#*me after three margaritas in a bar with some friends* I HAVE THE PERFECT IDEA FOR THAT PROMPT OF LOVEFEST

[whereisthefood123]

Two words mightier than iron

Setting: Alvarez arc, before the battle against Bloodman, the chapter/episode of "you're under arrest for complaining too much"

Words: 1.8k

Prompt Lovefest19: Day 2- Kiss me

A/N: It's been a while guys! As usual, I'm late for the event lol! This is for day 2 of Gajevy Lovefest 2019 - “kiss me” @gajevyevents. Thank you so much to @ranunculusfox for beta reading this :D Hope you guys enjoy this little thing I wrote! SFW even if it's for lovefest :)

AO3 // FFNET

"Kiss me"

It's a whisper and a clamour. It's a plea and a command. It's everything he wanted to hear and yet Gajeel's world is turned upside down by her words.

Figures. Words have always been her power, her domain, her weapon.

Yet, she doesn't wield them to strike Gajeel down, but he's still close to collapsing on his knees in front of her. Her words are always kind but powerful enough to bring down his iron walls, the ones he had carefully crafted around his heart.

Stay away. His walls had proclaimed a long time ago in cast-iron forged with the fire of his hate and cruelty.

But with each flick of her eyelashes that revealed bright hazel eyes, a new crack appeared on his walls. By the time they were on Tenrou Island, his walls were all but non-existent, yet he still believed he had them. Gajeel needed to believe it, he had survived within these walls; a dragon without a castle is a beast without a purpose. What was the dragonslayer without his barriers but a simple man with nothing to offer but iron fists and roars to the most amazing woman in the world?

Time passed since Tenrou, and he found himself sharing a living space with Levy and Lily in the Council's Headquarters. New walls rose around his heart, taller, mightier, sturdier than before. Instead of hate and cruelty, these new barriers were built from self-hatred and insecurities. She was too good for him, and he was a bastard that didn't deserve the love she was offering him so willingly. Besides, he reasoned, it had everything to do with her angelic nature and not with him; it couldn't be that she loved him. She was someone always willing to love everything. She loved every book, every fictional character she met in the lines of ink and paper, she trusted every stranger on the street and believed the world could be a kind place where anyone would enjoy the simplest things life had to offer, like a cup of coffee shared among friends, or the smell of the early blossoms in spring.

Gajeel loved her for this; he loves her for this. She was so simple and yet so amazingly complicated at the same time. A puzzle his mind and heart were still trying to decipher after all this time, and he enjoyed every single new detail he learned about her. Like how she is not a morning person, or how her smile widens when the early stars shine in the night sky; how her eyes light with something fiercer than the breaths of the fire dragons, or how her soul rejoices when a mission is completed with no major injuries involved.

She was everything he had ever wished for in a life partner yet she was also everything he had never thought he needed. He hated himself for loving her so much and his self-hatred only grew when he was reminded of how they've met. But the simplest things like one of her smiles thrown his way or the blush that tinted her cheeks when he was a bit too close to her, made him believe that maybe he was worth it. That maybe this, whatever it was, was right. That he could spend his life by her side, no labels attached, even when he was oh so willing to go down on one knee and offer her the world, a promise forged in an iron ring. He would be content to be by her side as long as she would let him.

But now, with the war against Alvarez looming over them and the battlefield so close to their campsite, Gajeel felt true fear for the first time in his life. Not even when Metalicana left had he lost his sleep like he did this night. Nightmares were familiar to the mage who wallowed in self-hatred since the Fairy Tail emblem was tattooed on his left shoulder. But this night, he couldn't even close his eyes without seeing the image of a blue-haired fairy lying face down unmoving on a flower field covered by snow and her blood staining deeply into the white layer turning it crimson.

He had sought some comfort in looking at the horizon, making sure no enemy would ambush them as the rest of the team slept snuggled close to the small bonfire to chase away the chill of the night. But he had sensed how restless she was since the moment their journey to the North began. It was no surprise when her shuffling steps came closer to him, the snow crunched under her light feet.

What surprised him were her words. Not that it was something uncommon, yet this time, her words lacked the usual breath of kindness and fierceness laced between each letter. Instead, insecurities traced the shape of her words, faintly reminding him of the essence that strengthens his iron walls. She worried about the battle and feared she wouldn't be strong enough to deal with this enemy. Gajeel could still hear her conviction underneath her self-doubt. She wouldn't back down from the fight, even when she thought the enemy to be extraordinary; she would go all out to protect her guild, her friends, her family.

That's what terrified Gajeel the most. The image of the blue-haired fairy on the flower field covered by crimson snow came back to his mind and he shivered.

Not a chance. He wouldn't let that happen. He would protect her; they would come out victorious from this battle. Fairy Tail would prevail so the iron dragonslayer could spend his afternoons at every bookshop in Magnolia accompanying a short blue-haired fairy in search for the latest novels she craved for so much.

He doesn't really know how to convey this though. Words were always her thing, not his. So, he let his magic flow, and it forms the iron pillars that now surround her. But she isn't afraid, maybe annoyed, but not fearful, not from him, not anymore since that day he took Laxus's lightning strike on her behalf. He leans close to her, maybe too close for someone who swears to be content with just spending time with this tiny fairy, with just being friends with her. Then, he makes a promise, hidden among his weird threats of imprisonment.

Thanks to any deity above she gets it, she deciphers the hidden message as easily as she has decoded ancient tomes. Then, she smiles at him, soft lips tilting up and eyes shining impossibly bright and it's all for him. With no one else around, he takes his time to commit to memory every single detail of her ethereal features. His hands twitch, yearning to hold her, to embrace her so carefully, to get tangled in her soft blue waves and rub gentle circles on her back.

As he's willing his hands to still and his mind to lock away his fantasies, she utters two words and his world turns on its axis as if the ground had exploded under his feet.

"Kiss me," Levy's soft voice commands him. She takes a step forward. He can almost feel her warmth so close to his body.

He notices it, of course, he notices it! How her eyes flick from his eyes to his lips and linger there, longing, yearning for something that could be but requires an enormous amount of courage to reach for it.

Gajeel always prided himself of his strong walls and iron hide. But two words, two words from the fairy that could will any letter to life with a flick of her fingers, had his barriers vanishing. They didn't crumble as Gajeel had expected. No, if they had crumbled to dust it would have been devastating, he would have felt vulnerable, exposed, raw to the world to mock the simple man that hid behind these walls. Instead, her words lifted his walls, they went up in light specs willingly and beautifully until they mixed with the stars above and shone in the galaxies hidden in her hazel eyes. His iron walls had kept the entire world at arms' length, Levy included. But the tender breath infused in her words made him see, for the first time, the path that lay ahead of him, where Levy stood with an extended hand for him to take and a gentle smile on her lips. There was no destruction, no havoc, no despair, there was only peace as his barriers lifted, as the blindfold tied securely around his heart was undone and he could finally see the eyes that shone a bit brighter only when they looked at him.

There is no hesitation when he dissipates the distance between them and leans even closer to her. With their breaths mingling together, he waits for a baited second, searching her eyes for the smallest trace of hesitation.

He finds none.

His lips seal over hers in a gentle caress, while his hands find their purchase at the back of her head and the small of her back. He breathes her in and everything, for once, feels right in Gajeel's life. Everything falls in place. A second that feels like an eternity yet too short for him makes him forget their beginning, his mistakes, his hatred and cruelty, his self-loathing and insecurities, the war looming over them threatening their future. Everything feels right just by holding Levy in his arms and kissing her soft lips with such tenderness that even Gajeel doubted himself capable of.

When their lips part, he looks at her with half-lidded eyes, begging to anyone, anything, that this is real and not just another clever hoax created by his mind. Because he had dreamt about this a thousand times if not more. But never, in all those scenarios, had his mind been able to portray the utter joy that radiates from her smile in this moment. She is beautiful, so full of love, of light, of kindness and oh so willing to share it with Gajeel.

He is such a lucky bastard.

Then, he notices something else. Just a quick flick of his eyes to her lips and he sees it. The promise he's made, sealed on her lips. A promise for a future together, for a family, for happiness.

He cannot hide the smirk that tugs at his lips. She is a cunning little fairy, a renowned script mage across all Fiore. She knows the power of words. And she also knows a kiss to be stronger than words thrown to the wind. No war, no enemy, no disaster would be able to keep Gajeel from tasting his fairy's lips one more time, in a peaceful moment, in the comfort of their shared home, in the quiet of the night.

I love you, Levy.

He lacks the courage, or the ability, or maybe both, to utter the words. But by any divine being that is looking after them, Levy understands him. Words were her prowess and she had learned long ago how to read Gajeel like an open book, her most favourite book.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoy this :) leave a comment/reblog if you did! I'll try my best to write more often now that I have a least chaotic semester haha

WTF (Where's The Food?)

[emmyhem]

it’s about time (l.r.h)

a/n: hi again! first of all i want to say thank you for the support on “seven things” it means the world. secondly, my requests are open and i’d be happy to write something for you. this is a jealous bff!luke imagine i wanted to get up this weekend, i didn’t do a very thorough edit before posting so hopefully there aren’t any typos. i am working on the request for a lashton x reader love triangle piece right now and will hopefully have it up by monday or tuesday. thank you, i hope you enjoy - emmy :) 

pairing: luke hemmings x reader 

summary: being best friends with the guy you’re in love with is extremely taxing especially when you have to watch him be with another girl all night. just when you’ve finally had enough of waiting around for him he ruins your plans for moving on. 

warnings: alcohol, using alcohol as a coping mechanism, slight angst, jealous luke, mentions of throwing up, cursing, luke’s a bit of an asshole. 

word count: 3.3k

“God, could they get a room?” you scoffed leaning into Calum as you watched your best friend practically eat his date’s face from across the club. 

“Jealous are we y/n?” Calum laughed slinging an arm over your shoulder. 

“No, just utterly disgusted.” you said before slamming back your fourth shot of tequila.

 That was a lie, you were jealous. You were so insanely jealous that you could scream. 

Luke had met his date, Hannah at the studio last week. She was new, working at the front desk. She had caught Luke’s eye the second she walked in the room with a bright confident smile, and a flirty look in her eye. Luke had asked her out the next day and was practically giddy when she accepted. 

And that’s how they ended up in the corner of the club, Luke’s hands tangled in her hair, and her tongue down his throat. All the while you were trying to not look bitter, and distracting yourself with one too many drinks. 

It wasn’t a new routine. You couldn’t count how many times you’ve had to sit back and watch a girl way prettier than you, be in the exact position that you would quite literally die to be in, with your best friend of 4 years. And somehow it seemed to hurt more each time, which meant more drinks for you. 

As you felt the familiar and comforting burn of your fifth shot of the night slide down your throat Calum shot you a knowing look. 

“Maybe you should slow down there, kid.” 

You rolled your eyes and took his Corona from his hands using it as a chaser. 

“Corona girl?” you heard from behind you. When you turn, your eyes meet a pretty pair of green ones (you still preferred Luke’s blue, but what the hell). 

“Tequila girl.” you clarified. 

“Respect.” the man said, extending a strong tattooed hand. “I’m Austin.” 

“Y/n” you said, shaking his hand. You glanced over your shoulder at Calum who was now engaged in a conversation with Mikey and Ashton beside you. 

“Pretty name, pretty girl.” he smirked. “So, can I get you a tequila?” 

You giggled, happy for a distraction from Luke.

“You can get me a margarita, on the rocks.” 

“Deal.” 

The two of you chatted as you sipped on your drink, mind getting hazier with each sip. And you don’t know if it was the alcohol or your determination to get Luke off your mind but Austin was really, really hot. 

“Do you wanna dance with me?” you asked before you had a chance to convince yourself otherwise. You were never really a dance in public kind of girl, normally the closest you got to showing your moves on the dancefloor was Just Dance in Luke’s living room. 

“Absolutely.” Austin replied, sliding an arm around your waist to lead you to the dancefloor. 

The bass beat shook the floor as the two of you made your way to the middle of the club. As you stopped you realized you had absolutely no idea what to do. You never did stuff like this. You can’t even remember the last time you went on a date, let alone danced to sleazy house music with a stunning stranger. You glanced around you hoping to follow the lead of the more experienced dancers around you.

 A redhead to your right swung her hips, inching closer to her partner's body with each movement until she was pressed directly to his chest. 

“Seems like a good place to start” you mumbled to yourself. 

The second your hips were in movement Austin’s hands gripped them strongly guiding your movements closer and closer to him. As the beat built and your movements slowed to a teasingly slow pace his grip tightened causing your tight white dress to bunch up on your thighs. 

With the alcohol in your bloodstream and Austin’s breath on the back of your neck you nearly forgot about Luke and your perpetual sadness, that is until you locked eyes with him from across the room. 

Hannah was tucked under his arm sipping on her drink, but his gaze was locked on you, he had an unrecognizable look on his face, and a jaw clenched so hard you feared he would break his teeth. 

You took him staring as the perfect opportunity to spin around, inches away from Austin’s face looking up at him through your lashes. His pupils were blown a bit, eyes filled with lust. He was practically breathing into your mouth. You will yourself to just kiss him. It’s not like you were Luke’s girl you thought, so you started to lean in. 

As Austin placed his hand on the back of your neck you felt someone grab your arm tugging you out of Austin’s grip. 

“Y/n”  Luke appeared next to you.

“Is there a problem man?” Austin said grabbing one of your hands. 

Luke rolled his eyes with a sly grin on his face, “Cal wants to talk to you.” he said to you not breaking eye contact with the pissed off guy in front of you. 

“I’m a bit busy.” you said annoyance brewing in you as you ripped your arm out of Luke’s hand. “Can it wait?” 

“Nope, said it was important.” he said nonchalantly “Better go find him.” 

You internally groaned, “I’ll be right back.” you said leaning in to peck Austin’s cheek. 

“Y/n, C’mon!” Luke shouted over the music. 

“Fine!” you groaned leaving Luke and Austin behind you as you scanned the bar for Calum. 

After searching for a few minutes you saw him in a booth with Ashton, and Michael talking and laughing. 

“Calum,” you called. He glanced up at you waving a hand above his hand. You slid into the booth next to him, your patience growing thin. 

“What is it?” you said. 

“What?” he said, confusion spreading across his face. 

“Luke said you needed to talk to me, what’s up?” 

Calum’s eyebrows tugged together glancing at the other guys. 

“I haven’t talked to Luke since we got here.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned to the corner across the room where Luke had Hannah pressed up against the wall. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you said out loud, rubbing your temple in frustration. 

Ashton gave you a sympathetic smile and glanced at Michael who was practically sleeping on Cal’s shoulder. 

“Maybe we should head out.” he said motioning to the drunk mess that was the three of you. 

“No” Calum whined, dragging out the oh sound. “y/n was about to get some.” he teased poking your side. 

“Just take him home, y/n/n.” Michael groaned, not even opening his eyes. 

You pondered the idea, you never did stuff like this. But Austin was hot, and Luke was preoccupied. To say the least.

“I could take him home.” you say aloud trying to convince yourself. 

“Then do it.” Calum challenged. 

“I will.” you stated proudly. “You guys get Luke. Ash, you get the uber, and Austin and I will meet you at the door. “ you gave a quick nod to the boys and went to get Austin. 

Austin stood exactly where you left him on the dance floor. 

“Thank god you’re back. I-“ 

Before he had a chance to finish, you crashed your lips onto his. He quickly fell into the kiss moving his hand to the small of you back. Before it went any further you pulled apart about an inch, and spoke into his mouth, 

“Come back to my apartment?” 

“Absolutely.” he said an excited smile growing on his face.

When the two of you made it to where your group was struggling to stand by the door Luke pulled apart from Hannah, looking Austin up and down. His eyes stopping where your hands were interlocked. 

“Love, a word?” he slurred, nodding his head away from the group. 

You walked with him just outside the door. 

“What’s up?” 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean with this guy, what are you doing with him?” 

“Um, taking him home with me?” you said confused. 

“You can’t do that.” 

“Who says?” anger began building as you looked up at him. 

“Uh, me I guess. You know nothing about him.” 

This caused you to scoff, a laugh passing your lips, “And you do a background check on every girl you take home with you?” 

“That’s different,” he alleged. 

“And how’s that?” your patience was growing thin, and you could feel this conversation sobering you up. 

“I don’t know y/n, you're just not one night stand material.” 

Okay, ouch. Tears began to prick at your waterline. 

“Go to hell.” you breathed, pushing past him. 

“No, y/n/n. You know that’s not what I meant. C’mon love, hey I’m sorry.” he called after you. 

As you approached the group, holding back tears, you took a glance at Austin in front of you and realized that no matter how hot he was you really didn’t even want this. How could you when you were head over heels in love with your asshole of a best friend.

 But it was too late now, you would do it. Even if it was wrong. Even if you didn’t want to. Even if it was just to spite Luke. 

“Ready to head out?” you questioned aloud, swallowing your hurt. 

“Yep, uber just got here.” Ashton confirmed, guiding a hammered Calum and Michael out the door. 

You all climbed into the Uber X Ashton had ordered, Luke, Hannah, and Calum in the back, Ashton in the passenger seat, and Michael, Austin, and you in the middle. 

As you pulled away from the club, Ashton spoke over the light music coming from the car radio and gave the driver Luke’s address. The group had made plans to all spend the night at Luke’s, like you typically did after a night out. 

“We have one more stop actually” you choked out, feeling Austin lean into you, lips attaching to your neck. 

You gave the man your address and turned your attention back to the sexually charged man glued to your side. As he moved his kisses up to your jaw you closed your eyes, in order to prevent yourself from breaking down. The constant reminder that Luke had no interest in you, being thrown in your face as Hannah released soft sighs behind you. 

Ashton glanced back at you from the front seat, 

“You feeling okay, kid?” he asked. 

You nodded gulping, and looked up at the ceiling to deter your threatening tears. 

His eyes narrowed in concern as he adjusted his body in his seat so he was looking you in the eyes. Luke turned his attention away from Hannah (much to her despair) to the front of the car as Ashton spoke.

“Y/n, you sure? Maybe you and your friend should continue this another night.” Ashton suggested, noticing how you had tensed up and your expression had faltered since entering the car.

 Austin pulled off of you and shot him a frustrated glare from his seat. Ashton raised his eyebrows in response, silently challenging Austin to confront him. 

Austin moved in centimeters from your ear, “Your friends are kind of cockblocks.” he complained. 

You tilted your head away from him and looked out the window Michael was sitting next to.

“Maybe they’re right.” you muttered. “Maybe you should just go home, and we can do this some other time. I’m not feeling well.” 

You kept your gaze directed outside of the car, too afraid to see his reaction to your sudden rejection. 

“Your kidding right?” he scoffed. 

You were becoming more anxious by the second as he rambled on about how you must be joking. 

“I’m not laughing.” Luke interrupted flatly.  

“Okay, what’s your deal man?” Austin’s demeanor had quickly changed as he turned to face Luke, aggression clear in his face. 

Luke held his hands in the air before resting them on the back of your seat. “No deal, she’s just clearly not interested, so maybe you could give her some space.” 

Calum and Michael perked up in their seats as the mood in the car shifted. In the front Ashton was talking to the driver, explaining how you would be getting dropped off with the rest of them. 

Austin was in a confrontational mood now, one that made you uneasy. He and Luke continued to bicker back and forth. Hannah sat confused and aggravated next to Luke.

 You were seconds away from crumbling, feeling extremely upset and overwhelmed. Michael placed a hand on your shoulder, hoping to ease some of your distress as you pulled into Luke’s driveway. 

Everyone got out of the car, leaving Austin stirring in his own anger. Ashton patted the top of the car twice before it drove away.

“Well, y/n you sure know how to pick em’” Luke commented. 

Calum shot him a disapproving look as you shoved past, running inside. 

You had officially reached your breaking point. You couldn’t have Luke but you were in too deep to be with anyone else. Not to mention the fact that Luke seemed to be taking pleasure in your misfortune for the night. 

You went straight for the bathroom. All the alcohol and confrontation hadn’t been kind to your stomach. 

You hunched over the toilet and began throwing up before you even got the chance to close the door all the way. Your eyes were red and stinging from your tears and your throat was stripped raw. Hugging your knees to your chest you sat with your back against the sink. 

Three soft knocks came from the cracked door and you peered up through cloudy eyes to see Ashton looking at you with pity clear on his face. 

“Can I come in?” 

You nodded into your knees, staring down at the familiar tiles of Luke’s bathroom. 

You couldn’t count how many times you had been in this exact spot. Whether it be dealing with the consequences of your unhealthy coping mechanism after a night out like you were now. Early mornings after sleeping over, sitting in the steam while Luke showered because he just couldn’t wait to tell you a story, or late nights he would convince you to paint his nails. All of it was replaying in your head. 

“Why can’t he just love me the way I love him?” you whimpered as a sob broke from your throat. 

Ashton was quick to wrap his arms around you, taking a seat on the floor. 

“It’s okay, y/n.” he shushed. “You’re okay. 

“I love him, Ash” your voice muffled from being pressed to his shoulder. 

“I know.” he comforted you, rocking your frame lightly. You sat in silence for a bit, trying to control your breathing. 

By the time you left the bathroom Calum and Michael were asleep on the couch and Luke and Hannah had gone to Luke’s room. Ashton laid on the couch with the other guys and you made your way to the guest room, falling asleep the second your head hit the pillow.   

You woke up early with a throbbing headache and an insatiable craving for iced coffee. There was no doubt in your mind that you were first one awake, the guys wouldn’t be up for hours. You tiptoed through the living room past a sleeping Michael, Calum, and Ashton being careful not to wake them. As you turned the corner to leave you heard a voice from the kitchen, 

“Morning,” Luke called, his gravelly voice making it very clear he had just woken up. He was leaning on the cabinet in a pair of sweats, a cup of coffee in hand. 

“Oh, you’re up.” you responded still moving towards the door. 

“Going somewhere?” he questioned walking towards you. 

“Yea I gotta go, I have uh…” your mind was drawing a blank. “ya know,  laundry.” 

“Wait,” he sprung forward in two big steps grabbing your shoulder. “as urgent as that sounds, I wanna talk.”

“‘bout what?” 

“I feel like I should apologize for last night.” 

“It’s okay, we can talk about it later. I really gotta get going.” 

“Y/n! Will you let me say sorry, please?” he pleaded 

“You have.” you replied nodding at him before turning away once again. 

“Fine, then can I ask why you tried to take someone home last night. You never do that.” 

“No reason.” you lied, opening the front door. 

“Really? Cause Cal said something last night about you being jealous or something and then I went to check on you and I overheard-” 

“I gotta go.” you panicked, taking a step outside. 

Right before the door swung closed and you made your escape Luke stopped it with his hand and spoke, 

“Are you in love with me?” 

You froze where you stood, squeezing your eyes shut completely mortified. 

Slowly, you spun back around to face Luke. He stepped out of the door frame allowing you reentrance and led you to the kitchen. Once you had both sat down he spoke again, 

“So is it true? What you told Ashton last night, is it true?” 

You placed your hands over your eyes and shook your head.

