairing: dylan x reader word count: 3,126
authors note: you can all thank @sabrinas-wolves for this. she helped me so much with this and gave me some amazing ideas of what i should do and she read all of this and gave me so much support. this is dylan’s pov!! enjoy!!
22- “choose me”
“mumma!” your three year old daughter, olivia, ran towards you. her little feet making the smallest sounds on the hardwood. you picked her up once she reached you legs, making her “grabby hands” at you.
“when is daddy coming back?” she asked, playing with the plush bear she was holding in her hands. it was her absolute favourite toy, she almost never put it down.
“soon baby, he’ll be home soon.” you sighed, glancing at the stove clock a few feet away.
“soon is a long time.”
shawn, your husband, has been extremely busy in the studio for the past month and a half. he’s been coming home late almost every night and needless to say, you and olivia were getting sick of it.
you felt bad for the three year old in your arms, she loved her father so much. she looked up to him, yet he’s never here for her. and when he is home, it’s too late and she’s already asleep or he’s taking a nap because he was working all night.
olivia cuddled herself closer to you, if that was even possible. a small yawn escaping her lips.
“i think it’s time for bed,” you said, making you way up the stairs with her. “it’s getting late.”
thankfully, she was already wearing her princess pyjamas so you didn’t have to go through the hassle of changing her.
“no!” she tiredly protested as you laid her in her small bed. “i want daddy to come.”
tears started to pool in her hazel eyes, they were exactly like her dad’s. it broke your heart to see her like this, crying over her father. he should be here for her, especially at times like these.
she started to cry into your chest as you rubbed her small back soothingly.
“i know babygirl, i want him here too. but for now you have me, maybe daddy will be here tomorrow night.”
you knew he wasn’t going to be on time tomorrow, at this point you weren’t sure you were going to be here tomorrow.
“you say that every night.” she sniffled. “i want daddy.”
you continued to comfort her as she cried, knowing there was absolutely nothing you could do about this. you missed shawn just as much as she did, but you needed to be strong for your daughter.
eventually she fell asleep, you hated that she basically cried herself to sleep over her father. you were now laying on the couch in the living room, flipping through endless channels on the tv while waiting for shawn.
you weren’t sure why you stayed up waiting for him, at this point it was pointless. but you wanted to spend time with your husband just as much as olivia wanted to spend time with her father.
at about 1am shawn arrived home. by then you had covered yourself in a few blankets and you were half asleep.
“y/n?” shawn whispered, noticing the light coming from the tv in the living room. “what are you still doing up?”
“waiting for you i guess, although i don’t see a point in it anymore. you come home late every day anyways.”
you were both tired, but you knew you were about to breakout into another argument. you kept all your feelings bottled up for so long, he needed to know how you and olivia felt.
“what do you want me to say? it’s my job y/n.” he rolled his eyes. “you know, the thing that lets us have food on the table every night.”!
“i understand shawn, but every single night you come home hours after you’re supposed to! you have a family here, or did you forget about us already?”
you closed your eyes, wanting to escape from this. wanting to go back to before shawn started writing another album, when he actually cared about his family at home.
“of course i didn’t forget, but y/n you know this is my job! i have to write, i have to be away a lot. none of this is new to you.”
“i’m just tired shawn, tired of all this. tired of being the second option all the time.”
he ran his hand through his hair, taking a seat on the opposite chair from you.
“you’re not the second choice y/n and you know it.”
“really?” you asked, sitting up and finally looking him in the eye. “you missed olivia’s birthday party and two of her dance shows, and who was there for her those nights when she cried and cried and cried? definitely not you. you say i’m not second choice, make me believe it.”
“i don’t know what you want me to do! i can’t quit.”
“choose me, shawn.” you finally said, barely audible. “choose me, choose olivia, choose your family over the job for once! olivia cried herself to sleep tonight because she missed you so much, she always asks me when you’re coming home and i’m sick of lying to her.”
tears started to form in your eyes as you played with the wedding band on your left finger. you began to wonder if i was worth staying in this relationship, i mean, you were alone half the time anyways.
the only sound audible in the top was your occasional sniffles, both of you lost in your own thoughts. but your little girl’s footsteps coming down the stairs interrupted you from thinking about the worst.
“mumma? why are you yelling.” she asked, tiredly rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. “is daddy home?” she yawned.
you picked the half asleep toddler up, sitting her on your lap. “yeah he’s home, do you want him to bring you to bed?”
she shook her head, “no i’m mad at daddy.”
you sighed, “okay. i’ll be up in a minute.”
she slid off your lap, making her way back to her room. you let her go, knowing you would be up in a minute.
“i think maybe,” you sighed, sliding the ring off your finger and placing it on the table. “i think we both need some time for now, and you can give this back to me when you get your priorities straight. we can talk about this later, after i put her back to sleep again.”
and with that, you made your way upstairs to tend to your daughter. leaving shawn by himself with your wedding ring, you weren’t sure if you were going to ever put that thing back in your finger.
If you haven’t, this follows “Whipped…friends??” which you can find here. And the first part to this you can read here.
Y/N had tried her best to fall asleep. Tried to ignore the noise that New York was. She’d hailed a cab from the restaurant to her hotel, bidding good bye to her cousin, thanking him for taking time out of his day to keep her company.
She didn’t however excuse the sudden need to get out of the restaurant when Harry came into view. And her cousin didn’t ask questions, guys normally don’t.
But in the darkness of her room, she couldn’t keep out the thoughts of Harry taking over her mind. She tossed and turned, checked the clock to see it had only been seven minutes since she’d last checked it.
So when the soft knock on her door caused her to sit up abruptly, she thanked the heavens for the short break it allowed her mind to take from thoughts of Harry.
That is, until she heard his voice.
And if she was being honest, as unprepared as she was for this, she knew she had to talk to him. That is why she came to the city after all, wasn’t it?
Harry’s words were able to erase every doubt that Y/N had before last night. They laughed at how oblivious they both were; at the fact that obvious signs that they wanted more than to stay friends went over their heads.
They sat on the hotel room couch, talking about anything that happened during that short time they weren’t talking.
Harry listened and watched Y/N talk about how she would still do lunches with Gemma. Even admitted that she would try to find a way to bring Harry into conversation just to see if he was doing okay.
Harry confessed that he knew, because Gemma told him, and Y/N could not have gone a darker shade of pink.
Harry recounted to her every moment he could remember of when the boys teased him, mimicking their voices the best he could to make her laugh.
“So then it was really me you lot were whispering about all those times?” Her giggle has Harry smiling like a child who’s just found out their crush likes them back.
And it’s not that she doesn’t believe him, it’s just nice hearing him say it.
“Wha’ ye’ laughing for?? Was a real pain in the ass. Wouldn’t leave me alone ‘bout it.”
She laughs even harder then.
“D'ye know how hard it was t'keep them from sayin’ anythin’ t'ye? Didn’t wan’ ye’ finding out over one of Louis distasteful jokes.”
“I’m surprised I didn’t actually.”
Harry chuckles at that, reminiscing on the countless times Louis’ comments nearly got him caught.
All in all, it was nice.
It was nice to have Harry back. To have him on the verge of tears at her lame jokes.
“Knock, knock!” Y/N excitement grew because she had honestly just came up with this one.
“Who’s there?” Harry loves jokes. He loves telling them and having people laugh because they think his jokes are witty. He’ll even take people laughing at them because they’re plain idiotic. Harry also loves being told a joke, especially if it’s Y/N.
“Woo.” And she’s trying to contain herself.
Harry and Y/N are similar in the way that when they’ve got a real funny joke to tell, or at least they think they do, they laugh for a ridiculous amount of time before they’re even able to tell it. Or they’ll start their joke, and as they rehearse it in their head, they’ll explode into laughter, eyes squinty and arms over their tummy because “s'a real good one okay! Jus’ wait.” This usually has others rolling their eyes at them because no one they know takes longer to tell a joke than they do.
“She’s an angel.” Harry thinks her excitement is priceless as she points at him with both index fingers. And he follows her lead for the sake of seeing her smile.
“Woo who! My only angel, woo who! She’s an angel, woo who! My my my my only angel!”
After that, she begged for an encore. Actually, she had him sing bits and pieces from songs she wanted to hear raw, unplugged with no instruments. Harry, of course, complied.
Now, waking up to each other isn’t much different now than it was a few weeks ago when they were nothing more than best friends.
Back then, if Harry wanted to lightly peck at her shoulder for some sort of reassurance that yes, his Y/N was still with him, he would. He would do it first thing when he woke up, a sour taste in his mouth because he needs to wash his teeth. And she never minded, returned his affection with a smile, hooded eyes crinkling because sometimes it was still too early for her.
