#[[the swagger of a nervous dog in the corner]]

[overx]

How hard is it for you to approach new people you want to interact with?

Anxious Munday Meme! [still accepting]

[[Oh I am the worst at this. There are people I have been mutuals with for literal years and never spoken to until a third party introduced us directly. And not just mutuals but like, we have followed each other across several different blogs (both mine and theirs) for mulitple years levels of bad.

Some examples of this include but aren't limited to my wife Cris (@thegatesofinfinitespace ) and Spoop ( @darckcarnival ) and in both cases someone else had to put us into a group chat before we started talking. Oops.

I try to at the very least send memes / asks/ headcanon stuff to people who I'm moots with as a sort of gentle ice breaker but even that is kind of tough for me at times.

I also am pretty bad at DMing people first. I've managed it a handful of times in the past but that required me already knowing they were interested (they sent asks, liked for starters, etc). Like in theory I know if we're following each other, people want to interact with me, but in practice I am very bad at remembering it.

Most of the people you see me regularly interacting with and reaching out to approached me first and did so several times. They have effectively brute forced me into friendship and it's working 10/10 love my extroverted buddies because without them I would be lost.]]

[bumblesimagines]

Muses

Request: Yes or No

Summary: (Y/N) never expected his life to turn out the way it did.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Fellow Travelers warnings, brief sexual content, mentioned/implied homophobia, era typical bs, mention of the AIDS crisis, Hawk is lowkey a warning himself 💀, more of a concept

he is so babygirl. divider by cafekitsune

~~~

"Would you mind if I drew you?"

Those were the first words (Y/N) spoke to Tim Laughlin the day they met at Lafayette Park under the keen eyes of Hawkins, the words of the smooth-talking man still ringing in his ears. It's nothing, Hawk had muttered to him as they strolled through the park toward the man with his nose buried in a book, you owe me a favor, remember? Just tell me what he tells you about the senator.

Tim was an interesting fellow. He was fidgety, at times, and with a habit of rambling so quickly (Y/N) barely caught what he was saying before he finished. Something was endearing about him: he continued adjusting his light gray sweater vest and smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his sleeves, the dark eyes hidden behind his round glasses bouncing around in a spout of nerves. He was so blatantly self-aware of himself, of every movement he made, likely hyper-aware of each breath he took. It was cute. 

"Tim." (Y/N) called out softly, biting back a chuckle to avoid embarrassing the man as he lifted the tip of his pencil from the page. He'd only managed to begin a vague outline with Tim constantly moving between positions on the stool with an air of indecisiveness and awkwardness. 

Tim perked up and turned his head toward him, his eyes wide and lips barely parted to show his teeth. He reminded (Y/N) of a fawn, a little creature making its way through the world unaware of the predators watching from the shadows. No wonder Hawk wasted no time sinking his teeth into him. He was the perfect prey.

"Y-Yes?" Tim pushed his glasses up with his index finger and straightened his back, carefully scooting around the stool to face him entirely. His palm ran over his sleeves again and his fingers curled around the cuffs, tugging on them lightly. "Should I do something different? Should- Should I take off my glasses?" 

(Y/N) couldn't help the amused smile that stretched across his lips when Tim hurriedly took his glasses off, a giggle vibrating in his throat before he set aside his sketchbook and stood up to approach him. He leaned down toward him and gingerly pried the glasses from his fingers, the smile widening as he slid the glasses over Tim's nose. The back of his fingers brushed along Tim's cheek until they hooked under his chin and tilted his head up, those eyes of his widening even further.

"I like the glasses." (Y/N) told him softly and brushed his thumb over Tim's lip, briefly revealing the row of perfect white teeth, before he stepped away. "I like everything about you."

There was a silent dance to flirtation, or seduction as others viewed it. One had to be careful with the types like Tim; nervous, doe-eyed, eager yet pious and always ready to dart between the pews of their church and stutter through a rushed prayer when they grew overwhelmed. They were like dogs being trained dancing the line between order and instinct, their bodies vibrating with urges and nerves but their legs kept them glued to their spots. 

Men like Tim were as dangerous as men like Hawk or the sleazy politicians Hawk surrounded himself with. Men like Hawk wore confidence and swagger like a coat; casually and without a care in the world. Until they were backed into a corner and they were quick to toss the coat from their shoulders, holding onto it with clammy, desperate hands while the cowardness beneath reared its head. Men like Hawk kept their enemies close and with downcast eyes tossed their friends to the wolves to cover their own asses.

Men like Tim, jumpy and alert yet somehow oblivious and naive, walked the thin line between fighting like hell to keep their morals to them and squawking at the first sight of trouble. When things grew hard or overwhelming or emotional, they raced to their priest and confessed to everything they'd done without a second thought to their safety. Most priests kept things to themselves, but they too pointed fingers when trouble came knocking.

Tim was easy enough to coax with a few gestures, evident in how his eyes followed (Y/N) around his office-turned-studio. Like a fish who didn't know any better, he'd taken the bait. He was sweet, too, and it was something Hawk had taken swift advantage of.

"Are you- I mean, you're-"

"Queer?" (Y/N) laughed and glanced at him over his shoulder, picking up his pencil and sharpening it. "Yes, I am."

"Have... have you and Hawk-"

"Once, twice... I didn't let there be a third time." He blew on the tip of the pencil and ran his fingertip over it to ensure it was smooth, a streak of dark gray rubbing against his finger. He tilted his body to peer at Tim. "You should be wary of Hawk and his charms." 

Tim swallowed and rose, his hand shooting backward to stabilize the stool when it wobbled without his weight pinning it down. "Should I be wary of you?" He asked softly, strands of his combed-back hair falling over his forehead. His shoes clicked against the tile floors, each step small and cautious.

(Y/N) grinned and set the pencil down along the spine of his sketchbook, allowing Tim to draw closer. "Maybe." 

Tim was full of indecisiveness, a constant dance between growing nervous and surging with confidence. He kissed with a familiar hunger, a familiar insistent need that left him pressing his lips hard against (Y/N)'s and knocking his glasses askew over his nose. His hands battled between pulling him closer until they were flush together and releasing his hold in fear of overstepping.

(Y/N) chuckled against his mouth, and chuckled again when they pulled apart and he took in the fog around the rim of Tim's glasses from the heat in his cheeks. For the sake of not damaging them, he plucked the glasses from Tim's face and set them aside after tucking the arms, mindful of where he placed them before returning his attention to Tim. 

Tim reminded him of a teenager, all desire and no straight thinking. His lips pressed scattered kisses along (Y/N)'s jawline and cheekbones, his crinkling arms wrapping around him loosely and hands tugging at the hem of his button-up. Hawk must've left him high and dry; he always did love the ones desperate for attention, and then he'd complain when they grew clingy.

"Easy, Tim." (Y/N) smiled, his thumb pressing into Tim's chin to still his quick movements. His flushed cheeks and messy strands made (Y/N)'s heart seize uncomfortably. He was undeniably pretty. "I still have to do your portrait, don't I? Hawk's looking forward to seeing it."

"Hawk calls me Skippy." Tim sounded breathless. Did he want to make Hawk jealous? (Y/N) pitied him if he did. Emotional ties were never Hawk's thing.

"I'm not calling you that." (Y/N) snorted and his thumb moved so he could firmly grasp Tim's jaw in his hand while he reached for his sketchbook with the other. "I think I'll call you.. Muse."

His bedroom was more comfortable than the studio. While the smell of paints had become as familiar to him as cigarette smoke, he much preferred the cinnamon-scented candles he always kept lit in his bedroom, though he often had to keep his cat away from them. The aroma added to the warmth from the golden hue of the setting sun and the song playing on his radio, though his ears were more focused on the muffled noises and determined huffs from Tim.

(Y/N) gazed at the sketch, though it was still rough linework over something to be admired. He'd managed to get a vague outline of Tim's face and shoulders, his neat hair that slightly swooped over his hairline and his brows that were almost always in a concentrated or confused furrow. He grasped the underside of his sketchbook with one hand and pinched the pencil between two knuckles before moving the sketchbook out of view to peer down at Tim. 

He'd settled nicely between (Y/N)'s legs, his bare arms hooked under (Y/N)'s thighs and palms pressed into his skin. A foamy ring had formed at the base of (Y/N)'s shaft, each bob from Tim's head leaving a glistening sheen behind. He raked his fingers through Tim's hair, scratching his scalp with his blunt nails and watching him shudder before he gave him a light tug. Tim's eyes flickered up to his face, water accumulated in them but not enough to slip down his reddened cheeks. 

(Y/N) smiled. "You look pretty like this." 

Tim gave a soft grunt in return, his hands keeping (Y/N)'s hips from bucking too much at the vibrations yet his own dug into the mattress feverishly. (Y/N) took a moment to sketch out his attentive eyes, including the way his pupils dilated, and then moved down to sketch the slope of his nose where he waited for Tim's nostril to stop flaring with each deep inhale.

Once satisfied, he tugged on Tim's head and listened to the soft pop! that followed, his teeth digging into his bottom lip at the sight of Tim's raw, spit-covered lips. Tim took a deep gulp of air and then gave a small cough, his hand raising to wipe at his mouth as he moved back onto his knees. His whole body was flushed, and a certain part of him begged for attention. 

Pressing the sketchbook against Tim's chest, (Y/N) near effortlessly flipped them over and left the sketchbook on top of him as he adjusted Tim's legs to his liking. He reached toward his nightstand and rolled the volume dial on his radio so the sound of trumpets and the velvety voice of the singer filled the room more clearly, his lips quirking when Tim's chest rose and fell quicker with anticipation. 

The sketchbook and pencil nearly slid off Tim's chest when his back arched, keens and garbled words falling from his lips as (Y/N) bullied his way past the tight ring of muscle that he'd already teased and explored with experienced fingers. Hawk was a pain to deal with and a walking heartbreak, but he'd taught (Y/N) plenty of things. 

He took the pencil in his hand again and readjusted the sketchbook, amused at the way Tim fought to catch his breath again. His fingers trembled slightly but he managed to keep a steady hand sketching his neck, the adams apple that kept bobbing, and his shoulders before pining the pencil to the spine and shutting the sketchbook. He set it aside on the nightstand and focused his full attention on the wriggling man beneath him.

One of his hands found Tim's and he laced his fingers with his while the other gripped Tim's thigh hard enough to leave red imprints behind. He understood Hawk more than he liked to admit; there was something addicting to having control over someone else's body. He leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the cries and incoherent babbles he released when he began snapping his hips.

Their bodies melded and moved together, the hairs across Tim's chest tickling (Y/N)'s skin as they shared hot air and felt more sweat begin to accumulate. He pressed his forehead against Tim's and soaked in his scrunched-up features, grinning at his quivering lips and giving them a nip that elicited a throaty whine. Tim clung onto him as if his life depended on it, his name coming out in rushed huffs and nails digging half-moons into his shoulders and back. 

(Y/N) kissed him again. He could get addicted to his new muse.

The sound of panting, skin slapping against skin, and mumbled pleas were nothing new to (Y/N), but he always enjoyed observing how others reacted to pleasure. He captured it occasionally in his work, always ensuring to turn masculine features more feminine in case anyone felt prompted to search his things for any hint of being a 'deviant'. Tim released a choked gasp and his back arched again, tightening deliciously before warm liquid coated their abdomens. 

(Y/N)'s hand moved from his thigh and crept up to Tim's shoulder before wrapping carefully around his throat, a spark appearing in Tim's half-lidded eyes as he continued to spurt and twitch untouched. His fingers gave an experimental squeeze and Tim fluttered around him, nudging him closer to his own release. 

"Am I-" Tim gasped. "-pretty now?"

(Y/N) laughed breathily. "The prettiest."

The steam in the bathroom oozed out into the bedroom, water droplets splattering on the carpet when (Y/N) followed the steam with the wet towel in hand. He scanned the room and found the familiar face who often enjoyed lingering around for another hour or two missing, though he could only assume Tim had more important duties in the morning after his promotion. He'd call and pout about it later and listen to Tim's chuckles about making it up to him.

Tossing the towel aside to be washed along with the rest of his laundry, (Y/N) slipped on some briefs and sleepwear before stepping out into the hallway. He'd picked the townhouse due to the history etched into its walls, the aged look it had fitting with the creations he spent days and weeks painting. Oil paintings of landscapes and portraits of people he met over the years, some fresh and others old. Paintings akin to works of the likes of Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, and Pierre Montezin. 

He found serenity in nature, found it more comforting and nurturing than humans.

The stairs creaked as he descended them but before he could head toward the kitchen for a glass of water, a rapid succession of knocks came from his front door. His heart surged with anxiety and panic immediately, pure instinct after all the crackdowns on 'deviants' in workplaces and the club raids, but he forced his heart to calm itself.

It's probably Tim, he assured himself and approached the door, he probably forgot something.

(Y/N) spared a glance around the room for Circe and when he was confident she was nowhere near the door, he opened it, the teasing smile that'd worked its way onto his face disappearing at the sight of Hawk standing on his doorstep. He barely uttered a hello before stepping inside, lifting his fedora from his head and smoothing back any raven locks that went astray. 

"No calls, no letters. I'm beginning to think you've deserted me." Hawk spoke, his clothes smelling like cigarette smoke and faintly of the whiskey he enjoyed drinking after work. His vibrant blue eyes looked over the small, cluttered living room. It irked him how comfortable Hawk looked as if he were right at home. "Or perhaps, replaced me."

Scoffing, (Y/N) shut the door before the idea of slipping out into the night crossed his cat's mind and folded his arms over his chest. He was like a damn virus, always appearing when you least expected it. "Why do you care, Hawk? You value keeping your ass out of trouble more than anything. I'm sure plenty of fools at the Cozy Corner are keeping you occupied, or the senator's daughter, at that. I hear there's a romance brewing."

"You know I have to be careful in my line of work. Haven't you heard?" Lines formed between Hawk's brows, annoyed and perhaps offended. He wondered what Lucy Smith would think of it all.

"Of course, I have." (Y/N) sighed, his fingers working on his temple to soothe away a headache. Hawk always affected him, whether it was giving him a migraine or making his heart flutter. He preferred the former. "Tim mentioned what happened to Mary. I can't imagine what she's going through, poor girl."

"Tim." Hawk echoed, his lips curling up in a false smile and his thumb rubbing over the edges of his hat. He wore confidence like a mask but (Y/N) could see the emotions slipping through the corners. He was more than acquainted with the look of harrowing loneliness, and it lay heavily in Hawk's eyes. "He hasn't been calling either. I never expected you two to get so close."

"You don't get to come in and pretend as if you're here for anything other than sex." (Y/N) gave a mocking, short laugh and his fingers dug tightly through the fabric covering his arms. Anger slammed into his chest like a kick and rippling bitterness followed its heels, leaving his body hot and twitching with contained emotion. 

Hawk steeled his expression with practiced ease. "I'm the reason you can afford to live here, the reason you have buyers and commissions-"

"Don't act as if half of those buyers weren't sent my way so you could use me to get information out of them, Hawk. You think I wouldn't notice you only ever send men you know are interested in more than just a painting?" His brows raised, and much to his dismay, his voice trembled.

"You know you were never forced to do anything you didn't want." Hawk's voice softened, yet it sounded patronizing to his ears. (Y/N) knew him too well, seen his acts and smooth-talking charades far too often to feel anything other than bubbling irritation in his veins. There'd been a time when he might've allowed Hawk to talk him down, but those times were long gone.

"Fuck you." (Y/N) snapped and Hawk flinched. "If you're not here for sex, then why are you here?"

Hawk stared at him, the tension in his jaw slowly vanishing. He inhaled heavily and reached out toward him to touch his cheek but (Y/N) leaned away, leaving his fingers to curl and a soft sigh to leave him. "I wanted to see you. I.. I missed you. I missed your face, your voice, your touch. I miss watching you paint and laugh."

"Well, I don't want to see you anymore, Hawk. What we had was fun but..." The words halted in his throat, an admission he hadn't yet fully processed waiting to finally be acknowledged. But not in front of Hawk.

"But what? You prefer others- Tim? Are you even being careful? His job can fall into risk and you-"

"You think you're smarter than everyone else, Hawk, but I'm not an idiot. I know what's at risk. He knows what's at risk. You love to pretend you have so much more freedom than everyone else yet you constrict yourself in every way possible. You and I both know you'll end up marrying Lucy Smith to keep yourself out of the line of fire and in Senator Smith's safe arms. You'll end up knocking her up with who knows how many kids and you'll live the little American dream while rotting inside."

"Excuse me-"

"Am I interrupting something?" 

Their attention snapped to Tim standing in the archway leading into the kitchen, a cup of milk in hand and wide eyes flickering between the two of them. A sense of relief swept through (Y/N)'s body, one that intensified when Tim addressed Hawk with one of his furrowed brow frowns. His eyes dropped down to Circe, watching the cat rub herself along Tim's legs yet turn her nose up at the sight of Hawk. 

"I think you should go," Tim told him firmly, but with a cup of milk in hand and the hint of a milk mustache glistening over his top lip, he hardly looked intimidating. Still, (Y/N) wanted nothing more than to cozy up to his side and kiss the air right from his lungs. "You're not wanted here." 

Hawk blinked. "Skippy-" 

"Go, Mr. Fuller." Tim slotted himself between the two and motioned for the door, his fingers turning white from how tightly he gripped his cup. 

A tense silence filled the air between the three, only broken by a quiet mew from Circe reminding him it was time for her second and last meal of the day. Hawk's eyes tore away from flickering between the two to drop onto the fuzzy cat, his lips twisting up when she continued nuzzling against Tim but pointedly avoided his legs. He'd tried once or twice to earn her trust, both times futile. 

Uncharatiscally, Hawk gave up the battle and placed his hat over his head again. He turned toward the door, his hand wrapping around the knob. "Marcus mentioned you were thinking of going to San Francisco," He said suddenly, looking back at them but mostly at Tim to gauge his reaction. Tim's brows inched upward. Hawk offered a half-grin. "Good luck." The door rattled shut with his exit.

Bastard. He always had to leave a mark.

"You're going to San Francisco?" Tim asked softly, twisting around to face him while carefully avoiding stepping on Circe as the mass of fur dramatically draped herself over (Y/N)'s feet, another demanding meow leaving her. They both ignored her which only prompted another, much longer meow. 

"It's just suffocating here, Tim." (Y/N) rubbed his shoulder, hoping to ease some of the tension that'd formed. "I tolerated it 'cause I had no real choice but I have more money now. I want to live by the beach and- and not have to worry about offending some politician. I thought Washington would have more to offer but it's... dull." 

"What about me?" Tim looked like a child, feet shuffling and brows together with faint sadness. 

(Y/N) smiled and leaned forward, kissing the corner of his lip. "You're perfect, Tim." Tim's cheeks flushed and he pressed his lips together to contain the bashful smile. "We can write to each other and we can try to visit. Things won't be the same but-"

"What if I went with you? Permanently- Like, we move together and live close to each other?" (Y/N) stared at him in surprise. "San Francisco has government jobs, too. I'm sure there'll be ties to Senator McCarthy-"

"I can't ask you to do that, Tim." 

Tim shook his head and set his cup aside on the accent table by the stairs before taking (Y/N)'s hands into his. Circe made a noise of complaint beneath them but only stretched out further. "I want to. I want to be with you. I-I want to keep waking up at your side and- and I want to keep eating breakfast with you. I want to keep dancing to romance songs and getting lunch. I'll never find someone who treats me like you do, who makes me feel what I feel for you."

A heat crept up (Y/N)'s shoulders and neck, covering his face and ears. His heart hammered in his chest and his hands suddenly felt clammy and sweaty, fidgeting in Tim's hold. Was this the love poets always wrote about?

"I..." (Y/N) gave a small chuckle, feeling delirious. "I want that, too."

Light assaulted his eyes and he quickly squeezed them shut, half-contemplating rolling over and burying his face into the pillow. He did just that, rolled over and tossed his arm out, but instead of feeling a sleeping body, he felt the mattress. His mouth formed a pouty frown and he squinted through blurry vision, blinking a few times until he was gazing at an empty bed. His eyes slid to the wall.

Tim was so stubborn.

With a heavy sigh, he forced himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rising. His weary body groaned in protest, reminding him he was no longer in his twenties or thirties when his back ached, but he ignored it in favor of stretching before making his way to the bathroom. No sign of Tim either. He spared the army of pill bottles a glance before relieving himself in the toilet and brushing his teeth. 

Sticking his feet into his slippers, he journeyed out of their bedroom and into the living room yet found no sign of his insistent partner. He brought two fingers to his lips and then down to Circe's box, muttering a soft greeting to his late feline friend as he passed by the drawer and peeked into the kitchen. There, standing in front of the coffeemaker, was Tim who leaned most of his weight on his cane and stared distantly at the coffee brewing. 

He took a moment to watch him, to drink in his floppy brown strands with streaks of silver and the wrinkles that formed with age across his skin. His eyes crinkled at the sight of the big round glasses perched on his nose before they dropped down to the slightly trembling hand clutching the cane. An accident in the bathroom. Even simple falls now impacted them more than they would've when they were in their twenties.

"I should drag you back to bed." (Y/N) clicked his tongue and rubbed leftover sleep from his eye, unable to stop himself from smiling when Tim rolled his eyes at his words yet tilted his head for a kiss on the cheek. (Y/N) gave him one, hard just to let him know he hadn't appreciated waking up alone but Tim only smiled. 

"I'm making coffee."

"Yeah?" (Y/N) teasingly grinned. "I hadn't noticed."

Tim rolled his eyes again, affection in his tender gaze as he watched him shuffle around their small kitchen. "My sister's coming by in the evening to drop off some groceries. I thought we could take a stroll around town. Maybe visit some friends? I know you can't bear to see them while they're- they're sick but they need us."

"I know." (Y/N) exhaled deeply through his nose and pulled a box of cereal free from their pantry. The epidemic ran rampant in their community and their government turned a blind eye to the suffering, as cold and uncaring as they'd been in his younger years. "I'll mention it to Marcus. It's been a while since the three of us went somewhere together." 

Tim turned to him and approached with the hint of a limp, his head coming to rest on (Y/N)'s shoulder. He smiled tenderly and (Y/N) melted against him, inhaling the smell of mint toothpaste and soap still clinging to him. "We can go to the beach, too. It's a beautiful day to paint the waves." He murmured and pushed his glasses further up his nose, head tilting to the array of drawings (Y/N) had done of him throughout the years.

"Sounds wonderful, sweetheart."