“Does it matter?” you responded. 

“Of course it matters, what do you mean?” 

“I mean you have Hannah and it doesn’t matter how I fe-” 

“Hannah’s gone.” he interrupted. 

“Gone?” 

“It wasn’t gonna work out with us. I ended things last night.” 

“Why would you end things with-” you paused, eyes narrowing.

Luke looked down, suddenly not wanting to meet your eyes. 

“Do you...you love me?” 

At this Luke shot up from his seat and started pacing around the kitchen.

“Well, of course I do. But I asked you first, and you can’t just..” he rambled on but you stopped listening after “of course I do” 

“Lu,” you said, standing up

He continued talking, not even hearing you over his own nervous talking and fidgeting. 

“Lu.” you called a bit louder. 

He turned to you, stopping mid sentence his mouth still hanging open. 

“I am.” 

“You…” he spoke slowly, eyes frozen on you.

“I am in love with you.” 

Both of you were frozen in place, terrified that if you moved you may wake up and discover this was all just a dream. You stayed like that for about a minute till you broke the silence. 

“I have been, for a couple years now. And I never told you, cause I always thought that-” you were cut off by Luke’s lips. 

He had one hand on the back of your neck and the other pulling you closer by the waist. You melted into the kiss pressing a hand to his chest. It may sound cliche but you swore you were seeing fireworks as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip.  

“I love you.” he sighed as you pulled apart. “I am so in love with you, fuck I can’t believe-” Before he had a chance to ramble again you pulled him back in for another kiss. 

After a few minutes you broke away to catch your breath. Luke moved his hands to cup both your cheeks, 

“Hi.” he cooed. 

“Hi” you smiled. “I need coffee” you turned away walking towards the kitchen.

“Hey no wait” he whined pulling you back by the waist. “m’not done kissing you.”

“We have plenty of time for that, but I need coffee now.” you teased pressing a swift kiss to his lips. 

“Mmm, I know but we’ve got a lot of catching up to do” he said chasing behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as you walked to the coffee machine. 

As you fixed yourself a coffee, Luke's chin resting on the top of your head, you heard shuffling from the living room. When you looked up Michael was walking in with messy hair and eyes puffy from sleep. He glanced at you in Luke’s arms, his expression unchanging and mumbled while pulling orange juice from the fridge, 

“It’s about time.” 

[things-we-cant-say]

pretty little liar

Pairing: Ten x Female!Reader

Summary: In order to get your annoying ex off your back, you tell a little white lie that takes an unexpected turn.

Genre: College!AU

Warnings: Smutty smut, dirty dancing

Word Count: 4,867

A/N: Unable to withstand Ten’s power any longer, I had to start writing about him…or a version of him anyway. Hope someone out there enjoys my first dip into the ~imagines~ pond. ☺️

The party was in full swing by the time you and your best friend Amy arrived, the music so loud it could be heard down the street. It was a wonder the cops hadn’t broken it up yet but hey, the night was still young. Ducking through the arched doorway with Amy hot on your heels, you let her guide you into the foyer where you both stopped to take in the scene. The place was packed with people dancing, drinking and laughing—everyone apparently having a great time. Which was perfect for you because all you wanted to do was blow off a little steam and pretend you hadn’t spent the day fantasizing about committing the perfect murder.

You enjoyed school for the most part and you enjoyed your classes, but really you couldn’t wait for it all to just be over. Two extra years and your master’s degree in linguistics was almost within your grasp. You still weren’t one hundred percent what you planned to do with it (teaching was definitely out) but either way you were ready to dive into the real world. To no longer be stressed out about exams and papers and boring ass professors that constantly seemed to have a stain on their tie.

And to get far, far away from your stupid ex, Adam.

“Uh oh you have murder face,” Amy said as she peeped around to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You shrugged. “Just in my head I guess.”

Amy hummed. “I get it. That’s why we are here though! To get fucked up and do something we regret in the morning.”

You laughed. “Guess we’re Uber-ing home.”

She grinned and grabbed your wrist, pulling you over to a table loaded with different types of alcohol. The guy ‘tending bar’ as it were winked as you two approached. “What can I get you for?”

“Something with alcohol but where we can’t taste the alcohol!” Amy exclaimed happily. “Oh! And if you’ve got any little umbrellas I’d like one of those too.”

He did finger guns and proceeded to cook something up in two red cups, sticking in two pink umbrellas when he was done. You and Amy took your drinks and after a cursory sniff, took a sip. The tequila wasn’t as strong as with a single shot but you could still detect it just not enough to make you stop drinking. Unlike Amy you didn’t plan to get completely fucked up but you weren’t going to say no to a nice buzz.

Cups in hand you migrated onto the dance floor and fell in with everyone else, bopping to the beat and scream chatting over the loud music.

“I really needed this!” Amy yelled. “Statistics is kicking my cute little ass!”

“I know what you mean!” You shouted. “But hey! Soon we’ll be done and actual jobs will be kicking our cute little asses!”

Laughing, Amy bounced up and down, sending her blonde hair flying. “Is that why you’ve been so grumpy lately? Or is it…he who shall not be named?”

With a sigh you took a big sip of your strawberry margarita. “Yeah. He keeps fucking calling me and leaving me these stupid ass messages, apologizing and shit. I’ve blocked him but he just uses someone else’s phone.”

Amy’s eyes stretched wide. “That’s like stalker behavior! Or maybe he really is sorry for what he did.”

You snorted. “Sorry for having sex with his ex in the backseat of my car? As far as I am concerned he can take his ‘sorrys’ and shove them so far up his ass they come out his mouth as safaris!”

Amy choked a little on her drink, hitting you hard on the arm in admonishment after she stopped coughing. “I hate you! I could have died!”

Her words made you smirk. “But did you? No but for real, fuck Adam. Fuck Adam and anyone who even looks like Adam!”

“Woo!” Amy threw both hands up into the air, yelping as liquid sloshed down onto her head. “Oh shit! Drink emergency I’ll be right back!”

Before you could say anything, she turned and hurried back towards the drink table. Alone in the middle of a dancing crowd, you didn’t know whether you should slink over to a corner or just keep dancing. That last thing you wanted was some random dude trying to groove with you. Of course if you decided to hold up the wall nothing would stop some random dude from trying to hit on you either. At a bit of a loss you drained the rest of your drink and did a I don’t really know anyone two step, hoping Amy would return soon.

The tequila settled nice and warm in your stomach, making you feel more at ease. Most of the people at the party were from your school but not ones you associated with on like, a daily basis. Sure you recognized a few faces from the library or cafeteria but there was no one you’d had more than a surface conversation with.

And then your eyes landed on him. Ten.

Ten was a…different sort of person altogether. He was the kinda guy CW shows thought actually existed in college, except he was very real. And very much fucking gorgeous in that unattainable way CW shows also loved. However, that sort of did him a disservice because as far as you knew, he was just a decent guy who happened to be able to do some pretty awesome things.

For example, he was an amazing dancer. The kinda dancer that just freaking mesmerized you when he moved. Had you wondering how in the hell had he taught his body to do that shit? One minute he was in total sync with everyone else and the next he was performing his solo and blowing your mind. He’d done some show a few months ago with a friend and you’d nearly flipped out of your chair watching him work. The body rolls, the attitude, the way he’d just commanded the stage…whew. Was it possible to be a fan of someone who wasn’t famous?

Then there was his art; things he designed himself or drew from memory. Art class was essentially where you’d sorta came to be acquaintances with him. You weren’t exactly good at drawing but you liked it enough that you wanted to improve, plus it helped you de-stress after particularly hard days. Ten on the other hand excelled and just like with dancing, it was interesting to watch his process. He’d described himself as a sensory artist so he wasn’t always as concerned with the end product as the professor sometimes wanted him to be. From your eye though he’d yet to create anything that wasn’t remarkable. In fact, more than once you’d wanted to ask him to design a tattoo for you, but felt it would be kinda weird. He had no idea what you were into after all. So far your conversations with him had consisted of colors and that one time he’d asked to borrow one of your brushes.

You were pretty sure he’d sold something to an art gallery.

Anyway so Ten could dance and he could draw and he could sing and he was fluent in several languages; as far as you knew the only thing he was kind of shit at was cooking. But who hadn’t set a class kitchen on fire once or twice? Or three times…

If he were an asshole—well people would probably still crush on him—you’d count that as a major flaw and want to keep your distance. But the kicker was that he could do cool things and he was nice. Dorky even especially when it came to cute animals. Was always posting pictures of himself at the animal shelter playing with the kittens and the puppies, or just acting like an idiot with friends. Yet it was that confidence that made him seem untouchable, and also made him sexy as fuck. More than once you’d fantasized about biting his Adam’s apple.

Heh.

Shaking your head, you fanned lightly at your face with both hands. Maybe stepping outside for some fresh air would be a good idea.

“Y/N!” Amy nearly tripped over her pretty sandals in her hurry to get back to you. “Weewoo weewoo weewoo!”

“Um…”

She grabbed your shoulder. “It’s a police siren! We have a code red situation here, I repeat a code red! Adam just walked in!”

“What?” You blinked and immediately looked towards the doorway, brows narrowing when you saw she was right.

Standing there in a white t-shirt in his formerly handsome glory was your ex-boyfriend, Adam. Once upon a time you’d thought the world of him; thought he was the kinda guy you could probably marry someday. The kinda guy you’d introduced your family to. Turns out he was the kind of guy that hooked up with his ex in your car repeatedly until finally being caught in the act. Sure it had been gratifying to make him and her walk home half naked but it had done nothing to quell the pain left behind. Thankfully though your pain quickly turned to anger and now you usually focused on not murdering him when he popped up. There was a lot you could forgive but cheating was firmly in the do not cross zone. Everything you’d felt for him evaporated the moment you saw him with her.

And he’d promised he was over her. Lying piece of shit, you thought to yourself.

“What the hell is he doing here?! Does he even know anyone here?” you asked with a frown.

“I dunno!” your friend said slowly. “It’s possible, big campus and all. Do you want me to help you climb out of the bathroom window?”

“Yeah my boobs aren’t fitting through one of those skinny ass windows,” you replied wryly. “Though to be honest I’m almost willing to risk it. C’mon let’s—”

It was too late. Adam spotted you like an arrow searching for its target, eyes registering shock and then elation. He reached you in three quick strides, opening his arms for a hug that he was damned crazy to expect. “Y/N. Wow you—you look amazing. I’m so glad we ran into each other.”

You huffed. “I’m not. I told you we’re over Adam. Or does me blocking your calls not get the message across?”

He exhaled deeply. “Look I know I messed up but I’m sorry. Classes were just really tough and—and Lucy and I would reminisce about old times…”

“Do I look like I give a shit? You cheated on me and we’re over.” The lie came so easily. “Besides, I’ve moved on.”

“Yeah!” Amy poked him in the chest. “She’s moved on so suck it!”

Adam arched a brow. “You’ve moved on?” He sounded skeptical and that made your blood boil. “Since when? And with who?”

You’d once heard that Hippocrates came up with the saying drastic times call for drastic measures though it wasn’t something you’d be willing to bet money on. However, standing there with your ex eying you like he just knew you were lying brought a whole new meaning to the idiom. You would one hundred percent be damned before giving him the satisfaction of gloating.

Tequila’s kicking in…

Without missing a beat, you put a hand on your hip and motioned to Ten. “Him. I’m seeing him.”

Amy made a sound like a cat having its tail stepped on while Adam gaped at you. “What? I—no. No way. You’re totally lying. I’ve seen the people he’s dated and you’re not his type at all.”

This bitch.

Twirling on your black heels, you strolled across the room to where Ten sat in an arm chair, chatting with a few of his friends. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you straddled his lap and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I know this is awkward as fuck—I’m so sorry—but if you just play along I will owe you big time. I’ll give you anything. You need a kidney? You can have a kidney.”

Ten’s friends had gone mute and as you sat back to gauge his reaction—or to possibly be thrown off of him—you bit your full bottom lip. His dark eyes were watching you calculatingly, his own lips pursed together like you were a riddle he needed to solve. Up close he was utterly breathtaking, all smooth skin and silky black hair that fell artfully across his forehead. He smelled incredible.

And then he spoke.

“There you are baby,” he said wrapping an arm around your waist. “I’ve been looking for you.”

That was when you figured you owed him your first born but it was fine. “Well, you found me. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He chuckled. “You’re worth waiting for.”

His friends still looked confused though they didn’t have time to voice their opinions. Adam stalked over seconds later like a man on a mission. “So it’s true? You and Y/N are together?”

Ten tilted his head to the side and you saw the moment the lightbulb went off for him. “Yeah we’re together.”

Adam huffed. “Since when? For how long? Where did you two meet?”

Ten smirked. “Are you taking a survey or something?” He brushed his lips across your jaw, making you shiver. “The only thing that matters is that she’s mine. Let’s dance, Y/N.”

“I would love to,” you replied with a smile. You were also grateful he’d remembered your name.

You climbed off of his lap and took his hand, sending Adam a you thought look before pulling Ten out into the thick of the crowd. Your heart was beating a mile a minute but you felt too giddy to pay much attention to it. Plus, you knew Adam was watching you like a hawk and you didn’t want to let on how nervous you actually were. If he found out you were lying he’d never leave you alone and consider you pathetic to boot. Besides the nice buzz that was finally creeping down your spine told you everything would be fine. How could it not be?

Ten’s hands settled low on your hips and he gave you a little tug, pulling your back to his chest. You fit rather perfectly with him, his chin brushing the top of your head. Picking a rhythm in the song that thumped with bass, you began to move together. You rolled your ass against him and leaned your head back to rest on his shoulder, focusing on his breath as it ghosted across your neck. A silver of light wouldn’t have been able to get between you.

Normally you wouldn’t have dared to do something like this with a near stranger but your desire to make your ex suffer was bigger than your nerves. Besides Ten appeared to be all in on the ruse; his body twisting and curving in sync with yours, fingers on his right hand sliding up between your breasts to wrap lightly on your throat. His teeth nipped at your earlobe and you gasped. Reached around to his side to clasp his shirt for an anchor. You heard him chuckle and suddenly you were spun away from him only to be reeled back in, this time face to face.

The room felt like it was two hundred degrees. You weren’t exactly wearing much—a slinky black dress with tiny ties at the hem—but even that seemed too much. Without missing a beat though you and Ten continued to grind with one another, his thigh just barely pushed between your own. Every time you swayed forward to meet him the denim of his jeans rubbed deliciously against you, sending sparks sprinting through your veins. Both of his hands were on your ass as if helping to guide you, and as you met his gaze you couldn’t help but bite your lip at what you saw there. Desire, lust, hunger—no one had ever looked at you like that before. Like they could just devour you and still not have enough of you.

It made you feel powerful.

You grinned and wrapped an arm around his neck, fingers giving his hair a little tug. He hissed and lowered his head so that he could mouth at your bare shoulder, hands squeezing your ass so hard it nearly hurt. You weren’t sure when you started to get wet—maybe it was the moment you sat on his lap or he decided to play along with your dumb stunt—but you could tell it now. Your panties were sticking to you, your skin was on fire and it was becoming difficult to think straight. Honestly however you didn’t want to think at all, especially not if it meant not being in Ten’s orbit.

“Ten,” you whispered into the skin under his jaw.

He hummed, the sound vibrating through your body. You plastered your hand to his chest and pulled it down, nails catching on the thin material of his shirt until they were brushing along the zipper on his jeans. You gave him a quick squeeze—he was hard and straining—and he cursed loudly. Between one second and the next he was dragging you down a dimly light hallway, past kissing couples and one guy passed out drunk in the doorway of someone’s room. He swung you both into the first vacant room he came to; a lavish bathroom at the very back of the house. The door was closed with a swift thump and the lock clicked shut.

You licked your lips as he crowded you back into the counter, looking down at you with a tiny smirk. That part of your brain that yammered on about bad decisions was surprisingly quiet, so you figured it was beyond okay to pull him down for a kiss. As with most of the stuff he did, Ten was a damn good kisser. His mouth was soft and warm, his tongue playful and coaxing. He kissed you like he’d been waiting to kiss you for a long time. Until it grew deep and sensual. Until you were both panting with the need for air but neither wanting to let go of the moment.

With a gasp you tilted backwards a bit, your knees suddenly weak. “Fuck me,” you said absently.

“Can I?” Ten asked, chest heaving. “Can I fuck you?”

“God yes,” you replied, already pulling your dress up until it hitched around your waist.

Ten hooked his thumbs onto the band of your pink panties and slid them down your legs, laying them next to the sink. He looked you over with that same eye he used for his art but you could tell he liked what he saw. You grabbed his hand and brought it between your legs, spreading them wider for him. Two of his fingers slipped inside of you without any resistance to find you damp and aching, already so hot for him. He started a lazy rhythm—in and out, in and out—like he was in no hurry at all. Like he wasn’t driving you crazy all the way down to the tips of your toes.

He kept his eyes locked onto yours as he touched you, lips slightly parted like he couldn’t believe this was happening. That rang true for both of you. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever really be friends with Ten, let alone about to hook up with him. It was like you’d stumbled into some alternate universe.

Bringing his free hand up to your cheek, he smoothed his thumb across your lips, pressing lightly until you let him in. You sucked his thumb into your mouth and gave it a little nip, smiling when he smirked. When he deemed it wet enough, he pressed it to your clit and you moaned, your hips stuttering upward with a will of their own. He began a firm massage, working your clit this way and that, fingers still thrusting in their maddening motion. Of course he’d be great with his hands. Of course he’d be able to play your body like a finely tuned instrument.

Pressure started to build low in your stomach. “I—I’m…”

“Turn around.” Ten took a step back and made a show of sucking his fingers into his mouth, tongue darting out to lick between them like he wanted to savor every drop.

You whimpered but did as he requested, your eyes finding his in the wide silver mirror. You watched as he unzipped his pants and pushed them along with his dark colored briefs down to the floor. You hadn’t seen him pull out a condom but he had one; ripping open the packaging with his perfectly straight teeth before rolling it onto his hard cock. It was a delicious looking thing you had to admit, long and thick with a slight curve. If you’d had the time you would have gladly went to your knees for him.

A low breath shuddered out of Ten’s lungs as he pushed inside of you, his hands gripping your waist so strongly you were bound to have a few bruises later. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

It had been a while since Adam and nobody after him until now.

When he assumed you’d adjusted to the size of him, he pulled nearly out before driving back inside of you. You moaned and pushed back to meet his thrusts, feeling the pleasure shattering through you. Your breasts bounced as he moved and he reached a hand forward, tugging down the top of your dress so that he could cup one. He rolled your nipple between his fingers and pinched, bending over you so that he could bite down onto the tender skin of your shoulder. The motion sent him even deeper and you both groaned at the feeling.

“Te—Ten,” you stammered, losing your train of thought when he rolled his hips liked he did on the dance floor. “Oh fuck! Fuck!”

The picture you made in the mirror was a very erotic one; you could see every single expression on Ten’s handsome face. The utter enjoyment he was obviously finding in fucking you was written all over it; there was nowhere for it to hide. His head was tipped back, eyes fluttering closed only to pop back open so that he could watch himself shove into you over and over again. He had you up on your tip toes, nose just an inch from the mirror itself. He was always sexy but tonight that word took on a whole new meaning.

All you could do was try to give as good as you got.

You slapped a hand onto the sink to steady yourself and clenched around him, reveling in the low whine that escaped his throat. It kinda sounded like your name.

And then he was pulling all the way out, dick bouncing as he stumbled backwards. You blinked in confusion. “Wh--what’s wrong?”

Ten ran his fingers through his hair. “C’mon. I want you to ride me.”

He sat down on the closed toilet seat lid and you straddled him without a second thought, sinking down onto his dick with a full body shudder. With your dress around your waist and your breasts jiggling in his face as you bounced up and down on his cock, he traced his tongue around your nipple before lightly biting down. You tangled your fingers in his hair and panted out his name, letting out a squeak when his palm connected with your ass for a hard slap. Planting his feet on the floor, he leaned you backwards a bit as he drove into you repeatedly, eyes watching how well your pussy took him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against your collarbone. “Gorgeous—you feel so good.” He bit you again, this time on the side of your neck. “So good.”

With one hand on his shoulder to brace yourself, you rose up and let yourself come down hard over and over again, feeling him pound so deep it was almost criminal. Had the music not been so loud you knew exactly what you would have heard; the sound of skin hitting skin as Ten fucked you like he owned you. Just for tonight, maybe he did.

You weren’t sure how long it went on but when you came it still managed to take you by surprise. Your body lit up like a Christmas tree from the inside out and you cried out Ten’s name, clenching around him, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. He muttered a drawn out fuuuuck and pinched your clit with this thumb and forefinger, making you jerk so hard you nearly tumbled off his lap.

“Ah! Ten!” You shouted as he kept it up. “I—no—oh god—”

Your pussy tightened around him again and he shivered, thrusts growing erratic as he came with a grunt. You trembled through a second orgasm almost in disbelief—usually the only thing that could get you off twice in a row was hidden under your bed in a shoe box.

Seconds later you flopped against him, attempting to catch your breath. He was still rolling his hips just a tiny bit, making all the too sensitive areas ping.

“Whoa,” he said breathlessly, wrapping both arms around your waist. “That was…”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah…” Chancing a look at him, you admired the way strands of his dark hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He was glistening, shirt sticking to his chest. He smelled like hints of your perfume and you smelled like hints of his cologne. It was all so intimate.

Reluctantly you sat back and gazed at him, wondering if things were about to get awkward. But Ten just smiled and ducked his head a little, a barely there blush creeping up into his already flushed cheeks. It was so adorable you couldn’t have resisted kissing him if you tried. From the way he melted into you, he’d had the same idea.

After a few minutes of just enjoying the feel of his lips against yours, you forced yourself up off of him. Your legs shook; you had to grab the counter to keep from tripping in your heels. You could already tell you’d still feel him tomorrow and the thought made you kinda dizzy, but in a good way. Blinking at your reflection—your hair was a dark mess—you knew there was no way you’d be able to hide the love bites that adorned your skin. They stood out stark red and purple like a bruise.

Ten remained slouched on the toilet for a couple of moments before removing the condom and tossing it into the trash. He dabbed at his dick with a handful of toilet paper, and then pulled up his underwear and jeans. “So…can I ask you something?”

You fixed your dress. “Sure.”

“Who was that guy?” he inquired with a grin. “The one you obviously wanted to get away from.”

Oh shit you’d forgotten all about Adam! “Oh he—he’s my dumb ex. He jumped stupid at me and I—I wanted to show him that he’s an idiot. That I’m totally over him. I—I’m sorry for getting you involved.”

He laughed as he patted down his hair. “No complaints from my end. I think he got the message though.” Reaching behind you he handed you your panties. “Don’t wanna forget these.”

It was ridiculous to be embarrassed considering what you’d both just done, but you couldn’t help it. You took them from him and pulled them on, keeping your eyes on the ground. “Thanks… Look Ten—”

“I’m hungry,” he said interrupting you. “Have you ever had grilled dried pollack?”