Back then, if Harry wanted to cuddle her whilst they lounged about at a friends house, he would. Didn’t matter if he was having a conversation on the couch with someone else. The moment Y/N walked by in front of him, he would tug at her hand until she settled next to him, which never took much. She would roll her eyes at him, but smile none the less as he tucked a hand underneath her knees, moving them to rest on top of his thigh. He would then proceed with the conversation he’d been having, hand on Y/N’s calve.
It was normal for them, and their friends never asked questions anymore.
The only difference now, is that if Harry wanted to wake her up with a kiss to the lips, he can.
And Y/N no longer feels the need to come up with some excuse when Harry suddenly wakes and catches her staring at him.
Instead, she smiles warmly, gripping at the heavily tattooed hand that rests on her waist.
“Mmm, mornin’,” he manages, voice raspy enough that he coughs once to try and make his words sound clearer, “starin’ at my face were you?”
Y/N doesn’t try to hide it. She likes the way he’s looking at her, one eye peeking open, half a smile visible because half of his face is still pressed against the soft hotel mattress.
He stirs a bit, propping himself up on his forearm only to plop back down on his tummy, body closer to hers.
Harry smiles wider at the touch of her fingers raking through his hair to get it away from his face, the pads of them grazing his scalp.
Still the same.
Harry’s arm lazily slung over her made her feel comfortable…safe. It’s not nearly as close as they’ve been before when they cuddle in bed, but something about his dopey smile and squinty eye has her feeling giddy. Because finally, she doesn’t have to hide the side of her she’s been wanting him to see. Affectionate in another sense, affectionate in a more free way.
“S'that bad?” Y/N cuddles herself even closer, turning on her side and leveling her eyes to his.
Harry says nothing.
“Tell me again?”
And he doesn’t need to ask what she means by that.
He simply moves to scoot closer again, lifts up his head to look at her better, and presses a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you.”
Y/N doesn’t remember how she got home.
She can’t believe she let herself get so upset over Harry interacting with his friends that she got so pissed drunk to the point she can’t remember much from last night.
It’s all a haze, and if she knew she would be sporting a killer hangover, she would have stopped on the second drink.
She reaches for the water and bottle of pills laid on the night stand, clearly aware that it must’ve been him who placed them there for her.
Two pills in one gulp.
Even though the window curtains are closed, she can make out the lining of light that manages to seep through the edges of the material. And she really can never thank him enough for always taking care of her, especially when she gets like this and her tolerance wears thin.
"Harry?” She whispers, and again, no answer.
She can see the outline of his body sat on the chair by the corner of the room, slumped over, hands running through his hair.
“Hey. Baby? You okay?"
As much as she wanted to stay in place, tucked under the comfort of the duvet, she needs to see if he’s okay. So she turns on the nightstand lamp, wincing in the process, and lifts up the covers. She crawls to the foot of the bed, head tilting in a way to try and get a better look at him.
"C'mere.” She pats the spot next to her. She would get up and go to him if she could, but she doesn’t trust her body enough to get her across the room with out falling at some point.
Harry doesn’t say anything still. But she notices the way his body shakes, and even he can’t completely silence the sobs escaping his lips.
“Harry! Babe, no, no-” her frantic voice causes Harry to look up for a mere second, long enough for Y/N to make out the redness of his eyes, tears trailing down his cheeks.
He wipes at them hastily, bowing his head back down, trying to shut her out.
How could Harry even think this girl looked anything remotely like his Y/N?
His heart is racing still, mind going at a million miles an hour, but blank at the same time.
It’s shock that’s keeping him here. Sat on a bed foreign to him, next to a girl who’s seeming to be sleeping peacefully while his world falls apart.
What the fuck is he to do??
He doesn’t think twice, he needs to talk to someone. He needs advice.
But the minute he does it, the minute he opens his mouth and reaches out to someone..anyone..it’s out there.
So if part of him wanted no one to find out, why has he phoned Louis?
“Calm down, mate.” Harry doesn’t care much for the tone in Louis’ voice, he needs to talk to him.
“Look, Harry. I can’t understand what you’re sayin’ if you won’t call down!”
“Fuck, Louis!” He exasperates, “I fucked up. I fucked up and Y/N’s g'na hate me. I can’t lose her, Lou. Not her.”
Louis can recall a handful of times Harry’s gotten himself into serious trouble. He’s always been able to keep it on the low though. But for Harry to call him this distressed, stumbling over his words, and practically crying. That’s something else. He can’t recall the last time he’s heard him this shaken.
“I don’ know who she is, Lou. I’ve got no fucking clue who this is.”
“Harry,” Louis really doesn’t wanna assume the worst, but he can’t think of anything else Harry would be frantically going on about that has to do with a chick, “what did you do?”
“I don’ know. I woke up in a bed tha’s not mine. Stripped down t'my briefs.”
This is never a conversation either of them thought they’d ever be having.
“Did you use protection?"
Shit. SHIT! That hadn’t even crossed his mind.
"I don’ know."
Y/N can’t think of a single thing that might have Harry like this. She hops off the bed almost too fast, but catches herself before she can trip.
"Love, why’re you crying?” She tugs at his hands to try and pry them away from his face, but he barely budges.
“Talk to me, H. Whatever it is we can get through it."
The soft strokes of her hands on his thighs do little to nothing. How is he suppose to tell her?? How. What can he say? She’s going to hate him. But he can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. How could he have done that to her?
"Harry, please, baby!"
His heart breaks a bit more at the sound of her voice cracking, unable to contain herself.
He wants to tell her he loves her. He loves her so much that he can’t imagine Harry with out Y/N. Wants to tell her Harry doesn’t exist with out Y/N. But where does he start.
The silence is eating at Y/N. It’s beginning to feel like there’s not enough air in the room. She continues to beg Harry to tell her what’s wrong.
"You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want, H.” But she wishes he would. “Just tell me you’re okay,” still, the strokes of comfort from Y/N’s thumb on his waist fail at calming the uneasiness.
A million things are going through her mind. But the only one she’s stuck on is literally squeezing at her heart.
Rosie was crying. Again. It was the fourth time that night, and John had barely gotten a wink of sleep. He rolled out of bed and padded over to her crib. She wailed up at him and reached out, and he picked her up in his arms, pressing his cheek to her forehead and murmuring “Shh, shh, it’s all right, daddy’s here.”
She felt warm. Too warm. As a doctor, John knew better than to panic about a little bit of a fever, but it still wasn’t a pleasant thought. Still whispering soothing words against her head he carried her carefully down the stairs.
221B was dark and quiet, only the distant sounds from the street outside permeating the silence. Of course Sherlock would pick tonight to go to bed at a reasonable hour when John had a screaming baby in his arms and was bumping into things left and right trying to get to the loo.
Ever since he’d moved back to Baker Street with Rosie he’d kept all of the medical supplies in the cabinet under the sink in the loo. The hallway that led down that way was blocked off by a gate so she’d never be able to get to it. He knew he had some baby medicine in there somewhere.
Rosie was still sobbing, but the sound was muffled by John’s shoulder, and Sherlock usually slept like the dead so John wasn’t too worried. Until he hooked his foot on the top of the gate while trying to step over it and it came crashing down as he stumbled into the wall.
John cursed and heard a thump from inside Sherlock’s room, and a few second later the door swung open and Sherlock appeared, looking…well, endearingly disheveled and still half-asleep. He squinted at John in the darkness.
“Is everything all right?”
Rosie’s cries stuttered a bit, and she picked her head up, craning her neck around to see Sherlock.
“Yeah, yeah, just…tripped over the damn gate is all. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Sherlock stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. His eyes were slowly regaining their intellectual light, and he stopped in front of John, his gaze on Rosie, reaching out to flick on the hallway light. John winced at the sudden brightness in his eyes, but when he managed to get a clear look at Sherlock he noticed a developing red mark on Sherlock’s cheek.
Rosie reached out a hand for him, and Sherlock gave her one of his fingers to hold onto.
“Why is she crying?” Sherlock asked.
“Daddy,” Rosie said. John kissed her temple, letting her know he was still right there.
“She’s a bit feverish,” he said distractedly, stepping closer and reaching up with his free hand to touch Sherlock’s face. “Did you–did you fall out of the bed?”
Sherlock’s flushed and smacked his hand away. “No.”
John couldn’t prevent the grin. Not that he tried very hard. “Yes, you did, you fell out of the bed.”
“You startled me!” Sherlock snapped. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of your daughter instead of interrogating me anyway?”
“Daddy,” Rosie said miserably.
“I know, love, I know, we’ll get you sorted,” John said. Then, glancing back at Sherlock with another small grin, “You should really put some ice on that.”
Sherlock huffed and turned to sweep back into his room in characteristic dramatic fashion, but before he’d even taken three steps Rosie cried out, “Daddy, no!”
Sherlock froze. So did John. Rosie was squirming in his arms, reaching unmistakably for Sherlock who still had his back to them.
“Back, back, c’m back, daddy!”
John felt like something in his chest might burst, and he said, “Sherlock,” a bit hoarsely.