[echo-goes-mmm]

Poker (Oneshot)

My Writing Masterpost

Warnings: implied forced prostitution, off screen murder, drugs mentions

Jack Fish was late.

Damien tapped his zippo twice on the table. He lit up, inhaling deep.

The bar was non-smoking, but exceptions were made at 2 am. Exceptions were always made for him, because he was boss and the family was doing very well. Aside from a few thorns in his side.

Like Jack Fish.

“He’ll be here, boss,” said Lorenzo from his left. “I swear.”

Damien hummed.

The cig wasn’t particularly satisfying, and he put it out. No point in stinking up Chip’s bar if he wasn’t enjoying it.

“Time, Ed?”

The man to his right glanced at his watch. “Two thirty.”

Damien gritted his teeth.

“If he isn’t here in fifteen minutes, find him and shoot him.”

“Yessir.”

___________________

The door opened, and the three men looked up from their cards.

Jack Fish swaggered into the bar, a pretty little thing on his arm.

“I didn’t say you could bring a plus one,�� Damien drawled. He tapped his lighter on the table.

“Aw, he won’t say nothing,” grinned Fish. His teeth were yellow. “Right, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart smiled weakly, and the dim light made his split lip look like a smear and his bruises dark as plum.

“Fine.”

It wasn’t, but Fish didn’t need to know what kind of trouble he was in just yet. Ed checked the time again.

“Want a drink?” Damien offered, gesturing to Chip wiping down the bar.

“Just a beer,” he said, plopping into a chair.

It was the last one left at the table, and Jack didn’t pull another one over for his rent boy. Ass.

The prostitute ended up sitting at his feet. It would be cute if he was a puppy, but he was no dog. Just had been kicked like one.

“What kind?” Chip asked, exasperated. “We have-”

“Doesn’t matter,” shrugged Fish. He turned to Damien. “So about the docks-”

“Deal the cards, Izzy,” interrupted Damien. Lorenzo shuffled the deck, and Fish deflated. 

“Buy in starts at a hundred,” Ed informed Jack.

It was going to be a long night.

___________________

Three games and five beers in, and Jack Fish was out of money and more nervous than a cat at the vet.

“Chip, a lemon drop martini if you would.” Izzy Lorenzo and Ed looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

Jack laughed nervously. “Never thought you were a cocktail man,” he said.

Damien let the comment hang in the air. 

“Why’s that?” he said, casually picking out a cigarette from the case. Chip placed the frosty martini glass in front of him.

Fish eyed him as he lit up. “Nothing,” he said. “Nevermind.”

Ed raised, tossing another bill into the pile.

Jack shifted. He glanced at his cards. He wanted to win, convinced that he could impress Damien if he did.

He was a dead man the moment he agreed to the meeting.

“Well?” said Lorenzo. 

Jack’s face split into a smug grin. “I’ll bet my boy. Why not?”

Damien was not impressed.

___________________

Smoke swirled around the bar, and Emile couldn’t help but cough. Mr. Fish kicked him underneath the table, his brogues catching his already bruised rib.

Emile winced, but kept quiet.

Damien fucking Kelly was less than two feet away, and it was his smoke he was coughing at.

Emile didn’t feel like getting shot tonight. Today? Hard to know.

“What are you doing with my girls?” Kelly asked, breaking the silence.

“...What?” Mr. Fish said.

“The girls on 51st. What do you think you’re doing?” He sounded angry. They were so dead.

Emile covered his mouth with his hands, hoping Kelly had forgotten he was here.

“I thought we were here to talk business-”

“We are. My business.”

They argued, and Mr. Fish kept digging a deeper hole. Tears pricked at the corners of Emile’s eyes.

Two of the men stood, pulling pistols. 

They escorted Mr. Fish out back. There was a gunshot, and Emile let out a sob.

The last chair scraped back against the hardwood.

Damien Kelly, the scariest man in the city, stared down at him. 

“I won’t tell-”

“Get up.”

Emile stood up, shaking. “I’ll do anything,” he offered weakly. “Any service you want, anytime-”

Kelly shoved him by the shoulder, towards the bar. “I know. Sit.”

Emile sat at the bar. 

“Have a drink,” Kelly said.

The man at the bar, Chip maybe, placed a full glass of something in front of him.

Kelly left for a moment, and Emile didn’t really have a choice, did he?

The cocktail was sweet and fizzy, and barely tasted like vodka.

He stared down at the empty glass. 

“Who won the game?” he asked Chip, quiet.

Chip knew what he meant immediately. “Mr. Kelly.”

Emile asked for another drink.

___________________

The car ride was silent.

Mr. Kelly had a driver, and Emile wondered where they were going. The car weaved through downtown, the yellow streetlights reflecting off the shiny windows of the ritzy apartment lobbies and hotels.

They stopped at a tall, dark building, all glass and steel and a doorman.

He didn’t acknowledge them, even as Mr. Kelly handed him a wad of bills that Emile was pretty sure added up into the triple digits.

The button on the elevator had a ridiculously high number on it, and Emile wished he was drunk enough to not care.

___________________

The escort was a tiny thing, and Damien was sure he could span the boy’s waist with his hands.

“You use drugs to get that skinny or it is just having sleep for dinner that does it?” he said flippantly, sitting heavy on his couch.

“W-what?” the boy said, trembling.

Bad start.

“Drugs,” Damien repeated anyway. He cocked his head. “Heroin?” he guessed.

“No, I- I just can’t afford much food.”

Damn.

Damien lit a cig, and the boy looked away, wincing. 

He put out the light. He probably shouldn’t be smoking anyway. It was just hard as hell to quit.

Damien eyed the stack of takeout menus on his side table.

“Pizza?” he offered.

The kid’s head snapped towards him. A pause.

“You can get pizza at this hour?” he said, only half joking, because his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“You can get anything in this city with enough cash.”

Bad joke. The rent boy knew that already. He was an anything.

___________________

The pizza was hot and greasy, with pepperoni and mushrooms and parmesan.

It was perfect, but the offer of food and a bottled lemonade from the fridge made him even more uneasy.

Emile wiped the grease off on the tiny pair of shorts he was wearing (at Mr. Fish orders).

Mr. Kelly lounged on the couch.

“Aren’t you-” started Emile. 

“Aren’t I what?”

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” he asked, feeling pathetic and stupid. 

“You want that?” Kelly said, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Emile sat dumbfounded.

“But you won poker.”

“And? Do you want that?”

A pause.

“N-no.”

“Good.”

Kelly’s head fell back against the couch. “Shower’s down the hall,” he said. “Clean up and take a nap or something.”

Emile decided to push his luck. “Then what?”

“D’you mean, then what? Don’t you have a shit apartment to go to?”

Emile debated with himself. “I lived with Mr. Fish,” he admitted. “He- he didn’t let me keep any money-”

___________________

“Well shit, kid. What’s your name?”

Kelly stood from the couch, grabbing the second-to-last slice of pizza.

Damn him. His future, sober self, was going to be so annoyed. But he was a sucker for cute boys with a sob story.

“Emile.”

“House rules. No one comes in, you don’t tell anyone where you’re staying, and keep takeout orders to a limit of four a week.”

“Wh- what?”

God, he was tired. Curse Jack Fish for being a tardy ass.

“Just go shower.”

___________________

The boy kept after himself, but he didn’t leave. Even when Damien pressed wads of hundreds into his palms, or told him to clean the kitchen though it wasn’t dirty.

Damien found out that he didn’t really mind the company after all.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Crescent Moon 1/1

Title: Crescent Moon

Pairing: Henry Cavill x YOU

Rating: Sexy, fluff, teasing, some swearing and borderline language

Summary: As a working model, you landed a coveted Dunhill Cologne job. The number one rule in the industry is NOT to get involved with your fellow models. But, the delicious blue eyed boy waiting for you on set changed your mind. 

Gif by amancanfly

Note: this is absolutely a trash fic. So.. here ya go :)

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

‘I can’t very well put my tongue in her mouth without even knowing her name, Jamie,’ Henry groused and cast a furtive glance over his shoulder to where you sat in a rickety director’s chair getting your make-up retouched.

‘You’re so fucking, English, Henry,’ Jamie replied easily. ‘Do you need a little page three girl? Get your courage up?’

‘Fuck off.’

Why would he need boobs in newspaper form when he had a real live woman right there on set?

Jamie laughed and slid an overly friendly arm around Henry where his tuxedo jacket stretched crisp and inky black across his broad shoulders.

‘Listen. You are the handsome face of Dunhill. Right? You are paid to do what you’re told and to sell the product. It’s my job as principal photographer to make you look delicious so that every little wet twat out there wants to buy this cologne for her ruddy, beer bellied husband and every lad wants to look exactly like you in the hopes of pulling a posh bird.’

Jamie thumped Henry’s chest with the base of his palm and smoothed down the artfully undone bowtie around his neck.

‘We understand each other?’

Henry nodded. He depended on Jamie for the campaign and pissing him off wasn’t in his best interest.

‘Good, now go sit in the chair and put your fucking tongue into her mouth. And for the love of god, act like you like it.’

‘What’s her name?’ Henry asked shrugging out from under the heavy arm weighing him down.

‘Fuck if I know, ask her yourself. While you’re at it, why not ask for her ring size as well and her old gran’s maiden name.’

‘Jesus Christ, Jamie. What the hell is wrong with you?’

Jamie scrubbed a hand across his unkempt face and was tempted to spill his guts about the divorce papers with which he’d been served that morning.

‘Just…. go do what I tell you and we can all get paid. We still have a night shoot on the bridge and we have to make it quick.’

With that, Jamie turned round and walked off of the dimly lighted set. To calm himself, Henry tried to push his hands into the pockets of his slacks, and not for the first time that day he remembered that they were rented and the pockets had been sewn shut. Instead, he swiped his moist hands on his thighs and went back to the curved, crescent shaped chair on the set. It was supposed to be an easy shoot. Lounge in the chair, smoulder, have girl between his thighs leaning adoringly over him, avoid looking down her low-cut top and boom – 5k in the account.

When you joined him on set, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes,  and half-smiled awkwardly. He’d been paired with high end models before who had been icy and hurried. But you were someone he felt he could talk to. He asked your name.

To which you turned to him, smiled curiously,  and gave it.

‘I thought you already knew it,’ you said.

Henry leaned his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together between them.

‘I turn up, do what they tell me and go home to walk my dog,’ he laughed and then cringed, caving beneath the weight of how lame he must have sounded.

He was Fat Cavill all over again, floundering and unable to talk to a pretty girl. He hated himself for it.

Henry was heartened when you made an interested noise and leaned in close.

‘What’s his name? Your dog.’

Names, he thought. See Jamie? Names were important.

‘Kal,’ he said.

‘Kal… like Kal-el?’

With his eyes brightening, he turned towards you.

‘Yeah! Like that. Do you.. I mean are you… so you know about Superman?’

You grinned and bobbed your head.

‘Who doesn’t know about Superman? I mean… my little brother collects comics and I used to watch that show back in the 90s.’

You shrugged and teased slyly, ‘Pfft, who doesn’t know about Superman,’ but in a way that asked if he was really wondering if normal people didn’t know about one of the most famous comic book superheros.

Henry wasn’t bothered by it. He he smiled, intrigued and was about to continue the conversation when Jamie, holding his massive digital camera, swaggered over and pointedly waited for you to stop talking.

‘Right, you two lovebirds getting good and acquainted?’

‘He’s nice,’ you said, pressing your elbow into Henry’s side. ‘He’s got a dog named Kal. You know, like Superman.’

Absolutely pleased with you in that moment, Henry ducked his head and squashed a grin. But Jamie looked blankly at you and then made a face of disgust.

‘Here’s how it’s going to go. You two are having an illicit night out, met at a party, little drinks, a little dancing and you’re into each other. You can’t wait to leave together. You like her, you like him and shagging is definitely on the table. I want that from you. I want longing looks, I want wet parted lips, I want sex. Ok, got it?’

He looked directly at Henry.

‘Or shall I bring out the finger puppets.’

You smiled and nodded happily. You weren’t sure what was going on with the photographer, but a job was a job and you had dealt with worse.

‘Get into your original positions, please,’ Jamie said motioning towards you.

You got up, untwisted the thin shoe strap across your ankle and waited for Henry to lay back against the chair. He reached up for you and cradled your hips as you positioned between his spread thighs. You put your knee down between them, careful not to press up against his sizable bulge and with one hand on his shoulder, you artfully leaned in. Your breasts swung forward in your skimpy top and you turned just a little so that they wouldn’t bounce out and hit him in the face.

Not that you thought he would mind, considering how fixated on them he had been for nearly the entire shoot.

But you yourself hadn’t been so innocent.

You had noticed how much he was packing when you were first posed together and that little lizard part of your brain wanted to feel him.

Henry was fixated on you and you were fixated on him. You looked down into his big puppy dog eyes and could tell that he was still feeling nervous, as he had been all morning. You wanted to relax him, maybe play a little.

‘Look at you,’ you murmured, leaning in closer as his attention snapped to your face. ‘Lying there like the perfect boy.’

Henry’s lips parted and he gave you such an adoring look that you greedily drank it in like a cool glass of wine. You popped open a few of his shirt buttons and gingerly curved your fingers about his naked throat, marvelling at how immediately the shyness melted from his eyes. One corner of his lush mouth curved up into a slight smile and the fingers clenching your hips pulled you closer. He froze when his own actions pressed your knee right into his groin. You both looked down at where you were touching him so intimately, yet neither of you moved.

‘Whatever you two are fucking doing, don’t you fucking stop.’

Jamie was close now, the camera shutter clicking madly, but he was an annoyance in your peripheral. Your entire focus was on the boy beneath you and the big hand working across your bottom.

Not wanting to give away what you were doing to him, Henry hissed in a long indulgent breath and undulated in response to the upward press of your knee. Colour seeped into his cheeks and when you leaned down, hovering your wet mouth over his, he groaned softly. Everything muted and faded into the background and he lifted his chin to close the distance between you. The gentle confident stroke of his tongue along your sensitive lips rippled a delectable sensation through you and tightened your nipples into tender peaks.

This couldn’t be real, you thought. Are you that willing to fuck this man right here in front of the whole crew?

‘Ok, that’s good you two. I think I have enough.’

Someone was talking. 

It was Jamie.

 And just like that, the spell was broken. You scrambled back and off of Henry. Standing up, you quickly dusted off the back of your dress. Henry’s hand had been so hot against your arse that you were sure he had left handprints.

You tried not to look back at the man still lounging on the chair. But you couldn’t help it. One sly glance at him looking positively debauched, told you that it wasn’t over between you. And it was later in the back of the setpiece Bentley that Henry showed you how much more he wanted.

-end

Thank you for reading and please consider reblogging to help me to reach a wider audience :) 

@lightsidecalling @omgkatinka @igotkatiepowers @emmaofgreengabbles @justaboringadult @jencanbeyouryengeralt @skittywittykitty @g0ldenlush @xxxkatxo @the-soot-sprite @rachie725 @harrysthiccthighss @little-green-love @littlefreya @foxyjwls007 @xshadyladyx @angreav @mstgsmy @ruthoakenshield @wheretheriversrunintothesea @maizyistrash @liquorlaughslove @henry-owns-these-tatas @supernaturallymarvellous @cynic-spirit @whiskey-cokenfanfic​ @laketaj24 @october505 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @foodieforthoughts @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @singeramg  @sapphirescrolls  @emyearns​

[descendantofthesparrow]

Harry Hook x Sparrow!Reader - oneshot - WICKED

These are very similar requests so im just smashing them together!

random-thoughts-and-spoken-words 

Hi! I love all of your stories, they’re so well written and amazing! So, I have a request. Could you do a short little thing about the reader being in the end of the first movie, but she chooses to be evil, and goes back to the Isle for Harry, who’s really happy she’s back. Then could you end it with a week passed and Ben sends men to ask Harry and the reader back over? You could add Gil and Uma to that list too. If you can’t do it, that’s fine. Love all of your works!!

@random-thoughts-003​

could you the reader choosing evil at end of first movie, for Harry and because she truly evil. she goes back, rejoins old gang, Uma’s crew. creates chaos more than before, kidnaps Ben. When core four try to say she’s good, she purposely almost kills one of them. in third movie, she doesn’t make it past the barrier and has to wait for Harry and Gil. when they come back, prepared to live out their days, they find Reader somehow got even the worst villains to give up their territory and let the crew steal their things. the sea three get to the ship, the crew was 100% better fighters. when the barrier is taken down, Harry tries to convince reader to come, but she says she’s waiting for someone. Thinking she’s cheating on him, he stays there to see who she is meeting. Turns out it’s her father Jack Sparrow and they plan to make the Isle into the modern Tortuga. Harry walks over and Reader introduces him to her father as boyfriend. later on, when he confesses he thought she was cheating, could you end it with her “Oh Harry, I may be evil in my soul, but I’d never go so low as that.” (They started dating at the beginning of second movie.)

How dare they, they would just…UP AND ABANDON THE REST OF THE ISLE?! Rotten to the core my ass.

You snarled, turning away, pausing as a hand fell on your shoulder. “(y/n) is good too! You have no ide- AH!” your arm flourished out, a gleaming switch-blade in your hand, slicing at Mals arm.

“get away from me you traitor” you growled, glaring down at the purple-haired fae, who started up at you in shock, holding her sliced arm close to her chest.

“wha-wh-(y/n)?” Evie stuttered, grasping Mals shoulder and pulling her back “what's gotten into-“

You snarled, turning and walking out of the cathedral. Ben and Evie raced after you, calling your name “(y/n)! wait!” Ben yelled, you huffed spinning around and crossing your arms.

“what do you need princey?” you drawled “I have an isle to get back to” Ben tilted his head in confusion, bless his soul, good intentions, but poorly executed.

“why? Why would you want to go back to the isle” he asked, genuinely curious, evie was frowning, looking concerned.

“I left assuming my friends would join me after everything, but since that didn’t happen, im going back, im not abandoning them.”

You spun on your heel, stomping off and making your way to the limos, snatching a bridge remote, you paused, groaning and walking to the dorms, for once happy that you had a room all to yourself, grabbing all your gear and stuffing it in a bag.

You snatched your compass and hat, fixing the tricorn on your head and hefting your bag over your shoulder, heading back to the limos.

You unlocked one and tossed your bag in the back, ripping off the flags and the hood ornament, pocketing it and making your way to the driver's seat.

“(y/n)!” you paused, looking back, pup, the shorter boy trotting after you, dude running after him.

You sighed, leaning back on the car “what do you want pup” you muttered, a sneer on your lip.

He stopped a few feet in front of you, slightly out of breath “you don’t know how to drive, ill take you” you stopped, staring wide-eyed at him.

“Carlos the fuck” you muttered, “you’re coming back with me?”

“no” he shook his head “no im dropping you off, I understand why you want to go back, but if you go alone someone could get that remote and leave the isle, we both know there are some people who deserve to be on the isle.”

You slowly nodded, you might be evil, but you weren’t heartless, and beasty boy had been trying to right the wrongs of his father.

You sighed, walking around to the passenger side and opening the door, plopping down and nodding to Carlos “well, im not waiting all day!”

He beamed, sliding into the driver's seat dude hopping in after him and climbing into the back, head peeking through the sliding window door.

You slid down into your seat, watching as Auradon passed by in a blur, turning into the ocean as a golden bridge built below you.

=

You gave a salute to Carlos as he nodded back at you, turning the limo around and driving back off the isle. you breathed in, looking to your right, the large metal tube leading to the docks letting the smell of the ocean into the old garage.

“home sweet home” you muttered, squaring your shoulders and walking through the tube.

You smirked as you saw the common folk walking around, some fishing some simply just sitting in the cloud glazed sun.

“(y/n)” a thick boyish accent came from your left, you spun, a smile breaking through your lips as you spotted the boy you had missed so much.

His ocean blue eyes were glazed with surprise, the line of fish he was holding dropping to the deck, his mouth gaping open.

“yer- yer back! I thou-Oof!” he wheezed, tumbling back when you charged at him and rammed into his torso, wrapping your arms around him and holding on tightly.

He caught himself on a barrel, chuckling as he hooked his hook on his pants belt loop, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling your neck. “I've missed yeh lassie” he muttered, hand reaching up to cup the back of your head “when did yeh get back?”

“About five minutes ago”  you mumbled, leaning heavily into him, pouting as he tugged your shirt to pull you off of him.

“well, glad ta have yeh back lassie” he patted your cheek, spotting your bag behind you. He picked ti up and slugged it over his shoulder, giving you his arm and leading you to the chip shop.

“LOOK WHOS BACK!” he hollered, the patrons looking up with glares, looking back down quickly as they spotted you.

“(y/n)!” the crew yelled, uma coming out from the kitchen and smirking.

“there you are, I knew you wouldn’t leave us behind!” you grinned, breaking away from Harry and leaping towards Uma and colliding into her.

“I would never” you chuckled, rubbing your cheek into her head “im not like the traitors” you pulled away, tensing as you prepared to be tackled by the crew.

Which you were.

The rest of the day was spent taunting the tv which showed the after party of the coronation. And a rowdy party for your return.

=

You hummed as you walked the allys of the isle, harry next to you, arm around your shoulder. Ben stepped out from the ally, blinking surprised as he locked eyes with you.

“(y/n- AH!” Ben let out a yelp as Gonzo and Bonny jumped at him, gagging him and tying his wrists together.

“let's go beasty boy!” bonny cackled, her and gonzo dragging him away, you hummed, patting Harry's back as he swaggered forward to taunt the traitors.

You leaned on the wall next to you, flipping out your switchblade to pick your nails.

A few moments later harry reemerged, once more wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leading you back to the ship, talking about how pups' hair was weird and Jay had lost his touch.

=

Hours later, you stood next to uma, eyes scanning Mal, Evie, Carlos, Jay, and Lonnie. Carlos held the wand, handing it to mal as harry brought ben forward.

“hol’ up!” uma called, mal pausing in handing the wand to uma, and harry stopping ben in his tracks. “too easy, we wanna see it work!”

Mal swallowed harshly, eyes flashing about “you always were quite the drama queen” mal sneered, looking behind her at dude.