“Um yeah once I think,” you replied uncertainly. “It was pretty tasty.”

Ten motioned behind him. “I know a place that makes it if you wanted to go. And…maybe afterwards we could just hang out. Talk.”

That sounded amazing. “I’d love to. But…”

He picked up on your meaning. “Y/N I sit next to you in all of our art classes. I make conversation with you for no reason. Do you really think I of all people forget my brushes? Honestly I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while but you’ve always seemed…disinterested.”

You were dumbstruck by his admission. “Me?! That’s just my face! You’re the unattainable ingénue or whatever!”

Ten chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh please the only thing standing between me and being a serious cat dad is having an apartment that allows animals. However, this conversation is pointless. You owe me and I’m collecting…if that’s okay?”

You huffed but couldn’t stop grinning. “It’s perfect.”

The walk from the bathroom to the living room had everyone staring with a few people letting out loud whistles. Adam had disappeared but Amy was there to give you a big thumbs up. You promised to call her later and then let Ten pull you outside into the warm night air, your fingers happily entwined with his.

[amymel86]

Hello! Do you have any bits of your awesome writing to share for WIP wednesday?😍

I just saw this anon!

And thank you for asking <3

This is a bit more of this as yet untitled 'post-apocalyptic/fertility/modern arranged relationship???' fic. The first bit I posted on tumblr is here and as before, some things are not yet decided (like town names) and things may change...

“Are you sure this is what you want to do, darling?” Her mother’s voice on the telephone was a balm to her soul.

Sansa’s finger brushed the soft vivid petals of the small potted iris she’d bought at the store today. The iris symbolises hope, wisdom and courage among other things and she prays that the pretty purple and yellow bloom will lend her some of those. “I’ve got to try something, Mum,” she says, turning her attention to the two separate bundles of paper in front of her. Two men, two candidates, two different futures. Sansa had filled out all the matching service’s extensive questionnaires and scrutinised all the information she could find on the program. It seemed simple enough – you’re rewarded for helping to repopulate. In turn, the authorities help to pair you with someone who should be a good match dependant on all the information they have about you. The aim is that this new generation of children are raised in the traditional family unit. That had appealed to Sansa. “I can’t seem to find the right guy all on my own anyway,” she said into her phone.

“How do you know it will be safe, though?”

“It says here that my situation will be monitored by my own caseworker. I can call them any time I want. They’re not just going to drop me at the guy’s house and just leave us get on with it.”

“Hmmm... tell me about them? These men that they’ve narrowed down for you.”

“One’s called Waymar, he’s a financial advisor here in the Vale,” Sasna pauses, looking at the man’s photograph on his paperwork before fishing out the other. “And the other is called Jon, he owns a farm in the Reach.”

“None in the north then?” Her mother has been itching to get her back home. “I just wish there was a way to know that either of them were good men, Sansa. That’s all I want for you.”

Sansa put the two photos together. Two possible fathers for her child.

“That’s what I want too.”

***

“Shit! Holy fucking shit!” Jon says to himself, hanging up from his phone-call. “Mance!” he yells, bursting out of his trailer to find the old man. “Mance! It worked! It fucking worked!”

He’d relented. When Mance first put it to him that he should sign up for that weird government breeding program or whatever the fuck it was, he thought the old man’s last brain-cell must’ve fried up in the sun. But if they were going to make it easier for them and it meant Mance could keep the farm (and Jon could carry on living there rent free), then it was worth a shot. So he had relented. He’d filled out what seemed to be a gazillion and one questions about himself, his politics, his views on family and finances and education and fucking... art and shit. These damned government people wanted to know everything about him down to whether he scrunched or folded his toilet paper it seemed. He’d even had to lie. He didn’t like doing it, but there was no way that a fertile was going to pick him if he didn’t. So, he fished out an old photograph – one taken before the bar brawl that lost him his sight in one eye, and he’d also lied his asscheeks off by claiming he had ownership of the farm. He knew – he knew – that these lies are just more things that were going to trip him up one of these days but with Mance urging him on, he’d signed that damn form and offered himself up for the program.

And now a fertile had chosen him.

Him.

Fuck, he might throw up.

This can go one of two ways. Either completely up Shit Creek without a paddle – with his lies and reality crashing down on top of one another, leaving them exposed... or, his fertile somehow looks past his deceits and sticks with him and they-... well, shit, he could actually become a father. No-one becomes parents these days, especially not ‘round here. Fertiles flock to the big cities, to men with bigger pockets, or they work for couples who can afford to pay them off in exchange for a kid or two.

“It worked?” Mance asks, rolling out from under an old Ford pickup that needed a new exhaust. “They sendin’ us a peach?”

Jon shook his head. “They’re not sendin’ you anyone, old man. An’ don’t call her that – they’re-“ Fuck, what did the council call them on all that paperwork? “Reproductively abled.” He’ll have to remember that if he doesn’t want to offend her.

“Well, shit,” Mance grins. “What did I tell ya? Knew your pretty face was good for somethin’!”

Jon frowns. “Ain’t so pretty no more though.” He might have to go get himself a patch to cover his milky, sightless eye. It’s fine most of the time since Mance is the only one he sees unless he’s going to drink at Hobb’s, but he certainly doesn’t want to put off his ferti- reproductively abled friend who’ll be arriving in three weeks.

“She got a name? Your new peach?” Mance asked, earning him a glare.

“Sansa. Sansa Stark.”

Mance grunts and nods. “Sounds fancy.”

Yeah... It did sound kinda fancy he supposes. Jon’s first reaction had been that it was a mighty beautiful name, but now he thinks of it...

“Shame we can’t look her up – see if she’s a beauty or not.”

Jon can’t remember a time when that was an option. He was barely 11 at the highest point of the virus’s hold. Government officials had deemed certain channels on the internet were causing more harm than good by spreading false rumours, incorrect statistics and completely counterintuitive medical advice. The whole thing was shut down, now deemed illegal, only to be reconnected again three years later apparently looking like a foreign landscape from the one before. The internet was no longer a platform to socialise, only government approved informative sites remained. Mance says it’s better this way – that all people used to do was post vain images of themselves for attention anyway.

Jon wouldn’t mind seeing a vain image of Sansa Stark right about now though.

Not that it mattered terribly. As long as they get along and she decides to stick around she could be as ugly as sin. In fact, she probably will be, won’t she? Most pretty ferti- reproductively abled women stick to the cities and its high-fliers.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. You just gotta keep her happy here and-

“Mance?” he asks, an issue coming to mind. The man grunts in acknowledgement. “Where the fuck is she gonna sleep? She’s not gonna want to stay in my trailer.”

The man grins in response. “I’m glad you asked, boy. I’m glad you asked.”

***

Her caseworker was meant to meet her at the train station. It was quite a drive to the farm and he was meant to pick her up, make sure she’s safe and happy and introduce her to Jon.

That hasn’t happened.

“Please accept my apologies, my dear,” Mr Baelish said down the other end of the phone. “There’s been a mix up with my schedule. We can set you up for the night at a local motel or ask your match to come and get you. Which would you prefer?”

Sansa eyes the dirty looking motel across the street from the train station. Everything here at [[INSERT TOWN NAME]] seems a little on the... rundown side. Maybe the sooner she gets to the farm, the better. Plus, her tummy is all a flutter with anticipation to actually meet Jon. She’d wound up swaying towards Jon as a match due to a few reasons; 1 – he does not live in, around, or anywhere near Harry or his crazy mother. 2 – he owns a farm, and that had conjured up hazy daydreams of idyllic country life. Sansa may enjoy big nights out in the city, drinking her dirty margaritas and feeling her bones vibrate against the base beat in a nightclub, but she knows that’s not what she wants to raise a child around. A child will want to run barefoot through wheat fields and chase chickens and milk cows and –

Let’s just say Sansa has a few ideas and that they all helped to sway her away from city pleasures and towards farmhouse life. And Jon

And last, but not least, reason number 3 – Jon himself. Put side-by-side, his and Waymar’s photographs looked rather similar if truth be told, but Jon won out on something that Sansa just couldn’t describe. Looking at his photograph gave her goosepimples along her forearms because it was like he was looking right back at her. There was something in the depths of his eyes – a kindness? A wit? A strength? She’s not sure, but she couldn’t find the same qualities when she stared at Waymar’s likeness. And his answers too. His questionnaire was full of how he’d like to teach a kid how to walk and ride a bike and fix a... a tractor for heaven’s sake! And so her head was flooded once more of this idyllic life where they got up to watch the dawn stretch over the farmland and they’d grow their own vegetables and she’d bake a pie every day and it would just be perfect.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Sansa glances around the near abandoned train station.

This doesn’t look so perfect right now.

“Could you please arrange for Jon to come and get me, Mr Baelish?”

***

It’s been an hour and fifty-six minutes precisely since Sansa last spoke to Mr Baelish to arrange her match coming to get her. An hour and fifty-six minutes of sitting on the curb, waiting, surrounded by her three suitcases. She’d started off by sitting at the nearby bus stop, purely because it was somewhere to sit and she had a clear view of the road, but after the rude bus driver insisted that if she’s sat there, she must be wanting to hop on his bus, Sansa decided to park her butt on the dusty, sun-baked curb instead. Her legs were beginning to numb and she was starting to get a headache from the sun beaming down on her head. The curls she’d styled into her copper locks have likely lost their hold by now. What a waste. Opposite, on the other side of the street, beside the dirty little motel, there was a tiny bar that advertised the fact that it hosted exotic dancers at the weekends with a blinking neon sign. Next to it was a hunting and fishing ‘emporium’ and beside that was a vacant store with an old dirty sign that read ‘Blouses & More!’. Presumably, the ‘& more’ still wasn’t enough to keep that fine establishment in business in this funny little town. At the end of the block was ‘Tarly’s Drugstore’ and Sansa had been debating with herself whether or not she should haul her suitcases over to go buy a drink and a magazine for about the last hour and fifty-five minutes.

But she hadn’t wanted to miss Jon Snow’s arrival.

Jon Snow, who seemed to be pulling up outside Tarly’s Drugstore in a dusty Ford pickup truck right about now. Sansa stood, expecting him to come right on over considering how long she’d been waiting for him, but she found herself wondering if she’d got it all wrong when she hadn’t caught a good enough look at him before he darted straight into the store.

Sansa is done with waiting. She grabs her smallest case and places it on top of her larger one, trying her darnedest to roll all her luggage across the road in a lady-like fashion. She could feel the eyes of several passers-by on her while her stiletto heels clip across the street. In turn, her own gaze fell to Jon’s cream-coloured truck. Its front bumper looked a little rusty and wonky too. There was a big gash in the leather of the bench seating on the passenger side. On the truck bed, there were a number of items, including a rocking chair that seems to have a couple of spindles on the chair-back missing, and a new double bed mattress wrapped in clear plastic. Sansa was almost done frowning at the state of the vehicle when the over-door bell of the drugstore tinkles.

“Holy shit,” he curses. And yes, it definitely was Jon standing right in front of her. Only... well... his hair was tied into a knot at the back of his head and.... and... he was wearing a black eye patch? “Uh,” he stood there, arms laden with bottles from the store as the gaze from his one good eye quickly darted down her frame and back up again. “You’re her, right? You’re Sansa Stark?”

Sansa found she could only nod, looking him up and down, like he was with her. He was in jeans with oil smears, some tough, heavy looking boots, a somehow pristine white vest and flannel shirt with the arms ripped off.

Speaking of arms...

Gods-damn! Sansa’s focus was momentarily derailed...

“Sorry, I-“ Jon starts before his grey eye drops to the floor and then returns to her, looking a little bashful. “I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”

Oh boy. He may be wearing an eye patch right now but this man could win over a thousand girls with that smile, Sansa’s sure of it. She resists the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. She’s here to find out if they’re well suited enough to start a family together – she needs to keep her head and think rationally, not allow herself to be swayed by his rugged country boy charm. It was Harry’s looks that enticed her in the first place – and look how well that turned out for her?

“Thank you,” Sansa says, blinking back at him before his words truly hit home. “Didn’t they give you my photograph?”

Jon shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

Huh.

“Did they show you mine?”

Sansa bites her lip and gives a nod.

Jon grimaces. “So I guess you weren’t expecting this?” He points to his patch.

Sansa shakes her head. “No... did you... did you do something to injure it?”

Jerking his head, Jon begins rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “It’s a long story... but... it ain’t gonna get any better, if that’s what you’re askin’.”

“Oh.”

They stood, staring at one another for a heartbeat or five before Jon sucks in a breath over his teeth and glances down to the bottles he clutched to his chest with one arm. “I tried to get you some things to help you feel at home,” he says, “these are the nicest smellin’ soaps ‘n’ stuff from Tarly’s.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replies, knowing full well that she brought her Highgarden Floral Scents bathroom range with her.

Jon chews on his lip as he eyes her suitcases. “Lemme get those for you,” he offers before dumping the bottles in his arms into the truck bed and reaching for her luggage. Sansa’s heeled shoes seem welded to the spot. Jon notices. Scrubbing both hands down his face in resignation, he takes a step closer to her and Sansa realises for the first time, that he had dirt beneath his fingernails. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “It was a shitty thing for me to do,” he offers, his words low and husky. Sansa feels the timbre of his voice set off a trickle of gooseflesh down her spine. “I’m sorry.”

She blinks at him, momentarily confused.

“About this,” he explains, brows high on his head as he points to his patch. “I shouldn’t have sent that old photo of before this happened, but – fuck – even my ex-girl won’t acknowledge I exist anymore with this and I knew I shoulda been honest about it but-“

“This ex-girl...” Sansa suddenly found herself left with a sour taste in her mouth. “... does she still mean something to you?”

Jon licks at his lips, his eye falling briefly to her own. “No, ma’am,” he shakes his head.

[yandere-society]

Sugar Rush

Synopsis: You thought the breakup had gone well, but your ex-girlfriend Yoonji didn’t seem to get the message. When you go out with friends to party on Halloween night, you encounter Yoonji in an unexpected way – and you discover just how far she’ll go to get you back.  

Pairing: Min Yoonji x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Yandere themes, blood/mentions of blood, stalking, restraints, safeword violation, torture, suicide mention, gore

Headline: Woman In Sumo Wrestler Suit Assaulted Ex-Girlfriend In Gay Pub After She Waved At Man Dressed As A Snickers Bar

Admin: @psycho-slytherin​

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

“Ooh – gah!”

“Y/n?” Mia pokes her head into the kitchen. Her pupils are pure black, and she looks to be crying blood. “What happened?”

“Ugh, I think my mom sent me these roses and I pricked myself on a thorn,” you reply, sucking on your bleeding finger irritably. You lay down the card that came with the bouquet, which reads See you soon! “You look great.”

“Thanks! I’m a student.” Mia steps forward to reveal a school uniform shirt, sweatpants, and flip-flops. 

“Uh…”

“Cause I’m stu-dying, get it?”

You snort. “Very nice.”

“What are you? You haven’t changed!”

You sigh. “I don’t think I’m going to dress up.” You can’t shake Halloween’s association with her.

“What? But 66 Below has their ‘free drink for a costume’ thing going on. C’mon, why not?”

You shrug, looking at your bleeding finger. Roses always seem to have it out for you. “It was our anniversary.”

“Wait, is this about Yoonji? Y/n, you broke up with her! If you regret it so much, get back together. The girl was head over heels with you, I’m sure she’d be down.”

You shake your head. “I’m not getting back together with her. Definitely not.” You and Yoonji were together for three years, long enough that you had started wondering if it would turn into forever. As time went on, however, you began to notice unnerving little quirks in her behavior. She was scaring you, and you ended things soon after. “Besides, she was always so neurotic that I would cheat on her with a guy.”

Mia rolls her eyes. “Biphobia at its finest. Well, fuck Yoonji. It’s been months – now get dressed. It’s Halloween, and we’re going out! Besides, Aisha is meeting us there.”

You laugh. “I don’t have a costume.”

“I have an extra that I brought with me – it’s an unnecessarily sexy angel, it didn’t fit my sister. Try it!”

Angel. That was Yoonji’s name for you. You sigh, dragging yourself away from the traitorous roses and following Mia down the hall.

Soon enough, Mia is putting the final touches on your makeup. “Ooh, you’re glowing!”

“I don’t know why you sound surprised when it’s your fault,” you retort before catching a look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re wearing a white silky babydoll dress – the kind that you’d only wear in the bedroom. She’d love it. You’re sporting white fishnets and feathered wings, with a golden headband resembling a halo to complete the look. Mia has done your makeup expertly, with lots of rose and gold, so that you look perfectly angelic. You add your favorite rainbow earrings for some added pride. Still, the outfit…

“Isn’t this a little… risque?” Yoonji would never let you wear something like this out.

“I don’t want anyone else laying eyes on my angel,” she would croon in your ear. “You’re all mine. I’ll never let anyone else touch you.”

“It’s Halloween, Y/n, as long as the goods are covered you’re set.”

You peer out of the window. The sun has set, and groups of kids are out in spades for trick-or-treating. You used to love Halloween – it had always been your favorite holiday, long before you and Yoonji made it official four years ago.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

She stared at you for a long time. “Do you promise never to cheat? You’ll be loyal to me alone?”

You laughed. “Of course! I like you, I want to date you!

“In that case…” She leaned forward and kissed you. Her vampire costume meant you got fake blood all over your lips. “Happy Halloween, angel.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Mia nods. Her black contact lenses are… well, they’re not unintimidating. You’re glad to be able to spend this Halloween with her, and not worry about your ex-girlfriend.

66 Below has long been your and Mia’s favorite LGBTQ bar. With its live music, pride flags, and vintage decor, you feel as though you’re stepping into an extra-queer period piece.Yoonji never liked it; she thought it was too crowded. Tonight, almost everyone is dressed up in costume, enjoying 66 Below’s 'first drink free’ policy.

“Mia! Y/n! Over here!” Mia’s girlfriend Aisha gets your attention, waving at you from a booth. You’ve never encountered a more loving couple, and you know Mia’s planning on proposing to her soon. Aisha is dressed as… “Wait, what is she wearing?” You ask as you and Mia join her. Aisha looks like she printed a graded school paper onto white clothing, complete with red marks and typos. Over her heart is a big red F. In response to your quizzical glance, Aisha points to the F.

“Geddit? I’m a failing grade! I specifically wanted to be a final exam, but…”

You laugh. Mia and Aisha must have coordinated that. You scan the bar and note you’re not the only angel. There’s also some devils, ghosts, animals, anime characters, Iron Man, a Snickers bar, two Harry Potters, and – of course – inappropriately sexy children’s cartoon characters. You love Halloween.

“Y/n, c’mon, let’s grab drinks,” Mia says, but her eyes seem unwilling to leave Aisha’s. Their love reminds you of yours… or, what you thought was love. Towards the end of your relationship, you began to realize Yoonji’s idea of love was very different from yours.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get yours. What do you want?”

“You sure?” When you nod, Mia reels off her order. You approach the bar, smiling at your favorite bartender. “Hey, Jaewon!” 

“Do mine eyes deceive me, or is that Y/n beneath the halo?”

Jaewon pretends to be blinded. He’s dressed as what you can only assume is slutty Mario.

“Shush, you. I’ll have an IPA and a margarita, please.”

“Sure thing.”

As you’re waiting for your drinks, the person in the Snickers costume slides into the seat next to you. “Nice costume, angel.”

You stare at him, a brow raised. If you weren’t at a gay bar, you’d think he was flirting. “Thanks, Snickers.”

“Who are you here with?”

You nod at the booth, where Mia and Aisha are now kissing intensely.

“Y’all poly or are you third wheeling?”

You laugh. “The latter. I’m not the relationship type.” Not anymore. Not after you realized how you were so easily manipulated into thinking Yoonji’s behavior was love. But the way she would kiss you, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, tangling her hand in your hair…

“Yeah, I get you. Couples’ costumes are scary by default to me,” the Snickers jokes. “Perfect for Halloween. I’m Namjoon, by the way.”

“Y/n. Are you here with anyone?”

Namjoon glances around. “I was here with my buddy, but I think he left to fuck one of the Harry Potters. Which is funny, now that I think about it, since he was dressed as Dumbledore.”

You snort. “Oh my god. Well, if you want a group to join, I’ll be third-wheeling over there.” Jaewon reappears with your drinks and a wink.

“I might just take you up on that, angel. Happy Halloween!”

“Hey!” Mia says, finally coming up for air. Miraculously, her bloody tears have stayed put. “Who was that guy you were talking to? He seemed cute!”

“He’s probably gay,” you remind your friend. “He was sweet, though, I invited him to come over if he wanted to – his friend left him. Is that okay?”

Mia and Aisha glance at each other. “Actually, we were wondering…”

You look at the two suspiciously. “Yes?”

“There’s this event happening at 4Sooth,” Aisha says, referencing another bar downtown, “Where the best couples’ costume gets a cash prize. We were thinking… well, zombie student, failing grade…”

Oh. Why did you come here in the first place, then?

“Yeah, you guys totally have a chance!” You offer with as much enthusiasm as you can muster. “Should we go there?”

“The thing is…” Aisha looks at Mia, who shows you the event announcement on her phone.

“Well, the other prize is a night in the ‘Halloween Suite’ at the hotel next door, y’know?” Mia says quickly, a note of pleading in her voice.

Ohhhh. “Right, okay. So… I’ll just stay here, then.”

“Are you sure?” Mia asks anxiously. You can see her on the fence between guilt and excitement.

“Yeah, it’s fine!” You insist. “I’m good at making friends. Have fun!” Just because you have to be alone on Halloween, doesn’t mean Mia and Aisha can’t have a good time.

“You’re the best, Y/n, I owe you!” Mia gives you a quick kiss on each cheek before she and Aisha head out. As soon as they’re out of sight, your smile slips from your face and you sigh, nursing your beer. It’s Halloween, what would have been your and Yoonji’s fourth anniversary, and you’re alone at a bar. Pathetic. You turn to costume-watching, admiring the Big Bird, Dorthy from The Wizard of Oz, a sumo wrestler, and several queer or genderbent characters from all sorts of media.

Namjoon, the Snickers, is looking at you from his seat at the bar. He raises a quizzical brow at the now-empty booth, and you roll your eyes and shake your head in response.

He purses his lips, tipping his glass in acknowledgement.

Wonderful. A bar of candy pities me. You wave, motioning for Namjoon to come join you. You were both alone – why not?

Almost as soon as you lower your hand, several things happen at once: a blur of tan crosses your vision; you hear a loud BANG, and feel a sudden, incomprehensible, searing pain shoot through the back of your head; something warm trickles down your face; there are lips against your ear, whispering words you can’t understand; far-off shouts and screams; and the world goes dark.

“Told you that you’d cheat… you’re just a whore for them… but now you’re all mine again.”