Slowly, as if he was afraid he might break if he moved to quickly, Sherlock turned back around. His eyes were wide, and he looked as Rosie like he’d never seen her before in his life.
“Daddy, daddy!” Rosie sobbed, her arms flailing out in front of her, but she couldn’t reach him. She turned around to look at John, and her expression was almost accusatory. “Want daddy!”
John stared at her, stunned, and then looked back at Sherlock who was still staring at Rosie, and there was something so so fragile in his eyes, something John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. John did the only thing he could think to do, which was to put Rosie down on the floor where she immediately crawled over to Sherlock and pulled herself up by his pajamas.
“Daddy,” she said firmly, her little fists closed around the worn fabric as if she could keep him there by force.
It was like watching a statue learn how to move. Sherlock leaned over, his movements strangely jerky, and pulled Rosie up into his arms where she immediately cuddled herself into his chest with a little sigh.
John suddenly found he needed to blink very rapidly. “I–I’ll go get the, um, the medicine. Can you just…?”
Sherlock nodded mutely, all of his attention on the little girl that had attached herself to him like a barnacle. John hurried past them and went into the loo where he leaned back against the door and took a deep, shuddering breath. There was the sound of Sherlock’s muffled voice moving down the hallway, toward the sitting room, and of Rosie’s delighted replies that were mostly garbled noises.
John listened to them and pressed the heels of his hands hard into his eyes, willing himself not to cry. His chest ached, and he wanted nothing more than to go out there and wrap his arms around both of them and never let go.
In hindsight he should’ve seen it coming. Of course she would see Sherlock as her father. He changed her nappies, he fed her, he played games with her, he played her the violin when she was fussy, he was…he was her father.
John let out a long breath and pushed off from the door, crouching down to rummage through the cabinet. He had to pull himself together and get Rosie feeling better so he and Sherlock could have a much needed talk.
Synopsis: While stopped in a town on their journey, Sakura Uchiha meets two new patients. Kind strangers, they give her an experience that will change her life forever.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or anything related. Everything written is purely fan-made and not intended for copyright infringement or unauthorized distribution. Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.
Word Count: 2327, this is so much longer than I had intended it to be. Oops?
12 days. 12 days had passed since the pain began. Uchiha Sakura hadn’t complained about it, she didn’t want her husband to worry or think there was a problem. She was a medical shinobi. She’d know if there was an issue. Nevertheless, the sharp cramps irritated her. So did the peeing. She had to pee. It felt like it was constant, she knew the way she had always been asking to stop for a break the past week was beginning to annoy her husband. He wasn’t a man who liked to take things slow. He’d never been, she feared he’d send her away if she kept up this atypical attitude. So she tried to stop it. She held her bladder as long as she could and didn’t complain about the pain in her abdomen. She didn’t mention the emotional drain she felt, instead she blamed it on poor sleep and bad weather. She had been tired, tired for so many years of being a burden on him, she didn’t want to become one again. You’re not a burden anymore, Sakura. She thought to herself, reminding herself that his seemingly insensitive comments were that of endearment. After all, he had asked her to be his wife. Still, she couldn’t fathom why she had begun to feel so awful.
On the 13th day, the newly-wed couple made their way into a new town. A tiny place, only a few houses and shoppes in the area. Sakura walked closely to her dear husband, watching as he examined the area. It was part of his redemption, he’d stay and offer help to these townsfolks if they needed it. Even minor assistance, he’d insist they were no bother. Watching him interact with the people of the town, her heart swelled with love and admiration for the man she called Sasuke-kun. He had been working so hard, for so many years to redeem himself of his crimes. Their home village of Konoha had forgiven him, and their friends in Suna had as well. Word was quickly spreading of the bloodline Uchiha’s good deeds, but all was not forgiven. There were still many who thought he should never be forgiven, who thought he should be thrown in jail or executed. Sakura tried not to mind any attention to them. She knew her husband was a good man, that he planned to spend the rest of his days helping people and protecting the ones he held dear to his heart.
As Sasuke spoke to the town leader, a little old man with a silly mustache, Sakura noticed a woman with a large, round belly and a small boy by her side. She approached them, a smile drawn on her tender features.
“Hello, I’m Sakura.” She introduced herself, giving a little wave to the boy. He stepped behind his mother, peering around her leg.
“Hello Sakura, my name is Hyoshi. This is my son, Ako.” She waved again, though upon closer inspection the two did not look to be in good health.
“Are you two alright?” She asked, her eyes drifting naturally to the woman’s protruding belly. Hyoshi sighed.
“Our town is very poor, we can’t afford much. Ako and I haven’t been able to afford healthcare in a long time. We do our best to keep ourselves healthy, but with so little money we have to buy what we can in order to sustain ourselves.” Sakura felt for the two, offering a kind hand.
“Maybe I can help treat you. There are plenty of plants in the area to make natural elixirs.”
“That’s very kind of you, but we couldn’t pay-” Hyoshi began a small protest.
“No need, my husband and I are more than happy to help people who need it.” She looked over to Sasuke, who at that moment was showing a young man the proper way to hold a kunai knife. The boy couldn’t have been much older than an average genin, Sakura guessed he was likely asking for tips on how to protect his family.
“Isn’t that Uchiha Sasuke?” The woman whispered, the breath lost from her voice. Sakura nodded.
“He’s changed a lot since his past, he’s gone to many places just like this and helped people all over.” Ako watched, his eyes wide in awe.
“That’s very noble of him. It’s good to know he’s turned himself around.” Hyoshi commented. Sakura smiled.
“Darling! Will you come here please!” Sasuke looked back from his activity, handing his knife to the boy. He approached the women and child.
“What is it?” He asked.
“I’m going to help these people, but I’m going to need some plants. Will you get them for me?” He nodded, waiting for her to tell him what to retrieve. She took a quick look over Ako, then over Hyoshi.
“How many months are you?” She asked. Hyoshi smiled.
“I’m due any day now.” Sakura ran off a long list of various plants and berries to him, watching a moment as he left town.
“Are you sure he’ll be able to find all that?” Hyoshi asked, her skeptical face drawn in. Sakura nodded.
“Of course he will, now we should get you two inside and sitting down. Is there a place we can go?” Hyoshi took her to the Inn, where upon request they were given a temporary room. Just as long as Sakura needed to heal them, under the circumstances of the pregnancy. Hyoshi sat in a chair at the corner, watching this famed kunoichi treat her son. She stripped him to his underwear and scrubbed his back with water, cleaning the germs he picked up off and rinsing out his hair. The boy was feverish, Sakura guessed his temperature was around 101 or 102 degrees. With a fresh rag, she soaked cold water and lay in on top of his head. She told him to rest, that she was now going to help his mother before Sasuke returned. Walking to Hyoshi, she asked that she moved to a stool nearby and began a thorough examination of her. Noting a strain on her lower and upper back, she attempted to use her medical ninjutsu to heal the pulled nerves.
Much to her surprise, she was unable to focus her chakra as she was required to. She tried again, still unable to focus.
“I..I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s going on with my chakra.” She admitted, embarrassed with herself.
“Don’t feel bad, I had this pain while pregnant with Ako as well.” Sakura nodded, and continued her examination. She learned that Hyoshi was overdue to give birth, at least by 3 weeks. She couldn’t imagine the pain she was enduring, her energy levels dangerously low. She fetched a glass of water for her two patients and waited with them for her husband.
“Again, I’m so sorry my chakra is behaving so strangely. I’ve never had this problem before.” Hyoshi gave a laugh.
“Have you considered the possibility that you’re pregnant?” She asked. Sakura’s eyes all but fell out of her head.
“Pregnant? I’m not.. I’m not pregnant! There’s no way.” A coy smile crossed her new friend’s face.
“Are you not being intimate? Because a woman like you, with a husband of his looks, I’d find that difficult to believe.” Now, Sakura blushed. She didn’t enjoy talking about her intimate life with Sasuke. Those times were theirs, theirs alone.
“Well, yes, but I don’t see how that can automatically make me pregnant. We, uh, we aren’t very new at intimacy.”
“That may be, but it’s all about the timing. Perhaps you were ovulating and his swimmers were stronger than the past times. Perhaps you were in a position that lead to it easier than most.” Sakura furrowed her brow, deep in thought, remembering their time together before her pains had begun.
They had done it in a cave, on a rainy night. Twice with her on top. After cuddling for hours, she found herself waking up highly aroused. Sasuke had been happy to give her satisfaction, though less enthused with her request to take her on her hands and knees. She loved it best like that, he was able to hit her in her most sensitive spots, she finished much faster and harder than their other positions. Suddenly a tidal wave of information washed over her, she remembered her lessons she’d been taught through lecture and experience on pregnant women. The symptoms, the stages, the specifics of an almost promised impregnation. So much of it had applied to her now.