Uma nodded, rolling her eyes, “oh and nothing too big or ben is fish bait!”

Mals' eyes flashed with worry, she turned, waving the wand about “although it may seem absurd, turn your bark into a word!” nothing, dude just blinked at her.

Uma turned to you, rolling her eyes. Mal let out a nervous laugh, growling at dude through her teeth “talk dog!”

“Does this vest make me look fat?” you blinked….alrighty then, dude could talk. So the wand was real…hopefully.

“give me the wand!” uma yelled, reaching for it, mal stepping back and pointing to ben.

“give me Ben!” she yelled back, you huffed, waving Harry forward. He pushed ben to his knees, sword ready to swing.

As uma took the wand, you watched as mal hurried to rush ben and the others out….and jay guarding a barrel of swords.

…it was a trick.

You snarled, watching as nothing harped as Uma cast the spell. “NO!” she screamed, snapping the fake wand on her knee “YOU DO NOT GET TO WIN EVERYTIME!” she turned to the crew.

“GET ‘EM!” in the corner of your eye you spotted Carlos whip out a slingshot, shooting gloves filled with a colored substance.

As the hit, they exploded into smoke. you stumbled back into harry who tucked you into his side and covered you with his jacket. You growled, unsheathing your sword and bolting forward, slicing at mal, who hardly had time to doge.

You nicked her neck, she stared at you in shock, yelping as you spun around and sliced at her legs, she jumped back, Ben grabbing her arm and running towards the tunnel that leads to the old garage.

“(y/n) please, we know you're better than this come back to aura-AH!” you leaped forward growling as you thrust your sword at his chest, ben falling back in fright.

“don’t you dare try, im bad to the soul, and I ain't comin’ back” you blocked a swing from Lonnie, the black-haired girl swallowing in fright as she locked eyes with you.

You huffed, pushing her back and kicking her stomach, dodging a stab from Carlos.

“ ‘Scuse me pup” you smirked, disarming him and gripping his wrist and flipping him around and slamming him to the ground.

--small time skip--

You screamed, throwing your sword to the ground, watching as Mal walked away. “UGG! OUT OF MY WAY!” Uma pushed past you and Harry, ducking into a shortcut to the garage.

You seethed, walking back to the ship, slamming open the door to yours and Harry's room, screaming as you slammed your fist into the hanging withered punching bag.

“lass, please calm-love” Harry walked in after you, watching as you tore up your fist punching the cracking old leather on the bag.

“AHHHHH” you let out a harsh scream “IT'S NOT FAIR!” you collapsed to the floor, Harry dropping with you and cradling you in his arms.

“Hey, hey” he cooed “it’s okay love, uma will find a way, well get off this hell rock” you sniffed, letting Harry's thumb brush away your tears.

“I know, we will” you muttered, cuddling into his chest. Harry picked you up, laying you on your bed. He shucked his shoes off and plopped next to you, tugging you into his chest.

“take a nap love, yeh need to have a rest” you hiccuped, burrowing into his chest and closing your eyes, slipping into a fitful nap.

=

You sighed, watching as Harry and Gil jumped through the barrier, smiling softly as Harry turned back and mouthed ‘ill be back for you’

You nodded, twisting around on your heel.

You had some jobs to do while they were gone.

=

Harry sighed, watching Auradon disappear from the limo window. At least he would be going back to (y/n). as he stepped out of the limo, Uma, and Gil following him, he noticed something odd.

The isle seemed…cleaner? Uma stepped next to him, spinning around in a small circle.

“what the fuck happened?” she muttered, a confused look on her face. “its…. I don’t know how to describe it?”

“ ello cap’n” harry grinned spinning around, bolting towards you as his eyes locked onto you.

“(y/n)!” he laughed, throwing his arms around you and picking you up, your legs wrapped around his waist. “gods I missed yeh”

“you were only gone for two days” you chuckled, running your hand through his hair, the other resting on his neck “but I missed you too”

Harry set you down on your feet, uma crashing into you “miss ya girl” you laughed, patting her back “missed ya to captain”

You broke away from her, leading them back to the ship. The three looked around, the usual big villans hulking around were yet to be seen. “look whos back!” a thick Scottish accent came from behind, an arm wrapping around Harry's shoulders, tugging him into their side and rubbing their knuckles into his head.

“how yeh doing lil’ bro? enjoying the life of a hero?” harry groaned, ducking under Harriet's arm.

“shut up Hettie” he muttered, pushing her away “where is everyone, not two days ago Frollo was screaming his ‘ead off just right there”

Harriet smirked “yer little girlfriend took over the isle, even scar and eq bowed under her heel” uma, harry, and Gil blinked in shock, looking to (y/n) who just shrugged and continued to walk to the ship.

Umas jaw dropped as they arrived, the crew was sparing together, and….they were a lot better than the last time she saw them.

Gonzo side flipped, avoiding bonny downswing, spotting uma as he twisted around to block a stab from Desiree.

“CAPTAIN!” he yelled, the crew yelled out with him, dropping their swords bolting down the gangplank and eagerly greeting uma.

“you’re back!”

“We missed you!”

“yer mas food is so shitty without ya!”

“cap'n! I dyed my hair, ya see!!!”

“I got a tattoo!!”

“I pierced my tongue!”

Uma rushed to rub her face, tears burning at her eyes, and here she though her crew dropped her as soon as she failed at cotillion.

You grinned, gesturing for gil to lift uma on his shoulders, as he did so uma let out a yelp a tear slipping down her cheek.

“whats her name!?” you called out, the crew sounding her name with resonance.

“UMA!”

“now lets party!” gil beamed, parading around the ship with uma on his shoulders, the crew rushing to grab the treasured rum and candy.

=

“lass come one, what are yeh waitin fer” Harry held out his hand, one foot crossing the barrier to Auradon.

“someone” you muttered, looking towards the ocean, but to harry, you were looking back towards the isle.

‘is….is she cheating on me?’ his heart hurt, after a year and a half of dating, you were just going to betray him like that.

Was it because he helped save Auradon??

“well,” he muttered “im waitin’ with yeh” you gave a shallow nod, not really listening.

An hour later, long after the freed vks and some villains had crossed the bridge. A certain ship appeared in the distance. You stood from your spot on the stairs, harry standing with you a heavy from on his face.

As the ship docked against the isle, harry felt confused….the person you were waiting for wasn’t even on the isle?

“DAD!” hol up wha-….HOLY FUCK JACK SPARROW?!”

“darling!” the now old pirate opened his arms, jack the monkey(who hadn’t aged in the years he had joined your father after Barbosa died) screeching in excitement, bouncing on jacks shoulder.

“oof” jack laughed as you collided with his chest, wrapping you in a tight hug.

“lass?” you turned a bright smile on your face, holding out your hand.

“harry! This is my dad, dad meet my boyfriend, Harry hook!” jack gestured for Harry to come close, holding out his own hand.

Harry grasped Jack's hand, gasping as he pulled him in for a hug.

“Good ta meet you lad, thank you for making my (y/n) happy all these years”

“so” Harry pulled back, looking from you to jack “why are yeh here”

“we’re turning this place into the new Tortuga!” you grinned, spinning around, arms wide open “pirate and sailor paradise!”

Harry laughed, “sounds awesome lass…oh was that why yeh took control of the isle?” you nodded.

“yep, couldn’t have Jafar or something try to take over”

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “look lass, I need ta apologize fer somethin’” you tilted your head, raising your brow.

“for wha’?”

“I though ye were cheatin’ on me…when yeh said ye were waiting fer someone” you laughed, stepping close to Harry and hugging him.

“aw hookie, I may be evil, but I would never go as low as that~”

Harry snorted “I know, im sorry”

Jack smiled, looking around at the isle.

“master gibbs! I think its time to start fixin up this dump”

“aye captain!”

---the end---

I got this request back in January!! At least the longer more detailed one, forgot when I got the short one, but since they are VERY similar, I just mushed them together, thanks for reading and waiting!

[searchingwardrobes]

Self-Promo Sunday

When I wrote this, I never expected it to get much attention. After all, it was 95% my expression of love for a Disney cartoon that isn’t most people’s favorite. I was amazed to discover that I wasn’t alone in being a huge fan of Lady & the Tramp, and I was even more amazed that people actually liked this little 1,100 word fic. And this is a pretty good time for some pure, unadulterated fluff, right?

Summary: No matter how long Emma lived in Storybrooke, she knew she would never get used to discovering that yet another character was real. So the day she came home to find Killian and Henry scratching behind the ears of a beautiful, golden cocker spaniel, she wasn't prepared in the least for everything that followed. Aka a silly little drabble about another Disney cartoon coming to life in Storybrooke.

Rated G for fluffy fluffiness of the fluffiest kind

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells​​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​ @teamhook​​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​ @thislassishooked​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​ @kday426​​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​​​ @nikkiemms​​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​ @carpedzem​​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @snidgetsafan​ and selfishly @distant-rose​ because although she’s moved on to other fandoms, I know she loves this story and I thought of her when making the picset. 

No matter how long Emma lived in Storybrooke, she knew she would never get used to discovering that yet another character was real. So the day she came home to find Killian and Henry scratching behind the ears of a beautiful, golden cocker spaniel, she wasn’t prepared in the least for everything that followed.

“Her name’s Lady, Mom,” Henry informed her as he bent down to kiss her furry head.

“Real original, kid,” she quipped as she knelt down to stroke the dog’s silky fur.

“No, Mom, seriously. I didn’t name her.”

“The lad’s right,” Killian put in, “look at her tag, Swan.”

Emma checked, and sure enough . . .

“You have got to be kidding me.” First Pongo, and now this?

“Poor thing had a muzzle on too when we found her,” Killian continued with a frown, “I couldn’t get it off, so I had to use my hook to slice the strap. She seemed grateful and has been a sweet little thing ever since.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at Henry who shrugged. No need to tell Killian he had taken the place of a beaver in this particular tale.

***********************************************************

Since the dog had a tag, Emma at first thought finding her owners would be easy. Unfortunately the tag only listed the dog’s name, and a trip to the vet proved unhelpful. She had a rabies tag that was current, but it wasn’t in the system for some reason, and she had no ID chip.

“Well,” Henry shrugged, “guess she’ll have to stay with us then.”

Emma could tell that her boys were already in love with the pooch (and Emma had to admit Lady’s demeanor lived up to her name), so she quickly clarified, “Temporarily. Until we find her owners.”

When they got home, the three of them made several posters to hang around town. Emma joked that they should look in the Storybrooke phone book for a listing for Jim Dear and Darling, but Henry very seriously replied that their names were probably changed with the curse.

What even was her life?

****************************************************

That night, Killian made a bed of old blankets from the Jolly Roger in the corner of the laundry room for the dog. She was house trained, so newspapers were unnecessary. Still, Emma chuckled.

“What love?” Killian protested. “This is a perfectly acceptable bed for a dog.”

Emma laughed again and shook her head, “It’s not that, babe, I just know for a fact she’s going to end up in our bed.”

“Nonsense, you must set firm boundaries to let the dog know you are in charge,” Killian argued. His penchant for order leftover from his naval days still took her by surprise at times. “Besides, why are you so positive?”

“I’ve seen the movie.”

*****************************************************

Sure enough, four hours later, after pathetic whimpering and flat-out howling, Killian was depositing the bundle of golden fur at the foot of their bed.

“Just for this one night,” he told her.

Emma snorted, “Yeah, right.”

*******************************************************

Weeks went by with no potential Jim Dear and Darling. Lady inserted herself into their little family and, eventually, into Emma’s heart. Her love for the animal, however, did nothing to abate her shock every time Lady emulated the movie she had apparently stepped out of. She woke them every morning, even nudging Killian’s slippers onto his feet. She fetched the Storybrooke Mirror each morning, all of the bad news amazingly ripped out by her teeth or claws. Lady even had a love for coffee and a donut, which Emma snuck into her bowl when Killian wasn’t looking. Emma’s jaw dropped the first time the dog daintily dipped her donut in the coffee. But the biggest shock came the day Emma looked through the window above the kitchen sink to find Lady in the back yard with a Scottish terrier and a bloodhound. If Emma didn’t know any better, she would swear they were having a conversation.

She dropped her coffee mug, which cracked in pieces when it hit the sink.

Emma moved to make herself another cup of coffee when it suddenly occurred to her that maybe she and Killian were Jim Dear and Darling. She reviewed the plot of the movie in her mind and suddenly gasped, breaking her second coffee mug of the morning.

She went straight to Dark Star Pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test.

******************************************************

Killian seemed confused that night when Emma not only wanted a movie night, but a cartoon at that. It was usually something they did with Henry, and he was at Regina’s for the week.

“I know how much you’ve come to love our four-legged family member,” Emma explained. “Don’t you want to know her story?”

Killian smiled in agreement at that, snuggling up on the couch with whom he had taken to calling his “two favorite blondes.” When the movie ended, Emma dropped her bomb casually.

“I hope our Lady deals with the new baby a little better.”

First Killian’s jaw dropped.

Then he kissed her, accidentally shoving Lady off the end of the couch.

And so it began.

******************************************************

Emma was nine months pregnant before Tramp made his appearance. Killian in dog form, she loved to say. She never knew dogs could swagger. Or smirk, but she swore this one could. It was obvious that Tramp (no tags of course, and skittish of humans) was smitten with Lady from the start. Little Miss Princess, on the other hand, played hard to get, turning up her nose and swinging her long, silky ears. It was rather comical, actually. Like their own love story: canine version.

It wasn’t until the baby actually came that something else occurred to both of them. They locked eyes before getting out of the bug, and both knew what the other was thinking. Killian was unnaturally nervous whenever Smee came around asking to hold baby Charlie, which hurt the poor man’s feelings. And Emma knew nightmares about a rat attacking a baby were neither normal nor healthy.

Charlie had only been home three days when they called an exterminator.

******************************************************

Neither of them could pinpoint exactly when it was that Lady warmed up to Tramp, but it happened (and without slurping spaghetti kisses or meatball nudges). Then Lady started acting sluggish, and her abdomen swelled, and soon the Jones home was graced with a litter of four puppies: three girls who looked just like their mother, and one exuberant boy who looked just like his father (who had long ago warmed up to this particular family of humans).

And Emma and Killian, the lost girl and boy that they were, kept every single one.

[sabraeal]

Get Up Eight, Chapter 6

River of Silk | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 3: Valor Exhibit courage in word and deed. Avenge the wronged. Defend the weak and innocent. Fight with honor. Never abandon a friend, ally, or noble cause.

Ojou-san’s wrist is so narrow between the circle of his fingers, so delicate, like the bones of a bird. He can’t bear to hold her tighter than a whisper. Even still, Obi’s too rough, calluses snagging on the silk of her skin as she trails behind.

He’s far too careless of a man to be handling a woman like her; it’s only a matter of time until she cracks.

“A-ah, Obi?” ojou-san hums behind him, stumbling to keep up on the hatago’s steep stairs. “Are you sure that--? Should we really--?”

He stops short at the landing, her small body careening into his. It’s only his hands that keep her from tipping back, wrapped tight around the slender slope of her shoulders. Beneath his thumbs, her pulse races.

She turns those eyes up at him, so wide and pale as jade. His mind should be on the danger downstairs, but all he can think of is how the moon had shone on her skin, how the lamplight had painted her golden, how a single drop of water had trailed down her back, caressing her spine the way a lover would--

And she had looked at him, dismayed and flushed, wrapping her yukata tight around flesh he should have never seen. A samurai would have averted his eyes, would have allowed his mistress the illusion of privacy, but Obi--

He’s not tame like those dogs. It’s only a matter of time before he proves how wild he can be.

“O-obi?” She shuffles back, brow mirroring the bow of her mouth. Her kimono shifts, baring a single flash of her feet, the bandages soaked through and red.

He grins. Ah, he had forgotten-- this delicacy is all an illusion. Her face might be soft and round, the perfect porcelain doll, but he knows all too well that steel lies beneath. A pretty fan with blades for ribs.

“I’m sure.” His voice is too low, too thick with gravel. “Please, ojou-san. This way.”

“Haah,” she breathes, hand limp in his grasp. “It’s only...I’m sure you could find more, ah...amenable accommodations.”

He stops before the entrance to their room, brow knitted. “This is the best your money could buy, ojou-san.”

Her breath catches, cheeks staining pink even in the dim light. “Ah, but I mean, the arrangement--?”

He pulls the screen aside. Ojou-san’s head whips around to take in the humble room behind it, the best the hatago can offer.

“Oh.” She blinks, those strange eyes of hers bright in the lamplight. “The futons...?”

There’s two, arranged so that if the room were split in half, there would be one on either side. Close enough together that if they both stretched out their arms-- and ojou-san put in a little effort-- their fingers might touch. Nothing special, nothing so fine as the bedding in Kino-san’s house, but it will serve. It will have to; there’s nothing better outside of a honjin, and, well-- ojou-san’s money might open more doors than he’s used to, but not those.

Still, her brow is furrowed, her small body stiff beside his. A girl like her has probably never seen a room so humble, let alone slept it in.

“This is not the least comfortable place I have slept, ojou-san,” he assures her, “and it won’t be the worst we see.”

“Oh, no! I only meant...” Her teeth sink into the bud of her lip, pearl laid into a cherry blossom. “This is, um, suitable for me as well.”

He smothers a laugh. How delicate his ojou-san is, trying to save his feelings. “I apologize for the close quarters, I’ve been given to understand that the hatago is busy tonight.”

“No, no, that’s-- it’s all right,” she stutters, breathless, hands fluttering in the air between them. “Really, this is more than all right, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” He steps back, letting her walk past, taking in the lay of the room, inspecting the large screen that unfurls across it. “I’ll tell the women to bring up your bath.”

She spins on her heel, those too-large eyes blinking wide. “Bath?”

Here? echoes in the room, though ojou-san has not spoken the word. Obi is as masterful interpreter of what is not said as much as he is of what is.

“We were on the road a long while today,” he reminds her, gently. “I’m sure you’d like to clean up.”

Not to mention there will be few hatago with soaking tubs. Ojou-san might be used to such luxuries, but in a few more miles, it will only be the public baths that are available to them.

She hums, staring down at the dusty hem of her kimono. “Perhaps...”

“Besides--” he nods his chin at her, gaze dropping pointedly to the floor-- “those feet of yours could use another soak.”

“Oh!” She grimaces, taking in the rusty red stains on her tabi. “Yes, that-- that would be, ah...good, I think.”

“Good.” He lets one corner of his mouth lift, earning him another flushed look as he closes the doors. “I’ll see to it.”

The innkeeper’s mouth is a wary wrinkle on his already aged face, eyes watching him like a loose coin as he rolls into the bar. Ah, ojou-san’s money and sweet looks might have bought him dinner and a room, but without her, his looks paid a different price. His mistress might overlook the scar on his brow or the too-short bristle of his hair, but this man-- this man would not.

“My mistress is ready for her bath,” he murmurs, rolling the words around in his mouth until they rumbled. The man’s hands twist anxiously, and Obi can tell he is trying to count the seconds between thunder and lightning to see if this storm will pass him by. “See to it that it is brought up.”

The innkeep hesitates, his neck so proud and defiant before it bends beneath his glare. “Yes, okyakusama.” Each syllable is spat toward the tatami, a curse upon him. “It will be done at once.”

Obi lingers, staring down at the back of this man’s neck, watching how he trembles. The innkeep may play at scruples, but a man who sells his pride once has sold it a thousand times over.

Let the man have his suspicions. He was clearly shrewd enough not to risk exposing them; after all, the price of insulting a samurai was too high, even these days.

Ah well. He turns away, disinterested. One problem solved. On to the next.

The bar is as he left it: tables overflowing with patrons and cups overflowing with drink. The one he shared with ojou-san is empty still, their platters only recently carried away. Good. One thing going his way tonight.

Obi may not be used to the attention ojou-san brings them, but if there’s one thing he does know how to handle, it is making an entrance. He swaggers in, hand hovering over the hilt of his blade as he thunders toward the empty table. That’s how these samurai were, weren’t they? A man-sized storm, ready to strike the easiest target.

He drops to the floor, graceless, legs crossed. Ojou-san had frowned at him when he’d done the same this evening, favoring him with the same weary glare she’d given her...Kino-san, when he’d done the same. It left a bitter taste in his mouth sharing anything with that man, but-- needs must. His job was to look imposing, to put an obstacle between his mistress and all who would do her harm, and only a true asshole would sit like a shogun as he drank sake.

His eyes drift over the room, slipping his blade from his belt as if he had no distinct purpose, as if he did not have a precise idea of which men needed to be discouraged. They watch him now, he knows, voices lowered, shoulders hunched and hesitant. All except for the monkey.

He stares at Obi, mouth hooked into a smirk, a long rat-tail of hair hanging down his back. There’s something about him that sets his teeth on edge, that says trouble without a single brush stroke.

That man is a bold one, reckless. He’s nothing special at first glance, dressed as ragged as his sniveling companions, but with another--

He raises a cup, salutes, drinks.

Obi sets his sword to his left.

His companions have stopped talking now, darting nervous glances at him under the cover of contemplating their drinks. Ah yes, it’s all much less funny now that the sweet ojou-san’s bodyguard has declared his notice. Good. The last thing he needs tonight is any more foolishness.

Unbidden, he thinks damp crimson, of a water drop slipping down pale skin--

Haah, well, aside from his own.

His hand slaps the table, harsh as a gunshot. The men at the table wince, turning their faces away. Ojou-san would scold if she saw him now-- too rough, too loud to be proper company-- but he’s a man that gets results, no matter what means.

“Okyakusama,” one of the serving girls simpers, all pleasant eyes and submissive bow. “You have returned.”

“Sake,” he snaps. No, that’s too much, even for him. “...If you would.”

Her eyes widen, daring a troubled glance up at him. Of course; the man he was earlier tonight was not so rough, did not growl his words like a common thug. But now-- well, he is performing for the benefit of a different audience.

“O-of course, okyakusama,” she stammers, “at once.”

She pours him a cup, hand trembling, and he--

He can’t help himself. Her skin is stretched tight over her knuckles where he touches her. “That’s enough.”

“Oh!” she breathes, so still beneath him. “shall I--?”

“Stay,” he commands, and with his other hand, downs the drink in a single gulp. It burns the whole way down. “Another.”

“Y-yes, okyakusama.”