“Mmnn…” you groan, blinking hard. Your head hurts – everything hurts. You feel like you’ve been hit by a truck. You’re lying on something soft. Did you go to bed? You move to rub your temple, but your wrist is tugged back by… rope. Rope? Your eyes widen and you begin to struggle furiously against the restraints, yanking until you feel your hands are going to detach themselves. “What the fuck?” Your wrists are tied to bedposts. Shit. Were you drugged? Was it Jaewon the bartender? “HELP! Somebody! Help me!” Your shoes are gone, and – oh, no – your white dress is stained and splattered with blood. Yours? When you try to pull yourself up, your vision floats before you. You can feel warm blood trickling down your head, tickling your scalp. You fall back onto the pillow, trying to force your vision to focus. “Help me…”

Suddenly, you hear heavy footsteps, and a voice that makes you freeze.

“Looks like I nabbed myself a pretty little angel. Talk about fallen from grace, right?”

Your cries for help freeze in your throat. “Yoonji?”

And in walks your ex-girlfriend, the blow-up sumo wrestling suit deflating around her. That flash of tan… so she was there, at 66 Below. Her pristine black bob hasn’t changed in the last few months, and her makeup is perfectly done. As the suit empties, she steps out of it, wearing her favorite outfit of black tights and skirt with a cream blouse.

“Let me go,” you croak. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed in her fist. Your fighting spirit seems to have evaporated in the face of the woman you once loved. It doesn’t make sense… or does it make too much sense? You knew she was possessive – it’s why you ended things. But this? “Yoonji… please. Please.”

Yoonji pretends not to hear you, instead walking around the bed to inspect your restraints. Of course, now that you’ve collected yourself, you recognize her bedroom. In fact, it’s not your first time being tied to these same bedposts.

“Red. Yoonji, please, red,” you try desperately, hoping the safeword might make her relent. For a moment, her cool expression falters. It’s quickly replaced with raw fury.

“You want to try calling red?” She snarls, looking right at you. “You cheated on me. You broke up with me!”

“I never cheated!” You cry, kicking out at her in vain. “You always thought I was cheating on you – I didn’t do anything!”

“I saw you,” she replies, raising a hand and bringing it down hard on your cheek. Your head jerks to the side and you can taste blood. Your face is on fire, it must be, how can it hurt so badly? “It’s our anniversary. I saw you wave at that candy bar.” Another slap leaves your jaw aching. “Fucking whore, do you flirt with every man you see? Girls like you can never be faithful.”

“We’re not together anymore!” You yell, pulling hard on the ropes. They’re much stronger and more coarse than any Yoonji has used with you before, and you bite back a yelp of pain at the rope burn. Your head hurts so much, and your chest is heaving with anxiety. Is she going to kill you? “You’re insane. Let me go – they’ll find out I’m gone. They’ll call the police.” After you and Yoonji broke up, you moved in with Mia. Surely she’ll be concerned when you don’t show up.

Yoonji laughs softly. It’s the way she would laugh when she had a secret. “Well… you did text your housemate to tell her you were going home with the Snickers bar. She’s not expecting you – and that contest is going to keep her at the hotel all night anyways.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. How does she know? “What text? Where’s my phone?”

Yoonji lazily fishes your phone from her pocket. “You really haven’t changed your password?”

“Give that back! Let me go!” You twist your hips and kick hard in her direction, scoring a tiny victory when your phone goes flying from Yoonji’s hand. In the split second that she’s leaned over to retrieve it, you try to see if you can feel any slack at all in the ropes binding your wrists. Yes! There’s something. Maybe your situation isn’t hopeless after all.

Your spirits fall by the wayside when you see Yoonji rise with a terrifying smile on her face. “What a frisky angel, you like to kick, don’t you? Maybe I should tie those lovely legs too.”

“No- don’t touch me! Yoonji, c’mon…” your voice breaks when you see her pull a length of rope from her closet. “W-what are you going to do with me?”

“What am I going to do with you? Exactly what I’ve always wanted to. I’m going to make sure no one else will ever touch you again. You’re mine, angel, you always have been.” Yoonji reaches for your legs and you kick wildly, desperate to escape. Your heart feels like a racehorse in your chest, and sheer adrenaline numbs the throbbing pain in your head.

“Stop… struggling!” Yoonji hisses furiously as she makes a grab for your foot. “Ungrateful bitch. Why are you always trying to get away from me? All I did was love you!”

Now. You slam your heel into her chin, and her head snaps upward with the force of your kick.

For a second you feel like she’s about to crumple to the ground, but instead she lowers her gaze to stare into your soul once more.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Yoonji massages her jaw, and when she speaks, blood drips from between her lips. She begins to pace around the bed, avoiding your kicks. “Bad angel… maybe you’re just a devil in disguise, huh? I always knew you were a dirty fucking liar. And you didn’t even say thank you for the roses.”

The roses? Your eyes widen. See you soon. They were from her? “Fuck you,” You say in response, surreptitiously tugging and relaxing the slack on your right hand’s rope. “I never cheated. You were just scared that I could love men and women. Well, guess what? I loved you! For years, until I realized you never loved me back.”

“What?” You see horror cloud Yoonji’s face. “You fucking bitch. ALL I did was love you!”

You shake your head, determined to keep her talking. She’s out of range of your kicks for now. If you could just get your hands free…

You feel suddenly woozy. Are there two… no, three Yoonjis? Shit. Now is not the time for a concussion.

“You never loved me. You were obsessed and insane. Don’t you hear yourself?” You say, your volume increasing. You know the walls are well-insulated, but she’s still in an apartment complex. Maybe the neighbors will hear? Another tug on the rope. You twist your wrist, and for a second you can feel it loosening. “You only wanted me so that no one else could have me!”

“You’re lying.” Maybe it’s a reflection of your bloody dress, or the blood dripping from her mouth, but for a second her eyes seem to shine red.

You shake your head. You’ve almost got a hand free. “You’re the one who’s lying, Yoonji. You’re lying to yourself.” Dizzy again. “You – ngh – you can just let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” Almost got a hand free. How long has it been?

Suddenly Yoonji is looming over you. “Ah, but you forgot.” She spits at you, and a mouthful of scarlet blood hits the white pillowcase. Some of it splatters on your cheek. You keep tugging at the tie around your left hand. It’s much tighter than your right. She’s rummaging in her bedside drawer, and that look in her eyes… you’re scared. “I might’ve let an angel go, but you decided you’re not an angel. You’re a devil. And where do devils belong?”

“Uh…”

“That’s right.” Yoonji shows you what she’s retrieved: a lighter. She walks around the bed to the bottom right corner of the duvet. “Devils like you should stay in hell.”

“Yoonji. Yoonji, what are you –” She lowers the lighter to the duvet, and you see the cloth begin to smoke before a small flame forms on the bed, flickering but gaining in strength. “YOONJI!”

“I told you, Y/n.” Her voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it as she wipes more blood from her chin. “I’ll never let anyone touch you again.”

“C’mon, please, this is too much,” you say, your voice bleeding into hysteria as you thrash around, trying to kick the burning blanket away from your body. The fire begins to grow, and in your frenzied movement you accidentally burn your foot. You jerk away, yanking at the ropes on your wrists. You’re wearing fishnet stockings – if those catch fire, it’ll travel all the way up your body in a flash. “Let me go! Let me go, you psycho!”

Yoonji makes a pouty face. “Poor baby. Let you go… or what?”

“Please!” You shriek as the fire grows, the smoke now visibly rising from the bed. “Yoonji, I’m sorry, please, please…”

“I missed hearing you beg, my love. What a delicious Halloween treat. And if you need to blame anyone…” Yoonji pauses and smiles. The blood has gotten between her teeth, giving her a terrifying undead look. “Blame that Snickers bar.”

With that, she leaves the room and closes the door behind her. Fuck. You tug furiously at your right hand, where the rope has significantly loosened. You can feel the heat from the flames, dangerously close to you. “C’mon, c’mon…” You’re not going to die here, what a terrible headline. Who would write your obituary? You fight through another wave of dizziness. “Fucking hell!” With effort that leaves your muscles trembling, you wriggle your right hand out of its ties, and it quickly flies to your other hand. Maybe you’ll survive.

Unless she locked the door. Yoonji is four floors up. From that height…

You quickly work through the knots on your left wrist, which Yoonji tied so tightly you can’t feel several of your fingers anymore. Faster. Your nails are broken from tearing at the rope, and at one point the nail on your middle finger catches and gets stuck fast in the rope. The fire has spread to the carpet, and thick, black smoke is billowing up. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for the pain – it’s nothing compared to burning alive – and yank your hand back.

“Gah!” It’s a furious pain, for so small a point. The fingernail is ripped off your finger and hangs there as your nail bed bleeds freely. You force yourself to keep moving, to undo the knot or rip the rope off completely but the pain makes it hard to breathe…  or is it the smoke quickly filling the air? With movements made jerky by panic, you at last find a loose end and pull it through the knot. The rope around your wrist loosens and you’re able to slip your hand out. You’re not going to think about the fact that you can’t feel three of your fingers or move them properly. You’re free. You look around wildly, rushing for the door. You rattle the handle, but it’s locked. You can try to kick through it? But what if Yoonji is on the other side of the door, and shoves you back into the flames? The window next to the bed is locked too. But… You bend down and, straining, lift her entire bedside nightstand up. As soon as you stand your legs wobble and threaten to collapse, and you feel blood continue to drip down your neck and back. You stumble, almost to the window, but–

“Ugh-” You lose your grip and the nightstand crashes to the floor, almost on your foot. At that moment, you’re tempted to break down completely. What if you just… gave up? If you go through the window, you’ll probably die in the fall. Through the door, if you can even kick it down, and Yoonji will surely be waiting for you. You could just stay here, where at least death is a merciful certainty.

No – what are you thinking? You have to live. If you die, Yoonji will be free, and you won’t be able to tell your story. If you die now… she wins.

You adjust your stance and, arms trembling, lift the nightstand once more. The air is getting harder to breathe, you don’t know how much longer you have. You heave the nightstand at the window and it crashes straight through the glass, smashing down onto the street four stories below. Wait – the street. It must only be a little past midnight, because you can see some teens and adults still walking the street in costume. Passersby!

“HELP!” You shriek, waving your hand. You’re cut and bleeding in several places from flying glass, and you surely look fit for Halloween.

Wait. Hang on. One of the adults laughs and points up at you. “Great costume!” he yells.

“No, no, no…” the smoke is getting thicker, the fire closer. “Please- please help!” What you need to be a strong yell comes out a broken sob. “There’s a fire! Please help me!”

Two groups seem to realize it’s not just a Halloween prank, and you see some people whip out their phones to call the police. Several more rush forward, but clearly have no plan other than to stand beneath the window.

The police will take too long. You blink through the smoke, which is now visible through the window. You will not burn alive. And you won’t let Yoonji walk free, not after this. You brush the broken glass away from the windowsill and carefully step onto the ledge, a bleeding angel in the night. Your wings and white dress glow in such contrast to the walls that it looks like you’re flying.

You hear gasps and screams, and a “Don’t jump!”

Idiot. As though you have a choice. No, you only have one choice left, and you’re making it count. “My name is Y/n L/n,” You yell, forcing down a smoky cough, “And the person who killed me is Min Yoonji!”

No time to think. You step forward off the ledge, closing your eyes. Forty feet isn’t that far to fall, maybe you’ll make it.

Fucking Snickers bar.

[yeah-klave]

The Sexual Awakening of David Joseph Katz - Chapter 8

Link to Chapter 1 || Link to Chapter 2 || Link to Chapter 3 || Link to Chapter 4 || Link to Chapter 5  ||  Link to Chapter 6 ||  Link to Chapter 7

Series summary:  A multi-chapter journey of self-discovery and sexual awakening.

Chapter summary: Dave tries something new.

Genre: Developing relationship, smut. (18+ only, please)

A/N: This is set in a nothing-too-bad-happens modern AU. The characters are all in their early twenties (I’m picturing adult!actor versions of them and Dave as a (younger) Cody Ray Thompson). The siblings are all still living at home, relatively happily, and Dave, Lila, Sissy and Carl are friends who hang out with them at the Academy.

Word length: 5.2k

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of The Umbrella Academy characters or settings.

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It was the weekend. Klaus and Dave had spent the day hanging out with Diego, Ben and Luther.

They’d driven out of the city to a hiking trail and explored for a bit, then set themselves up on a rickety jetty to do some fishing in a nearby lake.

Ben had rolled his eyes at Diego and Luther’s competitive sniping, but all three had ended up blaming Klaus for scaring away all the fish after he got board of sitting quietly and decided to dip his toes in the water and attempt to splash the serious look of concentration off Dave’s face. He succeeded.

Nobody ended up catching any fish.

In the afternoon, they returned to the Academy to chill and – at Dave’s insistence – have a Star Wars movie marathon.

At one point, Five wandered through the living room. He paused to roll his eyes fondly at the slouching heap of limbs they had become, before heading off in the direction of the bar. They heard clinking, them a few moments later he wandered back out, distractedly muttering something about quantum mechanics and clutching a Margarita topped with a little blue cocktail umbrella.

At some point during the second movie, Ben extracted himself and wandered off to a quiet nook to do a little reading and, shortly afterwards, Luther left to go pick up Allison from the mall, where she’d been shopping with some girlfriends.

Bored again from too much sitting, Klaus had come up with a game that involved passing random objects between them without letting them touch the floor, using only their feet.

With the movie still playing in the background, they’d been passing Dave’s balled-up hoodie between them for a solid twenty minutes when Diego’s phone pinged and he missed the pass from Klaus, letting the hoodie fall to the floor.

“Dude!” Klaus exclaimed, hands raised.

Diego shrugged and checked his phone.

“It’s Lila inviting me over,” he said. “Her roommate’s out of town.”

“Booty call,” Klaus grinned, winking at Diego and conspiratorially nudging Dave with his elbow. “Sounds like you’re in there, bro.”

Diego grimaced back. “More like, she’s bored of being on her own without anyone to tease, so she’s calling sparring partners to her.”

“If that really was the case,” Dave said, “and all she wanted was an argument, she’d just text Carl.”

“Ha! True!” Klaus barked a laugh. “He’d definitely take the bait. He’s been in such a pissy mood recently.” Klaus made a lewd gesture, “I don’t think he’s getting any from Sissy.”

“I don’t think you can blame Sissy for Carl’s foul mood,” Dave added sagely.

“Definitely not!” Klaus said, “it’s not her fault her boyfriend’s a prick.”

“To be fair,” Diego cut in, “she’s been pretty busy recently with that volunteering group she and Vanya signed up for. You know, the one with the music therapy for autistic kids.”

Klaus and Dave shared a glance and Dave had to duck his head quickly to hide his smile.

“Yeah,” Klaus said slowly, “Sissy and Vanya have been busy with the… volunteering. Recently, in particular, they’ve both got very… busy. Together.”

Engrossed in his phone, Diego didn’t notice the knowing grin that passed between Klaus and Dave.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Diego mused, “maybe it gives her too much power. Coming when she calls, I mean. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

“Don’t you mean get the right idea?” Klaus smirked.

“Shut up,” Diego scowled, “I’m not her lap dog.”

Klaus caught Dave’s gaze and rolled his eyes. “Honestly, these Straights,” he said with a mock exasperated sigh, “they have such complicated relationships.” He turned to Diego and levelled him a challenging look. “Seriously, brother mine, you need to let that girl peg the toxic masculinity right out of you. You might have a clearer perspective on the whole thing after you’ve let her fuck you ‘till your true bratty bottom personality starts showing. I bet you’d find it quite liberating to let her watch you shake apart while your ankles are in the air and your knees are up by your ears.”

Diego let out a strangled choking sound.

“But if you’re too much of a sissy to let a woman top you,” Klaus added, “I’d highly recommend levelling up and finding a nice guy to fuck you instead. Tits are nice and all that – but you just can’t beat a big, hard dick. So go find yourself one of them. Just not the one attached to him,” Klaus winked at Dave, “because that one’s spoken for.”

Dave grinned fondly, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t even know where to start with that,” Diego said with a grimace.

“Well,” Dave said evenly, “personally, I’d recommend starting with a bit of dry humping. Then, when you finally get your hands around it, you can start working it properly. Maybe fondle the balls a bit.”

“Dave!” Diego said shocked. “That’s… you… don’t say things like that.” He looked between Klaus and Dave, scandalised. “He’s having a bad effect on you, Dave.”

“He’s had an effect alright,” Dave said, catching Klaus’ eye, “a big, prominent, pointed effect.”

“Seriously, dude,” Diego grimaced, “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Oh, quit whining,” Klaus chuckled. “We all know you ship us hard.”

“So hard,” Dave added.

“So, very, very hard.” Klaus giggled. “As hard as we make each other.”

“Oh, dear god!” Diego cringed, covering his ears with his hands. “Mental images! Forcing their way into my brain. Cannot un-think!”

Klaus and Dave both laughed.

“Well, on that note, I’m off.” Diego patted himself down checking for his keys and started towards the door. “I’d rather be at Lila’s beck and call than listen to anymore of this. You reprobates stay safe now. And for God’s sake, don’t cum on anything, please!”

“Don’t worry,” Klaus called after him. “We swallow.”

“La-la-la! NOT LISTENING!” Diego called back, hands over his ears again as he left, the front door to the Academy clicking shut behind him.

Klaus caught Dave’s eye and Dave raised an eyebrow and asked simply, “So, shall we?”

And Klaus barked a laugh. “Hell, yes!” he said, pulling Dave to his feet.

They ran upstairs and stumbled down the corridor to Klaus’ room, laughing and kissing and fumbling, hands pulling off clothes and blindly knocking into furniture in their haste.

“Diego’s really going to appreciate the trail of discarded clothing leading to your room,” Dave smiled, glancing over Klaus’ shoulder.

“Don’t care,” Klaus breathed, his lips pressing kisses along Dave’s jaw. “To be honest, Grace will probably pick it all up before he sees anyway.” Dave’s eyes widened in panic, but Klaus took the lobe of Dave’s ear into his mouth and sucked, and Dave’s mind blanked. He shivered and Klaus grinned, grazing his teeth along the flesh.

The door to Klaus’ room was barely shut behind them before Klaus was sinking to his knees in front of Dave, hands scrambling to unbuckle his pants.

Dave rested his head back against the door and allowed Klaus to pull his pants and boxers down, but before Dave had chance to step out of them, Klaus was leaning forwards eagerly and taking Dave into his mouth.

Dave groaned, long and low, both his hands going to Klaus’ head, fingers carding through the unruly curls, fingernails raking slowly and seductively along the scalp. He then tugged gently, in just the way he knew Klaus loved and Klaus hummed in delight. The vibrations sent a wave of pleasure through Dave and he sighed out Klaus’ name. Klaus hummed again, then started sucking and bobbing his head in earnest, his hands steadying Dave’s hips.

Dave closed his eyes and let the feelings overtake him. Klaus was setting a delicious rhythm, with just the right level of suction. His mouth was hot and wet and perfect. Dave could feel Klaus breathe out as he relaxed his throat and took Dave down deeper.

“Oh, Klaus…” Dave moaned, gently tugging on his hair again. “That’s so good.”

Klaus hummed again and, fighting the impulse to gag, took him down ever further.

“Oh, yes!” Dave sighed. “Oh Klaus, your mouth feels so good.” His brain fuzzy, the praises spilled off his lips, “Yes, oh you’re so good at that. It feels amazing. You feel amazing. You’re amazing.” Dave could feel the pressure building, the knot tightening. Klaus kept bobbing and sucking. “Oh yes, there, like that. Klaus! Oh yes, yes.”

 Dave twitched his hips slightly and Klaus gave an almost imperceptible nod and squeezed his fingers, signalling that Dave could thrust forwards. Dave let out a strangled little sound and – ever so gently – started fucking Klaus’ mouth. Klaus moaned, his pupil’s blown and his chin wet.

Dave let out a low grunt and concentrated on the feeling of the tiny thrusts of his hips – the raw, decadent pleasure of pushing his cock into his partner’s willing mouth. The slightly strangled moans coming from Klaus were needy and wanton and desperate. The act felt so… base. So… primal. To Dave, it felt… unimaginably good.

Dave savoured the feeling, storing it away to be examined and replayed at another time, another place.

Klaus squeezed Dave’s hips again and then took him all the way down into his throat, swallowed, then hummed. And Dave felt the vibrations rumble through him in a heady wave. His fingers twitched and his hips bucked involuntarily.

Klaus chocked. Just a little. “Sorry, sorry,” Dave said, contrite. He only felt slightly guilty for the sudden rush that had surged through him at the sight and sound of Klaus choking on his cock.

Klaus hummed in response, picking up the pace of his bobbing, cheeks hollowed and his tongue working the underside. His thumb ran soothingly over Dave’s hipbone and even in his state of fuggy pleasure, Dave knew it was a sign of reassurance.

Half out of his mind with pleasure, Dave looked down and took in the sight of Klaus; cheeks hollowed, his lips stretched wide around Dave’s cock, the gentle sway of his wild curls as he bobbed his head. His eyelashes were dark fans over eyelids heavy from desire. Dave felt a proprietary surge of pleasure as he noticed the beginnings of dark streaks on the pale, delicate skin under Klaus’ bottom lashes, where the slight wetness around his eyes had caused his eyeliner to run.

Dave gave another low groan. He could feel himself tensing, his pleasure cresting. “Klaus!” he managed to grunt.

 Klaus pulled back and off with a wet pop, a line of saliva still connecting them. He began fisting Dave’s length. He opened his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue and rested Dave’s tip on the wet, pink muscle. He looked up: open and willing and eager. Ready to be claimed, though Dave.

Eyelids heavy and eyes dark with lust, Klaus gazed up at Dave through his lashes. And, staring down into Klaus’ eyes, Dave’s pleasure crested and his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal surge. He came undone, pulsing and releasing, thick creamy ropes of cum landing over Klaus’ tongue and his lips and his chin and his cheek. Klaus closed his eyes and took it, hand still working Dave’s shaft, helping him ride out his high. And Dave just kept cumming, all over his boyfriend’s face and tongue and a bit in his hair. And it felt so dirty, but also so brilliant. And his brain thrummed: mine, mine, mine…

Dave’s cock gave a final weak pulse and Klaus licked the small trickle of cum off the tip.

Dave looked down and blushed at the sight of Klaus on his knees before him, his cheeks flushed, chin wet, face splattered with cum and his hair sticking up wildly from where Dave had been gripping the dark curls.

“Oh, Klaus” he whispered reverently. And Klaus smiled and gently kissed the tip of Dave’s cock one last time before getting to his feet.

Dave’s thumb came up to Klaus’ bottom lip and smeared a spot of cum across the skin. Klaus’ tongue came out to taste it, but Dave leaned forwards quickly and caught Klaus’ lips in a kiss, tasting himself on Klaus’ skin and in the slow slide of their lips and tongues.

“So, I guess we didn’t do what Diego asked after all,” Dave smiled.

“Pretty sure he meant the sofas, or in the kitchen or something,” Klaus grinned. “I don’t think it counts if the thing you’re cumming on is me.” Dave groaned again. Then reached blindly, grabbed his discarded tee and lightly wiped the mess off Klaus’ face. Then he brought their faces close until the tips of their noses were touching and brushed them together in an Eskimo kiss.