Sasuke entered the room, a satchel of plants and berries, along with some bowls and jars. Sakura took the supplies from him and worked restlessly to create the needed medicine for Hyoshi and her son. Once the three elixirs Ako needed were complete, she began working on Hyoshi’s. Sasuke watched intensely, following her each step with his eyes.
“Here, this should endue labor.” Sakura said, offering a dark blue drink to the woman. She drank it happily.
“How can we ever thank you?” Sakura smiled, waving the notion of a thank you away.
“You’ve already helped me plenty. Though, we’ll stay in town so I can help deliver your baby, I want to make sure it’s healthy.” Hyoshi nodded, Sasuke and Sakura asked the Inn Keeper for a room.
Two days later Hyoshi went into labor. Ako, afraid of his mother’s screams, waited outside the Inn room with Sasuke. Sakura stayed with Hyoshi, giving words of encouragement at the birth progressed. With a scalpel she cut the cord, wrapping the small newborn in a blanket and showing her to Hyoshi. She rinsed the baby girl off and gave her to her mother, inviting Ako and Sasuke in.
“We’ll give you a minute.” She said, walking out as the little family welcomed it’s newest member. Sasuke followed.
“Wait here in case they need anything, I have to go to something quickly.” She said, handing him a few dollars to pay for their stay. She walked to the market, only small one-roomed building with a few shelves and a young man behind the counter.
“Hi, do you sell pregnancy tests?” She asked. He smiled.
“Sure do.” He reached under the counter and pulled a pink box out, the label reading “Instant Home Pregnancy Test” on the front. Sakura paid the man and left, without a word more said. Anxiety built in her throat and chest, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to be a mom. It was easy, taking care of other’s kids, but she knew her own would be entirely different. She returned to the Inn, to Hyoshi’s room, with her test tucked away in her pouch.
“Have you decided on a name?” She asked. Hyoshi nodded.
“We’ve decided to call her, Sakura.” Sakura thanked them, wishing them the best of luck with their lives and went back into her own room, Sasuke close behind.
“Are we leaving now, Sakura?” He asked. Sakura nodded her head.
“I just need a few minutes, I have to use the bathroom.” Though she faced away from him, towards the door, she felt him roll his eyes. He wasn’t irritated at her, maybe only slightly annoyed she was prolonging their stay, but he wouldn’t refuse a simple bathroom request.
She walked into the bathroom and locked the door, pulling the box out and opening it. A folded up piece of paper fell out, printed instructions on how to take the test. She read them carefully, she knew how to take the test but there was no harm in being sure. It would take 2 minutes for her results to come in. One line would mean she’s not pregnant, two lines meant she was.
She was almost too nervous to pee. It frustrated her. She did everything she could to entice it out of her, finally succeeding just a tiny bit. The young woman hoped it would be enough for an accurate result. She set the test on the sink and waited. Counting each second as it passed, all the way through 3 minutes, just to be certain. Finally she was ready to look.
As she took the test off the sink, a million thoughts raced through her mind. She didn’t know if being pregnant was what she wanted or not. Every second she had decided on her hopes, her mind and heart told her to feel the opposite.
The next thing she knew, she was staring at two light pink lines, staring up at her, confirming that she was indeed pregnant. Tears began flowing heavily out of her eyes, silent, blurring her vision. Happiness washed over her body, excitement drowning out her pain. She stood and walked out, the test clutched firmly in her hand behind her back.
“It’s about time, what were you taking so long for?” Sasuke asked, sitting slouched in their own rooms chair, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. Trembling, the pinkette pulled the test out from behind her back, pointing to it.
“I.. I was doing this.” She said. He furrowed his brow, stepping over to her.
“What is that?” He asked, taking her hand, looking at the results of an unknown test.
“A pregnancy test, Sasuke-kun..” She trailed of a moment, looking to meet his eyes. “We’re going to be parents.” She was suddenly engulfed in a black cloak and warm embrace, his hold on her tight.
“We’re going to be parents.” He softly spoke, hearing it come from him made her heart swell. She nodded over his shoulder, her tears once again flowing freely. He pulled away to look at her, his own dark eyes gleaming with wetness. Not a word more was said then, the two dried their eyes and left the small town, hand in hand.
There would be time later to discuss the news, but for now, they’d continue on their journey together, letting the news of a new arrival settle in their minds and in their hearts.
ProfessionalCuddling!AU. Maybe going to a professional snuggler was the craziest idea Emma ever had, but it certainly wasn’t her worst. In fact, weekly cuddling with Killian Jones could’ve been the best decision she ever made.
Inspiration for this fic finally struck (after over nine months) and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to surprise @swanandapirate, who has been studying her butt off. This fic is for her, my sweet love! I hope you all enjoy it just as much. Special thanks to @phiralovesloki who gave me feedback of immeasurable worth. This fic would have suffered without it.♥
Note: This chapter contains very brief and non-descriptive mentions of a client crossing personal boundaries toward the beginning.
Emma Swan was Killian’s favorite appointment. His magnetic refrigerator calendar - a sailing themed one - had all his clients and the times they would arrive printed in his flourished cursive with black ink. Swan’s name had been written in a light blue color slightly larger than the rest of the things he’d written on his schedule.
It was the one thing he looked forward to. Emma Swan. Every Wednesday. Noon to one in the afternoon. His midweek break.
Don’t get him wrong, he loved every - well, most - of his clients, and he loved his job even more. He’d seen so much change in so many people, it was hard to not become addicted to the warm feeling he got from giving therapy.
It was just that Killian wished he liked all his clients as much as he liked spending time with Emma, but not of all of them could be as great as her. She didn’t know, but in the time he had met her six weeks ago, he had turned several people down for a second or third appointment. It was one of the few downsides to his job. Some people wanted more than a friendly presence.
And he had decided years ago, without question and without much thought, he was not going to be a male escort, contrary to what some people expected from him.
Take for example the woman in his arms, who was one such person. Cora Mills. One of his older clients, Killian knew that she had acquired quite the sum of money from a strange marriage to a younger CEO. It was the only time someone had abused his confidentiality policy to allow for their cheating habits. Because sure, the touches were platonic on his end, but the way she tried to feel all over him made him squirm.
Especially the way her hand was trailing up his thigh. Killian felt a wave of nausea flood over him. He caught her hand before it could travel too far up, and clutched it into his chest.
“Boundaries, love,” he reminded in his most professional cuddlist voice.
“To have fun, one must push boundaries, darling,” she replied, sickly sweet in his ear. She tore her hand from his grasp and moved to continue her search along his thigh, but Killian jolted back.
“Cora, I’ve asked you more than once,” he said sharply. He spun away, standing up and putting distance between them. “And I shouldn’t have to. I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.”
“I paid for an hour.” Killian glanced at the clock, relaxing just an ounce to see it was 11:59am.
“And an hour you got, ma’am.”
Just as Cora opened her mouth to argue, at which point Killian planned to call the police, a steady knock resounded throughout the room from the front door. He could have cried in relief. Emma Swan truly was a savior.
“It’s open!” Killian called, before Cora could intervene.
Emma came tumbling into the room, as radiant as the sun peering behind the fall leaves. She wore a white turtleneck sweater tucked into a burgundy skirt, the personification of autumn spirit. She smiled as soon as she saw him, leaving a warm feeling in his chest, but paused as she caught sight of Cora.
“Did I interrupt?” she asked, glancing down at her watch. Killian shook his head, trying to show just how thankful he was in his heavy stare. Her smile twitched, a minute sign that told Killian she caught how perturbed he was.
“Not at all, love,” he answered. “Miss Mills and I were just finishing up.” Both women in the room could tell his tone meant finishing up for good.
Like a tempered child pouting, Cora slipped her shiny black heels on, grabbed her wool jacket, then clacked across the room toward the door.
“If he refused me, don’t expect him to keep you for very long,” he heard the woman murmur to Emma, but the door had slammed behind her before Killian could voice just how very wrong she was. He planned on keeping Emma around for quite some time if he could, thank you very much.
But just having the woman gone was enough to make Killian’s pulse slow down and his hands stop trembling. Emma was by his side at a second, a comforting hand on his arm. He closed his eyes and focused on steadying his breathing. A hand come up to cover Emma’s on his arm, offering a gentle squeeze.
“Are you okay now?” she asked.
“Aye, love. You have immaculate timing,” he replied, voice hitching on the tightness winding in his throat. Emma dropped her hand to give him some space, but the loss of contact made Killian’s nerves thrill under his skin.
“Though perhaps we should reschedule. I’m afraid I’m in no condition to give you what you paid for.”
It was unclear just what she was thinking as she held him in a scrutinized gaze. He felt frozen to the floor, knowing that if she showed even the slightest sign of disappointment, he would take it all back within an instant.
There was no disappointment in her eyes. There was only something akin to understanding, and a fiery bite of rage that she seemed to have held back by a single thread.
“Give me your phone,” she demanded gently. Killian’s hand immediately reached toward his back pocket, but then he hesitated.