This time he lifts his hand as she pours, nodding when she’s finished. “Good. Go.”

She does not hesitate; the moment he says the word, she is gone. And the monkey is still staring at him.

He’s different from his friends; all their haori and hakama are worn, threadbare and dusty from the road, but this one holds himself differently, holds himself above them. Not always a traveler then, a man more used to cushion and rice paper walls than this transient life. Maybe even a man born with a blade in his hand, even if he never learned to use it.

Obi hates him already.

The monkey knows it. He lifts his cup, meeting his gaze with a smirk. Obi does the same. They both drink; steady, eyes never losing each other. Cups return to the table with precise care, fingers steady.

Obi’s legs tense. He just needs an excuse, the smallest thing, some reason to give the dōshin when they are called, because--

Because this man knows he’s seen red, and isn’t about to let it go.

“Okyakusama.” The serving girl bows, far too deeply for a man like him. “Your mistress is finished with her bath. Would you...?”

A question asked so often, and yet she flusters, cheeks flush pink as petals as she grasps for the words.

“I’ll have a bath as well,” he drawls, spiking a pointed look toward where the monkey sits, so pleased with himself. “I’m feeling quite unclean these days.”

The weariness does not hit him until he mounts the last step, every ache of the day cursing him ten-fold now that its end is in sight. The hall may be dim, but the lamps illuminate their room like a paper lantern in the night. Its soft glow draws him, pushes him on when each foot fall feels like the last.

He stops outside the door, fingers brushing the edge of the screen. Her shadow stretches over the paper, a half dozen strokes all moving in concert like the most complex calligraphy. She shifts, just so, and her head rests just under his hand, and he thinks of it, of pale skin glimmering in the moonlight, of a bead of water tracing down it, disappearing as it rounded an intriguing curve--

His fingers jolt back from the frame. A smart man would forget such things, but he--

He’s a fool. His laugh is a scrape of breath, rough and bitter. To think, tonight there will be no geisha tonight to help him try.

“I’m coming in,” he tells her, voice pitched high, friendly and unassuming. Just her trustworthy guard, and nothing else.

She’s on her mat as he enters, asleep. Or at least, that’s what she’d have him think; even if there had been no shadowplay to confirm it, he’d know by the way her chest rises far too fast, and then falls far too slow.

He lets out a weary sigh and pads across the floor. If that’s the game she’d like to play, she won’t get any objection from him. Today has been long enough as it is without him worrying about--

“What are you doing?” she shrills, breathless.

His hand stills, obi hanging loose beneath it. The neck of his kimono parts, slipping down over his shoulder as he turns to meet her gaze. Her voice might be nervous, uncertain, but her eyes--

Those are all fierce curiosity, never once wavering, not even when he smirks, not even when he says, “The women brought up water for me. I plan to use it.”

“O-oh.” The room is brighter than the hall, but it’s not enough to confirm that she is flushing. He hardly needs to see it when it’s so apparent in every line of her body. “I...I had wondered about that.”

He hums, stepping past the screen. “Even a raggedy yojimbo like yours likes to feel clean at the end of the day.” The water is steaming, his flesh turning shrimp-pink when he waves a hand through it. Perfect. “Unless you have a problem with that, ojou-san?”

“N-no!” He can’t see through the screen, not with the lamp behind him, but he can hear her shuffling, hear the wrinkle of her sheets around her. “D-do what you like.”

“I always have,” he mutters, hanging his kimono on the edge of the screen. He hears a stifled gasp and grins. “Why stop now?”

The water burns so pleasantly, but Obi knows better to linger. He only scrapes the worst of the road off of him before he levers himself out, wrapping himself in the clean yukata the women were so kind to provide. He’s not used to being in something other than his own clothes, but as he’d learned at Kino-san’s house-- a man took luxury where he could find it. This yukata would be gone tomorrow and so would he, but tonight’s comfort would be a fond memory once dawn breaks.

The fabric is fine, sticking to the dewy heat of his skin even after he’s toweled off. Still, he feels clean. He will have to put on his kimono tomorrow and all its troubles with it, but tonight--

Tonight he is not that man. Not yet, anyway.

Obi steps to the edge of the screen, and ojou-san’s gasp is nearly lost in the thump she makes, turning her back to him. He grins. Ojou-san plays at innocence, but she’s been watching a shadow play of her own.

It puts a swagger in his step and a grin on his lips. Her breath hitches as he approaches, the inn’s floor creaking softly beneath him, and it stills when he kneels beside her. The barest hint of green shines up at him, wary.

“Obi...?”

He tears the blanket off her.

“Obi!” There it is, firmer, somewhere between a gasp and a scold. Much better.

Her small hands dart out, snatching the cover from his, clutching it to her chest. “W-what are you doing?”

“Taking care of my mistress,” he tells her, so even, enjoying the way her skin pinks even in the dim lamp light. “Her feet, I mean. Unless you taught the girls how to bind them.”

“Oh!” She shifts the blanket, uncovering the puffy, reddened wreck of her feet. Ah, ojou-san would not be walking easy tomorrow, no matter what he did tonight. “I...yes. That...is probably best. Maybe I should--?”

By now he knows how the start of one of her bad ideas sounds. “Where is your bag?”

Her eyes widen, and she pushes to her knees, trying to stand. “Really, I can--”

His hands curl around her shoulders, and firmly, gently, he guides her back down to her futon. “It is my duty to look after you, ojou-san. Please let me.”

He has no innocence to feign, no girlish eyelashes to flutter, but his honesty goes much further with her than any of his attempts at charm. She meets his gaze, lip caught between her teeth, and nods.

“Over there.” Her chin ducks down, pointing toward the door. Heat radiates from her cheeks. “You’ll find everything you need.”

Ojou-san may have her books, but for Obi, his body has always been the master of him, the one that learned far better, far faster than his head. And leagues better than his heart.

He settles down on his heels, cradling ojou-san’s feet in his lap. Before she even begins to speak, he knows what to do. Ointment on the raw places, carefully replacing the blistered skin where it has not yet rubbed away, fresh bandages when he is done--

“Oh.”

He glances up at her, the last of the ointment still thick on his fingertips, hovering over her bare sole. “Is something wrong, ojou-san?”

Her jaw hangs slack, eyes intent on his chest. “Ojou-san?”

“Oh! N-no.” She coughs, gaze skittering away. “I just...you remembered. The, um, treatment, I mean.”

He laughs, stretching the fresh bandages in his hands. “Of course. I only just did it this afternoon. My memory isn’t that bad.”

She blinks, and now that intent gaze is on him again only sharper, her brow drawn. “No, it’s quite good. No, very good.”

“Come now, ojou-san, there’s no need for flattery.” He ducks his chin, hiding his pleased grin as he works. “You’ll give me the wrong idea.”

“I-- I’m not trying to flatter you,” she stammers, flush blooming at her throat. “There are few people who could learn this a single time, and do it with no direction the next.”

He shrugs, cinching the bandage tight before tucking in its end. “I’m sure you did, ojou-san.”

“No.” Her mouth tilts in a private smile, watching him wrap her other foot. “I most certainly did not. But you--” her gaze flits to his chest again, cheeks reddening before she finds his eyes-- “you must be able to do a great many things with a gift like that.”

He lets his mouth curve into a lurid leer, rumbling, “Would you like to find out, ojou-san?”

Her hands clap to her cheeks, hiding her face. “I didn’t-- that’s not--”

He settles back with a grin, tapping her ankles. “That’s done.” He sets her feet back to her futon before he gets to his own. “I’ll have the ladies come take the bath.”

“Oh...” Again, her gaze wanders to the neck of his yukata before she throws herself down onto her mattress. “You...you’ll be back, won’t you?”

“Of course, ojou-san.” He smiles, though she can’t see it. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

She hums, sleep already thick in her voice. “Don’t take too long. You need your sleep too, Obi.”

His breath burns, caught in his throat.

“I...” When he turns, her breath is already heavy, lost in dreams. He smiles softly, shaking his head. Too trusting, this woman.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, sliding the screen shut behind him. “Ojou-san.”

[chelsfic]

Wish You Weren’t Here (part 1) - Diego Jiménez x Reader - Power fanfic

Read Part Two

A/N: Whatttt am I doing? Can anyone tell me? Thanks to @1zashreena1​ and @symbiont13​ @sparrows-books​ for being so enthusiastic about this. Oh, and (not that anyone cares lol) but I make a casual reference to Cesar Millan in this fic (wtf is this?) and I am actually firmly opposed to his dog training philosophy. SO. Just to go on record.

Warnings: Smut!!, Threatening, Exhibitionism, Forced Audience to Exhibitionism, Crack!Fic

You stare at the spray of white powder smeared over the top of the glass coffee table. How…how does one clean up cocaine? You nervously twist your cleaning rag into a tightly wound rope as you ponder the options. It’s expensive, right? Would Mr. Jiménez be angry if you cleaned it up? Should you–what?–sweep it into a dustpan and set it aside for later? There’s not a huge amount but if you swept it all into a little pile there would probably be enough to…use? What the fuck do you know about cocaine? What if you use your spray bottle on the coffee table and it goes into the air and you breath it in? Would you get high? This is ridiculous.

It’s your first day working for Diego Jiménez and you’re nervous. Actually that’s an understatement. You have a pretty good idea of how powerful he is and you desperately want to make a good impression and keep this job. The pay is more than you’d make cleaning ten houses. The downside being that the facts of household cleanliness with regards to Class A drugs are now–apparently–required reading.

You’re still hovering indecisively when Diego strolls into the living room. He walks with a confident swagger that you can’t help admiring. Your new boss might be intimidating, but a tiny part of you finds that intensely attractive. Maybe a not-so-tiny part. A part that really needs to pipe down because, at this rate, you’ll be fired before the end of the day anyway.

You don’t want to seem like you’re just standing around idle so you start to carefully scoop the powder using the cloth, plowing it into a neat pile that you intend to–you guess–set aside for now and see what happens. You think he has any tupperware?

Diego’s stride stutters to a stop as he catches sight of what you’re doing. He snaps his fingers at you like Cesar frickin Millan scolding a Pomeranian. You definitely feel like a Pomeranian right now. And he’s a…he’s a Doberman currently staring at you with murder eyes. Fuck.

Your typical response to fear and stress is word vomit.

You freeze in mid-swipe and look up at Diego with eyes wide as saucers, “Uh…sorry. Is this not–okay? I wasn’t sure if I should just leave it how it was. But it looked so dirty and I want to do a good job so I thought I’d just–”

Diego cuts you off with a hand on the back of your neck. His fingers dig into your skin, firm but not enough to hurt…yet. You squeak in alarm as he drags you away from the table and toward the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows that make up one whole wall of the living room.

“Uhh…Mr. Jiménez–sir! This didn’t come up in the interview, but I actually am not the biggest fan of–”

He marches you up to the window, steering you with his hand on the back of your neck until you’re pressed up against it, cheek mashed into the cool glass. And–as if your stupid body is in cahoots with your psychotic boss–you look down. You look down at the busy street which seems like it’s about five miles beneath you. Your head spins and your breathing picks up at a rapid pace. You can’t shut your eyes. Why can’t you shut your eyes? If you shut them you can pretend that you’re someplace safe…on solid ground…and not on the top floor of a high-rise with only a few inches of glass standing between you and death.

“Um!” you squeak, ripping your eyes from the view below and trying to crane your neck enough to see Diego looming behind you. You can just see him from the corner of your eyes, grinning maniacally.

“You. Don’t. Touch. The Product. Understand?” he hisses the words into your ears in that growling, tenor voice of his that is already imprinting itself in some of your shameful fantasies. What is *wrong* with you?

Your words come out in a rushed whisper, “Yes! I understand, Mr. Jiménez. Completely. I-I-I apologize. I wasn’t–you see, I’ve never actually seen cocaine before, you know? And I didn’t know if you’d want me to clean it up or save it for–for later. Or–another worry I had was what if I touched it or, or it went into the air and I breathed it in. Would I get high? And that would be very bad because, um, I don’t like being high. And also it’s my first day of work and I just–” your stutter over your words, gaze drifting back down to focus on the murderous drop to the street below, your eyes are welling with tears now, “–I just wanted to do a good job, sir. I’m sorry.”

He finally lets go of you, his hand dropping away and leaving behind the ghost of his fiery touch on your skin. He steps back to let you turn around and he’s laughing at you, “You thought you’d get high if you touched it?”

You’re too preoccupied with getting away from the window to reply at first. You take a few giant steps away from the glass and then you’re crouching down and planting your palms on the marble floor to remind yourself you’re on solid ground. Fucking phobia.

Diego’s looking at you like you’ve grown another head and you feel the need to explain, breathlessly, “I…don’t…like…heights.”

He steps towards you and you have a great view of his shiny, leather shoes as he crouches down to your level. He catches your eyes with a look that’s warmer than anything you’ve seen from him in your short acquaintance. He smiles apologetically and reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

“Seems like more than a dislike,” he muses watching you as you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

“Okay…” you answer, “I’m fucking afraid of heights! Uh…sir. Sorry! Sir. Mr. Jiménez.”

How can he have such a megawatt smile after manhandling you into a plate glass window and threatening you? And those dimples? Are you kidding me?

“Call me Diego,” he says. 

You look up at him, falling into his dark, fathomless gaze and thinking to yourself, Son of a bitch.

“Diego,” you breathe. 

“If you find a mess like that again just leave it, okay? I’ll have one of my guys clean it up. There are going to be some things about this job that you’ll just have to get used to. The most important thing,” here his eyes harden, “is that you don’t tell anyone–ever–about anything you see or hear while you work for me. Do you understand?”

You are seriously over your head, aren’t you? When you just stare dumbly back at him, Diego takes your face in his hands and bores his eyes into yours, “Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes…Diego,” you finally answer. Because what else can you say? You suppose at this point you’ve already seen enough that you aren’t free to just…walk away.

“And Y/N?” Diego says, standing up to his full height, towering over you, still crouched on the floor at his feet. “You think you can manage cleaning these windows?”

The look on your face as you glance over at the intimidating wall of glass is comically horrific, but you try to sound casual in your response, “I’ll…manage.”

He laughs and starts to walk away, “Good, because you left a smudge mark with your face just over there.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leaves. What a little…but even as you’re thinking up a proper insult your eyes lock onto his butt in those tight jeans and notice the way his shirt strains to cover his broad shoulders and…yeah, what were you saying?

***

Later that night you’re finally finished with your work for the day just as guests start to trickle into the penthouse. You wonder if Diego spends every night this way–is his life one big party? You’re sweaty and your back aches and you’re still feeling wobbly from forcing yourself to get right up to those windows and give them a thorough cleaning. You just need to check in with Diego before you leave for the night but he’s still cooped in his bedroom upstairs and you don’t really want to interrupt him. So you’re just trying to blend in with a potted plant against the wall as supermodel attractive women mill about, outnumbering the male guests by about 3 to 1, you’d judge. You feel beyond shabby in your jeans and t-shirt. But at least you’re not wearing one of those housemaid dresses you had to wear for your last employer.

Diego still hasn’t made an appearance, and a younger guy in the crowd has apparently taken notice of you. You can feel every muscle in your body tense up as he starts prowling over to you. You just want to go home and take a bath and maybe think about the way Diego’s butt sways a little when he walks. Ugh, stop that!

“Hey, girl. You not having a good time?” he purrs in a manner he surely thinks is seductive but you’re very tired and very ready to leave.

“I’m not–”

Diego interrupts you, putting a proprietary hand on your shoulder and squeezing a little, “She’s not for you, Ángel. Leave.”

The guy’s whole demeanor changes when he sets eyes on your boss and he backs away with a little bow of respect that has you really, strongly questioning your sanity in A. Taking this job and B. Insisting on being attracted to your potentially psycho-killer employer.

You turn around and Diego is giving you that megawatt smile again. For a minute you just stand there like a deer in the headlights until your brain kicks back in.

“Um…I’m leaving for the night, Mr. Jiménez. I mean–Diego. If you don’t need me for anything else?”

He arches a wicked brow at you and his lips hint at a playful grin. “Anything else?” he laughs. Is he making fun of you? Toying with you? You watch as his eyes focus on a woman strutting by who’s probably half a foot taller than you and 60 pounds lighter. She’s wearing…not much. He licks his lips like a lion about to dig into a zebra. 

“Okay, then…” you murmur, backing away a little. 

Diego turns back at your words looking a little chagrined but still playful, “See you tomorrow, little girl.”

You make a beeline for the elevator, finally letting out a shaky sigh as the doors close behind you. There’s something about Diego that is irresistibly attractive to you. Despite his threatening aura or maybe–maybe because of it? He’s dangerous and powerful and a very bad decision waiting to happen. But–you think about the woman he eyed before you left for the night–who are you kidding? The decision isn’t yours and there is no way Diego Jiménez is interested in the likes of you.

And that’s a good thing.

Probably.

Definitely.

Hmmm…

***

You begin to form an understanding of why this job is so well compensated when you arrive to work the next morning. The whole main level of the penthouse is…a mess. And there are random people passed out asleep on the floor and couches. Glasses and bottles cover every surface, the floor is stained from spills. Napkins, plates, random articles of clothing. Quelle frickin nightmare. 

You take a deep breath and drop your purse into the closet by the elevator entrance. This is…fine. This will be fine. You just need to compartmentalize your priorities. You’ll start with the trash and move your way forward. You have to step over the sleeping form of one of the many female guests from the night before and an unkind thought pops into your head in relation to starting with the trash.

Not nice, you admonish yourself. But then you wonder if the girl had her hands on Diego last night and you find that you don’t really care. Why are you getting so territorial over this man already? Some of the only contact you’ve had with him has been him slamming you against a window to punish you for “touching the product.” That shouldn’t…that should certainly not be a turn on. 

No.

The place starts looking a little better as the morning wears on. By the time Diego emerges from his bedroom, bleary-eyed and dressed only in an expensive, black robe, you’ve nearly finished cleaning up and are just starting to wonder what to do with all of the people still draped all over the place. Your thoughts are abruptly torpedoed when Diego staggers by and the robe partially opens to reveal how naked he is underneath. 

You freeze in place, eyes fixed to the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen and–possibly–straining to see if the robe will part even further to reveal a bit further south.

Diego catches you looking and offers you a seductive grin, “I knew you weren’t as innocent as you seemed.”

“I–what!? Yes, I am! I mean…no. I don’t know?” Stop. Talking.

Diego looks around at all of the passed out bodies and you jump when he suddenly lets out a vicious bark, “Out! Everybody out! This isn’t a fucking sleepover!”

You marvel at the immediate response as people start stirring and lurching upright, walking zombie-like to the elevator. Diego is walking towards you by the couch when he grabs a girl’s wrist as she skirts around him. 

“Not you,” he growls, collapsing onto the couch and letting his robe fall open entirely, revealing the large, proudly straining erection between his legs. Your mouth drops open and you feel your cheeks blush like the heat of a thousand suns. The girl goes to her knees in front of Diego and he lets his head loll over the back of the couch, just casually gesturing with a hand at his cock. “You know what to do.”

Before anything gets…started…you’re talking again, “Oh. My god. Okay, I’ll just go somewhere else while you…uh…do that–”

“No!” Diego barks, grabbing your hand and holding it tightly so you can’t move away. “I like an audience.”

You let out a little whimper of protest, but he just tightens his grip on your hands. You try to cover your eyes with your other hand but he grunts, “Look, look, look, Y/N!”

You let your hand drop away and are forced to watch as the girl takes his massive cock into her mouth. Diego’s head drops back and his shoulders heave as he groans with pleasure. He looks over at you, capturing you in his dark gaze as the girl starts bobbing up and down. He loosens his grip on your hand a little, squeezing gently and stroking your fingers almost…almost lovingly. God, this is–you don’t know what this is.

His face is open and vulnerable, completely destroyed with lust. His mouth hangs open as he emits broken grunts and moans. You can’t look away. The sounds he makes as he unravels, the way his facial expression twitches and crumples as his orgasm nears, his other hand grabbing the girl’s hair and forcing her to take him deeper as he roars with his finish. It’s all beautiful and sick and overwhelming and hot. So hot. His dick falls from the girl’s mouth with an obscene pop and he growls without ever looking away from you, “Get the fuck outta here.”

The girl scurries away and he’s still staring into your eyes, his erection rapidly softening between his spread legs. You must look like a beet, you’re blushing so red. And you’re so worked up with a mixture of embarrassment, arousal, jealousy and shame that there are tears in your eyes. This man has brought you to tears twice in your two-day acquaintance. That can’t be a good omen. 

“You’re jealous,” he whispers, reading your thoughts. “You want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”

You finally shut your eyes against his relentless stare and a single tear falls over your cheek. 

“Please, Diego. Let me…let me go,” you need to be released from the intensity of this moment before you do something stupid. For a second you fear that he won’t listen, but his fingers loosen and he lets your hand drop away from his. 

You flee. Rushing to the bathroom and shutting yourself inside. Rather than burst into tears–which is what you’d been expecting–you stagger against the wall and greedily rip at the button of your jeans, diving your hand inside your panties and stroking yourself with abandon until you come with a silent sob.

Yup, trouble. You’re in it.

A/N: There’s going to be more of this!

IDK, @flower-petal-blooming​ @glowingpena​ this is bonkers, sorry.

[shireness-says]

A Sparking Attraction

Summary: Emma just wanted a nice, relaxing weekend. Who knew her car trouble would be the ticket into her hot's neighbor's pants? Rated E for smut. ~3.7K. Also on AO3.

A/N: Inspired by my recent car trouble. Unfortunately, Emma’s the only one with a hot neighbor to come to her rescue. Thanks as always to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing!

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @profdanglaisstuff, @scientificapricot, @thisonesatellite, @thejollyroger-writer, @optomisticgirl, @snowbellewells, @ohmightydevviepuu, @let-it-raines, @winterbaby89

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

“Goddamn, motherfucking, piece of fucking shit —”

This was, to say the least, not the morning Emma had hoped to have. It was a rare weekend off from the station, and as much as Emma usually loved her job as a Storybrooke Sheriff’s Deputy, a couple days off were much needed after a week where it seemed like the entire town had been out to irritate her personally. Leroy and his brothers had gotten into yet another screaming match, Ella Cruller wouldn’t lock up her dogs again, Victor Whale had been drunk and belligerent at the Rabbit Hole on a goddamn Tuesday night the list went on and on. Emma needs some ice cream and a grilled cheese and probably a stiff drink, and above all to hermit at her apartment and not re-emerge until she’s back to work Monday afternoon. 