Dave stepped forwards, trying to walk Klaus back to the bed but, forgetting about his pants still pooled around his ankles, he almost overbalanced. Klaus laughed and held his arms steady while Dave toed off his boots and socks and stepped out of his jeans. Klaus’ pants had been abandoned somewhere on the trip from the living room to Klaus’ bedroom.

Dave gently placed his hands on Klaus’ immaculate chest and walked him back to the bed, softly pushing him down onto his back. Klaus shuffled backwards, laying his head on the pillow. He was toned and sun-golden and glorious, his erection a prominent bulge tenting his underwear. He’s gorgeous, Dave thought. Completely gorgeous and all mine. And a thrill ran through him.

Dave got onto the bed and pulled Klaus’ underwear off. And then Klaus was spread out before him: standing big and stiff and proud. A meal Dave wanted to both devour all at once… and also savour for the rest of his life.

Dave crawled over Klaus, propping himself up on his forearms so he could bring their lips together again. Klaus sighed and ran one hand down Dave’s spine, resting the other on his backside and squeezing.

“Ass man,” Dave breathed into Klaus’ mouth.

“Bite me,” Klaus smiled back, and Dave caught his bottom lip between his teeth and nipped lightly. Klaus groaned and pushed his hips up against Dave.

Dave grinned and rolled them over. He slotted his leg between Klaus’, presenting his thigh for Klaus to ride. Klaus propped himself up on his arms and pushed his hips down, grinding his erection into Dave’s deliciously solid thigh. He breathed out a sigh and leaned down to continue their kiss, his hips pressing forwards rhythmically. Dave pushed his tongue into Klaus’ mouth and let the kiss get dirty, his hands kneading Klaus’ ass cheeks as Klaus humped his leg. The room was filled with the sound of Klaus panting and grunting and the dull thunk of the headboard against the wall as Klaus increased the pace and vigour of his rutting.

“Look at you,” Dave breathed, eyeing Klaus’ slack mouth and flushed cheeks, “just look at you. So beautiful.”

“Dave,” Klaus gritted out.

“Oh, is there something you need, sweetheart?” Dave teased.

“Yes,” Klaus panted, a little frustrated and desperate to get off.

Dave raised an eyebrow but made no other attempt to move.

“Oh,” Klaus whined, “Dav-uh!”

Dave grinned wickedly, “Maybe you should ask nicely?”

Klaus’ eyes went wide. For a heart stopping moment, Dave thought he might have gone too far, might have misread the vibe, might have killed the moment.

But then Klaus flushed, blinking rapidly, and whispered, “Dave, please.” Dave squeezed his ass cheeks again and Klaus whined and clamped his thighs around Dave’s leg, grinding his erection down harder. “Please,” he repeated in a small, broken voice, “please do something to get me off.” He brought his lips to Dave’s ear, so close Dave could feel his lips moving, and murmured, “please, Mr Katz…”

Dave swallowed hard. A rush of adrenaline, and also something else – something deeper and more primal – ran through him. He could feel the soft, warm weight of his partner, writhing and rutting against him. Needy and desperate. Needy, for him. Dave was suddenly overwhelmed by an instinctive, primal urge to give and please and protect and provide. Mine, Dave thought again. He’s mine.

Dave hooked his leg around Klaus’ and flipped them over. He pressed one final searing kiss to Klaus’ lips and then worked his way down Klaus’ body, trailing kisses down his neck and chest, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub of a nipple. He teasingly kissed his way down the faint trail of dark hairs that started just below his navel and ended at the base of Klaus’ cock.

Dave could feel Klaus breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in anticipation. But rather than turning his attention to Klaus’ erection. Dave dipped his head lower, and pressed kisses and teasing licks into the delicate skin surrounding Klaus’ cock. He pressed his nose against Klaus’ balls, nuzzling them slightly, then opened his mouth and sucked as much as he could into his mouth, applying delicious pressure and working the skin with his tongue. Klaus whined above him. Dave repeated the action, then moved onto the other.

“Dave,” Klaus panted. “Dave, please.”

A thought started buzzing in Dave’s brain. It felt electric – live and shocking.

Without quite realising he’d done it, Dave made a decision. He felt wired and alive and empowered.

Dave smiled and rose onto his knees. His hands went to Klaus’ hips. “Roll over,” he said gently.

“What?” Klaus’ head came up, eyes slightly unfocussed.

“Come on,” Dave repeated quietly, “roll over.”

“Dave? What’re you…” Klaus looked confused.

“I want to try something,” Dave smiled. He felt a shy, nervous flutter in his stomach, but he swallowed, caught Klaus’ eye and gave a confident little nod.

Klaus held his gaze a moment, eyes wide, but then he obliged, rolling onto his front. Dave encouraged him to spread his legs and lift onto his knees and elbows. Dave sat back for a second and just took in the sight before him: his boyfriend bent over on his bed, flushed and hard and slightly bewildered, but presenting himself so beautifully for Dave. Dave licked his lips and smiled. He was going to enjoy this.

Klaus’ head hung between his arms and he craned around to look at Dave admiring him and – despite all his previous experience – he still felt a small spike of self-conscious embarrassment. He shifted and started to get up, “Dave, what’s… what’re you doing…?”

“Shhh,” Dave reassured, his hand rubbing soothing circles into Klaus’ lower back and encouraging him back down. “It’s okay. Just relax. I’ve got this. I’ve got you.”

Klaus narrowed his eyes slightly but relaxed back down.

Dave positioned himself between Klaus’ legs and ran his hands over Klaus’ ass cheeks, endearingly pale against the tan of the rest of his skin. He gave the right one a quick pat and squeeze. Lowering his head slowly, he pressed a gentle kiss into the soft, fleshy centre of each cheek. Then, using his thumbs, he spread the cheeks apart, finally revealing Klaus’ pink, furled hole.

“Dave…?” He heard Klaus choke out.

Dave blew a soft stream of warm air onto Klaus’ little rosebud and watched as it clenched slightly.

Then, leaning forwards, he brought his face in close and slowly licked across Klaus’ tight hole.

“Fuck!” He heard Klaus exclaim.

Dave smiled and, tongue soft and wet and wide, he repeated the action.

“Oh, Dave! Oh, fuck!” Klaus panted again.

Dave pointed his tongue and flicked it up and down, and left to right, brushing it quickly over the delicate skin. Dave could feel Klaus’ hole fluttering under his tongue.

“Dave! Oh god, yes, oh yes!” Klaus panted. He shifted his hips and repositioned his arm to take his weight. He brought the other hand down to his cock, which was hanging thick and heavy and neglected between his legs. But before he could take hold of it, however, Dave caught his wrist and stopped him.

“Not yet,” he said. And his face was still so close to Klaus’ most private area that Klaus could feel the huff of air against his wet skin when Dave spoke.

Klaus shivered and groaned, but brought his elbow back down to the bed, resigning himself to the sweet torture.

Dave reapplied his tongue to Klaus’ hole and soon Klaus was panting and sighing and pushing back against him, needy whines and breathy little gasps escaping his throat.

Dave switched up the movement of his tongue from strong licks and fast little flicks, and instead covered Klaus’ hole with his lips and then sucked lightly.

Klaus groaned under him, pushing back, his legs trembling. “Oh, fuuuuuck!” he whimpered.

Dave gave the furled hole another slow lick, then pointed his tongue and – ever so slowly – pushed it against Klaus’ entrance. Klaus’ breath hitched. At first Klaus’ muscles resisted. But then, as Dave wiggled his tongue slightly, he felt the tight ring of muscles begin to relax, allowing him to push his tongue in slightly. Dave pressed his tongue forwards in tight circular motions, then slowly pulled back and pressed in again, fucking Klaus’ hole with the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, fuuuuucck me!” Klaus wailed. “Fuck, Dave! Yes! Oh, fuck I need to cum!”

Dave could feel Klaus trembling under his hands, the erratic twitch of his hips, the desperate, broken edge to his voice.

“Please, Dave,” Klaus pleaded. “Please, please…”

And Dave, his face still buried in Klaus’ ass, finally reached around and gripped Klaus’ leaking erection and started pumping.

And Klaus keened. He was caught between thrusting his painfully hard cock forward into Dave’s fist and pressing back into the delicious wet flicks of Dave’s tongue against his quivering hole. He was so desperately, painfully hard; the desire to cum so strong. And the feeling of Dave finally touching his rock-hard cock was toe-curlingly amazing. And Dave’s tongue, pressing and licking and sucking him – there – was beyond amazing. And for Klaus, time seemed to be caught in one delicious, shining moment of wet, hot, hard, fast, urgent, pleasure, clenching, tensing… and then he was cumming. Hard.

Thick creamy ropes spurted onto the bed and over Dave’s fist and Dave could feel Klaus’ hole twitching and clenching under his tongue as his muscles spasmed in waves. And Klaus was moaning Dave’s name wildly… then breathlessly… then a little brokenly as his trembling legs gave way and he finally collapsed forwards onto the bed.

Dave moved up the bed and lay down on his side next to him. Carefully, he ran his fingers through Klaus’ hair, studying his face, his closed eyes, his blissed-out expression.

Klaus opened his eyes blearily and looked at Dave.

“Dave,” he whispered hoarsely. Dave smiled.

“Dave,” Klaus tried again, “That was just so… thank you. Just, wow! Like really. Wow. It was just… so…” he screwed up his face, trying to find the right words and failing, ending instead on just a low grunt of consonants. “Nngggh,” he finished.

Dave smiled, eyes fond and affectionate. “Well, if I’ve rendered you speechless, I guess it must have been okay,” he teased lightly. Klaus blinked. Dave brought his lips down and tenderly kissed Klaus’ forehead and whispered, “I’m glad you thought so. It felt pretty incredible to do it for you too.” Klaus hummed and his eyes drifted closed.

“Hey,” Dave squeezed his shoulder. “You should have a quick shower before you sleep.”

“Don’t wanna,” Klaus mumbled. “Tired and comfy and no energy.”

“Come on, up you get.” Dave encouraged. “You’re sticky and sweaty and smell like sex. You’re laying in the wet spot and you’ve got cum in your hair. Shower, now.”

Klaus groaned and with great effort pulled himself up and moved towards the bathroom.

“Aren’t you coming?” Klaus asked in a small voice.

“You get in, I’ll be there in a sec,” Dave said. Klaus nodded and padded off.

Dave quickly stripped the bed and put on clean sheets from the cupboard where Grace kept the fresh linen. He bundled the dirty ones up and stuffed then in the laundry basket. He then went into the bathroom to join Klaus.

When they were showered and dry, Klaus in a pair of fluorescent briefs and Dave wearing clean boxers and a soft old tee from the stash of clothes he’d started leaving at the Academy, they crawled into bed. Klaus cuddled up to him and rested his head on Dave’s chest.

“Good call,” Klaus admitted, running his hands over the crisp sheets.

Dave hummed in response. Klaus closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of it against his ear.

“So, power kink, huh?” Klaus smiled into Dave’s chest.

“I guess so,” Dave replied. “Believe me, it took me by surprise a bit too.”

“It was good,” Klaus said. “Different. It looked good on you.” Klaus paused, then added, “I like the idea that we can switch stuff up like that sometimes.”

“Me too,” Dave found himself agreeing.

“You know,” Klaus said tentatively, “we could go further too.”

Dave traced the rim of Klaus’ ear with a fingertip.

“Yeah,” Dave said, feeling bold in the gathering darkness of the room. “Give and take, assertive and submissive, top and bottom… there’s so much we can try together. And that’s just power stuff. Then there’s… well, everything else as well.” He felt Klaus hum his agreement into the skin over his heart.

“You know,” Klaus said after a pause, “when we talked about this the other day, I thought we were going to start with some light fingering. But I guess I shouldn’t have underestimated you, Mr Katz. You just dived straight in tongue first.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Dave asked a little worriedly.

“Fuck no!” Klaus exclaimed. “I just didn’t think we’d start with rimming. I mean it’s not really the natural place to start.”

“Isn’t it?” Dave frowned. “To me, it kind of just felt right in the moment.”

“I’m glad you did,” Klaus insisted, “it was mind-blowing.”

Dave grimaced. “Promise you’re not teasing my technique?” He asked. “It’s the first thing I’ve done to you before you’ve done it to me first. I didn’t have any previous experience to work from.”

There was silence and Dave frowned and shifted to look down at Klaus’ face. He was surprised to find Klaus’ cheeks pink and his ears a little red.

“Klaus?” he asked, worried.

“You weren’t bad.” Klaus said quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just that, for once, I don’t really have anything to compare to either.” His eyes widened. “Not that I usually compare you with other people,” he said quickly. “I don’t do that. Just, with this, I don’t have a point of reference. So, all I can say is you blew my mind.”

Dave took a moment to process and then asked the obvious question. “Are you saying none of the people you’ve been with before have done that for you?”

“Um… yeah,” Klaus blushed – actually blushed – “yeah, I guess I am.”

Dave swallowed. “Because they didn’t want to? Or because you didn’t want them to?” He swallowed again. “Did I… I hope I didn’t… Klaus, did you want me to do that just now?”

Klaus shifted to press his face into the hollow of Dave’s neck, his nose nuzzling the base of his throat. “Dave,” he said seriously, “I wanted it. I wanted you to.” He paused. “Before now… nobody ever offered. It wasn’t particularly something that was on my radar. I was just happy for them to fuck me. Just that was okay. I didn’t feel like I was missing out or anything. But then you just… did that for me. Because you wanted to. I’ve never been with anyone who put me first like that before.”

Dave’s heart clenched and his chest felt tight. He wrapped his arms around Klaus’ small frame and buried his nose into the curls on the top of his head.

“Klaus” he murmured, “Klaus…”

“It’s okay,” he heard Klaus sigh into his neck, “you don’t need to say anything.”

Dave swallowed the lump in his throat and tightened his arms around Klaus. The warm weight of words that didn’t need to be said just yet, lying like a blanket over them as they held each other in the gathering darkness.

Finally, Dave broke the silence, “I don’t know whether I should be a little bit offended, you know? About not being complicated, I mean.” He grinned.

“What?” Klaus frowned, opening his eyes.

“That thing you said to Diego earlier, about his dynamic with Lila being complicated.”

“Oh,” Klaus settled back down. “That.” He paused then added. “You might play the deep, strong, silent type sometimes, Dave, but you’re not complicated. I mean, not complicated complicated.” Dave ran his fingers soothingly up and down Klaus’ arm. “It’s not like do you confusing things that I can’t work out. You’re easy.”

Dave laughed.

“I don’t mean easy.” Klaus corrected himself. “I mean…”

“I know what you mean,” Dave cut in. He pressed a kiss to the top of Klaus’ head. “You might be a chaotic, eccentric oddball at times, but to me, you’re easy, too.” Klaus huffed a small laugh against Dave’s chest.

“I love that we always seem to be on the same page about stuff,” Klaus said into the quiet stillness of the room.

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “We click. Always have. And I suppose we trust each other too, so that helps.”

Klaus blinked and swallowed hard.

“We do click, don’t we?” His voice was small.

“Yes,” Dave said earnestly.

“This really is something special, isn’t it?” Klaus said, just as quietly. He wants confirmation, Dave thought. Despite all the bravado, he’s actually a little vulnerable and insecure and wants confirmation.

“Yes,” Dave said, giving him exactly what he needed. “For me, right from the very first moment, this just felt right.”

“For me too,” Klaus admitted softly.

Klaus rolled over and settled on his side, pulling Dave flush behind him; the big spoon to Klaus’ little spoon. Dave’s knees tucked into the crook of Klaus’ legs, his arm coming over, fingers interlacing and hands curled close to Klaus’ chest. Dave’s groin pressed against Klaus’ backside, but in this moment, Dave felt nothing more than tenderness and affection. He pressed a kiss to the back of Klaus’ neck, the spot right between his shoulders, and shifted slightly, snuggling them even closer.

“After everything,” Klaus mumbled into the pillow, voice drowsy and muffled slightly. “After all this time, and everything we’ve been through to get here.” He paused, let out a breath and then carried on. “It’s hard to believe that this is how it could be from now on.”

Dave thought back to how he used to feel about his relationship with Klaus – like his life had turned into a series of moments as precious… and delicate… and fragile as champagne flutes on a tray in the wind. He wondered when he had stopped feeling like the tiniest wrong move or misstep could bring his happiness crashing down in a shower of irreparable shards of shattered crystal.

“Believe it,” Dave replied, and Klaus sighed and relaxed further into his arms. Dave shut his eyes and held him close, his heart beating a rhythm against Klaus’ back: this, just this, just this, just this, just this…

[starrybethany]

Maybe Someday - Matthew Tkachuk Imagine

Part 2

Word count: 4.5K

He’s kissing on my neck but it’s like I can’t feel it. I fake a moan, I close my eyes. He doesn’t realize that I close my eyes to imagine that he’s someone else. Like I always do.

His lips were always on mine. And when they weren’t, he was talking- talking about how his team is playing Brady’s next week or how Taryn is preparing for college or how his dad chirped him on the phone last night.

“Y/N, you’re hurting me,” he murmurs. My eyes snap open. This isn’t Matthew, it’s Curtis. Curtis from the bar- good Curtis, who scared off the douchebag who was hitting on me and carried a respectful conversation with me. That’s when I decided to go home and sleep with him. I release my grip on his hair and my knuckles turn from white to red.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Not really.”

~

Curtis looks surprised to see me, and I’m just as surprised as him, but I hide my shock better.

“Do you two know each other?” My manager asks, eyes sliding between me and the boy across from me.

“No,” I quickly say, eyes connecting to Curtis’ bowtie. Matthew would never wear a bowtie- he always said that ties were more professional, people took you more seriously. A fun suit, though. He liked to switch it up once and a while.

My boss doesn’t believe me but brushes it off, leaving me with Curtis to train him.

“Do you, uh, do you want to talk about the other night?” He coughs awkwardly.

“No.”

He stands dumbly beside me, watching as I organize the money drawer, quickly counting the bills and coins and making sure everything is there.

“Oh, um. Do you just want to put everything behind us then? Start new?” He questions.

“I don’t believe in starting new,” I admit strongly, tensing then relaxing when the next words leave my lips. “Even if I was the one to give off a shitty impression. I do, though, believe in growth and moving on. And if you’re willing to move on, I’m willing to move on.”

He nods quickly, eyes glimmering. Clearly, there’s still some interest there despite the fact that I made him feel like an awful partner in the bedroom. “I’m willing to move on.”

~

I wonder what Matthew would think if he knew I was doing this right now. Curtis leaves gentle kisses on my jaw and I try my best to focus on that, but I can’t help to think of Matthew’s face when he realized what I was doing.

Those pained green eyes haunt me in my sleep. I wake up every night in a sweat, wishing I would’ve focused all of my love and attention on him like he did for me.

I see the whitened fists from him clenching his hands so tight when I brush my teeth, and I remember his curly hair swaying as he shook his head while I pleaded for him to stay as I wash my dinner plate.

I’m sorry. Please stay, Matthew, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

But how do you explain that you’re afraid to commit to the one person who would give up the entire world for you?

“Hey, uh, I think I’m bleeding.” My eyes snap to Curtis’ but he’s looking down at his arm, where my fingernails are digging deep into his skin.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I mumble, nudging his body off of me and standing up.

I clean the marks for him.

~

“I’m outside,” I tell Curtis, staring up at his brick apartment.

It’s been two months since we started dating. I guess you could call it dating. I mean, we kiss and make out and talk and cuddle, but it doesn’t go much beyond that. Every time it starts to I think about Matthew.

Matthew’s breath on my lips, his fingers gliding over my soft skin, the words of worship leaving his mouth. Really, just anything about Matthew. I always feel like I’m thinking about him, and I know that I should get over it by now, since it’s been three months since he ended things with me, but I can’t.

Something’s holding me back. The feeling of losing the best thing that ever happened to me and forgetting that it ever happened is holding me back.

“I can’t stay long,” I remind him for the millionth time. Curtis pleaded with me to hang out tonight and I reluctantly gave in, wanting to get home in time to watch the entirety of the Flames vs. Blue Jackets game by myself.

My feet carry me up the brick stairs to my partner’s apartment and he’s waiting at the door for me, a bright smile on his face. He’s always smiling when he sees me.

Matthew would always give me a mischievous look that let me know he was up to no good. Then I would find a toy spider in my underwear drawer or my shoelaces would be pulled out of my running shoes.

“Oh, hello,” I greet the group of five people as Curtis welcomes me into his apartment. I was unaware that this would be a group event- Matthew would always ask me before inviting people over, even though we mainly hung over at his apartment.

My eyes move between the three guys and two ladies, my heart dropping as I recognize one of the girls. My heart beats faster and I pray to God that she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, I know you, you were dating my neighbor, right?” She asks.

I nod wordlessly, afraid of what would happen if I were to open my mouth. I’m not sure if I would vomit or if I would vomit words.

“What happened? You two were so cute together.”

How do I tell this woman that I ruined it all? That I completely fucked up and Matthew will never forgive me, and you know what, no one can blame him.

“Just didn’t work out.”

They drop it but my brain doesn’t. My brain never forgets Matthew. I want to leave as soon as my plate was empty, but one of the guys turns on the Flames game and my mouth gets dry when I see that mouthguard hanging out of the side of his mouth.

I always used to tease him about that and he would just smile, telling me it’s a habit that he doesn’t want to fix.

Ruining my relationship with him is something I wish I could fix.

“I have to go.” My voice cracks and I hate it. Curtis looks concerned and his friends share glances, but I ignore it, hurrying to put my shoes and coat on and get out before I’m sobbing into the fabric of Curtis’ couch.

“Is something wrong?” He questions, resting a hand on my lower back.

I almost shudder at the contact.

“See you Monday.” His front door slams shut behind me and I hurry down the stairs to my car, tears streaming down my berry-colored cheeks as soon as I close the door.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Matthew deserves better than anything I could ever give him. That thought alone makes my chest heave and my vision starts to blacken as my breathing gets shallower. The realization of the situation hits me.

But I did this to myself. So I have to pay the consequences.

~

Once a cheater always a cheater.

I guess I never learn my lesson, right? I guess waking up tomorrow in this stranger’s bed with guilt filling me from head to toe isn’t enough torture, right? I need to live with that guilt and agony every time I see Curtis or hear Matthew’s name.

The liquor running through my veins thinks it’s a good idea.

It welcomes me to accept the fear that I’m holding. The fear of being connected to one person for the rest of my life, the fear that the person I decide to stay with may not actually be the one for me.

And is it bad that I feel worse for cheating on Matthew than I do for cheating on Curtis? I see a future with Matthew, not with Curtis.

My arms tangle around this stranger’s neck, allowing him to kiss softly down my throat. Matthew was always good at this. It somehow turned me on yet made me feel loved at the same time.

“My place or yours?” He breathes into my skin.

“Yours,” my eyes remain closed. I don’t want my home to be tinted from the memories of Matt.

~

He told me that his parents were coming to Calgary.  They were coming to watch a game and spend the weekend with him and he wanted me to join them. He joked that I couldn’t say no because he already told them about me, but the look in his eye told me that he would respect it if I did say no.