“Just hand it over, Jones. Weren’t you the one who taught me about this whole trust thing?” It was enough for him to comply, and within moments, she was pattering away at the screen with furrowed eyebrows.
“You said her name was Mills?” she continued, fingers scrolling up through a list. “Cora Mills, there she is. And…number blocked. She won’t be able to call you again.”
Emma paused, waiting for him to respond. As Killian took back his phone, his mouth was locked in a gape, searching for some way to answer. All words had escaped him. There was nothing but this woman before him, so stable and sure.
“I was going to-” he finally tried to defend.
“No, you probably would’ve thought about blocking her number and then let her call you back, only to forgive her and rinse and repeat whatever happened in here today. She’s not worth the anxiety, Killian.”
His pointer finger found the spot behind his ear that prickled when he was nervous. Of course Emma would understand. Other people in the past had criticized him whenever something like this had happened, subtly claiming that it was his fault for putting himself in such an intimate profession. He was wise enough to know that it was never his fault, but it never made it less horrible when it did happen.
When he looked up from the floor, Emma was lounging across his couch with a massive chinese menu in one hand with the other dialing a number.
“What are you doing?” Killian asked. “And where did you get that?”
“Ordering lunch. I never leave the house without a take-out menu,” she replied, as if it were obvious. Killian sauntered over to her, pulling her phone and menu from her hands just as she finished dialing the number.
“Darling, I told you. I can’t today.” Killian began to fold the expansive menu, but Emma plucked it back just as quickly.
“Look, I’m ordering you lunch, sticking around to make sure you let me pay for it, and then I’ll be out of your hair,” she explained casually. His incredulous stare prompted her to add one last clarification. “You spend every day pampering people, but you never have time to let anyone pamper you. I’m not here as a client, I’m here as a friend.”
A warm rush spread through Killian. Her presence seemed to brighten the room in a way that was almost therapeutic. He considered all his clients his friends to eliminate the awkwardness of holding a complete stranger, but it wasn’t often the other person reciprocated.
He suddenly became aware of something: there was nothing he liked more than being Emma Swan’s genuine, bona fide friend.
Within the hour, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, white cartons in hand and stomachs filled with delicious food. Killian could sense Emma’s relaxation radiating off of her, coming off in gentle exhales.
“I’m glad you stayed,” Killian admitted. His eyes stayed glued on his fork searching around for tiny pieces of chicken lingering at the bottom of his take-out box.
“Me too.” Emma set her empty container on the table in front of them. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“A woman violated our client-therapist agreement which resulted in her permanent removal from my services. What else is there to talk about?”
“And you’re okay?” Emma placed a comforting hand on his knee, a touch that seemed to pull the answer right from his lips.
“Yeah,” he said on a breathy exhale. “I think I’m okay.”
Any sourness left over from the incident earlier was erased away minute by minute as Emma put his favorite indie movie on the TV. As gentle acoustic music played behind the opening of the film, Killian leaned his head into her lap, cheek nuzzling up with the soft fabric of her long skirt.
And maybe Killian’s heart raced as Emma threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp. Maybe her touch was just what he needed to send away everything nasty he’d been carrying, leaving room for her comforting presence in his heart. He nearly suggested that she become a cuddle therapist herself, but the very thought of her hands on someone else sent a recoiling scowl down his face.
If Killian Jones was developing a crush on Emma Swan, then no one needed to know. It would probably go away before anything could become of it.
* * *
Except that it didn’t. If anything, Killian’s growing infatuation was only getting in the way of his work. He’d have a lonely widower in his arms, but find himself aching for her touch. His routine of massages was muddled with the thought of her creamy skin and lovely smile.
It didn’t help that Emma started scheduling appointments for twice a week, rather than their usual single consultation. She even had a habit of popping over when she knew he wasn’t busy and visiting as a friend, rather than a client.
Eventually, their dynamic shifted without any spark or prompting. It was organic, their relationship growing in a way that friendships do when the people and the conditions are right. It started as timid text messages - Would you care to come over for pizza tonight? I rented Back to the Future. - and shifted into Emma’s sporadic visits after his business hours. She did occasionally schedule an appointment with Killian the Professional rather than just popping over to see Killian the Friend, especially when she had some extra money saved and work was wearing her down.
It was good. It worked.
Killian blamed habit of routine for the way they always ended up tangled together in each other’s arms.
* * *
“How many sessions does this make?” Emma murmured into Killian’s chest one day. They’d been laying like this on his couch for an hour, legs a tangled mess. There were few places she liked being more, held by her best friend while his fingers rubbed along her scalp.
“This isn’t even a real session,” he answers, his breath whisking through loose strands of her hair.
There were certainly benefits to your best friend being a professional cuddler, Emma decided. For one, he was naturally affectionate. Gentle touches and warm hugs came easy to Killian, a talent Emma had always been glad she didn’t have. It was different now that she’d felt the comfort of his embrace, so she thought she’d make an exception. And boy, was she glad she did. From that day on, Emma spent the end of her stressful days in the company of a friend who genuinely cared about her, made her laugh until her stomach was in knots, and gave a damn good foot massage.
Of course, there were also disadvantages.
Like the intrusive thoughts that Emma certainly did not ask for, the ones that insisted that she was nothing special to Killian Jones and that he was only being nice to her to earn money off of her. Or worse, that he was just like every other guy she’d been with who always seemed to take advantage of her.
The one thought that really kept her up at night, the one that she was most ashamed of, was the small tiny voice in her head that admitted that she was falling for him. Getting feelings for Killian was absolutely, under no circumstances, allowed. She’d signed the agreement and everything.
“Swan, if you think any louder the neighbors are going to start complaining.”
Emma jolted a little in his arms, like she’d been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Shaking her head, she leaned up to burrow her face into the side of his neck and muttered an unconvincing, “I’m fine.”
The hand weaving through her hair moved down her back, his fingers gliding over her skin. He was waiting for her to say it, because they both knew that something was wrong. There wasn’t any point in trying to hide it from him.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked in a low voice.
“Of course.” Killian held her in place as he shifted against the couch so that they could face each other. It was a tight fight on the small cushions, and Emma could smell the spearmint on his breath. It was his eyes that coaxed the question out of her, the way they didn’t judge or hold suspicion.
“How many people do you do this with?”
Killian gaped at her. Smooth, Emma she sneered at herself. Real smooth. He was careful to keep his expression fixed, though she swore she saw the slightest hint of offense dampening the light in his eyes.
“Do what, exactly?”
“Spend time outside of consultations.”
Killian sat up, taking Emma with him that she had nowhere else to look but at him. His brows furrowed, gaze intense. Running his hands down her arms, he locked their fingers and squeezed.
“I love each of my clients, and I like to think that I’m not just their therapist, but also their friend.” Emma opened her mouth to interrupt, take back the question, change the subject, forget that she even mentioned it , but he stopped her. “The people that visit me all have their own lives, their own friends, their own families. Many of them are embarrassed to admit they see a professional cuddler, so they leave me separate from their real lives.”
“Does that bother you?” she asked.
“No. People don’t keep in contact with their chiropractors or dentists, I don’t expect them to treat me differently.”
“But I’m different?”
A smile broke on his lips. “Very.”
Emma could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks as he grinned at her. All her life she’d been ordinary Emma. Nothing special to her foster parents. Nothing special to her teachers. Nothing special in general. But to be different to Killian Jones felt good.
“So, when people ask me what my best friend does for a living…”
Just when Emma thought that his smile couldn’t get wider, he proved her wrong with a grin that sent butterflies to her stomach.
“You tell them he’s a professional cuddler. Trust me, the reactions are priceless.”
* * *
Life with Emma Swan was great.
It was what they both needed: something reliable, something familiar and routine. They spent their time together at his apartment because Killian, I’m poor and my apartment is the size of a walk-in closet. And when he wasn’t convinced - Fine, it’s because you have that fantastic bean bag that I would give my left kidney for.
She always brought food, whether a full meal from that surprisingly good chinese place down a few blocks, or just a few brown bags of groceries. Somehow they always ended up tangled up together, watching YouTube videos or one of those Netflix series which can’t actually be that good, and turns out an all-time favorite.
Sometimes he played guitar while she chopped vegetables in the kitchen. And other times she added songs to their joint Spotify playlist (appropriately named “untitled” because Emma wouldn’t allow any of the other ridiculous names he’d suggested) that she just knew he’d be playing on repeat for the next week.
And when he was having a really shitty day, she brought Captain Morgan. That was how he knew she was his best friend. He didn’t even have to say anything, the bottle would already be in his hands.
It had been eight months since their unlikely friendship began. Had it not been for his constant stream of clients - who valued their privacy - in and out of the apartment, he’d have already asked her to move in. Once Killian’s last appointment ended for the day, she was there and really only ever went home to sleep.
“Just because you live somewhere doesn’t make it home, Killian. My apartment is like living in a graveyard. There’s no life. At least your apartment has ferns.”