Unfortunately, to achieve those pathetically small dreams, Emma has to go to the store. And unfortunately, since Emma has things to do, her fucking car won’t start. Probably the battery. Of course. 

She shouldn’t be surprised, really; it’s not like the Bug is some pristine new machine that’s in perfect working order. She loves that stupid thing, but it’s old, and old cars have problems. The only minor miracle is that hers is a new enough model to have the battery properly in the rear compartment instead of under her back seat. Of course, she doesn’t have one of those handy cordless battery jumpers David is always on her to buy; no, that would be too simple. She’d meant to buy one for a while, but they’re fucking expensive and what were the chances she’d need it anyways?

Famous last words, obviously. 

“Fucking traitor,” she mutters again, scowling at the exposed engine where she’s propped the back hatch up and kicking lightly at one of her tires. Ok, not so lightly, but the car deserves it, even if her toes don’t.

She’s just about to start up with another string of profanity in order to avoid trying to actually fix the problem when a voice calls from behind her - directly behind her, in fact. “Car trouble, lass?” Even if the soft accent and tone of voice aren’t alarming, the proximity is, and Emma claps a hand over her chest above where her heart is spasming. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed his approach in her focus on cursing at the little car.

“Fuck almighty, you scared the shit out of me,” she accuses, whirling around to meet the eyes of her neighbor. It’s Killian Jones, of course; if the accent wasn’t a dead giveaway, her current streak of luck would dictate it anyways. Because of course her effortlessly hot neighbor who Emma definitely doesn’t have anything resembling a crush on, no sir, no way, would show up now when she’s ratty-looking and irritable. At least she showered this morning; it’s a scant blessing. 

At least he has the decency to look a little sheepish. Serves him right, after the scare he gave her. “Apologies, love. I heard a commotion, looked out my window to see your hood popped open, and thought I’d come offer my assistance.” He pauses for a bare second before picking up again, not even enough time for Emma to start responding. “Though really, is it still called the hood if it’s at the back of the car?”

Emma just stares for a moment. “Seriously?”

“You’re right, doesn’t matter,” he concedes. “Do you need any help? I can’t say I’m good at car repair, but I’m decent at taking directions.”

“It’s fine,” Emma replies. “Not my first rodeo with changing the battery in this car. Call me an old pro or something. Don’t worry about me.”

Not that it stops him, a concerned little wrinkle set stubbornly in his forehead. “Well, you’re going to need a new one, right?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Can I drive you to the auto parts shop, at least?”

Emma pauses at the offer. Honestly, she’d planned to call David; technically, he’s working, but she thinks with some finagling this could fall under the “public assistance” bit of his job description. Emma is always hesitant to accept help if she doesn’t have to - call it an unfortunate remnant of a shitty childhood - but Killian is here, and he is offering. Even if Emma doesn’t want to accept his help on principle, she knows he won’t judge her for taking it or think she’s weak. She may not know her neighbor that well, but he’s never been anything but polite and chivalrous, if a bit flirtatious at times.

(Maybe one day she’ll take him up on that flirting; for now, at least, she can take him up on that offer of a ride.)

She must have been thinking for longer than she thought, because Killian looks like he’s about to withdraw the offer in embarrassment. He’s a stutterer when he’s nervous, Emma’s noticed; not that she’s had much cause to, but in a town this size, it’s impossible not to catch folks in some kind of embarrassment eventually, and she’s seen him with his brother. 

“You know what? Sure, a ride would be great,” she agrees. The way Killian’s shoulders drop in a small show of relief makes her more confident in her choice, especially when he smiles at her in what she almost might call delight. “Let me get the old battery out first, it goes easier when I can just drop the old one on the counter and ask to swap it. Can you grab my toolbox out of the trunk?”

“Of course, Swan.”

With Killian’s help - ok, more like “supervision” - the car surgery goes quickly. Emma’s only had to do this once before, but muscle memory is a powerful thing, and it’s easy enough to detach the battery once she knows what other pieces need to be carefully extracted and set aside to get at her goal in the limited space of the Volkswagen. It’s easy, too, to get a new battery when the owner of the auto parts store is one of Leroy’s brothers who she’d had to deal with earlier in the week - just one pointed glare on Emma’s part, and the little whiny man had quickly gone to get her replacement without any long lectures about how to reinstall it or how some people just don’t take good care of their vehicles. 

“If I didn’t say it before, thanks for doing this,” Emma says quietly as Killian drives them both back to their apartment complex in his little SUV. He’s a careful driver, she’s discovered, navigating them smoothly around corners and executing gentle stops. It speaks well of him, she thinks, that he’s gentle in even this most mundane of activities. 

“It’s not a problem, love,” he smiles. “I promise. Truthfully, watching you work on the car is all to my benefit.” The statement sits in the air for a moment before he continues. “Oh, now that sounds sketchy, doesn’t it?”

Emma laughs. “I mean, I think I know what you mean, but yeah, probably not the best choice of words.” It’s been interesting, watching him bounce back and forth in the months they’ve been acquainted between a suave flirt and this more bashful version of himself. 

Honestly, it’s pretty cute too. 

“I just mean…” He tries again, pauses. “It was impressive. Watching a woman perform her own car repair. Attractive.” He groans. “God, just let me put my foot even further into my mouth.”

“No, no it’s okay,” Emma assures him. “I… thanks, I guess.” It’s flattering, really - especially since she’s been ogling him from down the hall for months now. 

“You’re welcome.” They sit in silence. “So, shall we talk about literally anything else now? Let’s do that. Please.”

Knowing what he admitted, though, it’s hard not to put on a little bit of a show when Emma re-installs the new battery. Maybe she lets her shirt ride up, and maybe she leans a little more exaggeratedly over the rear compartment as she works. So what? She’s a woman with needs like any other, and any desire to spend the rest of her weekend alone has melted as she spent her morning with Jones. 

When the repairs are finally done, Emma slams the hatch back shut and turns to face Killian, whose eyes skate up and down her figure as she slides her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She knows the posture accentuates her breasts and pushes her hips forward into something that almost might be a sway or a swagger; she’s counting on it, in fact. 

“Thanks again for the help,” she tells him, dropping her voice to a more sultry register. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he replies, before slipping into an attitude to match Emma’s own. “If you feel that way, though… well, who am I to argue. Perhaps a… token of appreciation is in order?” He even taps at his lips, the saucy cheeky bastard.

(She’s so going to fuck that.)

Emma can give as good as she gets, though, both in banter and in other, more private things. “Funnily enough, that’s what the thank you was for.” Even as the words leave her mouth, Emma sways further into Killian’s space, proving them to be just a facade.

“Is that all your precious Bug is worth to you?” Killian is close enough that Emma can feel the warmth of his breath wash across her face. She could just tilt her head up the smallest bit and claim his lips…

So she does. There’s absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t, especially since she’s felt this sizzling something simmering beneath her skin, a scorching heat she’s seen reflected in Killian’s eyes, ever since the moment they first ran into each other in the hallway five months ago. He’s just as good a kisser as she imagined, though the way their lips meet is nearly feral in its intensity. He, too, gives just as good as he gets, each thrust of Emma’s tongue met with a parry of his own, all accentuated by a forceful tug to bring her hips into contact with his own. God, it’s good.

Frankly, Emma would be happy to keep at it right here in the parking lot, let their clothes drop into the backseat of the Bug and figure out the logistics of sex in the world’s most cramped car, but there’s the matter of neighbors and passers-by and public indecency. “Inside,” she manages to gasp just as Killian squeezes her ass. Lord only knows how she manages to keep her train of thought after that. “We gotta go inside. Now.” She even pushes him away and towards the door in emphasis.

“Your place or mine?” Killian trots after her as Emma sets a determined pace, still managing to reach the door in time to hold it open for her. Stupid gentleman, they don’t have time for that. 

Vague memories of dirty laundry on the floor decide for Emma. “Yours,” she tosses back to him. If this is going to be more than a one time thing, she doesn’t want his first impression of her place to be an utter disaster. They live mere doors apart anyways; it’s not like there’s one apartment obviously closer than the other. 

The elevator ride to the third floor seems to take forever, but it’s still better than taking the stairs - even if they have to stay in opposite corners to keep from jumping each other in the little box. It’s funny; normally, the enforced distance would cool the fire raging in her blood and knock Emma to her senses, but it only leaves her imagining all the things she wants to do with Killian, to Killian when they finally make it behind locked doors. She wants him, and there’s no denying it.

At least he has the presence of mind to spend the elevator ride locating his apartment keys; once they reach his door, it’s the work of a moment to slip inside. Killian immediately cages Emma against the wall next to the door, trapping both her hands above her head as he attacks her mouth and neck with his lips.

“Been thinking about this for a long while, Swan,” he murmurs against her neck as he finishes sucking what will be a very impressive hickey into her skin. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

“Oh yeah?” She gasps back. “Me too.” He can take that any way he likes; she means it, regardless.

Abruptly, Killian lets go of her hands only to hoist her into the air. Emma’s legs twine around his hipson instinct, but she’s got other, more important things to worry about - namely, kissing the living daylights out of Killian and the way his toned stomach rubs against her center as he walks them to the bedroom.

She squeals as he tosses her lightly onto the bed, Emma’s body bouncing on impact. Emma scoots up the bed to watch as Killian begins to undress, whipping his t-shirt over his head and starting to reach for his shoes before he notices her staring.

“Are you planning to strip, love?” He asks with an arch of his eyebrow. The hunger is evident in his eyes and in the tenting of his pants, which only makes Emma want to tease him.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to watch.”

“Now, that’s not fair,” Killian whines, halting his own disrobing to crawl over Emma’s body again. “I’ve shown you mine, and here you are, still all wrapped up.”

“I mean, technically, all I’ve seen is your chest. It’s nice, but…” Emma trails her hand down the hair and flesh of his abdomen until she hits denim, twisting her hand to squeeze his erection. “It’s not really what I want to see.”

“You make a good point, love.” His voice catches in his throat in restrained pleasure; Emma kind of loves it. “Now, what do you say that I show you some more of what you’re looking for, and you take care of some of your pesky layers?”

To borrow the kind of words he’d use: she’s amenable to that plan.

He’s got a great dick, really, once she’s down to her bra and underwear and he’s bare in front of her. It’s large without being impractically massive and bobs proudly and eagerly towards his stomach. He obviously knows he’s worth looking at, if his confident stance is any indication. God, Emma can’t wait.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” he purrs, moving back into Emma’s space to reach behind her and unclasp her bra. Thank god her most comfortable bra also happens to be her most flattering, and passably pretty at that. Not that it matters when the garment is already on the floor and Killian’s fingers have ducked beneath the elastic of her underwear to draw them slowly down. 

“Like what you see?” She asks coyly as the cotton hits the ground. She already knows her answer if the way Killian peruses her naked form with wide eyes is any indication.

“Only a fool wouldn’t,” Killian comments, “and darling, I’m no fool. I must say, though, I’m a little less interested in looking than in touching.”

“Then you’d better get over here.”

This time, when Emma falls back on the bed, pulling Killian with her, she intends to stay there. 

Killian grinds his cock against her core, the most glorious sensation after all this banter and buildup. Skin-on-skin feels good, satisfying, though not quite enough to satisfy her craving. There’s only one thing that will do that, she knows, and as much as she wants the slick burn of his body within hers, this friction just feels too good to stop. It’s hard to push away the man who’s rubbing against her clit just right. 

Finally, though, her craving is too strong to deny. “Condom?” She asks, pushing lightly at Killian’s shoulders to capture his attention.

“Aye,” he pants, a little breathless in his arousal. “Side table.” He doesn’t take the direct path, however, doesn’t just roll off her and reach for the drawer; he detours instead to her breasts to graze his teeth along a nipple and make Emma shudder in pleasure.

She allows herself to get distracted by his attentions for a moment; it’s been a long while since a little boob play has felt this good. Maybe it’s his own skill; maybe she’s already so aroused from everything else that it’s heightened the sensations. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter as long as he keeps making her moan. There’s greater pleasure to be found, however, and with that in mind, Emma makes herself pull Killian away from her chest with a tug on his thick, dark hair. Killian pouts at the interruption - god, what an adorable idiot - but she’s insistent. Plus, she’s got something even more pleasurable in mind.

“Seriously, Jones. Condom. Sex. Now.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Killian mutters as he finally shifts off Emma to open the drawer and extract a little foil packet. Before he can move to do anything about it, she plucks the condom out of his hand and pushes at Killian until he lays back on the mattress so she can straddle him. 

“So you want to be on top, hmm?” He asks her breathlessly as Emma rolls the latex down his length. As she pumps him with her hand, making sure everything’s snug, he moans. “I suppose it’s a good thing I like a woman in charge.”

“I suppose it is,” Emma replies, rising up to situate his cock at her entrance, “because you’re about to get one.” And with that, she gradually sinks down on him, feeling the burn as he stretches her inner walls.

For all her talk, this part always takes a moment to adjust to, with little rocking motions and shallow thrusts of Emma’s hips until she settles into that perfect angle of penetration. Beneath her, Killian’s eyes are blown wide and dark with lust, and his hands grip at her hipbones.

“You’ve got to move,” he gasps. “For the love of God, you’ve got to move.”

Emma clenches around him, eliciting another moan, before heeding his plea. There’s no reason a woman in charge can’t be a little bit merciful - for both their sakes. The angle is so damn good, especially when she adds a little twist of her hips on each downward thrust. Maybe it’s just because this unspoken thing has been sitting between them for months, but Emma can already feel her pleasure building.

“Want to help a girl out?” She pants as she increases the pace, chasing for the orgasm she can sense just out of reach. When Killian doesn’t immediately move - by the looks of things, too distracted in watching where her body envelops his own - Emma forcibly grabs his hand from where it had been stroking the flesh of her hip and drags it just above where they meet. He can figure it out from there, if he’s half as clever as he acts. 

Sure enough, when he gets with the program, tendrils of sensation start chasing down Emma’s legs all the way to her toes. “You like that, love?” He asks breathlessly.

“Fuck yeah. Just like that,” she gasps out. “Fuck.”

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Killian prattles on beneath her. Emma truthfully doesn’t pay much attention; the way the curl of his accent sets her blood pounding is more important than anything he has to say. Still, he continues. Maybe he knows she’s not listening, maybe he doesn’t; in the end, does it matter? “Come for me, love, I know you want to.”

And with his thumb on her clit and his cock throbbing within her, she does, flying into a flurry of sensation and bliss.

She’s barely come down from her high before Killian flips their positions, sliding out of her heat for the barest of moments before he thrusts back inside. He’s still hard within her, obviously not having found the same release she has. Emma moans as his cock strokes along her inner walls. “You feel so good around me, so tight, darling,” he croons as he sets a steady pace with the snap of his hips. “Do you think you’ve got another one in you? Do you think you can come for me again?”

Emma doesn’t know for certain, but she’s certainly willing to find out.

It turns out, Killian’s a talker in bed when he’s the one holding the reins - little endearments and dirty talk Emma wonders if he’s even aware of saying. She can tell his orgasm is close when the words stop altogether, replaced by little grunts as he works above her, arms braced by her sides and head bowed over her chest. 

He comes with a deep groan just as the tingle of her own release starts to build again; Emma could almost curse in frustration, even if she did already climax earlier. Killian must sense that frustration as he hurriedly drops his hand back between her legs as soon as he’s finished, rubbing furiously at her clit. He pulls out as his cock begins to soften, only to plunge two fingers within her fluttering core instead to thrust and stroke instead. It’s not the same, but it’s enough, and Emma soars over that peak one more time with a mighty exhale of what might almost be Killian’s name. 

“God, that was good,” Emma gasps as she comes back to herself again. Faintly, she’s aware of Killian taking care of the used condom, though she can’t bring herself to care about the details. “Good job team, or… something.”

Killian chuckles as he shifts back to curl around her. “You know, you might even say I gave you a jolt,” he teases.

“Oh, that was awful,” Emma groans, even as she wiggles deeper into his embrace. “Promise me you’ll never say that again, please.”

“I make no promises,” Killian laughs back. “This wit won’t be contained.”

Emma can work with that. After all, she’s she’s currently making several plans that involve him this weekend - and they'll be sure to make sparks fly for as long as their batteries hold out. 

[steves-on-a-plane]

Deviant Halloween

Part Two Words: 1415 Pairings: Reader x Connor (Rk800) Summary: Connor invites reader to a Halloween party at Hank’s where Lt. Anderson reveals something he didn’t think was actually a secret. Author’s Note: Honestly this started out as what if Connor was Hank for halloween and the rest came out of that. 🤷‍♀️ might do a part two if there’s any interest. 

“Detective [Y/N]?” You looked over from your workstation monitor to see Connor standing by your desk.

“Connor.” You smiled and offered him an acknowledging nod before looking back at your monitor.

“You have not responded to my invitation.” He told you in his usual level tone. As always Connor’s voice was void of emotion or accusation. He was just stating a fact.

“Wait what? What invitation?” You turned away from your work again to give him your full attention.

“One month ago, I sent you an email invitation to a party. The event is soon and you have not responded. I would like to know why.” He explained.

“Party?” You tried to think back. Connor hardly ever sent emails to you that weren’t business related. There was the occasional meme or dog video but other than that... “Wait, do you mean the invitation you sent me for a Halloween Party at Hank’s place?” You reached for your phone and started searching through your emails. Luckily you never clean out your inbox. After a few taps, and filtering by sender, you found the RSVP in question.

“I didn’t respond because I thought it was a joke. Hank’s not exactly the party throwing type.” You reminded him

“It’s not Hank’s party.” Connor said. “It’s mine. Hank was just nice enough to let me use his house, but I can see how that might be confusing.”

“Oh, I’d love to come to your party Connor.” You tapped the box next to ‘going’ before sending the reply. “Sorry it took me so long to respond.”

“It’s alright. I look forward to seeing what your costume will be.” Connor nodded politely before walking off to accomplish some other task.

“Right.” You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “My costume…What the hell do you wear to an android’s Halloween party?”

In the days that followed you thought long and hard about what you wanted to wear to Connor’s party. You’d considered Sarah Connor and other characters from the Terminator franchise but thought that might be too on the nose. You thought about going the easy route, a cop, after all you had a few of your old uniforms lying around somewhere. Still this felt a little lazy. Timing played a large part in choosing your costume too, it wasn’t exactly easy to pick a good costume two weeks before Halloween.

The night of Connor’s party you felt a nervous feeling building in your stomach. Your costume wasn’t as jaw dropping as you had hoped. It was simple. A pair of brown leggings, a brown long sleeve shirt, a furry brown vest. The look was topped off with a blue choker necklace and your hair pulled into pigtails to mimic big floppy ears. Yup, you, a highly trained detective of the DPD and a certified adult, had shown up to your android friend’s Halloween party in a makeshift dog costume.

“What the hell was I thinking?” You mumbled to yourself as you stood on Hank’s stoop. You stared at the doorbell, wondering if you should just turn back and head home. Too late. Hank’s front door opened suddenly, and you weren’t expecting the sight before you.

“[Y/N]!!!” Connor’s face lit up at the sight of you. “I saw your car entering the driveway.” He explained. You didn’t respond right away. You were still soaking in what must have been his costume. Connor was wearing a baggy pair of jeans with a button up shirt only half tucked into it. The shirt fit him poorly and was covered in a loud orange and yellow pattern. He wore a long brown coat over his ensemble.  

“Connor are you…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you dressed as Hank?”

“You noticed!” Connor acknowledged excitedly. “And you came as a dog? I love dogs.”

“Yeah, ah, I know.” You felt yourself blush.

“Connor, whoever that is, let them in and close the door. It’s freezing outside.” You heard Hank’s voice calling over the music. Considering this your invitation, you didn’t wait for Connor to say anything else. You stepped inside and let him close the door behind you.

Once inside, you could see that you weren’t the first to arrive to Connor’s party. You recognized three or four uniformed members of the Detroit Police department in attendance. There were also two androids in attendance who you did not know. Hank came swaggering over to you when he recognized you from across the room. He was wearing a pair of ill-fitting jeans and a faded tshirt that read “This is my Costume.” Hank offered you a weak smirk.

“Oh [Y/N], Connor mentioned that you might be stopping by.” He said.

“Oh, I hope that’s okay.” You replied worriedly.

“Okay?” Hank scoffed. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since…”

“Hank, do you think we have enough ice?” Connor interrupted his friend.

“Ice? What the fuck are you talking about?” Hank eyed the android for what felt like a full minute. “Nevermind, I know what this is about.” He shook his head. Sure Connor, I’ll go in the kitchen and make us some more ice.” Hank slipped away from the conversation mumbling about ice the whole time. You thought it was strange behavior for the two of them, but it was also strange for the two of them to be throwing a party in the first place, so you were able to shrug it off.

“Hank let me dress Sumo in a costume too!” Connor told you excitedly.

“Really? Can I see?” You wanted to know. You’d been to Hank’s place a couple of times just to meet up while working on a case. You didn’t typically stick around for very long and as a result you hadn’t spent much time with Sumo. All you knew was that Connor thought the St. Bernard was a big softy.

Connor waved you over to a quieter corner of the living room where Sumo was laying with his head lazing resting on his two massive paws. The dog was dressed unmistakably as Sherlock Holmes. He had a brown plaid cloak wrapped around him and an appropriately sized deerstalker hat, a tobacco pile chew toy laid forgotten next to him.

“He’s a detective.” Connor said.

“Well how about that buddy, you’re a detective and I’m a dog!” You crouched down and offered Sumo an affectionate scratch between the ears. Sumo briefly lifted his head in appreciation but was otherwise unaffected.

“Hey [Y/N], can you give me a hand with this ice?” You heard Hank calling for you from the kitchen.

“I’d better go see what he wants.” You rolled your eyes as if to say ’You know how Hank is.’ You left Connor to join Hank in the kitchen. The senior detective was leaning against his kitchen counter, watching the party and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle.

“I thought you were having an ice crisis in here.” You huffed.

“How the hell did you become a detective?” Hank complained before taking another swig of his drink. “There is no ice. Connor just wanted to talk to you alone, but I want to talk to you first.”

“Talk to me about what?” You didn’t miss how goofy you must have looked tilting your head to the side with curiosity just like an actual dog would.

“Don’t do that!” Hank grumbled. “I want to talk to you about Connor. Listen, you know normally I don’t like to get involved in people’s lives like this but Connor he’s…well…you know emotions are still really new to him and I just want to make sure that he’s not putting himself in danger.”