I said yes. And I had the best weekend with Matt, Keith, and Chantal going to the Calgary Tower and the zoo and acting like a tourist in the city I’ve grown up in. We watched Matt’s game together and cheered at the win and during breaks in the play, Keith would give us updates on the Senators game against the Islanders.

Chantal told me about how much Brady likes playing for the Senators and how Taryn really wanted to come with, how she really wanted to meet me after how much Matt has talked about me, but she couldn’t leave school.

And I was on a high the whole week after their visit. I was so pleased that our relationship was going so well.

I could spend all of the time in the world with Matt without getting sick of him and I met his parents and hell, it seemed like everything was going in the right direction.

Then I went out to the bar with my friends. I gushed about my perfect hockey-player-boyfriend and our incredible relationship and they approached the situation with hesitance.

“Have you checked his phone lately? What do you mean he has a passcode, what is he trying to hide?”

“How do you know he doesn’t have girls in other cities when he leaves? He could easily hide it and you know his teammates would defend him.”

“He’d probably hold his salary over your head at the end of the day, Y/N. He’d use it as a way to control you.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting too serious with him right now? You’re so young.”

With shot after shot, glass of wine after a margarita, their words sunk under my skin. It cemented the doubts I already had, yet had forgotten about for the past week. Matt was in Anaheim at the time, they had a game the next morning, and I convinced myself that he was screwing another girl all throughout the night.

So I decided to do the same.

~

My fingernails dig into the side of the Styrofoam cup, causing a dent. I know what I need to do but that doesn’t make this any easier.

“Curtis, we need to end this. End this, thing, whatever we have,” I stutter through, running a hand through my hair. I hadn’t planned what I wanted to say in my head at all. I just know I needed to say it, needed to do something to become better.

To heal, to process.

He looks up from his phone, a shocked expression on his face. “What? Why?”

“It’s just, we need to, Curtis,” I insist. The chair scrapes against the dirty café tiles as I rise, rushing out the front door.

“Wait, talk to me, Y/N,” he pleads, catching up to me on the way to my car. He shuts the door as I begin to open it. “Just tell me, please. I can handle it.”

I turn around, tears already welling in my eyes. I shouldn’t be crying, I’m the one who did this to him. I’m the one who hurt him. “I cheated on you.”

I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Why?”

“I have so much pain inside-“”No,” he stops me sternly, “Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Because you’re not him!” I yell, exasperated. No one will ever be Matthew. And Matthew won’t even be the Matthew I had when he was mine. I broke his trust; I broke his belief in love and that’s the worst thing that you can do to someone.

“You’re not him,” I repeat in a raspy voice, letting the tears flow down my cheeks at the realization. I fuck everyone over. And I’m trying to do better, hell I’m telling Curtis instead of letting him find out like Matt did, but Curtis had to chase me to get me to do that.

For some reason, Curtis pulls me into his chest, taking the cup from my shaky hands and resting it on the hood of my car. My chest rises and falls with the loud thumping of my heart as I wind my arms around him, gripping him as tight as I can. I know it probably hurts.

But I have a feeling it can’t hurt more than the aching feeling in my chest, the longing for the love that I once had.

And I have no one to blame but myself.

~

I knew that he was suspicious. He was suspecting something. I could feel his eyes on me longer than he usually stared, his eyes would gaze at my phone whenever it would light up, he would ask me more and more questions every time I went out with my friends.

I told myself even before taking the first guy to bed that I would have two rules during my affairs. The first rule would be that we could never go back to my place.

Matt and I never moved in together. We planned on revisiting the topic after a year together. We would probably have moved in together in my apartment since he always said that it was more comfortable and he felt more at home than his apartment, but we never got to the one year. We were two months away.

The second rule would be that my new partner for the night had to use protection. I didn’t want to risk any STIs and even though I’m on birth control, any babies. I’m a horrible enough person, me raising a baby wouldn’t be fair for anyone.

Matt had gone to one of his teammate’s friends for a movie night. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. All I could think was ‘how pretty is this girl that he’s cheating on me with?’ I had called my friends and we got ready together in my apartment. I listened as they talked about their plans to get all of us laid tonight, and that includes you, Y/N. If your boyfriend is having fun, you can too.

Matt had found me in a gender-neutral bathroom that night, panties down to my ankles and dress pulled up to my belly button. The guy was buried inside of me. All of the desire and lust I had vanished when I saw his face.

Oh gosh. His face.

I dream about his face every night, the smiles, the funny faces, the laughs. But this face is in all of my nightmares.

Pain came first. Pain came in the form of tight lips and closed eyes. Hurt followed. His eyes widened and his lips went down. The bathroom door closed behind him.

I remember hurrying to push the guy away from me, bile and the alcohol I had drank rising in my throat as I pulled up my panties and yanked down my dress.

I caught him in the parking lot.

~

“He said so much to me, yet it’s etched into every corner of my brain. Y/N, I gave you everything I had. I gave you my heart, body, and soul. I was willing to put everything on the line for you. I saw a future with you and somehow, even though my heart is breaking into two, I still do. You met my friends- fuck- you met my family and none of that means anything to you, does it? I tried to disagree, but he wouldn’t hear me. I don’t blame him.” I pause the story to wipe a tear from my eye, ignoring the concerned looks from people wondering why I’m crying in this café. “He told me that I broke his heart and that he’ll never be able to love again. And that, clearly, we were over.”

Curtis watches as I stare at the table in shame. I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t tried to contact him at all. It seems disrespectful to him and his healing process.

“It’s been four months,” I grab a napkin to blow my nose, enjoying the burn of the harsh fabric on my skin. “And my friends tell me I shouldn’t still be heartbroken, he was probably cheating on me too, but I don’t know. I’m still in love with that man.”

“You remember his neighbor? The one that I’m friends with?” He speaks, pushing my story to the side. I nod, briefly remembering the girl from when I went to his apartment. “She says he’s much different now that you’ve ended things. He doesn’t leave his apartment except for work, he avoids eye contact with everyone in the hallways, and apparently he looks like he’s in rough shape.”

I bite my lip, processing his words. That’s not the Matt that I remember. Matt loved talking sports with the elderly man next door, he paid attention to his physique to remain in shape for the season, and if he wasn’t watching a movie at home, he was spending time with one of his friends.

Guilt bubbles in my chest. I fucked him up. And it did heavy damage. I bury my head in my hands, wanting to reverse the past seven months to take back what I did to him.

“How do I fix this?”

“You can’t,” Curtis responds quietly, watching as I take the information in. “But you can make it better.”

“How?”

“Talk to him. That’s what he needs.”

~

Hi Matthew,

I don’t even know how to start this. I’m sorry for writing this, I’m sorry for having to write this in the first place. And I’m sorry that I’m too much of a little bitch to tell you this myself. And I’m sorry if this brings up old shit that you’re trying to heal from or you’re already over everything and your new girlfriend is reading this over your shoulder going, “Oh, is this the slut you were telling me about?”

And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m really, really sorry. No words can express how apologetic I am and how much I regret putting you through the pain that I put you through. You treated me like I walked on water. You bought me souvenirs from the cities that you played in and spent days off buried in bed with me, laughing over stupid TikToks.

I destroyed that for us. For you. And I am so sorry.

Love,

Y/N

I realize that I put love while folding the laundry two days after putting the letter in the mailbox. I freeze with the movement, blood running cold.

I mean, it’s true. I still do love him. But he doesn’t care, he hates me. That ‘love’ probably felt like a punch in the gut. I bet he feels like I never loved him because of what I did to him. How can you say you love someone and then turn around and completely betray them?

That night I dream of two kids, a mini him and a mini me, running around a kitchen. He’s standing beside me, an arm wrapped around my waist and a smile just as big as the one he had the day we first met.

~

Matthew texts me a couple days later. The few days that I waited I switched between nervously anticipating his response and never expecting it to come. He texts me at night, asking me to meet him for coffee the next morning.

I can’t sleep that night. A million and one thoughts run through my head. When did he unblock my number? It’s not like I tried to contact him after the breakup, but I almost did on multiple nights after one too many drinks.

How will he react when seeing me? Will it be like when he saw me for the first time, or will he immediately visualize some other dude inside of me? I can’t help but think of how he’ll look. I always liked his hair more grown out, so that’s how he left it a lot.

I wonder if he cut it, the length reminding him too much of me.

~

I get there twenty minutes early. I want him to know that this is important to me. That he’s important to me, as shitty as I may show it. I twirl the coffee cup in my hands, taking off the protective holder to let the hotness burn the palm of my hands.

I know it as soon as he enters. My eyes lift from the lid of my cup to meet his. He hasn’t changed a bit; he looks just the way that I remember. His scruff is longer than I ever remember it getting, but it looks nice.

It suits him.

He slides into the seat across from me, leaning back in the wire chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He stares at me with a blank expression, daring me to say the first word. I know he won’t- he shouldn’t have to, I’m the one who messed everything up.

“Um, did you want to get something? They have really good steamers here,” I begin, weakly motioning towards the order station.

He shakes his head silently, staring me down.

“Thank you for, uh, coming, and um, hearing me out,” I stutter through, practically shaking under his intense gaze.

“Why’d you do it?”

I knew the question would come. And he deserves to know the answer, too. It’s just- the reasons are stupid, beyond pathetic reasons. And if I tell him, he can never unhear it. And knowing Matt, I don’t know if he’ll feel comfortable living with this thought for the rest of his life. I take a deep breath. “Well, um, I guess it was to get back at you, really. My friends convinced me that you were cheating on me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And you believed them? And cheated on me instead of talking to me about it?”

“It’s stupid, I know.” I bite my lip, brushing a stray hair out of my face. His eyes follow the action.

“How many times?”

I wince at the question. If he didn’t like the answer to the last question, he definitely won’t like the answer to this one. And even though I was the one who was doing it, I don’t like the answers either. “Three.”

“Three times?” I can feel the bite in his voice, and I sink down in my seat, ashamed and humiliated because of my actions. I can’t even make eye contact with him, but I can feel him practically burying me into the ground with his eyes. “With the same person or different people?”

“Different people,” my voice is barely over a whisper.

“I don’t know what would be better,” he retorts. I watch his arms drop to his sides in disbelief at the answer. “The fact that you would sleep with other men and then with me-“”I made them use condoms,” I quickly interrupt, cringing as soon as I do it.

I probably shouldn’t be interrupting him right now or trying to defend myself. I need to take this time to take responsibility for my actions and beg for forgiveness.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long were you cheating on me?” He demands.

“A month and a half,” I answer shyly.

“You cheated on me three times over a month and a half?” He confirms.

I nod, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. When he turns his head to the side, I can see the tears glistening his eyes over.

I’ve never seen Matthew cry. He never wanted to cry in front of me- I could cry in front of him at anything but he would never cry in front of me. When I asked him about it one time, he told me that it’s because he needs to be strong and be able to protect me.

I was supposed to do that too. Not by not crying, but by faithful and giving him all of my love. Instead, I’m bringing him to the point of tears by telling him all about my infidelity.

“Matthew, I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry,” I breathe out.

“You could say that a hundred times and I still wouldn’t care,” he shakes his head.

Hurt flashes through my body at his words, but my brain forces me to understand. He doesn’t need to care about me anymore, I hurt him as bad as you can hurt a person. I should just be grateful enough that he’s still with me right now.

“Thank you for being the best boyfriend I could ever have. You did so much for me and I, I never appreciated it as much as I should have,” I speak slowly, knowing that we have a limited amount of time left. It’s clear by the way that he can’t even look at me right now that we aren’t meant to be with one another right now.

He wipes at the tears, blinking his eyes to get them to disappear. “You shouldn’t be the one to get the final word, I should.”

“Okay,” I nod. “Go ahead.”

“You really messed me up. You fucked me up for my next relationship,” he gives a watery chuckle, “But you also taught me a lot and we had a good ten months and four days together. Fuck what you did to me. That was awful. But the worst part is that I know you, and I know that you’ll grow from this experience and you’ll be even better for the next guy. I love you. Or, um, I loved you.”

It’s my turn to wipe the tears from my cheeks, biting my cheek to hold back the sob that wants to be released.

“Maybe someday, Matthew,” I give him a weak smile.

He knows what I mean. Even though he doesn’t smile back, I can he returns the emotion by the glimmer in his eye and the “Someday, Y/N” when he thinks I’m far enough away.

[recurring-polynya]

can you please do a drabble where Renji is remembering his wild squad 11 style birthday party but then at the end once he finishes his flashback he’s celebrating his birthday in the present with Rukia and Ichika

“This is number 10,” Zaraki informed Renji, beady, bloodshot eye staring into beady, bloodshot eyes. “Not everyone makes it to ten.”

“I would stop after one,” Yumichika made his frowniest frowny face.

“You’re smarter than the rest of us,” Iba replied.

“I am ready,” Renji confirmed, gripping his cup as the Kenpachi filled it with sake from his “special stash.”

Renji had drunk a lot of horrible sake in his time. As it turned out, rotgut from deep North Rukongai had an entirely different flavor profile than the pigswill of his Southern youth. It hit you in the nose, rather than the ears, smelled more like a bog than an armpit, and the unpleasant aftereffects tended to come out the opposite end. On the other hand, bad sake was bad sake, and it was hardly a birthday without it.

“Kampei!” Renji and Zaraki shouted together, and down the hatch it went. Cheers went up around them.

“You’re a good man, Abarai,” Zaraki declared, standing up, and clapping him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday. I’m out. Yachiru! It’s bedtime!”

“Thank you, sir!” Renji hollered, far too loud, as Yachiru abandoned the bowl of wasabi peas she had been mainlining to hop onto the Kenpachi’s shoulder.

“Night, sir!” various members of Squad 11 chorused.

Zaraki was a good captain, Renji mused to himself, drunkenly. He showed up, drank enough to show that he cared, but then he took off, because no one really wanted to get birthday-wasted in front of their boss.

Birthdays at the Eleventh were very thoughtful affairs, in Renji’s opinion. First thing in the morning, you got to have a big public fight with anyone from the squad. Seated officers could choose to fight the big man, which, of course, he had. This year, he had made it 52 seconds, and was feeling very pleased with himself. He was given the rest of the morning off to nap, and then he got to run newb drills all afternoon. And now it was half past booze o’clock. A perfect end to a perfect day.

“I got you your favorite. Happy birthday, loser,” Iba announced, sliding a fizzy blue concoction bristling with fruit on toothpicks down the table.

“Maybe you should give him a chance to catch his breath,” Big Maki suggested. “Zaraki shots are no joke.”

“This is catching my breath,” Renji replied, fishing out a pineapple chunk and eating it. Iba always got him this tropical shit as a joke, and Renji always drank them, absolutely stonefaced, as though curly straws and paper umbrellas were just standard issue drinking equipment. The joke was on Iba, to be honest, these damn things were delicious.

“Where is the birthday booooooy?” a musical voice trilled.

Renji’s head whipped around, which immediately made him very dizzy. He waved his hand enthusiastically.

“Don’t get up,” Yumichika warned, standing and beckoning more staidly. “He’s over here! He’s pretty well soaked already.”

Suddenly, there was a shapely pair of arms wrapped around Renji’s neck, and a more sensuous than necessary kiss pressed into his cheek. “Happy birthday, cute stuff!” Matsumoto said throatily. “That’s a fancy drink, can I have some?”

“Get your own!” Renji crowed cheerfully.

“Ha, ha, I would never,” the lieutenant of the Tenth laughed, sliding into the seat next to him, and then stealing a cherry out of his glass.

“I would not have guessed a bar called ‘Five Fingers of Death’ would serve fruity drinks,” Hisagi Shuuhei, Third Seat of the Ninth added, plopping down on Renji’s other side.

“Shuuhei!” Renji exclaimed.

Ever since he got promoted to Sixth Seat, Yumichika had been trying to get Renji involved in his larger social circle, which mostly orbited around Matsumoto. The fact that it included Hisagi, whom he had known in school, had been a pleasant surprise. He definitely remembered looking up to Hisagi in his youth, but since they had reconnected, Renji was continually struck with how cool the guy was, and also how good-looking.

“Well?” Renji demanded from Shuuhei, with a boldness that came from having enough sake in his gut to pickle a daikon. “Matsumoto paid up. Where’s my birthday present?”

Shuuhei laughed and planted a kiss on his other cheek, before fishing something that might have been a chunk of mango out of the blue monstrosity. Renji felt warm and happy. “Better buy me another drink, Iba,” he hooted, “Everyone’s stealing mine.”

“Buy your own, asshole” Iba rejoined merrily.

“That wasn’t your birthday present, by the way,” Matsumoto replied suggestively.

“Oh?” Renji asked, trying to raise an eyebrow, except that he couldn’t feel most of his face.

“A little bird,” Matsomoto went on, “who went to school with you, told me about a trick you used to do at the bar.”

Renji wracked his brains. He hadn’t done a lot of drinking in his school days, and certainly not a lot of drinking in bars, mostly because he’d been broke all the time.

“It wasn’t at the bar, it was at the gym,” Shuuhei clarified.

Realization hit Renji like a dropped free weight. He slammed his hands palm down on the tabletop excitedly. “Is it Bench Your Friends day?”

“You’re not benching me,” Yumichika immediately declared.

“What’s Bench Your Friends day?” Ikkaku demanded, intrigued.

“Bench press is a very efficient way to work your entire upper body,” Renji explained with the self-perceived gravitas that comes with being sloshed out of your gourd. “Free weights are a better way to build muscle, ‘cause you are responsible for your own balance and stability. Next step up from that, control-wise, is to bench press a person, especially if that person doesn’t particularly want to be bench-pressed.”

“Why would you let him do this to you?” Yumichika grimaced.

“Well, I really just want to see him bench press someone else, but I wouldn’t mind,” Matsumoto mused. “I think I would look very sexy being used as exercise equipment.”

“If you can bench Hisagi, I’ll let you try to bench me!” Ikkaku roared.

“I did not volunteer,” Hisagi pointed out.

“DEAL!” Renji bellowed.

🎉 🍹 💪

“UP!”

Renji blinked, slowly returning to present day reality. “Huh?”

“Pick me UP, Daddy! I want to do a high dive!”

“Alright, alright.”

It took two tries to get up from the lawn chair, but he made it. He took a long stretch, and made a show of flexing his upper arms for his daughter, who was completely unimpressed. Finally, he scooped her up and held her by the hips over his head. “You ready?”

“I am ready!” she announced, holding her arms over her head in a diving position.

“Here we go!” Renji yelled, and lowered her slowly into the rubber inflatable pool that was set up in their backyard. Ichika made a variety of poses on the way down, pointing her toes, making wide, elegant gestures with her arms. “Perfect 10,” Renji announced, when she was sitting in the pool, spitting water in a little fountain. “Do you want to go again?”

“I want to run around.”

“Go, then.”

Ichika leapt to her feet and went tearing, pell-mell around the yard again. Renji flopped back into his lawn chair and plopped his feet back in the pool.

It had been brutally hot all day, but the heat was finally starting to subside as evening came on. Akon had made the pool and brought it over last week for Nemu and Ichika to play in, because evidently, every time he set one up over at the 12th, it got “repurposed.” Renji did not want to know the details. Renji was a big fan of the pool. Ichika had been nominally playing in it all afternoon. Mostly, she was running around in her bathing suit, shouting. Occasionally, she would hurl herself into it, thoroughly splashing her father, and then run off again.

Rukia stepped onto the porch, sliding the door closed behind her with one foot. She’d changed from her shihakushou into a Living World style sundress that left her arms and legs bare. Even after a long day at work, she looked cheerful and gorgeous. Renji smiled fondly at her. After a long afternoon of chasing his toddler around, he was sure he looked like hot, damp dogshit.

Rukia made her way over to him, nimbly dodging Ichika as she serpentined her way around the yard. She held out a glass containing a pale green liquid. It was practically radiating cold. “I have made you,” she said, as Renji took it gratefully from her hand, “a margarita. I followed Uryuu’s directions very carefully and then doubled the alcohol.”

Renji took a sip as Rukia flopped into the lawn chair next to his, and slid her feet gracefully into the pool. “It’s perfect,” he declared. “You’re a genius.”

“Happy birthday,” Rukia said, tipping her head over onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry it wasn’t much.”

“What are you talking about?” Renji grunted. “I got to yell at my squad for 2 hours this morning, like I like. I spent all afternoon digging up worms with my amazing kid, and then my beautiful wife brought me take-out, so I didn’t have to cook. I am way too tired to actually go to the bar, but I don’t have to, because you brought this right to me, here, in my luxury cabana. Another one or two of these and I am definitely gonna be lights out. Can’t think of a more perfect birthday, to be honest.”

“Hmm, if we can get Ichika to go to sleep, I had some ideas for some things that could happen between margaritas number two and three.”

“Oh, really?” Renji asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Suddenly, Ichika crashed into his lap, wet, with bits of grass plastered up her legs. “DADDY!” she yelled. “Is it dessert time! Can we eat the taiyaki Mama brought home now?”

“The what Mama brought home?” he asked, faking surprise.

“Do you remember what a secret is?” Rukia reminded her daughter. “We talked about it?”

“But it’s time to eat them, so they aren’t secret anymore!”

“Yeah, Rukia, obviously,” Renji managed with a perfectly straight face.

“I would call you a traitor, but it’s your birthday, so I will go get you your fish waffles,” Rukia replied, shoving her drink into his free hand and pressing a kiss into the side of his temple.

“I LOVE TAIYAKI!” Ichika sang at the top of her lungs. “I WISH EVERYDAY WAS DADDY’S BIRTHDAAAAAAAAY!”

Renji admired the way his wife’s rear end swayed as she headed back into the house. He contemplated whether he could still drink out of two glasses at the same time, another old bar trick he was once modestly famous for. “Me, too, kid,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

[villainousshakespeare]

Just one bed fluff with a character of your choosing, if it isn't taken yet?! I'm partial to Loki and Tom, but whoever floats your boat in the moment! Congratulations on 200 followers! You deserve them and more, sweetheart!

Sorry this took so long my dear! Hope it was worth the wait. I decided to do Tom for this. :-)

Kicked Out

Rated T - alcohol use, kissing, implied smut

Lots of fluff!

Tom Hiddleston/Reader

The music pulsed around you too loud for the small space. Mechanically you sipped your watered down margarita, trying to push down the depression that threatened to overcome you. If your friends back home could see you now they would be laughing at how excited you had been. Here you were, sitting alone at a hotel bar. This was not how you had envisioned things at all.

It had not all been bad of course. You loved the play you were acting in. Well, of course you did! It was Shakespeare! Even though you had only a bit role you were understudying Desdemona. And the cast was all first rate. You had already learned so much in just a few weeks! The upgrade in quality from your scrappy theater company where it was a struggle to get male performers who came anywhere near the talent level of the women such as yourself to an internationally renowned ensemble boasting genuine stars more than made up for going from playing the lead to a glorified extra.

If only you didn't find yourself feeling so cursedly shy. You had always had a bit of social anxiety, but until this tour it had never been an issue with castmates before. The theater was the one place you had always felt in your element, confident in yourself and able to mingle with everyone. You wished that were the case now. 