“Aye, love, well I’m glad my ferns keep you coming every day.” His chest tightened as he wondered where exactly she considered home to be. If he had any other job, he could just allow her permanently into his life, whatever that meant. Instead, Emma would continue to pay her rent and sleep in her own bed, but eat her meals at his table.
“Can I schedule another appointment?” she asked through a mouthful of fried rice, chopsticks digging around the white take out carton hidden shrimp. Killian blinked a few times.
“Did something happen at work?” Emma shrugged, not in the mood to elaborate. Lately, it wasn’t often that she kept things to herself. He was glad to help her, though, even if it was as a professional before it was as a friend. Finally he said, “Yes, I have openings, but I’m not going to ask you to pay me. That’d be ridiculous.”
“Why? If you were an artist, and I wanted you to paint something for me, you’d still ask for a commission. You’re a businessman who has to work for a living.”
“Oh, now you’re making me sound like a white-collar.” He paused for a second. “You’re adamant about this?” If she wanted to hire him once more, then who was he to deny her?
“Alright, love. How’s Wednesday at noon?”
* * *
It began like it always did, Emma standing in front of his apartment dressed in comfortable clothes. Her fingers tapped mindlessly against her hip while she fought the urge to check her watch for the fourth time.
It felt almost the same way it did that first appointment when she didn’t know who he was or what to expect. But this was Killian, her best friend of all people! He was the most predictable thing in her life, the one who never expected more than she could give, the one who always could read her as easily as one of the books on his shelf. When she was wrapped in his arms, there was no place in the world that was safer.
That was all she’d ever wanted since she was a little girl, and she had long since given up hope that she would ever find it. But it had happened, after almost twenty-eight years it had finally happened.
She couldn’t even thoroughly enjoy it because she was falling in love with him. Emma scoffed. Who was she kidding? The falling had already happened. The falling had sent her plummeting toward over a cliff where she crash landed, head way over her heels.
Emma couldn’t help it, she glanced down at her watch and saw that he was thirteen minutes past noon. She frowned. Killian always had his clients in and out very promptly, and she was positive he was supposed to have someone in there with him. Tugging at the bottom of her sweater, Emma decided to wait for a few more minutes.
Five minutes passed and no one exited the apartment. Killian hadn’t even gone out to check to see if she was there, so she knocked lightly. The next moments were agonizing, the anticipation of seeing him making it difficult to breathe. But he never came. She checked to make sure she had the right apartment - of course she did, she practically lived here- and that she had no messages on her phone. Trying the handle, Emma discovered the apartment was open. First she peeked in to see if Killian had just lost track of time with a client on the beanbag, but the apartment was empty.
“Killian?” she called out. Entering the apartment, she dropped her purse and keys on the counter. “Killian, are you home?”
No response. Okay, that was different. Killian was always home to be available for potential walk-ins. Emma padded through the apartment, noticing the minute differences in its condition. There were dishes in the sink, a half full mug of cold coffee beside the stove, and a dirty plate sitting on the end table beside the couch. Killian was never the type not to not pick up after himself.
She searched the apartment for signs of him, but he wasn’t in his bathroom or in his bedroom. Just as she pulled out her phone to call him, she heard a cough from outside the window.
What was he doing on the fire escape?
Emma peered out of the open window and found him sitting on one of the metal stairs, a flask at his lips.
“I’ve never known to you do drink,” she called out.
Killian’s head snapped down at her and for a second his eyes looked right through her, dazed and confused. Reality dawned on him as the fog in his gaze cleared. With a quick glance at his watch, he groaned.
“Gods, Swan, I totally forgot. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” It wasn’t just an apology, Emma noticed. It had an unsettling amount of self-loathing and grief. Emma leaned over the windowsill, letting the cool fall breeze cut through her hair. “Just maybe not today.”
“Are you alright?” she asked. His response was an ashamed look at his flask. “Mind if I come up, then?”
Killian shook his head.
Emma settled herself just below him, sitting parallel to the stair with her knees to her chest. Killian mirrored the way she sat so that he could look at her.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked. His fingers fidgeted around the curve of the flask.
“I saw something earlier that reminded me of my brother,” he stated simply, if not a bit sad. Emma blinked, attempting to keep hide her surprise.
“I didn’t know you have a brother.”
Now that she thought about it, Emma knew next to nothing about his family. She’d never asked before to avoid answering any questions about her own family, but it was different now. She was ready to open up if he was.
“His name was Liam,” Killian finally admitted quietly. “He was the man who raised me, the one who fed me and sent me to school each day. But he was my role model too. Everything I learned about being an honorable man, he taught me.”
“What happened?” Emma asked. The muscles in his jaw clenched, the tension making his hand clench around the flask. When his sea blue eyes began to glisten, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have asked at all.
“He passed away,” he stated simply. “A boat accident five years ago. He was supposed to be repairing it, but there was a gas leak. The engine sparked and well…Anyways, there was an incident down at the harbor last night and when I saw it on the news, I guess I realized I wasn’t entirely done grieving.”
Emma waited as he took a swig of the rum and let the alcohol ease the ache of remembering. She didn’t know what to say. Her own experience with tragedy made her sure that he didn’t want any pity, but she didn’t want to discount the strength it took to talk about it.
“You’re an amazing man, Killian Jones,” she finally said. The warmth in her eyes matched her sweet tone, and Emma hoped it told him just how proud she was of him. “This world is a brighter place with you in it.”
Then she leaned her head on his knee, stroking his hand with a soft touch. Killian remained silent, letting the atmosphere between them whisper all the things he couldn’t say to her. The shaky squeeze of his hand said thank you, the tiny smile on his lips hummed I’m a better man when I’m with you, and his tender gaze spoke the message that he hoped she couldn’t hear. I’m falling in love with you.
Emma didn’t stay for her appointment. Instead, she turned on his favorite music, warmed up some leftover mac and cheese, and let him spend the rest of the night with himself. He was thankful. Any other time he would’ve wanted her to stay, but this last ounce of healing was something he needed to do alone.
Besides, if he needed her, she’d only be a phone call away.
* * *
Two days went by before Emma heard from him again. She had just woken up, her hair still a mess atop her head and a steaming coffee in hand, when her phone buzzed.
Killian [8:47am] - My apartment, 5pm, come hungry.
Killian [8:47am] - This is a real appointment, but don’t even think about paying. I owe you one.
Emma [8:49am] - Sounds like I’m seeing my best friend AND a professional cuddlist tonight. I’ll be there.
She was three minutes late to knocking on the door. From the hallway she could smell the aroma of something sweet in the oven, traces of cinnamon and apple reaching her senses. When the door swung open, she was greeted by a Killian Jones who looked like his few days alone had done him some good. There was a new life in his eyes, an excitement to go through with whatever he had planned for her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said casually when he was frozen in the doorframe with a grin.
“Nonsense, we’ve all evening. Come on in.”
“How would you like to start, Master Cuddler?” Emma asked, starting to feel her nerves prickle in anticipation as he rushed into action.
“You can start by getting comfortable. Is a massage okay with you?” he asked, his voice taking the warm tonality of his professional self. When she nodded, he laid some soft towels across the couch. “I don’t really have a massage table, but I hear the couch works just as well.”
Standing across from him not knowing quite what to do, Emma crossed her arms in front of her and watched as he pulled a basket of candles from the cupboard. She’d never gotten a massage from him before, only at fancy spa getaways (which were also gifts from her mother). Unlike the other places she’d been, she didn’t plan on stripping out of all of her clothes. Instead, she pulled off her sweater, leaving her in her leggings and cami.
“I need to go grab a few things, but you can lay down on your stomach and get cozy.”
Emma did as she was told, feeling her body relax into the soft cushions of his couch. Her mind, on the other hand, raced at a million miles a minute. Had she known he planned for a massage, she definitely wouldn’t have agreed to coming tonight. How could she ask him to touch her in a borderline intimate way when she was developing feelings for him? Before now, she’d been good about hiding her romantic affections, especially from herself.
Folding her arms under her chin, Emma frowned. This was a doomed situation if she ever heard of one. She should probably just run while she has the chance.
Killian came back before the instinct to flee could grow too strong. There was a bounce in his step, like he was excited to do this with her for real. At the very least, the melancholy from earlier seemed to have faded. She watched as he lit candles, plugged in the space heater, and pressed play on his stereo.
“Are you alright, love?”
Emma bit the inside of her cheek. Was she that transparent?
“Yeah, why?” Killian didn’t answer. He simply knelt in front of her and brushed some hair out of her face.
“Just checking,” he said gingerly. “As always, stop me if you get uncomfortable. It’s just a basic massage, though. No funny business.”
Emma would’ve chuckled, but as he settled into position, the only thing her brain could process was his comforting smile. Killian instructed to relax her arms so that they settled at her sides. With one last confirmation of her consent, he began his work.