“Hank, what are you talking about? We’re at a Halloween party, at your house by the way, how would that put him in danger?” You asked. Hank covered his face with one of his hands.

“You’re seriously going to make me spell it out for you?” He complained, the words barely audible through his fingers. “Connor loves you, or at least he thinks he does.”

“I-wait what? Connor? Me?” You looked across the room where Connor was mingling with some of the uniformed officers. “Why?” You questioned Hank.

“Hell if I know.” He shrugged, reaching for his bottle again. “But you need to decide what you’re going to do about it, because I’m not going to let you lead him on and break that kid’s heart.”

“Hank I could never!” You assured him.

“Well, what are you going to do then?” He wanted to know.

[honkhonkrichard]

21 with reddie

 21. Best Friends Sibling AU

This got way longer than I thought and I’m calling it ‘Get it right the First Time’ after the billy joel song okay ‘njoy! (WC: 1600+)

“He’s adopted. We all are.” Stan said out of the blue, after dinner. 

“What?” Richie asked.

“Eddie. He’s adopted. So is Ben. Bill is too.” He said again, louder this time. 

“I-I mean.. I guessed.” Richie shrugged. “Cause they’re white and you’re-” Richie threw a hand over at Stan. “Not.” 

“Israeli.” 

“I forgot the word.” 

“clearly.”

“I-I didn’t have to know, dude, it’s not a big deal.” Richie stammered.

“You were staring at Eddie the entire meal.” Stan said loosely, eyes never leaving his book. 

Richie shifted. He was staring at Eddie. How could he not? He was… gorgeous. Big grey eyes, freckled, tan skin, wavy blond hair and the cutest little face. He had a look of perpetual surprise and annoyance, like someone just stole his parking space. 

He sat a the table quietly nearly the whole meal, watching the conversation with curiosity and every now and then, his eyes shifted over to Richie. 

Richie couldn’t take his eyes off of the younger boy. He was so… pretty. The light from the dining room was framing his face this side of perfect, and his sweater was too big and it gave him the sweetest little sweaterpaws- 

“I wasn’t staring at Eddie.” 

Stan’s eyes looked up from his book, sharp and intelligent as usual. “Liar.” 

“So what If I was?” Richie said, probably too defensively. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Give you my blessing.” Stan said from behind his book, light green eyes still locked on Richie. 

“I don’t think I get you, Uris.” Richie lied, because he was quite sure he did. Rich hadn’t been subtle with his idiot grin and enthusiasm with trying to talk to Eddie, who didn’t reciprocate in the slightest.

“I think you do, Tozier.” 

“Stanley?” Someone said from the door. 

Richie looked up to see Eddie clamped around the door frame, sweater paws and cute grumpy surprise in full swing. Turns out he was wearing little shorts too. Richie gulped. 

“Yes Eddie?” Stan said innocently, putting his book down.

Eddie shifted uncomfortably and looked Richie over, the frown in his lips grew. Richie felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Can I talk to you for a second? Alone?” 

“Sure.” Stan blinked, and stood up. He looked considerably older than his siblings, Richie decided, trying not to imagine his hands around Eddie’s thighs. “Rich, you’ll give us a minute?” 

“Course.” 

Stan left the room, and Eddie disappeared with him, leaving Richie alone with himself to think about how much Eddie licking his lips after dinner had drove him crazy. 

I gotta stop. Richie thought, rubbing his face. Gonna go half chub thinking about it too much. He decided to mindlessly fiddle with his bracelets. 

Stan strutted back into the room not longer later, sunk back down into his desk chair, handed Richie a small slip of paper and tucked his hands behind his neck, stretching out like a cat. 

“Get out.” 

Richie’s eyes widened. “Eddie doesn’t like me, does he?” 

Stan shrugged ominously. “It’s me that wants you out.” 

“Rude.” 

“You have a crush on my baby brother.” Stan said simply.

“Baby.” Richie grinned.

“Out please.” 

Richie huffed and grabbed his backpack. “I’ll see you tomorrow though yeah?” Stan nodded in response, and Richie left the room, closing the door behind him (He may be a douche but he wasn’t a barbarian.)

Richie silently gazed into the hallway. All the doors were labeled. Ben’s door was closed, Bill’s was half open (Though loud horror movie noises were coming from behind it.) and what Richie assumed was Eddie’s was wide open; the quiet sound of tapping the only sound from it. 

The horror movie paused and Bill swung his door open, eyeing Richie curiously. 

“Sup man?” Richie waved. 

“W-What’re you doing?” Bill asked, voice lower and more angry than it had been at dinner. 

“Uhhhhh I just left Stan cause he kicked me out and then I got lost in thoughts. What’s up with you?” Richie admitted. 

Bill glared him up to down. Richie wasn’t sure why he was angry. They got along fine at dinner, joked about how they had no idea they both worked at the same place (Charlie’s vinyls, Bill had the day shift, Rich took the night shift) and now he was being judged. 

“If you fuck over my brother, I’ll slaughter you.” Bill promised, and then closed the door. 

“What?” Richie mumbled as the horror movie clicked back on. 

Richie made a face and went down the hall, and couldn’t stop himself from peering into Eddie’s room. 

There were lots of knick knacks everywhere, succulents, a big desk and Eddie curled up in his too big sweater, typing away on a laptop. He noticed Richie, clearly looking at him through the corner of his eye (still surprised and annoyed) and took a deep breath, trying to continue typing. 

Richie gave a him a toothy smile. Eddie did not respond. 

“So… Uh… Do you.. like… Did I- Um.” Richie tried. Words weren’t working. 

Eddie sighed and got up from his chair and then-

closed the door. 

Richie snapped some finger guns at the closed door. “Cool.” He said. “Dope I’ll uhhhhh see you later.” 

- 

That night, Richie nodded along to the music blasting through his headphones, and emptied his pockets. Wallet. Phone. Rings he forgot to put on after he washed his hands for dinner. Piece of paper Stan gave him that he never read. Pop can tab. Wait.

Richie picked up the paper and unfolded it. It had a small message written in red pen on it; it looked like it had been scribbled over relentlessly. It also had a snapchat username.

Snap: KasperEddie youre rly hot attractive and it makes me nervous but i wanna keep talking 2 to you - eddie (the small blonde one of stan’s brothers who gets really nervous around you)

Richie didn’t bother fighting the smile off his face. His day was looking up. Even though it was 11:26 at night. 

He nabbed his phone and collapsed on his bed, adding Eddie’s username, and taking a quick photo of him lying in bed and sent it to the cutie patootie. 

Tozier Boy🤙 (Trashrecords): Heyyyyyyyyy got ur message closing the door on me was rly sex c of u <3

The response was almost immediate. It was a photo of Eddie’s computer. Looks like he was writing an essay.

Eeeeeeee: Sorry you make me nervous I didn’t know what else to do

Richie grinned wildly and stuck his tongue out at the camera, still lying in bed

Tozier Boy🤙: ill let it slide cause youre cute as hell xox

Then he texted Stan.

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:29): you BASTART whyd u kick me out if eddie liked me

And got a snap from Eddie: A photo of his keyboard:

Eeeeeeee: oh!!! 

“Holy fuck.” Richie whispered. “You are fucking adorable.” 

and he sent Eddie a photo of his ceiling saying just that.

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:35): Because Eddie told me to. Said you made him nervous. He also told Bill he liked you and if you started speaking to Eddie Bill would put 30 rounds in your chest.

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:35): hot damn 

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:36) Also; Ben wants you to come back over and give him “Romance Advice” because you seem “With it” 

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:37): u never told me ben was a grandpa

The next image was of Eddie’s face, which was cute enough, except he had drawn blush onto himself. Eeeeeeee: thank you

Immediately following it was a black screen: omg im covered in acne and im sweaty im so sorry

Richie took a photo of him making a desperate face. 

Tozier Boy🤙: can we go out i need to get you comfortable with me holding your cute little face as soon as fucking possible also can u go call Ben a grandpa its very important

A photo of a confused bed tucked into a beanbag chair: Eeeeeeee: he said stan JSUT called him that fjkdhflkjdhfjdkhjkd

Richie smiled against his pillow, trying to breath slowly to calm himself down. Holy fuck this fucking kid. 

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:45) We’ve made Ben very sad. 

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:45) NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:46) He told me Eddie called him a grandpa too and made the “:(” face and then told me you just “Walk with.. uhm.. swagger and stuff. [You] just seem to know what he’s doing..” Little does he know-

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:46) who’s gonna tell him im dumbass

Then Richie went back to Eddie, trying to pull himself together, took a photo of his dog. 

Tozier Boy🤙: so…. did u…… wanna …..hmmmmmmm… go out sometime.?

The next photo was of Eddie’s wide eyes, it was blurry, like he was moving as he took it. 

Eeeeeeee: !!!!!! CAN U BRING UR DOG

“God damn.” 

Tozier Boy🤙: which one I got 2 an old man corgi (Amante/Ames) and this baby (Bellissima/Belle) 

Eeeeeeee: BOTH!!!! I WOULD DIE FOR THEM

Then Eddie sent another black screen. 

Eeeeeeee: Fr though I would like a date. Do you like ice cream?

Tozier Boy🤙: im lack toes and taller ants i love ice cream how about this saturday at noon?

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:53): Eddie’s cackling madly what the fuck did you do

You to Stealink my NOTs (11:53) lack toes and taller ants dude

Stealink my NOTs to You (11:54): Cool. Stop it.

Eeeeeeee: sure!!

Richie dropped his phone to the side and danced against his bed. Waving his hands to The Safety Dance. Dates, dogs and cute boys. Okay. 

He spent the rest of the night talking with Eddie, grinning widely the whole time. 

[scaryscarecrows]

Who Protects the Protector?

Cherry can smell a rookie a mile away. Their sense of self-importance, of, ‘I’ll be the one to bring law and order to Gotham!’ is practically a cheap cologne.

This one is no exception. And he’s not local, she can tell. It’s the swagger. Newbies put it on to try and seem bigger, not worth the trouble of an attempted mugging. (They’re always worth the trouble of an attempted mugging. Every damn time.)

She and Mia are standing on the corner, debating on whether or not to go for Korean or Greek. Korean’s closer, but they had that last time. And then their quiet conversation is interrupted by this asshole with his aviators sticking out of his pocket and his hat painstakingly adjusted to look cocky-but-not-too-cocky. No playful flirting, then. He’ll take it seriously and haul them to the station, like a dick.

“Officer.”

“Ladies.” He glances at her boobs. They’re nice boobs. It took her twenty minutes to get them into position earlier. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives him that special judgmental look she reserves for dummies, just so he doesn’t go thinking he can manhandle the merch without paying. “Watcha want, hon.”

He looks a little taken aback, but he recovers fast enough and says, all gung-ho, “The Red Hood.”

One, either his superiors hate him or he’s just that stupid. Two, fuck this guy. Red got himself stabbed last week chasing after a serial killer that’s been running wild for a month. He got the guy, but still.

“Why?” She twists over and he steps back juuuust fast enough to look nervous. He should be. The girls working the other side of town carry tasers. Painful, but not as painful as the switchblades they carry down here. You won’t lose treasured pieces of anatomy to a taser. “Are you going to send reliable officers to patrol down here after you arrest him?”

“I—”

They never do. They don’t come for hostage situations, homicides, none of it. Batman does, sometimes, but half the time he’s busy with the Freak of the Week. He’s not around, not really. Red’s always here, if you look hard enough, if you really need him.

If you scream loud enough, he’ll come.

“You’re just pissy that someone had to take over your damn job,” she snaps. “And that you and your buddies ain’t gettin’ to skim a little off the top anymore.”

“Look, lady, he’s wanted in connection to several murders—”

“So was the guy in two-fourteen Palm Plaza.” She points at the apartment building in question. “People called and called and called about that one, sugar-lamb, and nobody came. Tell him, Mia.”

“Yeah, officer.” Mia bats her lashes at him, but she may as well be trying to kill the guy with her eyes. “He was gonna cut me up in his bathtub, ‘til he got yanked out the window.”

“That’s not—”

“I would have been number four.”

“I’m only asking nicely one more time—”

“Number. Four.” There’s an awkward silence. “Not that you care.”

“I--”

“Go fuck yourself,” Cherry says, grabbing Mia’s elbow in one hand and preparing to draw her switchblade with the other. “We don’t know shit, ‘cept for that the boys in blue don’t give a rat’s ass about coming down here. And if you harass me again, I’ll be making a report.”

“This isn’t harassment, lady, but it’s about to be—”

That’s it. That is it.

She drops Mia’s elbow, turns around, and invades the guy’s space boobs-first. He steps back and ends up with his back against the crosswalk button.

“Red’s done more for us in eight months than you jackasses have managed in decades,” she snarls. “And now that you can stick a toe out of your car without being chopped up and sent back to the station in a box, you want to haul him in and take all the credit. Lemme tell you something, kid, I’ve had to pay for the privilege of keeping my teeth with my body until very recently. Filing a report won’t get me anything, and we both know it. So get back in your car, drive away, and don’t come back.”

He stutters and reddens and for a minute, she thinks he might hit her. But he doesn’t, just squeezes out from between her and the button, and walks away. She turns back to Mia once she’s sure he’s gone and says, “Greek?”

* * *

Abdoul prides himself on his poker face. He’s lived here his whole life, and it’s a valuable life skill.

He’s faced down mobsters before. He knows the type. They come rolling into his coffee shop like they own the place, terrorizing the other customers and making a mess. But these ones are looking for the man currently bleeding out on the floor behind the counter.

Abdoul’s not even sure Red’s conscious. He’d staggered in under his own power, blood leaking through his fingers, and they’d run to help him back here. And then he’d gone down with a low groan and hadn’t moved again, even when Lina pressed a handful of kitchen towels against the wound near his hip. Not two minutes later, these monkeys had stormed the place, screamed for everybody to stay where they were, and started demanding information.

“I’m tellin’ ya, old man, he came in here.”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

The police aren’t coming. The panic button under the counter has been here for years, and it hasn’t worked yet. The shotgun under the counter, on the other hand, works just fine. And if these idiots don’t turn around and walk away, he’s going to pull it out.

“Listen, old-timer—”

It takes everything he’s got not to look down when Lina tugs at a towel that’s caught under his shoe. He does shift his weight though, just a bit. Enough for her to pull it free.

“Get out of my establishment.” He narrows his eyes at the gun pointed at him. “You are mistaken. If you lost an injured man, that’s on you for being too slow and too stupid to keep up. Try the roof, he might have gone up there.”

“There’s no blood, boss,” one of them, nearer to the door, whispers. Damn straight. One of his regulars, Dexter Murphy, a nurse practitioner, had accidentally knocked over the mop bucket Lina had been using when the men had started shouting. Any blood on the tile has long been hit with the small flood of soapy water.

The leader moves his head side to side, like a hunting dog, and finally sighs.

“If I find out you were lyin’ to me, I’ll be back.”

“Maybe you’ll buy something next time.”

The man snarls but stalks out, barking orders to the others. Once they’re gone, Abdoul sighs and crouches down to see what he can do. Red, as it turns out, is conscious; his head lolls towards them and he says, voice weak despite the modulator his helmet must have, “C’n I get whatever th’ pastry of th’ day is?”

“Red,” Abdoul says gently, “you come back in here when you’re not bleeding, and you can have whatever you want.”

“Lemme see.” Dexter’s suddenly there, too, batting Lina’s hands away. “Okay, Red…yeah, that’s not really that bad, man, just stay still for me, okay? Okay…”

* * *

Whoever this new guy is, he’s good.

And by good, Alex means they’re fucked. Okay, so she maybe should have waited for backup before climbing in the window. There was a little boy up there, man, she had to try and get him. So that’s on her. But it takes skill to catch a Bat, and smarts to keep one from breaking out and ruining your life.

But this guy, whoever he is, has done it. Her hands are cuffed (her own cuffs!), the little boy is literally like seven, and the Red Hood is…

He’s…

They’ve been calling this guy the Butterfly Collector. And right now, he’s living up to his name; Hood’s been attached the floor courtesy of what looks like a giant railroad spike through his torso. Probably custom, like the others have been. He’s still alive, still conscious, even, but every too-deep breath makes him whimper and he’s clearly trying desperately not to move so much as an inch.

“Hey.” The helmet turns carefully towards her. “You. Okay?”

She said it when she came here and she says it now; vigilantes are a special sort of stupid. She makes her way to him anyway, wishes the bastard would have at least cuffed her hands in front of her, and says, “Yeah. Backup’ll be here soon.”

“Mm. F’you s-s-s-seeeeeee.” He gulps hard like he’s swallowing something. Blood, maybe. “A chance ta get Tommy outta here. Go.”

“You got it.”

“C’mere, kiddo.” The kid-Tommy-moves closer. He looks terrified and blotchy and puffy, like he’s been crying. She can’t blame him. He gets as close to Hood as he probably dares, though, and tilts his head. “This’s. Officer Clemmens.”

“Alex,” she supplies. The little boy glances at her but doesn’t say anything.

“She’s gonna get you outta here, ‘kay?” Maybe. Hopefully. “T-Tommy’s. Mute. S-s-so—”

“Okay, Hood. Maybe shut up now, okay?”

“Mm…”

The door opens and she’s on her feet, shepherding Tommy as far away from the Butterfly Collector as possible. The man doesn’t even look at them. He’s looking at Hood, who’s still trying to regulate his breathing and to stay still.

“How long does it take you to die?” He stalks forward and drops down, hands pressing Hood’s shoulders down until he yelps. “You’ve been—”

It may not be fighting fair, but neither is cuffing a girl’s hands behind her back, and Mama didn’t raise no weak bitch. Alex takes her shot and brings her foot up between the bastard’s legs, straight into his balls. The noise he makes would be funny…okay, yeah, it’s kinda funny. Petty vengeance and all.

It’s not funny when he gets up, still sort of hunched over. She kicks him again, this time in the stomach, and he staggers a few feet away.

“Get the hell out of here, asshole.”

He pulls a gun-her gun, that dick-and this is it, this is how she dies-

-where’d he go.

Seriously, where’d he go.

Tommy pulls on her pants and when she turns around, she recognizes the sign he makes. Every cop knows that sign, just like every cop knows pretty much every translation of the word it’s for.

Batman.

About time.

She shrieks when he’s suddenly behind her, unlocking the cuffs before teleporting to Hood’s side. There’s sirens a few blocks away.

Wait. They don’t get along, do they.

“I’ll kick you, too, if you try anything,” she warns. The Bat doesn’t even pretend to care. Hood makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Th-thought you’d. ‘Rest me.”

Just for that, she’s tempted.

“Shut up and don’t die, Hood.”

He doesn’t answer. She ushers Tommy away so he can’t see what Batman’s doing to him. And by the time backup arrives, they’re both gone. How? Who knows. But she worries, a little teeny tiny bit, that Hood’s dead. He doesn’t appear after that for a good month and a half.

Maybe it’s bad, but when a serial rapist turns up tied to a stoplight, intestines looped around the pole, she feels a little relief. Not a lot, because damn that’s brutal and really, really illegal, but a bit.

It’s Gotham, after all.

THE END

[btgalaxy]

Twisted

➳ pairing: yoongi x reader

➳ genre: mafia!au, angst, eventual smut, maybe fluff

➳ word count: 2.5k

Masterlist / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Chapter 2

        The room becomes deathly cold as time rolls onwards. The radiator emanates a meagre warmth that barely reaches the foot of the bed, so you busy yourself curling into the covers. They’ve left you nothing in here to distract yourself with. So all you can do is give into your mind burning with curiosity and putting together some of the pieces behind your relationship with Jimin- who you’ve now come to learn must’ve been extremely reticent about his… personal affairs.

You think back to all the dates he’d left. One in particular lingering on your mind.

“You have some cupcake on your nose,” Jimin interposes between your lengthy rant about how miserable work was.

You groan immediately rubbing at it, “I knew I could feel something.”

He laughs, deep and throatily, leaning over the sofa to place his lips over the tip of your nose and you scrunch up your face in response, the both of you chuckling to yourselves.

“You’re gross,” you remark, grinning with a mischievous glint, pushing at his shoulders to move him back, but he only takes this as a chance to whip your waist round onto his lap till your straddling him. In this position, he decides to lean in slowly, before licking an obnoxiously generous swipe of his tongue up the side of your face like a dog greeting its owner.

“Jimin!” You scream, laughing as you try to scramble from his grip while frantically wiping at the spit now dampening your skin.

“I’m stronger than you,” he points out among his amusement, holding you firmly in place despite your agitated thrashing of limbs.

“Yeah, well,” you groan out, simultaneously pushing at his arms locked tightly on your waist with a determined expression, “we’ll see about- that.” With a final push, his arms give way, only causing you to plummet forwards into his shoulder as another deep laugh reverberates through his chest. You cry out again as you feel his lips tickle your neck, while begging him to stop throughout hysterical laughter.

“Sorry? Did you say carry on?”

“No-,” but your pleas are interrupted as he goes back to nipping at your neck and squeezing your waist, bringing you back into an uncontrollable frenzy with your eyes brimming with tears at the fits of howling.

He suddenly turns you around, hurriedly yet controlled, and presses you down into the plush cushions of the couch, hovering above you with a playful smirk settled on his lips.

“You’re an arsehole. I thought we were having a movie date, not a,” you try to squirm free from him, “gross-Y/N-out date.”

“Oh, really? My bad. Must’ve got them mixed up,” he quips, leaning down to finally press a kiss to your lips gently and lovingly, rather than all sloppy over your neck and face. Your lips move harmoniously to the soundtrack of the film you are (not) watching, concealing the wet sounds of bringing your lips apart slowly, only to lean back in again as your tongues dance lazily.

One of Jimin’s hands holds him up so not to crush you beneath him, but the other is let loose on your anatomy as it wanders to places it perhaps shouldn’t. You moan into his mouth as he teasingly brushes up your top, allowing his fingers to trace over the revealed skin and leisurely walk up over your stomach towards your chest, but before he’s able to move any closer to your territory, his phone- his damn phone- starts ringing exasperatingly loud and brings Jimin immediately away from you.