Being assigned to room with Tisha had seemed like a wonderful stroke of luck at first. Like you she was on her first international tour, and was therefore playing several smaller parts in the ensemble. She was bubbly, outgoing, and talented, immediately drawing the attention of everyone around her. Unfortunately for you, that everyone included Michael, the actor playing Othello. He had become visibly smitten with her during the first read through, ignoring everyone else to shamelessly flirt with her whenever the opportunity presented itself. You would have been happy for her if he wasn't married with a child. The situation didn't seem to bother Tisha, who carelessly told you that she saw the whole thing more as a career move than a real relationship. What happened on the road, she breezily said, didn't effect real life, except for possibly leading to bigger roles down the line when he recommended her for future shows.

It was none of your concern, you had told yourself. They were grown adults and for all you knew he had an understanding with his wife. The problem had begun tonight, when they decided to take their relationship to the next, inevitable level. You had assumed that when this occurred, as you had guessed from the start it would, they would avail themselves of his room. After all, as one of the stars of the production he had a large room all to himself. Unfortunately for you, this did not turn out to be the case. As a married celebrity, Tisha had explained to you in hushed tones, Michael's meant had to be careful in situations such as this. He could never be seen having a woman enter his room, much less stay over night! Of course you wouldn't mind vacating your room for a while, would you? She had pleaded with big puppy eyes in a tone that clearly said she did not expect you to say no, and had somehow ushered you out the door, blithely commenting that you should be able to come back in a few hours, just knock before entering to be sure. The door shutting in your face had been cruel and final.

So here you were, sitting by yourself at the hotel bar with a bartender who looked like he would dearly love to cash you out and head home. You could have found one of the other actors to let you crash wish them, but you didn't really know anyone that well yet. The insecurity that flooded you when you thought of knocking on a virtual stranger's door and asking to sleep on their floor was too overwhelming.

"Trouble sleeping?" a voice like melted caramel asked from just over your shoulder.

You choked on your drink, splashing a bit of it onto your lap and the bar in front of you. You would have recognized that voice anywhere. You heard it often enough in your fantasies. But though it had been three weeks since you had begun working with him you still could not believe that you were now hearing it in person as well. Never in your wildest dreams had you believed that you would actually book a show with Tom Hiddleston.

Turning on your stool you saw the man himself standing behind you. He was so attractive it made you want to cry sometimes. You had come into contact with other celebrities over the years, and in almost every case seeing them up close and personal had somehow ruined the fantasy of them. In real life they had each just seemed... ordinary. With Tom, it was the exact opposite. He was handsome on screen or in pictures, in real life he was literally breathtaking. From the top of his burnished gold curls to the soles of his well worn grey boots and everywhere in between he was perfect. 

"You could say that," you laughed uneasily, face turning crimson. You had never spoken to him alone before, and never anything other than vague platitudes at the end of rehearsals or addressed to a group at large. 

"Me too," he said, giving you a half grin. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

What could you do but shake your head and gesture to the seat next to you. Pulling out the bar stool he folded his long, lean frame onto it, stretching his legs out. Your feet dangled like a child's from the stool, but his reached the floor with ease you noticed. Damn, but his legs were long!

"I'm always nervous before opening in a new city," he admitted, signaling for the bartender to come over. He ordered a single malt scotch and another daiquiri for you, requesting that the waiter make it with top shelf tequila.

"Still?" you asked, surprised that he would get nervous given his lengthy resume.

"Of course," he shrugged. "Never trust an actor that tells you he's not nervous. He's either lying or not pushing himself hard enough. The day my nerves go is the day I pack it in. The challenge is everything."

"Well, it's good to know it's not just me," you said quietly with a soft smile. You were nervous of course, even if that wasn't why you were there now.

"This is your first professional show, isn't it?" he asked.

You nodded, surprised that he knew. Was your acting that clunky that your lack of experience showed in just your few scenes?

"I watched your audition tape," he told you, grabbing a handful of bar nuts and arranging them on a napkin. "I wanted to come to the auditions, but Ken thought it might make people nervous. I made sure to watch all the tapes though. You were very good. The passion you put into Lady Anne was remarkable."

You blinked at him, all words deserting you. He had seen that? You were quite proud of your Lady Anne, but he was right. It was hard enough to have Kenneth Branagh watching you audition. If Tom had been in the room, you doubt you would have been able to do it.

"Thank you," you said at last after a long pause while he snacked on peanuts. "I had no idea."

"I like having a say in things like that," he shrugged. "When you're doing a show that's this intense, who you're on stage with is a big deal. Also, both Ken and I are firm believers in giving new talent an oppertunity. After all, him taking a chance on me is how I ended up with my career. What kind of person would I be if I didn't pass on the favor. I was the one who pushed for you to be Desdemona's understudy, by the way."

"Really?" you wished the word didn't come out like a squeak.

"Mhm. In fact, I thought you could have played the part. Producers wanted a name though, and I guess you can't blame them. Have to make their money back. Still, you were quite impressive."

You were saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of your drinks. Tom thanked the bartender and asked to have the drinks, including the one you had had before, charged to his room before leaving a large tip on the bar.

"Thank you again," you said, sipping on your new and much stronger drink.

"No need," he waved it off. "Othello was my big break, you know. I played Cassio in a production with Chewitel Eijifor and Ewan McGregor. It was fantastic, but I always wanted to do Iago. I try not to make dream part lists, I'm a bit superstitious that way, but now that I'm actually doing it I can admit it."

"I would think it would be on any actor's list!" you said, trying to hide the fact that of course you knew about his previous Othello, along with every other part on his lengthy cv. "I would like to tackle it myself some day."

"I would love to see that," he smiled, looking sincere. "You have a great facility with the language. And there is no reason why Iago should have to be male. I must say that I greatly appreciate that we live in a time where the gender barriers for such superb parts are beginning to break down. What other roles do you dream of tackling? I promise I won't tell a soul!"

You weren't sure whether it was the alcohol warming you or the way he smiled and listened to you like you were the only person in the world, but you soon found yourself engaged in a long discussion of Shakespeare that ranged from contentious - you would never agree on who the ultimate Richard III was, with you preferring Ian McKellan and Tom being loyal to his good friend Benedict - to the ridiculous. He had you in stitches when he recounted the story of an actor (he refused to name them) who had so completely missed an entrance on press night for Much Ado that Tom and his scene partner had to improve in verse for three minutes. When the poor man had made it onto stage, he had not had time to put his shoes back on. The review in Time Out the next day had gone on for two paragraphs about the social commentary of having a barefooted Don Pedro. By that point you were on your third drink and laughing like old friends, hunched over and shaking with mirth.

"Oh! Yes!" Tom said suddenly, pulling himself up to standing and holding out his hand to you. "Come on!"

"What?" you asked, totally confused.

"This song!" he replied, enthusiasm shining from his face. 

"It's a good song," you agreed, listening to Michael Jackson's Beat It blaring out from the speakers.

"Well then?"

"What?"

"Dance with me!"

"Tom..."

"I refuse to take no for an answer," he insisted, dragging you to your feet and onto the dance floor.

Tom's energy was infectious, there was no avoiding it. Abandoning the last shreds of your dignity you surrendered to the music and the exuberance of the man spinning you around the floor. He was good of course, you had seen it on videos often enough, but he made you actually feel like you could dance as well. Michael Jackson turned into Prince and then Tina Turner as the two of you made idiots of yourselves in the empty bar.

"Last call," the beleaguered bar tender called, ruining the vibe. 

Looking around you realized that he had put up all of the chairs and wiped down the bar. As tempting as it was to order another drink and prolong the fun, you knew that it was not fair to the poor server. Still, you didn't know what to do with yourself now. Would Tisha and Michael be finished with whatever they were doing? Had it been long enough to go up?

As Tom helped put up the remaining bar stools and finished off his scotch you collected your purse. You stared at your phone, trying to decide whether or not to text Trisha.

"Okay, out with it," Tom said, looking at you with an unwavering stare.

"With what?" you evaded.

"The truth. Why were you down in the bar by yourself? And don't say nerves. I've talked to you enough now to know that you are not the sort to drown your anxiety in alcohol."

"You did," you said, not believing your audacity.

"I came down for tea," he said.

"Tea?" you parroted.

"There was no earl grey in my room. I like to have a cup in the morning while I get ready."

"But you had a scotch! Two of them!"

"Well, I would hardly be a gentleman if I let a lovely lady drink alone," he shrugged. "So. Spill it. What brought you down here all by yourself?"

"Um... it was just... a little crowded in my room," you tried to sound as noncommittal as possible.

"Ah, I see," his quick brain filled in the pieces. "You're rooming with Tisha, aren't you?"

"Yes," you answered slowly.

"So Michael has made his move has he?"

"You know?" you asked, somewhere between mortified and relieved.

"Well, they haven't exactly been subtle," he said with a wry laugh. "Also, he has a bit of a reputation. I had hoped it was just rumor, God knows there are enough of those about me, but it appears in this case there was some truth behind it. Don't tell me they kicked you out?"

"They told me I could come back later," you said quickly, trying for some reason to make them look not quite as selfish and failing miserably.

"Why couldn't they just have gone to his room? No, never mind. Foolish question. You poor thing. I am so sorry you have to deal with this. Would you like me to check with the front desk and get you another room?"

"Oh, no, that's really not necessary!" you said. You could only imagine the talk if that were to happen, trying to explain to the tour manager why there was an additional expense on the invoice. True, it was Tisha and Michael who should be made uncomfortable by it, but you just knew you would be the one to squirm from the scrutiny.

"Well, there is only one thing for it," he said, placing his large hand on the small of your back and ushering you out of the bar. "You shall stay with me."

"What?" for the second time your voice, pride of your acting arsenal, was rendered little more than a dog whistle.

"It's no problem," he shrugged, walking towards the elevator and taking you with him. "I have a large single room all to myself. I'm sure it will be much more comfortable than breaking up whatever your roommate and Michael have going on."

You looked away and bit your lip, trying to decide what to do. It was such a tempting offer. Not that you would ever get any sleep in the same room with this man, but at least you wouldn't have to face the love birds.

"Darling," Tom said, gently turning your face to look you in the eye, "you have no reason to worry. I am not Michael. I would never take advantage of a costar. I just want you to have a comfortable place to get a good night's rest before your performance."

"I never thought... Of course you wouldn't take advantage!" you said with a laugh. As if someone like Tom would try to take advantage of you, you thought. It would be hilarious if he wasn't standing there looking like an overly attentive angel.

"Good, then it's settled," Tom's smile beamed at you. "Come on."

And just like that you found yourself in the unbelievable position of movie star Tom Hiddleston showing you into a large corner hotel room on the top floor. The comparison to your small shared double was insane. You were fairly sure your whole room would fit into his en suite.

"Oh," you gasped, not intending it to be audible.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning to you all solicitous.

"Nothing," you said miserably, trying not to stare at the giant king size bed. You didn't know why you had expected there to be two beds. He had told you it was a single room. As it was there was not even a couch for you to sleep on. Two large over stuffed chairs took up space on the other side of the room, and hard backed ones surrounded the table near floor to ceiling the windows.

"Ah," he said, perceptively following your thoughts. "Yes. One bed. If you like I can sleep in the chair."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" you blurted out.

"I assure you, I have suffered much worse," he smiled. "If you feel uncomfortable sharing, I will gladly curl up in the armchair."

"No, that's just silly," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "After all, the bed is so big you could fit five people in it. As long as you don't mind, that is."

"Not a bit," he said rubbing the back of his neck. "Now, let me find you something to sleep in."

To no surprise you soon found yourself in a pair of long running shorts and a Legend t-shirt. You surreptitiously pinched yourself to make sure this was real. To be dressed in one of the patented Hiddleston outfits was surreal to say the least. 

You walked out of the bathroom to find Tom sitting on the edge of the bed in his own pair of jogging shorts, glorious broad chest bare. Trying desperately not to stare, you shyly walked around to the other side of the bed.

"Left side alright for you?" he asked, always the gentleman.

You nodded and quickly got yourself under the covers, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Tom turned off the light and got himself situated, leaving the bedding down at his waist. In the dim light you could just make out the whirl of hair on his chest as he curled onto his side facing you. Your fingers itched to reach out and feel it, but you managed to keep them to yourself. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like a live fire warming your body. He reached out gently and touched your face with the backs of his fingers, still staying to his side of the wide mattress.

"It was lovely getting to know you, darling," he said quietly. "Rest well."

You smothered the whimper threatening to erupt and rolled onto your side, facing the window as far away from him as you could get without hanging off the edge. Attempting to ignore the pooling desire in your center you settled in for what was sure to be a long, sleepless night.

When the alarm went off you almost jumped out of your skin. Blearily you tried to sit up, but a strong arm around you kept you anchored to the bed. A murmured curse sounded behind you and the beeping stopped. A face buried itself in your hair as you were pulled closer to the wall of chest at your back.

Oh sweet lord! you thought, as awareness of your location flooded into your brain. Gingerly you opened one eye just enough to confirm that you were half way across the bed in the center of the mattress. You must have rolled over in your sleep, you realized. Which of course meant that Tom had also drifted to the middle of the bed to meet you in what could only be described as he the most comfortable and simultaneously uncomfortable embrace of your life.

He felt divine. He body was all pliant skin over hard muscle, Warm and soft and deliciously scented. His obscenely large hand splayed across your waist, just below your breasts, to rest against the stripe of bare flesh where your borrowed t-shirt had ridden up in your sleep. His legs, those impossibly long limbs you had admired in the bar last night, were pressed against you, one rising up to hook over your own. It was heaven. If only it was intentional. Silently as you lay in his embrace your mind cringed awaiting the moment he woke the rest of the way and realized that the woman in his arms was only you, a pathetic cast mate he had taken pity on when she was cast out of her own room.

When you could bear it no longer, you tried to gently pull away from him. Once again his arm tightened around you, holding you close to him. You closed your eyes and tried to think of a way to delicately extricate yourself. That was when you heard your name, mumbled in his honey warm voice made rough by sleep into your hair.

"Stay," he said, snuggling further into you. "Please."

Well, when he asked so nicely! Really, you decided, when would you ever have such a chance again. Surrendering to the bliss, you allowed yourself to sink back against him. You would soak up these moments, you decided. Save them for when you were feeling lonely, or needed a happy memory to see you through a hard time. After all, what could be better than being held in Tom Hiddleston's strong arms?

It was too short a time before the alarm went off again. Tom swore, lifting his arm from around your body to turn it off. You felt him, more fully awake this time, realize the situation you found yourselves in. His body stiffened and his leg quickly slid off of yours.

"I am so sorry," he said, pulling his head from where it had lain in the top of your hair. "Please, darling, forgive me. I didn't mean to take advantage."

"No need to apologize," you assured him, trying to sound as though this sort of thing happened to you every day. "After all, we were both asleep."

"It's just been so long since I've had a beautiful woman in my bed," he sighed, arm rising to cover his eyes. "My body just reacted instinctually."

"Beautiful?" you heard yourself say, a note of disbelief in your voice.

"Can you doubt it?" he asked, sounding surprised himself. 

"Generally speaking," you laughed, thinking that this man calling anyone beautiful was like the sun calling a lightning bug bright.

"My darling, you are stunning," he said, rising up on his elbow to look at you. "You are also intelligent, funny, and delightful. I thought I had a crush on you before I got to know you last night, but now..."

"You have - a crush?" 

"Damn," he said quietly. "Forgive me. I should not have said that."

Slowly, not daring to believe what you had just heard, you rolled over so that you were facing him. Hair mussed and eyes slightly unfocused Tom looked even more devastating than usual. A light growth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and in the dawn light his freckles stood out against his pale skin.

"Did you mean it?" you asked, stunned.

"There are few things as attractive... as sexy as talent," he said quietly, not meeting your eye. "When I saw you act, well, I could scarce keep my eyes off of you."

"You do realize that you are the most talented person I have ever seen," you told him, shock bringing out your candid side.

"You are very kind," he blushed.

"I am very honest," you answered. "You really think of me like that?"

"I think of you all the time," he replied, looking at you at last. "Often like that. I have spent the last three weeks trying to work up the courage to speak with you. When I saw you sitting alone in the bar last night, I thought someone must have heard my prayers."

"I am in a dream," you said. "I am in a dream and any moment now I will wake up and be back in the small black box theater performing for ten people."

"If you are in a dream than I am too," he smiled. "Darling, I understand if you want to leave. Things with me are never simple. It is an unfortunate side effect of the career I have chosen. But if you are willing to try, I would love to court you."

"Court me?" you grinned at his archaic turn of phrase. "Like with flowers and poems and such?"

"If you would like," he said, surprising you once more. "I have written a poem or two in my day, though I am more adept at songs. They are more forgiving. For now, we could perhaps start with breakfast?"

"Breakfast sound wonderful," you said, realizing suddenly that you were in fact hungry.

"I will order room service then," he nodded. "But first, sweetheart, would it be too forward of me... may I kiss you?"

Unable to speak you nodded your head once. Tom smiled, and reached down to grasp your chin gently between his thumb and finger. With an aching tenderness he brought his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and sweet and full of promise. You felt it all the way down to your toes in ways that far more invasive kisses had never moved you. Your back arched and you molded yourself to him, his free arm encircling you to hold you close. Emboldened by the embrace, you let your own hands find their way around him and to his back where they slid down the naked skin in a caress. With a quiet moan he pulled away, and you briefly felt his arousal brush against your let as he let you go.

"The things you do to me," he sighed, fingers lightly tracing your face. 

"I know what you mean," you breathed, feeling light headed from the kiss.

"I started this leg of the tour irritated at Michael," he confided. "Now I am tempted to send him a thank you gift. What do you thing? Champagne? Chocolates?"

"If we give them all that, won't it just encourage them the next night?" you giggled.

"Ah, now you see my clever plan," he teased. "How else can I hope to get you back in my bed?"

"Tom," you spoke seriously, "clever plans are not needed. All you need do is ask."

"Hmm," he grinned, pulling you close once again. "I am suddenly more happy than I can say that they forgot my tea."

"So am I," you smiled, nestling in against him. "You have no idea."

"Well then," he said. "You will just have to show me. Fortunately, we have months to go, and I for one have never been so happy to start a tour."

As you burrowed back together under the covers you could not help but agree.

@yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @nonsensicalobsessions @hiddlesholic

[let-it-raines]

another kind of green (5/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I hope everyone is having a good weekend! 💚

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 |

-/-

Emma filed for an annulment of her accidental drunken marriage yesterday.

She also took a pregnancy test.

Neither of those things were exactly in her life plan. Or whatever hypothetical life plan she’s supposed to have.

Luckily, that test (and the three she took after it because she does not trust those things) all came back negative because if getting accidentally hitched isn’t bad enough, getting accidentally knocked up would be even worse. That’s significantly more permanent and time consuming than marrying someone she doesn’t have to see every day, and she’d pass out from stress if she was actually pregnant.

And the extra-large margarita she had two days ago would have been a pretty big mistake.

(It was already a pretty big mistake when it made her a sloppy kind of intoxicated that had her telling Killian Jones that she liked the smell of his hair.)

(Ruby and Mulan have not stopped making fun of her for that.)

(Killian Jones, Emma Swan, and alcohol are obviously not a good combination.)

But she’s not pregnant, started her period today actually, and after going downtown to the family clerk’s office and having the nicest clerk in existence help Emma fill out the request for annulment papers, she’s officially got that off of her to-do list, which had quite possibly been the biggest weight off of her shoulder in years. Walking inside of the courthouse hadn’t been the best time, giving her flashbacks to being seventeen and having to go to trial (and jail) over those damn stolen watches that Neal set her up for, but at least she didn’t have to have a lawyer.

She stressed over that way too much, but it’s all in the past now. She’s got to keep that stress there.

Fucking Neal. He’s the scum of the earth, and that doesn’t even describe him. She wants to – no, she can’t. she can’t go there.

Positives. She has to focus on the positives, and not all of the memories she’s been tormented with over the past few days. There have been flashbacks of spending her days in a small cell and marking down the days until she could get out, her eighteenth birthday passing by her without her truly realizing it because she’d missed a few days on her chart. The flashbacks of the pregnancy test are the worst, however. The test she’d taken in jail was cheap, something not entirely reliable, and for a brief moment, Emma thought she was pregnant.

For an even briefer moment, she was happy about it because it meant she still had a connection with Neal. How messed up was she that she still wanted to be connected to the man that betrayed her trust and her heart? Why would anyone sane want that?

Why would anyone want to be connected to the man who ruined their life?

Because she loved him, let him tell her that things in her life were going to turn out right, and listening to him was her first mistake.

Emma wasn’t pregnant then and isn’t pregnant now, and she’s thankful for both negative tests even if things would have been different this time. It wouldn’t have been great, but at least she wouldn’t be a teenager in jail scared shitless over how the hell she’s going to do anything with her life because no one she cares about seems to stay. She’s got people now. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. That’s all that matters to her.

She’s got to stop focusing on those awful memories that make her stomach churn and nausea bubble up, and she needs to focus on something productive.

Like serving Killian Jones with his annulment papers.

The clerk has given her options to do that, including paying a courier to do it, but that had cost money and she figured it would be just as easy to give it over to them himself and ask for his half of the two hundred bucks she had to shell out for this. She meant to text him yesterday morning to arrange a time, but the whole pregnancy test thing threw her off. There was no way in hell she was going to talk to him after all of that. Today, however, she’s going to get her shit done and get this whole thing over with.

Emma Swan: Can you meet today?

The little bubbles pop up two seconds later.

Killian Jones: I’m booked all day today. Tomorrow?

Emma Swan: I’m booked all day tomorrow.

Killian Jones: Saturday then?

Emma Swan: I can do Saturday. What time?

Killian Jones: My place? Around noon?

Emma Swan: Send me your address.

She realizes that she never tells him why she wants to meet, but he probably knows. Despite them spending the entire evening together Monday night, they’re not casual friends who meet up to get something to eat or go to a concert together. They’re…acquaintances. She’s got no clue, isn’t really interested in defining it, and she’ll leave it at that. Their “whatever” is short term and will be ending soon anyways. There’s no need to get any kind of attached.

Her phone starts ringing, a picture of she and David from last year’s Christmas popping up, and she slides the bar across the screen to answer the phone.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” David sighs, “this is your daily reminder that you have to file your annulment papers.”

“It’s really a shame that you and Marg haven’t procreated yet because you’re such a dad.”

“How could I have a baby when I’m too worried about you? So I think we’ll keep using condoms for now.”

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles, getting up from her bed and walking the few feet to her kitchen, which is really more of a kitchenette that can barely fit food than anything. She needs to get a bigger place, but she doesn’t mind living here. Having a savings account to fall back on is far more important than an apartment with actual walls around her bedroom. “I don’t need to know about your sex life.”

“I know for a fact Mary Margaret talks to you about it.” “That’s different.” “How?”

“So, I filed the papers,” she blurts out, changing the subject.

“Did you really?”

“Mhm, yesterday, and I’ve already texted Killian so I can give him the papers in case he wants to contest it or anything.”