The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the hum of ambient electronic instrumental music. She could tell Killian was in full concentration mode as he worked, rubbing his hands together so that the friction would warm them up.
Killian started with her feet. He’d given her foot massages before, but not quite like this. His hands pressed into the soles of her feet slowly, urging the tension to release and relax the muscles. The nerves all over her body vibrated even though his focus was latched onto rubbing her feet. Chills erupted up her leg when his hands moved to knead her calves, each slow pull of his hands completely unwinding her.
As his hands worked into her leg muscles and nerves, Emma felt the passage of time slow to a halt. It was the first time in years she’d felt so at peace, so safe and well-taken care of. When he was sure all the tension in her legs was gone, he trailed his palms up to her spine where he massaged her unhurried and tender. Smooth palms over her back alternated with his fingernails as he scratched in gentle circles.
Emma bit her lip to keep from vocalizing how marvelous she felt. But it wasn’t just the massage itself. He caressed her with such reverence, as if she were precious treasure in his hands. All she wanted was for this to continue forever, to always be free to feel his worshipping hands on her skin, to hear his breath in her ear. She wanted it indefinitely.
And that scared the hell out of her.
There were many things she expected to feel during this, but fear wasn’t one of them. Shouldn’t she have felt glad that he cared for her, respected her? After all, he was the only person she’d met in a long time who wanted to do something like this for her.
“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing how she seemed to have tensed up. She hummed in response, unable to lie to him. But he knew her well, and he removed his hands, and instructed her kindly to “Sit up, love.”
She complied, hands folding nervously in her lap.
“Can I keep going?” he asked.
“Of course! But only if you want to.” He frowned, and she was quick to explain herself. “I wasn’t sure if I did something wrong or-”
“No! Never. I was wondering, myself, if I had done something to make you uncomfortable.” He was so good to her, always paying such detailed attention to her reactions.
“Killian, I’m fine. This has probably shaved ten years of stress off of me.”
He began again, this time closer. With her sitting up, he had better access to her shoulders. Warm puffs of his breath ghosted her neck as he dug his fingers into her shoulder blades. His touch emitted even more veneration than before, as if his concentration was well honed to perform his best work.
When his fingers reached her hair, she leaned back into his touch. The man was too talented for his own good, fingernails scratching along her scalp bringing sensations that distracted her from her fears. She could feel his chest pressed against her back, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed calming her down.
His touch began to slow, becoming fainter as he brought the massage to a close. Emma sat frozen, unsure if he was really finished, because his hands still rested on her shoulder.
The next events passed like a hazy vision, her mind blurry with fogginess, but nerves aware of every touch.
There was silence, and then his lips pressed against her shoulder. Emma turned rigid the same second he did, both of them stunned into stillness. Killian immediately pulled his hands off of her, swallowing as he skirted a few inches away from her. Emma turned and sucked in a breath of air. He was closer than she thought, far enough away to give her space to breathe, close enough that he was within reaching distance.
The spot on her shoulder he had kissed still burned sweet, and she craved more. This was new territory, ground they hadn’t traveled yet. He was just Killian now, the professional cuddler dissolving as desire filled his eyes. Just as she was about to reach for him , he leaned forward and took her cheek in one of his palms.
Killian opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. They hung in the intensity of his eyes, their meaning just out of reach. Maybe she didn’t know about him, but Emma knew what she wanted. She tilted forward just a fraction, the movement so slight she doubted he noticed it.
Something in his gaze sparked, and that was it.
Before she could register the decision on his face, he was kissing her. Emma’s mind numbed of all sense and awareness, overwhelmed by the soft way his lips were pressed to hers. He tasted sweet, like refuge and acceptance. Her hands grasped at his shirt, seeking an anchor.
When she lifted her arms around his neck, the kiss dissolved into a search for the other’s touch, needing to soothe the ache to bring the other closer.
And just when she was starting to think that she could do this forever - kiss him, hold him - a voice spoke to her loud enough that she could hear it over the roaring in her ears. He’s using you. Emma kissed Killian harder, as if the intensity would hinder her walls from rising. Just wait. He’s not going to want you after this.
Right on cue, Killian tore away.
He looked as stunned as she felt, chest heaving, cheeks flushed.
“That was a mistake,” he murmured, shooting to his feet and clenching his fists. “A really bad mistake. I shouldn’t have even considered-”
Emma stared at him, utterly horrified. Was it that bad? Was it so appalling to even consider wanting her?
“I’ve gone three years without the thought even crossing my mind, much less acted on it,” he rambled, pacing across the floor. “But this….you…”
The man was unraveling and she was the cause. Maybe that was what she wanted, but not like this.
Suddenly, Killian’s pacing halted. He took a fortifying breath before turning to look at her with a composure that meant that the professional was back, masking what he was really feeling.
“That was completely, utterly inappropriate and I am so sorry.”
“No, I’m the one that’s sorry. I put you in this weird position by scheduling an appointment and then I gave into the moment.” Killian shook his head, like the fact that she was feeling guilty was something he wanted to extinguish. “I just really, really don’t want this to ruin your career.”
He heard the silent or our friendship.
And out of all the things he could’ve said, she wasn’t surprised when he murmured in a quiet voice, “I hope you’ll understand when I tell you that I can’t accept you as one of my clients anymore.”
Emma expected as much, but it still ached to her core to hear the words spoken aloud. He wanted nothing to do with her, and she was senseless and shortsighted to think that anything would change.
But she wasn’t going to let him see her cry, so she rose to her feet, grabbed her shirt, and headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he called out, voice rough.
“You’re absolutely right, Killian. About all of it,” she said weakly. “I should probably just go.”
Killian’s blood ran cold as he got the slightest feeling that when she vanished out of his front door, she was leaving for good.
Being in a relationship it’s not only constant and good sex, it’s meaning in the sack and late night conversations of the weird kind. Hyde blinked a couple of times after realizing, with an arched eyebrow, this new level he had reached with his chick today.
“Wait, wait, wait… your feets are cold… Jackie!”
Her giggle filled the room, Hyde rolled his eyes and cuddle her to his chest as she moved her feet from between his legs. They were damn cold, alright.
(Y/N) woke up shortly after Jay’s departure, eyes looking confused at her surroundings until they locked themselves into Bucky’s sapphire orbs. A sigh of relief falling from her lips as she realized that this time she was not alone to endure the torturous hours of each day.
“Shh, don’t talk. You’ve been through so much trauma in the past few days that your body is still recovering” A sad smile on his beautiful lips while his hand cupped her face.
request: none but i was inspired by the song “small bump” by ed sheeran
zooweemama sorry bout this (also this song is a lot of repetition, so i cut out some lyrics and skipped around so this story could go the way i planned)
disclaimer: i myself have no experiences with miscarriage. i’ve done as much research as i can on the topic, so i hope that there are no inaccuracies in the writing of this imagine. but if there are, please know that i mean no disrespect, and i’m truly sorry if there are any inaccuracies in any part of this imagine.
triggers: miscarriage (death, hospitals, mentions of blood) and i’m sorry
i recommend listening to the song while reading, listen to it here.
you’re just a small bump unborn, in four months you’re brought to life,
the day jonah had found out y/n was pregnant was the best day of his life. he was going to have a child, a little angel he was going to love and care for his entire life. he had picked up y/n and spun her around, the pure joy he felt rushing through his body like a drug. he was going to be a father.
it had been five months since that day. but the joy the couple felt had only grown with each passing day.
“please lay down mrs. frantzich, and the doctor will be here in just a few moments,” a nurse gestured to the medical table, giving the couple a warm smile before leaving the room.
y/n climbed on top of the cot, being careful to not even disturb the small bump that was forming on her stomach. she laid down, settling herself on the cot as jonah took a seat next to her.
she took jonah’s hand, placing it in hers as he smiled. today was the day. the day they were going to find out the gender of their child.
“mr and mrs frantzich?” a middle aged woman in a doctor’s coat opened the door, sending them a smile.
“that would be us,” jonah replied, squeezing y/n’s hand affectionately.
“well my name is dr. greene, and i will be your ob-gyn today,” the woman reached out and shook both y/n and jonah’s hands before settling herself in a desk chair next to the sonogram machine.
dr. greene asked the normal questions about y/n’s health, her diet, all the medical questions before she slathered the cool gel onto y/n’s stomach and pressed the wand to her abdomen.
“let’s see,” the doctor mumbled, moving the wand around until they saw the fetus-shaped blob in the screen monitor. “that’s your child right there,”
y/n’s eyes began tearing up, her heart swelling at the sight of her child, of jonah’s child. she grasped at jonah’s hand as she looked at him, seeing the same look of adoration plastered on his face as his gaze was fixated on the screen.
“would you like to find out the gender today?” dr. greene asked the couple, who looked to each other before nodding.
“we would want nothing more,” jonah replied, his stomach turning in nervousness. dr. greene studied the screen for a moment before turning back to the couple with a grin on her face.