“Ignore it,” you whine, bringing a hand around the back of his neck to pull his lips against yours, but he pays no heed to your appeal and is instead already off of the sofa and headed to the cabinet in the hall where you both ditched your phones in order to pay better attention to one another. So much for that idea.

You sit up with a sigh, raking a hand through your locks and reaching for the remote. Just as you curl up your knees to your chest, however, the sound of Jimin’s snarls increase your awareness of his sudden change in tone, and you turn down the volume on the TV to hear a little better.

“No, I fucking cannot come and help you with the dirty work I pay you to do. I’m with Y/N,” he pauses, and you quickly turn the volume up a bit so not to attract his attention, before he continues just loud enough for you to hear, “you aren’t supposed to call this number. This is my personal phone. I don’t fucking care if you-“ The sound of a door closing cuts off any chance of you eavesdropping on anymore of his call. You wet your lips, mulling over what you’ve just heard unsure what to think, dropping the remote on the cushions and encasing your knees in your arms.

“Sorry about that, gorgeous,” Jimin swaggers back in, a little more nervous than before, but nevertheless exuding his usual confidence and plonks himself back on the seat next to you. “Now where were we?”

The sound of a distant clanging brings you back to the present- a noise you could swear is accompanied by a human scream but it’s too quiet to distinguish clearly. It could easily otherwise be the churning of some kind of machine, or the scraping of something or other. It’s just too ambiguous to discern. But whatever the case it still makes you feel completely nauseous.

You aren’t sure how much time has passed when a lady comes in with a tray of food. It comes as quite a surprise to you that a little old lady is bringing you a home-cooked meal when you’re a prisoner in a mafia institution led by some cold-hearted, sadistic boss that watches over everyone and everything. She’s frail, and seemingly harmless, so you don’t dare try and ask her for help, or even say anything at all, as she places the meal on the chest of drawers ahead of the foot of your bed.

You notice a small book on the edge of the tray. Alice in Wonderland. And your attention is immediately captured, a grateful smile echoed on your lips as the woman nods her head to you, understanding your appreciation.

You stumble over rapidly to the dresser, disregarding the food and instead picking up the book, running your fingers over the worn hardcover that looks beautifully old. You want to ask the lady if its her own copy, or if there’s somewhere here where you could find even more books, but nevertheless you’re more than thankful to have this to preoccupy your thoughts so you’re no longer forced to mull over memories of Jimin. You settle yourself back into the bed with the meal at your side, only picking at bits as you’re too busy reading to really indulge in the food. You’re surprised by how relatable yours and Alice’s situations are; some particular lines standing out to you, to which you fold a corner of the page that they’re written, before continuing to give rein to the intricate plot, driven by its bizarre characters and wondrous concepts.

By evening- at least, you think it’s evening, the idea of time is somewhat redundant without any clocks or windows to see if it’s daylight-, the old woman returns. You’ve left the copy of the book on the edge of the tray with your still rather full plate, while you sit at the edge of your bed with high hopes of a second novel to devour, hopefully something a little more mature this time, but you’ll accept anything.

The lady instantly spots the little book, the dog-ears of all the pages you folded capturing her focus as her eyes soften, glancing over at you sat obediently like an eager puppy. You almost squeal when she pulls out a new book from the front pocket of her apron, sliding Alice in Wonderland back in its place. This act signals that what she’s doing must not be fully acknowledged by Yoongi or Taehyung or whoever’s in charge of her- but you’re grateful she’s doing so. Being stuck in this room with absolutely no intellectual stimulation whatsoever could bring you to the edge of sanity in no time, and by the looks of things it doesn’t seem as though you’ll be getting out of this God-forsaken room any time soon- so to say you’re indebted is an understatement. You’d probably lay down your damn life for this woman at this point.

As soon as she’s gone, you jump up, biting down on your lower lip as you read the new title. The Wind in the Willows. She must really enjoy fairy tales. With a grin you clamber onto the bed, laying on your belly and swinging your feet up while opening up the first page. 'The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home…'

Over the next several days, you are surprised you don’t fall into a depression from the lack of sunlight and human contact you experience. The only thing keeping you from doing so, however, is the absence of reality as you bury yourself into the characters of fairy-tales, and magic lands, and far off islands. You must say, Peter Pan was your favourite read over the hours you spent agonising over each line and how beautifully it was moulded to its infant audience.

The woman proceeds not to say a single word to you, merely leaving your meal on the dresser, taking back the book you’ve read and bringing out a new one in its place. It becomes an unspoken rule that you shan’t mention anything of these books as she leaves a new one at every meal. Eight or so books in, however, they stop. And you’re beyond disheartened when she takes the book and doesn’t leave a new one. Just as you go to speak- to finally say something to her- Taehyung saunters in, hands in his pockets and leans against the doorframe for the lady to slip past.

“How are you, duckie?” He inquires, smirking, watching the old woman with a scrutinizing gaze. You almost think you’ve forgotten how to speak, considering how little talking you’ve done these past few days.

“Could be better,” you retort, in a pitiful attempt to draw his attention away from the innocent lady.

“I can imagine,” he hums, with a light chuckle, “come on then. Boss wants to see ya.”

“Is he finally going to let me out of this hell hole?”

“Perhaps,” Taehyung shrugs dismissively, gesturing out of the door to the corridor- a far different approach to getting you about this place than he used initially.

It feels strange already, away from the room you have become quite familiar with over these past few days from every tear in the wallpaper to each mark on the bathroom floor. The place is also as busy as it was when you first got here; it’s bizarre that they were all here, training and living and doing whatever the hell else they do while you were imprisoned in that room.

When you reach Yoongi’s office, the door is already opened, clearly awaiting yours and Taehyung’s arrival. He ushers you in, shutting it closed behind you and Yoongi looks up from a document in his lap, waving towards the chair ahead of his desk before even looking at you. You glance at Taehyung warily, then back at the seat to make your way over and rest against the cushioned surface.

“You’ve been the topic of much debate here, Miss Y/L/N,” Yoongi sighs, closing the file and placing it on the desk.

“I have?”

He nods, “indeed. Your worth is… debatable.”

“My worth?”

“To this institution,” he stands up and ambles round to perch on the edge of the counter, “I’m still not sure of the right choice to make, but one had to be made. We couldn’t keep you in that room forever. So I’ve decided to keep you on.”

“You make it sound like I have a choice in the matter,” you snap.

He glowers at you suddenly, “well I have a choice in the matter, and if you aren’t careful I could change it to having you tortured for information till you’re dead.”

“I’m sure Jimin would love to find that out,” your retort causes Yoongi’s demeanour to falter just for a second, before recomposing as he returns to his seat in front of his laptop.

“You’re exactly right. No matter what reason he broke things off with you for, I can imagine he still holds feelings for you. Which is reason enough for him to agree to my terms. Until then, I want you training with Jin, I’m going to trust that you won’t give him any hassle in the meantime. Or anyone else for that matter. You’re on strict probation.”

“You’re actually letting me out of that room? To train?”

“If things don’t work out with Jimin there’s no way I can let you back to your former life with the knowledge you have. You can either train and work for me or die.”

“I think I’d rather die.”

“If you say so.”

“I hope Jimin kills you when you kill me,” you lean forwards, practically glaring your teeth at the man smirking amusedly across from you. He mimics your movements, leaning in to you too.

“I’m not scared of your whiney little ex,” he speaks slowly, threateningly.

“He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

“I don’t know,” he falls back into his chair, “why don’t you come to my room later and I’ll show you how much of a man I really am.”

“I think my hand could do a better job than you.”

“Want to put that to the test?” Yoongi’s eager glint snaps you from the back and forth… flirtations? You scold yourself mercilessly. Get a grip.

“Boss, someone’s tryna get through to you.” Taehyung makes an impeccably timed re-entrance and captures Yoongi’s focus for long enough that you get up out of the chair to get out of the clogged up, heated atmosphere of the office, but he deciphers your escape plan immediately.

“Alright. I want you to take Y/N for a tour, she’ll be training with Jin as of tomorrow.”

Taehyung nods, escorting you out as Yoongi picks up the phone to instantly start barking down it as the door closes and ceases all noise from inside. You look at Taehyung, smirking down at you knowingly.

“Shall we?”

Masterlist / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[raphpanda21]

She had the body of a Venus

Lord, imagine my surprise

Last time

Persephone: Please no! I will fix this I just need time!

Hestia threw the bag and the receipt back in the trash.

Hestia: You should have thought about the consequences of your actions beforehand. My decision is final. I will come by tomorrow morning and I best find you are packed up and arrangements have been made. I hope someday you reflect on this and realize the opportunity you have thrown away.

With that Hestia left leaving Persephone to crumble like a wall struck by a wrecking ball. Falling to her knees beside her bed Persephone broke down into body shaking sobs as she laid her head on the bed. Quickly her tears soaked the once clean folded laundry.

Several hours later found Persephone asleep still sitting at her bedside her head laying on her folded arms cheeks stained with her tears. Slowly the distant sound of knocking began to rouse her from her slumber. Sitting up she rubbed at the crusty feeling of her eyes before moving towards the front door cautiously. It was far to late for normal visitors after all.

Going to the peephole she peered out gasping in surprise at the person on her doorstep. Quickly unlocking the door she pulled it open tears burning in her eyes.

Persephone: H-Hera? What are you doing here?

Hera tilts her head to the side evaluating the wreck before her for a moment.

Hera: I have come to see you of course. My poor dear they have run you through the wringers haven’t you.

Gently Hera reached out stroking the side of Persephone’s face not saying a thing when a few of her tears run over her finely manicured nails.

Hera: Now , now no tears you look as if you have cried an oceans worth already. Let us go inside.

Persephone blushed at her break from hospitality and quickly moved aside to allow Hera entrance into the home.

Hera stepped in pushing the door closed behind her before briefly glancing around the quiet home.

Hera: Well then, by my estimation we have only a few hours until the plague of reporters make themselves known so let’s get to work! We have a lot of packing to do!

Persephone: P-plague? Packing? Where am I going ?

Hera grabbed Persephone’s hands in her own giving them a squeeze.

Hera: You can’t stay here and I am sure you don’t wish to return to Demeter’s skirt tails so I had a place in mind that should protect you from the paparazzi.

Persephone : I appreciate that but I would hate to bother you... surly I can just get a place on my own somewhere.

Hera shakes her head her face taking on a stern expression.

Hera: No, you don’t know the hell that is the press. You are in their eyes a young perky heiress with more drama than the Iliad. They will hound you like the harpies they are!

Persephone’s eyes widened. Was it really that bad? Things hadn’t gotten that out of the control the last time but maybe she had been lucky. Hera seemed seriously concerned and certain so perhaps she should just take her lead to be safe. Besides she didn’t know how quickly she could find a place on her own.

Persephone: Alright... I guess I will follow your lead.

Hera: Excellent, now then let’s get to work the sun will be up before we know it!

Persephone turns and leads Hera down the hallway to her room. She was a tad nervous to have Hera in her room. She had always looked up to Hera ever since she was small and she was worried her room would come off as bland and plebeian to a woman as refined as Hera. Turning to face Hera her stomach drops at the ashen look on Hera’s face.

Persephone: H-Hera? Are you okay?

Hera had followed behind Persephone and as she stepped into the room she had only managed to process the starkness of the space when like a punch to the gut the pain, fear , and sadness hits her. It was so familiar why? She racks her brain trying to remember why the chords or misery resonated with her and she recalled they were the cries of destress she had felt less than a week ago. Hearing her name called her attention turned back to the present as unbidden a few tears fall from her eyes.

Hera: Persephone, who hurt you here ? I felt it before but being here now I know it was your distress I felt.

Persephone’s heart dropped into her stomach at Hera’s question. How did she know?! Her heart jumped back into her chest beating so rapidly she was worried the sound of it would be heard.

Persephone: W-what are you talking about?

Hera frowned at Persephone seeing the mixture of panic and fear that passed over Persephone’s features.

Hera: Stop! You know what I am asking there is no point beating about the bush. Just please tell me it wasn’t Hades that has hurt you. I trusted he would be a gentleman and not like his brothers. I couldn’t bear it if I threw you into the jaws of a wolf.

Persephone sighed in defeat sitting on her bed starting to sniffle as she fought back her tears.

Persephone: He isn’t the wolf. No one lets a wolf inside their home after all. More dangerous than a Wolf is the dog you know and think you can trust. That betrayal hurts more than any wolves bite. Men were supposed to be forbidden in this house but that rule didn’t apply to the biggest threat. It was always broken for her brother.

Hera listens to Persephone her eyes slowly widening as she puts the pieces together.

Hera: Apollo...

Persephone nods her head looking at Hera ashamed

Persephone: I ... I didn’t want to. Not really. I thought at first it was okay but then it wasn’t. It was awful. It hurt. H-he took pictures. P-pictures he has already shown at least one other person. He insists I am his girl and he is always showing up at my school and here trying to convince me to do it again. He says I wil get better with practice.

Hera moves to sit beside Persephone pulling her into her embrace

Hera: Shhhh, that is enough. You don’t have to say anymore. Let us just get you taken care of and I can see to Apollo.

Persephone shakes her head no leaning back from Hera’s embrace

Persephone: Please don’t. I need to handle it myself. I got into this mess after all. I promise if I need help I will ask for it.

Hera frowns but seeing the look of determination on Persephone’s face she lets out a sigh of defeat.

Hera: Fine but if he tries anything funny again you better let me know.

Persephone smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

Hera: That’s my girl. Now then let’s get to work and start packing

Hera stands from the bed and turns to take and evaluation of everything only to let out a shreds of surprise

Hera: What in Tartarus is that!?

At Hera’s shriek Persephone turned around following Hera’s gaze to her window confused at first at the sight that greeted her. Slowly though her mind made sense of it all.

Persephone: Hermes?

The fellow in question smiled widely hearing his name and waved disrupting the assorted twigs and leaves that had become snagged in his hair giving him a demented wood nymph appearance.

Moving to her window she slid it open Hermes quickly climbing in and smiling sheepishly at Hera.

Hermes: Sorry for the scare ma’am there are a bunch of weirdos starting to queue up out front so I had to enter stealth mode to get this close.

Hera: Shit, I thought we had more time but I underestimated them. Quick pull the curtains.

Hermes moved in a flash pulling the curtains across the window.

Hermes: Done now what?!

As soon as he said the the sound of the doorbell could be heard making Persephone pale noticeably.

Hera sighed rubbing her temples as the ringing continued.

Hera: Now, we need a distraction.

Eyeing Hermes up and down slowly she stroked her chin contemplating.

Hera: I have worked with worse. Persephone where are your clothes from the human realm. We need to give hermes a makeover.

Hermes: wait , makeover?

Hera : Yes Makeover you want to help her right? We are going to dress you in drag and send you fleeing out of the house like you are her. Persephone while I get him ready go ahead and call a charioteer so that they will be ready.

The ringing continues driving all parties present nearly mad as they move quickly to execute the plan.

Twenty minutes later and everything was as good as it could be.

Persephone: The charioteer is almost here . I asked him to wait at the corner like you suggested.

Hera: Good, now it is all up to Hermes here and his acting skills.

Fussing some more with the Grecian draping she sighs in frustration.

Hera: It will have to do. Hermes remember to keep that veil up covering all but yours eyes until the charioteer loses those blood sucker. That and not tripping are your only jobs. After you shake them pick up a moving truck and make your way back here to help us handle the rest. While you are gone we will pack up everything and load it up when you return. Understand ?

Hermes: Understood. Umm is there a way out of this house that isn’t the front door or the window.

Persephone looked concerned but nodded

Persephone: Artemis has a sliding glass door that leads to the side year in her room. It actually will get you much closer to the street corner that the charioteer is waiting on.

Hermes: Perfect. Now ladies tell me how do I look?

Hermes struts back and forth doing his best to imitate a feminine swagger as Hera and Persephone look on mildly disturbed.

Hera: The hip swaying is not necessary and honestly it’s a tad disturbing. Persephone thoughts?

Persephone bites her lip with indecisiveness before just going with her gut stepping forward and giving him a tight hug

Persephone: Just be careful okay? I couldn’t bare it is anything happened to you.

Hermes was thankful for the thick veils at the moment which hid his blush from sight. Hugging her back he rests his check on her head giving her a muzzle.

Hermes: Of course I am always careful! I’ll be back before you know it!

Pulling away he gives Hera a mock salute

Hermes: Mission Petal Drop is a go!

Following him out of the room and into Artemis both women linger out of sight in the shadows watching as with ninja stealth Hermes slid open the door stepping out into the twilight before dawn. Not turning back they hear him whisper one last thing before he slides the door closed behind him.

Hermes: Make sure you lock this as soon as you see them following me.

Hermes now outside took a deep steadying breathe before walking away from the house and into the side yard quickly coming into sight of the front of the house. Like an angry swarm of bees he heard the moment they noticed him the noise of them shifting and drawing closer. He couldn’t get caught or it would all be for naught quickening his pace he was relieved he could see the corner and waiting vehicle ahead.

Unlike himself it seemed the paparazzi had no limitations on their speed and he felt a cold sweat of nervousness begin to creep down his back as the sound of camera flashes grows louder and he can clearly make out the reporters cries a cacophony of Persephone, is it true? Are you keeping the baby? Who is the father?! Can we get an exclusive? It made Hermes sick and he wanted nothing more than to turn around rip off the garb and hang the lot of them with it. Suddenly though he heard the sound of rapid foot falls coming up on him fast. Was one of the bastards trying to run him down? Fat chance of that! Keeping his ears trained on the sound his muscles coil at the ready. Hearing the sound of the labored breathing right behind him he quickly side stepped throwing out a leg catching his predator off guard. Not anticipating this move the paparazzi took a tumble the sound of crunching glass and a groan of pain pleasing to Hermes as he takes off at a jog now not willing to take the risk of another paparazzi getting that close. Making it to the charioteer he quickly climbs in. Eyes widening at the hoard of reporters heading their way and gaining ground fast.

Hermes: We should leave now!

Stephanos: You ain’t lying.

Pulling away from the stop sign Hermes turns his face away from the window tucking it against the seat as they pass the mass of press. His vision momentarily blinded by the barrage of flashes but it ends a quickly as it started the driver picking up speed as he turns to enter the highway.

Hermes: okay this is going to sound weird man but don’t completely loose them. They need to see where we are headed.

Stephanos: Are you serious? You want those harpies to follow us?

Hermes: I have my reasons trust me. Just let a few of the news vans get in sight and make sure that is as close as they get.

Stephanos: Sure thing ma’am

The cabbie merged into the slow lane watching his rear view mirror for signs of their pursuers. It didn’t take long and he soon had to pick up speed. Whoever this fare was they were important enough for for news crews in pursuit to break must assuredly several traffic laws from his observation. He could feel swearing starting to bead up on his neck.

Hermes noticed the drivers growing tension and felt bad. The poor guy was just trying to make an honest living and was now involved in some made car chase.

Hermes: Hey, it’s going to be okay no need to start sweating pal. We are almost at the divide now. You just pull up and park it and I will handle the rest.

The cabbie looked back at his passenger nodding his head as he merged to take the exit for the drop off lane. Slowing down gradually he keeps glancing up to see how close their pursuers are before he finally pulls up to the curb putting it into park.

Stephanos: Ma’am I really hope you are fast cause they are catching up quick.

Hermes chuckled opening the door

Hermes: It’s sir and I am fast enough I assure you. Expect a fat tip in your account for your troubles. Take off after I am out. No need to get caught up in this.

Stepping out he slammed the door behind him before taking off in a sprint his eyes the only part of him visible shining with excitement as the sounds of screeching tires and slamming doors are heard behind him. They wouldn’t make it. Let them have their pictures if they wanted. Coming up to the line leading to the divides entrance he swerves wide vaulting to slide over the closest turnstile barrier. Hearing the cries of security joining in he doesn’t slow down making a break for the shimmering pond like surface reflecting the human realm before him. Seeing a security guard out of the corner of his eye he spun rapidly to the side avoiding the guards dive for him. Now facing the barrage of flashing cameras he smirked seeing that the press was trapped behind the barrier. Mission accomplished! Giving the mass of scavengers one last glance he stepped through the divide the image rippling as if a stone had been dropped in a pond before it settled once more and his figure could be seen disappearing quickly from the reporters sight.

Stephanos had headed the cross dressers advice quickly to throw it back in gear as a mass of reporters began heading for him. Merging back quickly on the expressway he let out a sigh glad it seemed no one was following him. Would he ever start getting normal fares? He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take these loons.

On the other side of divide Hermes quickly made his way to a little cave he and Persephone had planned in as children. Slipping inside he quickly located the small trunk that had tucked away in it. Their treasure trove. Opening it he smiled at the assorted collection of shiny stones, colorful bird feathers and shells that greeted him. Quickly he shed Persephone’s clothing tossing it in the trunk for safe keeping. Left in a pair of boxer briefs and girls sandals he quickly slammed the lid shut and left the cave a flash of red streaking across the sky as he made his way quickly to his own abode. He needed to get dressed and back with the truck stat! He had promised Thanatos to leave things alone and keep his distance but he was glad this time he was weak willed. She needed his help and come Tartarus or high water she would have it.

It was a nearly an hour later before he made it back to the house with a moving van. He did one drive by to make sure the coast was clear before pulling into the driveway. Making short work of it he had everything loaded up and was soon following Hera’s car to the place she had in mind. They drove for sometime finally coming to a large locked gate on the edge of the warehouse district of the city. The gate wasn’t as intimidating as the near 15 foot tall cyclops that stepped out from the watchman’s post beside the gate. Bending down he peered into Hera’s rolled down window before glancing back at Hermes single eye narrowing making Hades break out in a sweat of nervousness. Apparently satisfied the cyclops stood straight and moved to the gate unlocking and pulling it open for them to drive through. Following Hera inside he smiled up at the cyclops earning himself a glare which he quickly looked away from. Pulling up to a stop beside where Hera had parked he hops out glancing briefly at Persephone before taking in the large warehouse before him. Even in the fresh light of dawn It seemed deceptively ordinary if you didn’t count the cyclops patrolling the grounds.

Taking off her sunglasses Hera glances back at Hermes

Hera: Leave the boxes I will have seen them too later. For now let us have a look at the facilities. I think we all could use a good rest after this evening.

[justanotherloveaffair]

I Trust You (Part 2/8)  - Chadwick x Reader

Link to Part 1                                                                                 Link to Part 3

Summary:  You struggle with handling your emotions and letting Chadwick in to help you.

Warnings: None, just angst

Word Count: 3,091

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone who embraced this story. I wasn’t going to write more but I feel like there’s much more of this to tell. There will definitely be a part 3. I’m really enjoying writing this.

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @purple-apricots, @deliciousstreetkidcroissant, @onyour-right@maverickabull, @lavitabella87   **Let me know if you want to be added/removed from this taglist.

“Y/N…”

At the light tapping on your shoulder, you awoke with a groan at your stiff neck muscles as you swiveled towards the sound of Chadwick’s voice.

“We’re here.”

You joined him outside the car. Chadwick’s form was shadowlike as he led the way towards the large, illuminated porch.

“After you.” He held the door open, and you stepped through the threshold.

An immaculate room bigger than your apartment welcomed you, lush ferns and greenery hugging the corner spaces. Beyond the open plan concept living area was the kitchen and breakfast bar, lit with potted lights and a low modern chandelier that illuminated the space with Chadwick’s flick of a switch. From your first impression, his taste was modern, with some bold pops of colour and prints adding character to the otherwise relaxing energy.

That out of place, intimidated feeling from earlier in his Lexus returned, and you crossed your arms in front of your body looking around like you didn’t know where you should stand.

After tossing his keys on an entryway shelf, he noticed you waiting politely and urged you forward, “Come in, come in.”

“It’s really nice,” you remarked, cringing a little as the word nice came out of your mouth, like you were commenting on a grandma’s doilies.

“Thanks,” he smiled. As he took the lead, guiding you into the living room, you noticed the swagger in his walk, how the casual effortlessness of it matched the energy of his home.

You were invited to sit down on the couch, and you did, putting your purse next to you.

“I’m just going to get the spare room ready,” he announced, hands on hips. “Been a while since anyone’s used it. You okay sleeping in one of my shirts?”

A little breath escaped you before you could stop it. “Oh, sure.”

Chadwick continued, “I’ll get you the wifi password, a towel, toothbrush,” he counted out on his fingers, looking ceiling-ward in thought. “I’ll make sure there’s a phone charger, enough pillows…” he continued his checklist while you nodded in the appropriate gaps.

“Okay, sorry.” He stopped himself, laughing when he realized he’d trailed off and you were still watching him attentively. “I’ll be right back. Just get comfortable, and uh….” He bent down to fetch the remote off the glass coffee table, and the Sportscentre programming resumed with a click.  He thrust the remote to you. “Here, you can change it. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

He seemed nervous, mumbling to himself and you noticed him rubbing his palms on his jeans as he headed down a hallway, flicking on lights as he went.

You were more into playing sports than watching them, but didn’t have the energy for channel flipping and the sound of commentators discussing plays of the day was unobtrusive and comforting background noise.

The vibrating buzz of a text message came from your purse next to you. You realized it had been hours since you looked at it last. Since before… everything.

You fished it out of your bag.

Cole: Where you at? You’re never out this late.

You started typing. I’m with a friend... I’ll be home in a few days.

Immediately, a grey speech bubble appeared. A friend? Who?

You let out a slow breath and looked up just as Chadwick re-emerged in the hallway, about to speak, but the look on your face stopped him.

“What’s wrong?” He glanced down at the phone in your hands.

Without responding to the message, you tucked it back in your purse and gave Chadwick your full attention. “Nothing, just… Cole. My ex. Wondering where I am,” you explained, trying to pass off an impression of casual indifference.

He nodded in understanding, and you noticed clouds immediately gather over his brow at the mention of him.

“Did you wanna…. talk to him?” He asked in a way that you could tell he hoped the answer was no.

You shook your head. “No, I think I’m gonna turn in actually. If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” he smiled, his round shoulders relaxing. “I was just about to show you your room. Come on.”

You stood from the couch, already imagining yourself crawling into bed. As you followed Chadwick down the hall, he stopped to point out the main bathroom, the first guest bedroom, the second guest bedroom, and you wondered just how good his paychecks must be to afford a place that could fit your entire family.

At the end of the hallway he gestured towards an open door where a soft light was emanating.

The room was minimally decorated, but cozy. Next to a nightstand with a single lamp was a queen bed, topped with thick blankets and enough pillows to satisfy even the biggest pillow hog. Across from the bed, a dresser with a potted palm for greenery.

On the dresser were folded towels, an assortment of toiletries, and folded clothes.

“Hope you don’t mind repping some of my past jobs,” he snatched a square of fabric from the clothes pile, grinning downwards as he unrolled a large black t-shirt with Gods of Egypt emblazoned in gold lettering. “I never wear these things.” He made a face. “Specially this one.”

“I can’t imagine why not,” you hid your smile as he handed the shirt over to you, and when you held it against your body it went to your knees. 

“Bathroom’s in the hallway, it should have everything you need but let me know if it doesn’t. Oh and wifi password,” he picked up and waved a sticky note with neat, block letters. “Very important.”

“Chadwick,” you said his name with seriousness. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his foot, the cool, charming guy slipping for the quickest of seconds into a moment of shyness at your sincerity, then recovering fast, he waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. I’m just across the hall,” he pointed behind him. “Just holler if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you.”

It was nearly imperceptible, but Chadwick’s eyes flitted quickly over you.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.” You watched him turn and back out, and squeezed your fingernails into the balled-up fabric of the t shirt.

At the sound of his door clicking closed, you carried your towel bundle into the bathroom and returned fifteen minutes later, cleansed from the day’s sweat, dirt and blood, your muscles soothed by hot, perfect water pressure. With the dried blood gone, you found the cut on your head was small, but blooming into an ugly purple bruise.

You shut off the lamp and with a groan of pleasure crawled into bed. Soft, clean sheets covered you up to your chin where you tucked them, serving as both a comfort and an absorbing fabric for your tears that came without warning. You let them come, not bothering to wipe them away, but welcoming them for the friend they were and with their salty warmth your only companionship, you fell asleep.

` ` `

On Saturday mornings, you were used to Dodger jumping on your bed early for a walk, but without your dog-shaped alarm, the early hours came and went with you remaining fast asleep.

When you finally pulled back the covers on your over-heated body to grab sleepily for your phone, a jolt of surprise went through you to see it was just before 10:00am.

As your feet met the hardwood floor you stretched your aching muscles, yawning, and marvelled at the silence that met you. Normally, on a Saturday you could hear the noisy lives of neighbours through the paper-thin walls: heavy footsteps, the shrill tones of couples fighting, loud music shaking your roof with bass. And in your own apartment, the sound of cartoons, Cole on the phone, Dodger whining.

The silence was peaceful.

Still wearing the shirt, you crept into the hallway, stopping in the bathroom to relieve your bladder.

Slinking further down the hall, you came across the sounds of a keyboard clicking away and then the owner, sitting at the breakfast bar, looking down in concentration before he glanced up at the padding of your feet.

He was even more beautiful than you remembered.

He slipped an earbud from one ear, smiling as you approached the end of the counter he was sitting at, hugging your arms around your form.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” you began and ended the word with a yawn, and his smile widened, eyes twinkling with charm. “Looks good on you,” he glanced down at the giant shirt and you gave a quiet laugh. “Did you have a good sleep?”

You nodded, noticing his half-finished juice and workout clothes and acknowledged it with a flick of your chin, “That looks …. healthy.”

He laughed, a musical, attractive sound that instantly made you want to hear it again.

“Don’t worry, I have normal food. You hungry? Want coffee?”

At your grateful look, he popped the other earbud out and got down from the tall bar stool, making his way to the counter to busy himself with your coffee while you took a seat. You watched the choreography of his movements as he brought over a steaming mug of coffee, then started digging in the fridge and putting food on various plates in front of you.

Toast, a bowl of bananas, yogurt and granola tempted your eyes and stomach which growled with a loud twinge.

As you ate, he returned to his laptop in respectful silence, but he seemed distracted, and eventually closed the screen.

He turned to you. “How you feelin?”

By his tone, you knew he was looking for a real answer and after swallowing a piece of toast, you met his eyes. “Better… I think. I dunno, I’m trying not to think about it.”

He contemplated your answer with a nod, his face open with warmth and sympathy in his naturally expressive eyes.

“That’s fair. There’s no right way or wrong way to deal with it.”

You nodded at his wisdom, but didn’t offer any more insights into your mind. He chewed on his lip as he absorbed your quietness. Feeling awkward, you began to unpeel a banana for something to do with your hands while Chadwick drummed his fingers on the counter, looking full of thoughts and questions but verbalizing none of them.

“Well, as flattering as that is on you,” he pointed at the shirt, “I imagine you’ll want to change into something else. I need to head downtown today, if you want I can find you something to wear on the way back?”

You sat up straight. “Oh, I have some spare clothes in my car. If you’re heading downtown, mind dropping me off around my office building and I’ll drive back?”

He considered you with narrowed eyes. “You sure you want to head back there so soon after…”

“I’ll be fine. I need my car.” You responded curtly, and after hearing yourself out loud, your defensive tone confused you as much as him.

“Okay. I just thought it might be…. never mind.” He shrugged and slid off the stool to begin clearing the counter. Tension filled the air between you and feeling guilty for causing it, you began to help him with the dishes.

“Nope, you’re a guest,” he placed his hand on your arm and some of the tension melted with his smile. “Go finish your coffee.”

You agreed to leave in half an hour, giving you plenty of time to brush your teeth and check your phone for messages while Chadwick showered in record time and changed.

He brought you one of his sweaters, and you slipped it around your shoulders gratefully as you walked outside into the cooler fall air. The fabric lingered with the clean scent of detergent and behind it, his own smell, one you were becoming familiar with, and you hugged it around you.

You settled into the passenger side as he drove, lulled by the sunshine and background music. Again, neither of you spoke. Though normally you rushed to fill gaps in conversation, between you, silence felt just as comfortable.

Traffic was light and it took only the length of four or five songs for him to reach your office building.

As you got closer, you collected your purse from by your feet and instructed, “Just drop me off out front.”

Chadwick looked at you, tensing. “You want to go down there alone? I was plannin to drive down-”

“Just leave me here. I’m fine.”

Again, your tone was flat and Chadwick’s pursed lips indicated his frustration but he kept silent as he stopped at the entrance of the glass skyscraper.

He put the car in park and pulled out his phone. “What’s your number?”

Watching his face, you listed it out and he typed it into his phone. A second later, your phone buzzed in your purse.

“I sent you my number and address, and the security code in case you get home before me.” His business-like tone dissolved when he looked up at you, concern in his brow. “Please message me when you’re in the car.”

“Chadwick, nothing’s going to happen. That guy is long gone.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about, it’s you.” His sincerity made your spine tingle, and you took a deep breath while he continued, “You don’t know what being down there will make you feel and I don’t think you should be alone.”

You couldn’t pinpoint why, but his faultless intentions made you want to run. Irrational as it was, you were irritated at any suggestion you couldn’t handle this on your own. 

Adrenaline coursed through you as you stated, “I can handle it, thank you for your concern.”

You knew you were being rude and petty as hell and he deserved none of it, but that guilt would need to be processed later. You had a point to prove to yourself.

“Okay.” He relented, leaning back in the chair, shoulders falling with defeat. “Sure.”

He avoided your eyes and you avoided his as you thanked him and quickly opened the car door. You closed it without looking back.

Hope you’re proud of yourself, you grumbled and a twinge of regret plucked at your heart.

The sight of an oddly dressed girl stepping out of a brand-new Lexus drew the stares of people in the ground floor coffee shop of your building. You ignored them and pulled out your key card, swiping it to let you inside the tower.

I’m getting into the elevator. Pressing the button. Down to P4. Just like any other day, you narrated internally, keeping you focused on nothing more than the task at hand.

On the weekend, there was hardly anyone in the building and as you rode the elevator you yearned to be surrounded by people and noise.

When the door opened at P4 and you saw the parking lot, a crop of fresh memories suddenly barraged you from all sides.

You were so eager for Chadwick to be wrong, that your response to the anxiety tightening in your chest was one of anger. This is nothing more than a bodily response, you coached yourself. The body is stupid and doesn’t know there is no actual danger.

You pushed through the stiffness and walked through the door, into the open space where only a few cars were parked. Your eyes raced around, searching for any hint of movement. 

The inner voice who had been scolding you for your silly fears suddenly went silent while the nervous chattering of a hysterical, scared little girl took over at the thought -  you had left him there.

What if he was still there? What if he was waiting – waiting for that bitch to have the gall to come back?

That thought made you freeze. Your heart raced, blood pumping loud in your ears. Gugoon. Gugoon. Each heartbeat hot and throbbing in your temples.

Suddenly a loud, metal scraping sound started and you screamed, the sound coming back as a shrill echo. You searched around in your panic and found it was only the garage door gate, and headlights filled your vision from the approaching car.

You must have looked like a terrified deer, every muscle tense and frozen.

To your relief, the car turned and rolled past you, and you glimpsed an old woman with white hair, barely tall enough to peer over the steering wheel.

Just keep going Y/N, you got this. You can do this.

A burst of bravery came to you, allowing you to hurriedly walk all the way to the end where you saw your car.

Your shaking hands pressed the unlock button and the little Honda beeped back with a comforting hello. You took the last few steps at a jog and quickly let yourself in. Once inside, your hand slammed on the lock button, sending all four locks into the down position and you were finally able to let the tension out of your shoulders.

For a moment all you could do was breathe, each pant making your chest heave.

The thought of coming back to this parking lot, five days a week, and the likely possibility of seeing your attacker again made your breakfast suddenly sit uneasy in your stomach, and you broke out in a sweat.

The feeling of revulsion grew. Oh no. An acrid taste filled your mouth with saliva and you managed to get out of the car just in time to lose your breakfast on the pavement.

You heaved and retched until there was nothing left. With a moan, you wiped the tears that showed up and made a grim face at the mess.

When you were sure another round wasn’t coming, you reached into your car for the box of tissues and dabbed at your mouth.

That was when you noticed pale splatters down the front of Chadwick’s shirt and sweater.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. On top of Chadwick having been right, now there was evidence. Nasty, smelly evidence.

In a moment, you made up your mind that he would get his clothes back sparkling clean, sparing you the questions, and decided to make a stop at home.

[depthanonymous]

Thursday. December 26th Chicago O’Hare

This is a Story about how I met my Soulmate.

Growing up I always needed everyone's approval.... I needed that validation for my ego. I got picked on and bullied as a young kid. Too fat, too many freckles, stupid laugh, buck teeth, you name it.... I was too white for the Mexicans, too Mexican for the white kids... I never felt like I fit in, with anyone, even family at times. So I tried to fit in everywhere I went, I tried to impress and 1-Up everybody. I had to win, always. I had to become the best. So no one would have anything to talk about. I needed everyone to approve of me and I had no idea why.... I was doing things I didn't like, working jobs I didn't enjoy, to buy things I didn't even really want, to impress people I didn't even care about....

And then, December 26th 2013, at 8 something AM on a Thursday, I'm at Chicago O'Hare airport.... walking from one end of the airport to the other so I can grab a bite to eat while I wait 3 hours for my flight to Maryland.... and I cross paths with a walking goddess.... she's coming from the opposite end, and should be ending up at the gate I just got out of, Heading back to Omaha From Ohio... I kid you not this was some out of the movies stuff...

I originally met her my freshman year of highscool. She would always come up and eat lunch in the art room during my art class. I used to just drool over her as a freshman, (I was such a dork, had ZERO swagger of any sort) and she was this GORGEOUS girl, but she was a Junior and an amazing artist; coupled with this massive attitude. The only time I ever got the courage to go up and attempt to ask her out. She was drawing a sketch for her figure-drawing class... and I come up and go "hey what are you drawing?" Trying to flirt, and failing. she doesn't even look up at me, she just says "What does it look like?" And I shut down so fast and walked away.... that was 2009

So now, December 2013, I'm tall, (I used to be 5'3ish now I'm 6'3) I'm in better shape, better dressed, looking classy wearing a nice coat and stuff. I'm feeling good, carrying myself differently as a man. Just got the new iPhone, blasting the free version of Pandora..... and I see her. And I instantly get brought back to when I made a fool of myself.... and I'm like, screw that. I'm talking to her this time... only now, we locked eyes, movie style.... and time stops. Busiest and biggest airport in the US... and I come across her. Again. Only this time, she's actually looking back at me, and smiling.... I cut across the hall and she meets me half way. She's so damn beautiful I can't even get words to come out. Luckily she still had that good ole attitude and after a second or two says "Hey, I'm not drawing anything this time, so you're going to have to think of something good." And right then and there I'm thinking, “she remembered!? god damn I'm going to marry this girl.” Everything about her was perfect... so I laugh and now I'm back down to earth and to my confident self (freaking out internally) and I'm like, "oh really, you mean you won't shut down anything I say this time?".... she was looking at the departure screen as I said it.... and she looks at me with this shock that I just said that and then this beautiful smirk, and gives me that smile that just makes everything in me start to tingle. She looks back at me like she's thinking the exact same thing I am.... so I say, "where are you headed?" She says Omaha, asks if I still live there. I say yeah. So then I ask when her flight home is and she says not for another three hours... JUST LIKE ME. So I say “well I also have a pretty big layover, do you know where your gate is?” She says "Duh, its all pretty clearly marked." So I'm like cool, that hurt the pride a little but moving on. And I ask her "well, since we both have a few hours do you wanna grab some food and catch up." She said "Nah, I already ate....(waits silently for what felt like a year crammed into 5 seconds) but we can sit here and chill for a bit if you want." And I'm like STARVING, but I don't even care. I'm just over here mesmerized because this woman is GORGEOUS, and in my head I just keep saying don't mess this up don't mess this up don't mess this up.... so We catch up, she told me she was at Creighton, I said I was going to trade school. She made fun of me and said "Do you still drive that really loud tiny green truck." I got all offended because I did still drive it and loved it. But I get over it..... So all of the sudden hours of talking pass and we are both almost late to board.... so we run to our gates. And the whole vacation I'm just thinking about her, can't get her out of my head. Thinking about some elaborate plan to ask her out and over exaggerating a big romantic plan like always. And I get back from Vacation and get busy and don't know how to approach her to where I don't seem like a Creep....

Well, a couple months pass and around summer time. Her and and another person I went to school with are doing door to door surveys about the neighborhood. And guess who's door they come knocking at? MINE! On my only day off in the last two months... coincidence? I think not. so I come up and answer all shy and say hi to the girl I remember from school. and then see her around the corner and get this rush, I got so nervous I began to sweat a little. I could tell she was nervous too. We gather and sit down in the family room. when I look over to see if the nerves have settled. She couldn't look up at me. She was just staring at the clip board, fumbling on her words on and off as she asks questions and awkwardly chuckles as I respond in a dorky manner.... so I call my dog over even though she isn't allowed on the carpet, to help calm my nerves.... and my dog who loves me like no other, would never abaondon my command. Goes STRAIGHT to her and won't leave her alone. So now I'm all bragging about how well behaved my dog is and she totally disobeys me and goes right to her, calming her nerves and making her smile... they finish with the survey and leave. And I spend the whole day kicking myself for messing up and not asking for her number or to go for coffee or something, anything!

A few days later... SHE messages ME! I'm jumping off the walls, I'm ecstatic. She was telling me sorry for being awkward during he survey. I said likewise, then she laughed at how my dog likes her more and I'm the one that feeds her! we get to flirting and all the cheesy cliche stuff. all of the sudden she's overly straight up with me and just hits me with, "so do you even plan to ask for my number or....?" And I'm just like damn this woman is calling me out on everything. She's like "well, I don't do this Facebook messenger stuff and you're too slow at asking soooo.... can I get yo Numbah?" Just like that...

Now we get to texting and I try asking her out....it doesn't work. And I'm not used to getting rejected so wow! why does she keep shooting me down? So finally I'm like... how about this, let's go for coffee and talk art, it's NOT A DATE. Just two people talking art like a couple of hipsters.... and she goes "fine, on one condition. Don't ever use hipsters in reference to me or you ever again."

So we go on the date, that she always said wasn't a date.... and we both get there at like 4pm, and end up talking and talking for around 6 hours, until they said they were closing.... TOTALLY A DATE. I go to get the door for her and she rushes and won't let me, and says hey, it's not a date. So I smile because in my head I'm like oh you know it was a date you just tried to make excuses now that it's over.... and then before she gets in her car I tell her to look up this song. So she pulls up next to me at the stoplight and turns it up so I can hear that she actually looked it up. Then texts me saying she had a really good time getting coffee and reiterated that it was NOT a date. And then said she loved the song, and I said “good, I'll sing it to you sometime.”

Guess what we did on our second (technically first actual) date? Yup, got food and then drove around and listened to music. And did I sing the song to her, HELL YES I DID. At the top of my lungs, looking at her and everything. While driving, big hazard but I was trying to impress. And I'm about to take her home at a decent time, like 10pm... and as I'm a block away, Te Metiste by Ariel Camacho comes on and I look over at her like damn this is my song. And she goes "wanna just make another loop"... and I said “absolutely” as I start singing that to her too. Getting her to blush and smile..... our first "loop" was like 75 miles. So I got her home at like midnight.... and she posts a status saying "When he can sing👌🏼" and I'm just all pumped up like yeeeeeeaaaaahhhh, I'm Dr. Smooth, PHD in SmoothOlogy..... and then she texts me before bed. And says thanks for food and she really enjoyed the date.... and then finishes it off with another that says "don't let the status get to your head, I liked the singing but you were way too cheesy. 😏".... I knew it, I knew it all along. Since day one, she's the woman that was crafted for me by the big man upstairs, and I'm going to marry her. AND I DID!!! Absolute greatest accomplishment and decision of my life. I had her hooked and I wasn't ever going to let her go. She asked how the hell I could have wanted to marry her without knowing everything about her....And I simply said, "When you know, you know."

You want some proof that she was my soulmate? Short story: We began teaching at the same school, in my classroom during summer our first cleaning, up in a cabinet lodged into the corner was a piece of art..... it had a picture and I instantly knew it was my wife. I ran to her room on the other wing of the building and showed her. She said it was something she made in the 3rd grade, when she attended the school..... still think it’s coincidence? I have plenty more.

Not all stories have the fairytale endings. I lost my Soulmate and Best Friend to Suicide on December 18th 2016. Sometimes it’s the most beautiful people, with the most loving families, with all the accolades and best degrees money could buy. Depression is a constant war in your head, against yourself. Hug your loved ones and appreciate every single moment.