“congratulations, you are expecting a baby girl.”
you might be left with my hair, but you’ll have your mother’s eyes,
“i hope she gets your eyes,” y/n commented to jonah as they walked out of the doctor’s office after their appointment.
“nah, i think she’ll have your eyes, but my hair,” he replied, pressing a kiss into y/n’s hair.
they reached the car, jonah opening the door for y/n before rushing back over to his side of the car.
“i can’t believe we’re having a girl,” y/n breathed out, staring out the window as the scenery blurred.
“a baby girl, a little girl we can spoil and care for and love until the end of time,” jonah’s free hand slipped into y/n’s and he smiled brightly. they were having a child. this was real life, and they couldn’t be happier.
i’ll hold your body in my hands, be as gentle as i can,
“i can’t wait to hold her, to look down at her beautiful face,” jonah told y/n as they laid in bed, one of his arms wrapped around her waist as his hand rubbed her baby bump.
“you’re going to be an amazing father jo,” y/n hummed, looking up at her her husband.
“i hope i will, but one thing i know for sure is that our little angel is going to live the best life she can” he affirmed her, bringing a smile to y/n’s face.
but for now you’re a scan of my unmade plans, a small bump in four months, you’re brought to life.
jonah’s eyes caught the photo of the sonogram on the nightstand, his heart melting at the sight.
that black and white picture was his future. the little blob in the center was his angel, a mixture of the love of his life and himself. she was a beautiful unknown, a person growing day by day.
“only four more months baby,” jonah mumbled, feeling the warmth of y/n’s stomach against his palm. four more months.
i’ll whisper quietly, i’ll give you nothing but truth,
“i know you haven’t been born yet, but i wanted you to know that you, my angel, will have the best life i can provide for you,” jonah was face-to-face with y/n’s baby bump, whispering to his unborn child. y/n was taking a nap, and jonah found it was the perfect time to just talk. talking to his unborn baby was a little weird, but comforting all the same to jonah.
“and you’re going to struggle in life, because that’s just how life is. we all have our ups and downs, but in the end, you’ll find where you’re meant to be. everything happens for a reason my angel,”
if you’re not inside me, i’ll put my future inside of you,
“life is gonna be hard sometimes. but as long as i’m around, i’ll be there to protect you. nothing will ever hurt you, because no matter what, i’ll be there for you,”
“and i promise, with my whole heart, that i will do anything for you to be happy. i would give up the world as long as you are safe, healthy, but most importantly happy. because sometimes it feels like all happiness has disappeared, like it blew away like the wind in a storm. but storms pass, my angel, and the skies become blue once more. and your sweet mother,” jonah’s eyes trailed back up to y/n’s sleeping face, a smile spreading across his features. “is my blue skies. but you, you’re my sunshine.”
you are my one and only, and you can wrap your fingers ‘round my, thumb and hold me tight,
“and i can’t wait to hold you in my arms, to have your tiny fingers wrapped around mine. and i’ll hold you as tight as i can, because although you haven’t been born, you have already become my entire world,” jonah’s voice trailed off as y/n fidgeted around, her eyes fluttering open, revealing the beautiful color underneath.
“what are you doing babe?” y/n mumbled sleepily, seeing her husband at eye-level with her baby bump. jonah scooted himself back up, now at level with y/n.
“just talking to our little angel,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead as she yawned again. jonah’s arm wrapped itself around y/n’s shoulders, pulling her close as she cuddled herself into his chest.
‘four more months,’ he thought. four more months.
you were just a small bump unborn,
it was all a blur from the moment it happened.
a rush of blood, a searing pain. screaming, crying, sirens. it didn’t seem real, none of it seemed real. he didn’t want it to seem real.
the white, sterile walls stared jonah straight in the eye as he sat anxiously in the waiting room. his mind was running a million miles an hour as his head hung low, his hands on his face.
“mr. frantzich,” jonah’s head shot up at the sound of his name, seeing a middle-aged man in a doctor’s coat approach him. “please, follow me,” jonah jumped out of the chair, rushing to follow the doctor. his heart raced as he followed the doctor.
they stopped outside of a door to a room, the doctor turning to jonah.
“you may see your wife now,” jonah didn’t have to be told twice, he quickly thanked the doctor and rushed inside of the room. the air felt stale, the only noises being y/n’s soft breaths and the beeping of machinery.
“hey babe,” y/n smiled weakly, gesturing for jonah to sit down next to her. she was dressed in a hospital gown, her hair spread across the pillow.
“how are you feeling baby,” jonah asked, settling himself in a hospital chair right next to y/n, himself taking her hand and lightly kissing the back of it.
“physically, i feel fine, i’m just in a bit of pain. emotionally, i’m so fucking terrified,” she whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “the baby,” she didn’t have to say much more to break down in tears.
“sh, the baby is going to be fine,” jonah consoled his close to hysteric wife, but even he didn’t know if the baby was going to be okay. he could only hope that his words were true.
“we don’t know that jonah! there was so much blood,” she whimpered, the image of the bloodstained sheets ingrained in her brain. “i’ve had spotting before, but it was never that bad,”
“think positive y/n, that’s all that going to get us through this.” his kissed her cheek. a knock sounded, the doctor that led jonah to the room earlier walking in.
jonah’s stomach immediately dropped at the sight of the expression on the doctor’s face, he knew something was wrong. y/n’s grip on his hand tightened, her nerves showing in her face.
the doctor took in a deep breath before speaking. “i’m so sorry, but i’m afraid that you have suffered from a miscarriage.”
just four months torn from life,
jonah’s heart stopped. it didn’t seem, real.
how could this be? his little angel, torn from him before they could even meet.
“i’m very sorry for your loss, i’ll leave you two to yourselves now,” the doctor bowed his head, leaving the room. the moment the doctor had left, y/n had broken down.
“h-how could this happen? i-i,” she sobbed, clinging desperately to jonah as tight as she could.
“i-i, i don’t know,” jonah whispered, his mind still blank. his angel, the angel he could never meet.
no more words were said, the only sounds being y/n’s heavy sobs. jonah’s own tears began streaming down his face as he held his wife tightly to his body. his throat felt dry, it felt as if he lungs couldn’t work any more.
and the couple sat there for what felt like hours, clutching at each other’s bodies, looking for some sort of comfort for the burning pain settling itself in their hearts.
maybe you were needed up there,
why, why, why.
what did he do to deserve this? what did y/n do to deserve this?
the endless pain, the pure numbness in their minds and hearts. why did their little angel have to leave before she even arrived?
reality hadn’t seem to set itself in, but he knew it was real. the unadulterated agony was real. the tears streaming down both his and y/n’s faces were real.it was all real. but he didn’t want to accept it as real.
but he knew, deep inside his heart, that everything happens for a reason.
A/N: Hi all! This is the beginning of my fanfic, just an introduction to the world - again. My chapters are usually longer, but this is just a prologue, so kinda short today.
I hope you enjoy it, and like/comment/reblog this.
Warnings: Spoilers for season 1-7. Seriously, if you haven’t seen season 7 yet, and don’t want to read any potential spoilers, steer clear. If not, keep reading.
Pairing: Jon Snow x OC
Word Count: 850-ish
Casterly Rock, The Westerlands, 281 AL
They said she was born at the start of winter, when the snows had started falling and the winds began howling. Some said she was born in the late hours of night, when the stars shined so brightly they almost made the sky look like black velvet adorned with diamonds. Others whispered that she was born in the loudest silence ever heard.
In reality, she was born at the start of winter, at night, hours after the Targaryen dynasty had fallen: the day Westeros would be transformed forever.
Request: Ok i hve a request! Can you make one after 4/20 where you were dylan’s gf and you’ve been so depressed after the massacre so one night while home you see dylan and he’s like i have one night to spend time with you and you guys talk & kiss & stuff SORRY THIS IS A MESS BUT LOVE U
A/N: AHHHH LOVE U TOO NONNIE ALSO THIS IS REALLY LONG LMAO AND I GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY BUT I TRIED TO GET YOUR REQUEST AS ACCURATE AS POSSIBLE
Half of the people who came over kept saying that it would be a quick recovery, the other half kept saying that she was bad for getting hung up over it.
“Oh he killed people! He killed your friends, how are you sad?”
“He’s a monster, why do you miss him? Are you crazy too?”
Internally, (Y/N) wanted to get over it, be able to stand up proudly and talk about who he really was, but every time his face came to her mind, she would choke on her breath, beginning to sob into her sweater again. She was angry at him, she was so mad, but not for the reasons she should have been. She was mad that he had left her all alone, with everybody upset with her for something she didn’t do. She was mad that he didn’t think to warn her, he didn’t have a way to tell her that things weren’t okay with him.
And then she was sad, sad that this was the end for him, that he wasn’t going to do all the stuff that he talked about. When he talked about it, he spoke with a dreamy sense, as if his future was going to be the most ethereal experience that anybody had ever experienced.