“Do you think he will?” “What? No. Neither of us want to be married. It was literally a drunken mistake. Nothing about it was sane. We both want it behind us.”

“Is that Emma?” Mary Margaret says.

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Wait,” Emma starts, “aren’t you at work? How is Marg there?”

“I’m home on my lunch break. I – ”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, her voice coming in clear in the phone. “I had no idea Killian was one of Ariel’s clients. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that when we did the convention. I called Ariel yesterday, and I just had to talk to her about how funny the whole thing was with the two of you getting married. We – ”

“Wait,” Emma gasps, dropping her package of Pop-Tarts to the counter, “you talked to Ariel about it? Did she know or did you tell her?”

“Well, I told her.”

Shit, Marg. “Marg, Killian hadn’t told anyone about it! I don’t think he wanted to! What happened to not telling anyone?”

“I assumed she knew.” “Did you having to tell her about it not clue you in that maybe you shouldn’t have told her?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking. That’s been happening so much lately. God, Emma, these pregnancy hormones will make you insane. It’s, like, shit, my brain isn’t even my brain even more. I’ve been all over the place. I promise I didn’t mean to screw that up. It didn’t even cross my mind. Will you apologize to Killian for me?”

“Mary Margaret Nolan,” Emma whispers, “did you just say that you’re pregnant?”

“Fuck, I did, didn’t I?”

Emma barks out a laugh, leaning forward to rest her arms and her forehead against the countertop. She was just teasing David about this, and then…they’re having a baby. For all the screwed-up thoughts Emma has over her own experiences in this area, she knows this is a good, wonderful thing that David and Mary Margaret deserve.

Damn.

They’re going to be great parents.

“Congratulations, lady! I’m so happy for you guys, and I forgive you for being even more scatterbrained than normal.”

“Says the most unorganized person I know.”

“I get shit done.”

“That you do…most of the time.” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so happy, Emma.”

“As you should be. You guys are going to be the best parents.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Tell David congrats on knocking you up.”

“What a graceful way to put that my wife is pregnant,” David grumbles, his voice muffled. “Real classy.” “That’s me. Marg, are you going to be at any of my shoots tomorrow? I think I need to hug you.”

“I will be at your two o’clock appointment because I need to go over some of the paperwork for you.”

“Perfect. Expect the biggest hug of your life.”

-/-

“How the hell does Ariel know that I got married?”

“Well, hello to you too, Jones.”

Emma side steps around Killian and lets herself into his apartment, her eyes scanning over the place. It’s clean a lot cleaner than her place, and she wonders if it’s always like this or if he cleaned specifically because she was coming over. But that would be ridiculous, and she doubts Killian would have straightened up his bookshelves and dusted his TV off just because she was here.

“Hi, Swan,” he sighs, closing the door behind her before walking back to the kitchen where something that smells ridiculously good is cooking on the stove. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking as beautiful as ever. How the hell does Ariel know that I got married?”

Emma sighs and pulls out a barstool to sit down, dropping the envelope of papers on the countertop. “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret, and she told Ariel. I’m really sorry about that.”

“I mean, it’s fine. Honestly. Ariel and Eric have always been like older siblings to me, but they can get a little…”

“Overbearing, protective, annoying as hell?”

“Yeah,” Killian laughs, turning around and crossing his arms so that the muscles in his arms flex underneath his t-shirt. “You know the type?”

“My friends are the exact same way, which makes sense that they’re friends with Ariel and Eric.”

“Small worlds and all that.” “That seems to be happening lately.” Emma sighs and pushes the papers over the countertop. “So, we are officially a pair of fools whose annulment papers are somewhere bustling around in the family council office of Boston.”

His brow arches. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I didn’t get an attorney. I filed the papers out myself I didn’t ask the split any assets or anything…since we don’t actually share any. I don’t think you have to do anything unless you see something ghastly wrong in these papers, but we have to wait at least twenty-one days before it’ll get looked at. That’s how long you have if you dispute anything.”

“I’m not going to dispute anything, love.” Emma opens her mouth to dispute his little name, but she stops herself. It’s just how he is, and there’s no reason for her to be rude to him no matter how fun that could be. He’s never actually done anything wrong to her. “The only reason I’d dispute the disappearance of our marriage is the fact that I know how you kiss, and it’d be such a shame to not get to do that again.”

She takes back every nice thought about him she’s ever had. She gained a few new ones Monday night, but they’re all about to fly out the window.

“If I had something to throw at you, I would.”

“Such a violent lass.”

“I am what I am.”

Killian chuckles and turns back around to the pot he has on the stove. “I’ve got some spinach and ricotta tortellini if you want to stay for lunch.”

“Oh, I, um, I really shouldn’t.”

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“No.”

“Do you have plans to eat lunch?” He turns around to look at her, and all she can do is shrug. “Exactly what I thought. C’mon, darling. We’ll call it a celebratory lunch that we’re soon to be free of what was quite frankly a nasty marriage. I mean, my wife kept trying to throw things at me.”

“Shut up, Jones, or I’ll actually throw something at you.”

“You think that’s a threat, but really, I see it as a promise.”

The bastard winks. He’s got to stop doing that.

Killian keeps talking, asking her about her shoot yesterday and how it went. He apparently hasn’t been working as much lately but does do the occasional job like the other day to keep paying the bills until he can officially start at the Academy and get a paycheck like normal people do. Emma’s never liked talking about her job because it always seems to lead into conversations about if this is what she really wanted to do with her life. It’s not, never has been, but considering everything, this is so much better than she should have it. Maybe one day she’ll branch out into something more normal and a little calmer, but googling jobs that hire ex-convicts with a GED has never been something she particularly enjoys.

“So, how’d you get into this whole thing?” Killian asks her when he slides her a plate and hands her a bottle of water. “Someone saw you and thought they just had to have your face in an ad in a magazine?”

Emma hums, cutting a tortellini in half. “There was an ad in the paper, which makes me sound so old, for a local dress designer who wanted someone to do a shoot for some of her dresses. There was no experience required. I just needed to be the right size, and I was. I think I maybe got paid two hundred bucks for that shoot, but it opened me up to the whole industry. You?”

If she’s got to answer these questions, he does as well. Tit for tat and all that.

He hesitates. He tries to cover it up, but she can tell. He’s trying to be a cop, so obviously this whole modeling thing isn’t what he’s always wanted to do. Emma may not be some kind of genius, but she knows people pretty damn well.

“Ariel got me into it. I’d known her forever, needed some money, and it just kind of happened. I’d been piddling around in construction and bartending before that.”

“Ariel’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she’s one of the good ones, always keeping me on track.”

Killian smiles, something soft that makes the crinkles around his eyes show up where they normally wouldn’t, and Emma’s stomach flips. It’s probably because this food is really good. That has to be it.

“So, did you make these from scratch? They’re really good.”

“I bought them from Whole Foods. It’s simple, Swan. I think anyone can make it.”

“That’s because you don’t know how unfortunate of a cook I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I’m the worst. I won’t admit that to anyone who has seen me cook, but I’m definitely the worst. I could mess up boiling water.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“Hey,” Emma scoffs, flicking a piece of the bread off her plate at him. “I can say it. You can’t say it.”

“Are these in the unwritten rules of Emma?”

“Oh, absolutely. And they constantly change, so you’ll never really know.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press his forehead to the counter and hiding his face in his hands. She can see his smile peeking through. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Well, I assume at some point we did say ‘til death do us part.’”

“Does that mean you’re going to murder me before our papers are processed?” he laughs, those crinkles showing up again as she feels her own lips curling up to the sides.

“Obviously that’s exactly what I meant. Gonna finally put all of my police connections into use.”

“What the hell is going on out here?” someone groans, and Emma nearly falls off of her stool as someone walks down the hallway in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s got to be fifteen years old from all of the holes and faded letters. “Who the hell are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You’re in my apartment.”

“You have a roommate?” Emma asks Killian, turning to look at him as he’s still got this shit-eating grin on his face. “You never mentioned that.”

“You never asked. Emma, this is Will Scarlet, my roommate. Will, this is – ”

“Holy shit,” Will gasps, “you’re the girl he married. I couldn’t believe it when Ariel told me. Sorry about that, lass. He’s a real piece of work, and I’m sure he didn’t get you satisfied on your wedding night.”

He did, but that was technically before the wedding, and she’s not saying any of that out loud.

“Oh, I think I’m going to like you,” Emma laughs, shoveling some more food in her mouth. “Can you tell me every weird thing Killian does?”

“How long do you have?”

“All day.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbles, pushing his hair back, “I don’t need to be here for this.”

“You do if you don’t want me to tell her about the time you went blonde.”

“Oh, I definitely have to hear that,” Emma sighs. “Tell me everything. I hope you have pictures.”

“Digital and print versions.”

“Perfect.”

-/-

-/-

Tag list:  @xemmaloveskillianx​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​

[wizard-loving-wizard]

TAZ November Celebration - Day 5 “Rockstar”

@taznovembercelebration​ 

I have a few TAZ fics in progress, so I reeeally wanted to write something for the TAZ November Celebration! Enjoy some Taakitz, some Blupjeans, and some rock ‘n’ roll shenangians. (Rating: M)

Taako was bummed. He hadn't heard from the mysterious Kravitz all day. It wasn't unheard of for Taako to allow one of his fans to enjoy his fleeting company for one night only while he was on tour, but he really liked this Kravitz. He definitely thought he'd get a call back—that's why he’d left his number on the motel nightstand.

It was a shame. Kravitz was cute, in the excessively sexy goth-punk kinda way. He was also a dorky kind of funny, and annoyingly smart. He wrote for a local music magazine (!!!) and seemed to actually love Taako’s band. (“I didn’t come here for work, by the way. Not yet. I just love your music,” He’d said so casually, as if that wasn’t the sexiest thing a goth music writer could ever say.)

Taako had preened across the tall, sticky table, and when he pointed to the motel down the street, Kravitz was surprised but enthusiastic. They spent the night together, and it was very fun.

As his band set up for their next show at the same bar, Taako was losing hope. He hadn’t heard anything from Kravitz all day. This was their last night in Neverwinter, so it was mere hours before he would have to leave Kravitz behind for good. Plus, Taako kept catching the drummer being all romantic with his long-term girlfriend who was on tour with them, and normally that didn’t bother him, but today it made him lonely.

So Taako was already in a shitty mood when Merle marched onto the stage right before soundcheck, clacking his cellphone closed and announcing, “Bad news.”

Taako threw a nervous look over to his sister, who was messing with around with her bass on the other side of the stage. She looked up, equally confused.

“Johann isn’t coming,” Merle said.

Taako’s jaw dropped open.

“What?” Magnus asked, standing up behind his drum kit at the back of the stage.

“Dammit,” Lup muttered.

Taako glanced around at his band mates and his dejected manager. “Are you sure there’s no way he can stay?”

Merle shook his head, saying, “His mom is sick. He’s already in a taxi heading to the airport.”

“Damn.”

Magnus pouted, dropping his drumsticks against the snare sadly. “So, what? We can’t play?”

“No, not without a keyboardist.” Lup delivered the diagnosis with a grim look.

Before Taako could come up with any other ideas, they were resolved to take a break and pack everything back up in an hour. Once the rest of his band had cleared out the stage, Taako dejectedly settled his guitar into its stand. The bar was calling to him, so he hopped off the front of the stage to go get a drink.

In a surprisingly wonderful turn of events, he only made it halfway there before he stopped in his tracks, watching a familiar tall-dark-and-handsome step inside the front door. Could it be?

Taako weaved around to the front, until he made it into the purview of Kravitz’s scanning gaze. Kravitz brightened and said, “Taako!”

“Kravitz!” Taako greeted back, waving, and then remembered that this was the bitch who didn’t call him back. 

Kravitz rushed up to him flustered and said, “I’m so sorry I didn’t call.”

Taako blinked in surprise.

He looked embarrassed. “My cat shredded your note before I could put your number in my phone.”

Taking the blushing as a sign of honesty, Taako threw back his head laughing. “No way!” His stomach warmed as he stared into Kravitz’s sweet eyes and realized why he was here.

“Yes, she’s still just a kitten.”

“Awww.” Taako remembered seeing pictures of the little black kitten last night, he thought, somewhere between his second margarita and third tequila shot. He leaned in a bit closer and resisted the urge to pull on all the things hanging off Kravitz’s stupid chic black clothes. He said, “Well, thanks for coming by. But there’s no show tonight, our keyboardist bailed.”

Kravitz looked around and then pouted. “Oh no! You guys can’t play?”

“Not unless someone in this bar can read sheet music,” Taako said.

But Kravitz had an electric look in his eyes. “Actually, I might know someone who can help.”

+

Lup had drank three beers alone in the closet being passed off as a green room, and she wanted the fourth to be different. She stumbled around backstage with two glass bottles in her hands, humming the Fantasy Costco theme under her breath and searching for her brother.

She found someone else before she found Taako: a human man coming in through the back door, looking like the last person that would ever patron this dive bar. Lup waltzed down the hallway towards him, screaming, “Hey!”

He jumped, staring back at Lup with exactly the amount of fear she wanted everyone to have when they first met her.

She smirked and walked closer. “You lost, thug?”

“Um,” The guy said, giving a cautious eye to the bottles in her hands. “No, actually, my friend told me—are you in the band?”

Lup snorted. “In it? Please, I practically am the band. I’m Lup,” She said, and juggled the beers into one hand so she could extend the other.

He shook it hesitantly. “Barry. I heard you needed a keyboardist?”

“Yes!” Lup jumped in excitement, almost losing both bottles, but managing to cradle them close. “You play piano? Can you read sheet music?” Barry was cute, and he was looking cuter every second.

“Yes, but—”

“Sick! Come with me,” Lup instructed, and grabbed Barry’s arm to pull him towards the green room.

“Have you—”

“Go in here.” Lup pushed him into the closet, following close behind him. She set the beers down and starting rifling through a bag for the folder she needed. When she found it, she slammed it onto the table in front of Barry. “Here’s your music.”

“I…” Barry trailed off, glancing through the folder experimentally. Then he looked at Lup. “Do you know where Kravitz is?”

“I have no idea who that is, buddy,” Lup announced happily. But Barry looked sad, so she revised, “How about you stay here and learn your chords, and I’ll go find him.”

Barry sat in the creaky folding chair and muttered, “Fine.”

Lup started to head out, ready to totally forget who she was looking for, but Barry stopped her.

“Wait, what’s the name of your band?”

Lup furrowed her brow. “It’s in there,” She said, pointing to the music he was looking at. “The Astral Complainers.”

“Huh,” Barry said quietly, and then smiled at Lup. “That’s pretty good.”

Lup smirked. “Thanks.” She almost darted out of the room, but hung off the doorframe to tell him, “If I find everyone, soundcheck starts in 10.”

As she skipped down the hall towards the stage, she heard Barry call after her: “If?”

+

“Fuck…shit,” Taako swore as Kravitz kissed his neck. The tour van was a pretty terrible spot to make out, but as annoying as the limited space was, there was something about being stuck in Kravitz’s lap that Taako definitely liked. As Kravitz ran his hands under Taako’s t-shirt, Taako squeezed his arms tighter around Kravitz’s neck.

Kravitz looked up and licked his lips. Taako couldn’t even take in a breath before he had to kiss him.

And that was when the door swung open.

“Ahh!” Taako shrieked at the sound. He jumped and turned and leaned all at once, sending himself tumbling to the floor, seeing his sister’s angry face on the way down. Shit shit shit shit shit, Taako swore inside his head, enjoying his new view of the dirty van carpet.

He heard Kravitz say, “Taako! Are you okay?”

Taako struggled to untangle his legs from the seat. “Ow. Yes! I’m fine!” He lied.

“You must be Kravitz,” Lup’s voice said, and Taako had no idea how she knew that, but it couldn’t be good that she did. He twisted and turned on the ground, trying to free himself.

“Yes, I’m—yes. Did Taako tell you…?”

“No. Barry’s here.”

“Great!” Taako announced, thought it was mostly muffled by the floor. He finally pulled himself up onto the seat next to Kravitz. “I saved the show!”

But Lup was not impressed. “Nu-uh. No boys in the van, no exceptions. You know that.”

“I mean, Kravitz saved the show!” Taako reached over to grab Kravitz’s arm, smiling sweetly. “I had to thank him.”

The way Kravitz smiled back, Taako couldn’t stop himself from leaning across the aisle, caressing his arm softly, and—

“Hey! Cut it out!” Lup said, and he felt a smack on his shoulder.

Taako’s face warmed as he looked back at his sister. “Sorry.”

“Whatever. Let’s go, we have soundcheck, now.”

Taako was already reaching for Kravitz’s hand when he said, “I should come and thank Barry.”

Taako smiled. “Perfect.”

+

Soundcheck went well. Really well. Afterwards, as Taako ran off to canoodle with the Hot Topic model some more, Lup was thinking that Barry’s skills far surpassed just reading sheet music. She went to corner him at the back of the stage, and got Magnus’s blessing of a wink and a swift exit.

Lup hadn’t realized she was so obvious. She knew she shouldn’t have kept turning around so much while they were playing. Taako probably had no idea anyways; with the handsome silken vampire hanging around, he had the biggest hearts in his eyes she’d ever seen.

“Hey. Barry. Good job.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I hope it sounds okay, let me know if—”

“It sounds great,” Lup promised, leaning gently on the keyboard and giving him a little smile. Water, she remembered, for her tipsy-ness and her voice. She took a drink from her water bottle and then said, “You’re good, do you work in music?”

Barry laughed nervously. “Yes, but, not this kind of music.”

“Aw,” Lup teased, batting her eyelashes at him. “Do you work in pop music, Barry?”

 “No,” Barry said. “I write for the classical music section of the Neverwinter Music Magazine.”

Lup just stared at him for a second, a bit transfixed at his little attitude. She stood up straight, bit back her smirk, and said, “Okay. Classical. That’s fancy.” Then she had a thought. “Is that how you know Kravitz? Through—”

Lup got distracted when she noticed Barry staring at something behind her. She turned to look out to the bar area, where Taako was posing against a wall wearing Kravitz’s black cape, and Kravitz was standing two feet back taking pictures of him on a phone.

Lup looked back at Barry, who was smiling and shaking his head again, and she finished her question, asking, “Work?”

“Look at me,” Barry said, gesturing to his plain t-shirt and jeans. “If he didn’t have to sit next to me for eight hours straight every day, there’s no way he would be friends with me.”

Lup giggled. “He writes about, what, steampunk remixes?”

“Wrong again. Try good ol’ rock ‘n’ roll.”

Lup clicked her tongue. “You boys are something else here in Neverwinter.” She watched Barry give her an awkward look.

He said, “How long are you in town, by the way?”

“Tonight’s our last night,” Lup said. She shrugged, stepping even closer to the keyboard and leaning over it to tell Barry, “Gotta make the most of it while it lasts.” She smirked and backed away.

Turning around to look out at the crowd, Lup set down her water bottle next to her bass. She readjusted her mic stand, watching a group of six more people flood into the bar.

She walked back over to Barry and caught him just before he made it offstage. “Hey,” She said, stopping him. “Have a drink before the show. Just a beer. It’ll help with the nerves.”

Barry stared at her blankly for a moment, and then claimed, “I’m not nervous.”

“Barry, I have eyes. I can see that you’re about to shit your pants.” Lup pulled a coin out of her pocket and tried to hand it to him. “On me. I can’t have one, I’ve already had three.”

“Oh, no, it’s—”

“Barry,” Lup stopped him. “I’m a famous rockstar. I can afford it.” She pushed the gold into his hand and pushed him offstage.

+

Barry was standing at the back of the stage, hitting chords on someone else’s keyboard, and watching Lup rock out on her bass as she sang for the crowd. Her voice pure and strong, her hands playing deftly, her hair whipping around, she was the most beautiful person Barry had ever seen. He watched her, useless and trapped behind the keyboard, heart jumping around every time she turned around to come play next to him or just to wink at him. Barry liked this band. He liked this crowd more than he thought he would. And he liked Lup.

Maybe not as much as Kravitz liked Taako, Barry considered, watching his coworker jump and scream in front of Taako. Kravitz had been frantic that morning at work, rambling about a bar, an elf, and Coconut Milk (his completely black cat). When Barry had calmed him down enough to explain what happened, Kravitz acted like Taako was his soulmate. Maybe he was right, Barry thought, watching Taako shake and shimmy with his guitar, obviously staring only at Kravitz. Whatever was happening there, he was happy his friend seemed so happy.

Weird that he was then crushing on Taako’s twin sister, but maybe Barry didn’t really care. All he felt like caring about was watching Lup jump around in her fishnets, shorts, and ripped black shirt. He felt the bass deep in his stomach as he played, and tried not to think about how much fun he was having.

+

They played loud and rocked hard. The audience loved it, and Lup ended the show sweaty and high on adrenaline. This was when she felt on top of the world. The crowd roared in her face, still cheering, and she stood to watch it happen, swinging her bass back and forth. She smirked down at the fans right in front of her, and then over at Taako, who was glowing.

Lup remembered herself and turned around, immediately walking to the back of the stage. She stepped around the keyboard and pulled Barry into a one-armed hug. “Good show. You killed it,” She said, giving him a small smile, and she liked the nervous little smile she got from Barry in return.

+

“Great show, you guys,” Merle told them backstage. The five of them were a bit cramped for space in the tiny area, and Lup accidentally jabbed her elbow into Barry’s side.

“Ow!” He said.

“Lup, stop that,” Merle said, and flipped through his pages until he found the right one. “Right. Here’s the schedule for tonight.”

Lup stood up straighter and looked over at Barry to teasingly glare at him. 

“We pack up in an hour, I need you back here, in an hour,” Merle repeated, for their benefit. “Then I’ll let you know what time we’re leaving.”

“Yes, sir,” Magnus said.

Merle looked up at them expectantly and said, “Don’t die, don’t kill anyone else, and don’t get married.” And then he was gone.

“What an inspirational man,” Taako remarked.

Magnus said, “Great show, Barry. Thanks. Gotta go!” and ran towards the bar, presumably to tackle his girlfriend at the merch table. 

The door hadn’t even swung shut when someone else grabbed it and walked through to backstage—Kravitz. “Taako!” He said.

“Kravitz!” Taako shouted.

Kravitz ran down the hall, crying to Taako, “You were so good, it was such a good show,” and then they were kissing, a shiny black cape flying around and jewelry clacking together. 

Lup took a step back to give them a bit more space, and she gave Barry a silly look over her shoulder as she squished closer to him.

Once Kravitz could pull his face away, he rushed over to Barry, saying, “Barry, you were so good, you did amazing.” He wrapped his arms around Barry’s head in an interesting-looking hug, and Lup just stepped back to glance at Taako.

He was also leaning back, and giving her a concerned looking and mouthing, BARRY?

Lup just shrugged, and nodded.

“—you are a rockstar, Barry, I always knew it—”

Then, Lup held up a hand at Taako. Then two fingers. And then mouthed, GOTH. CLOWN.

Taako held up his middle finger, and Lup flipped him off right back, and that was the exact second Kravitz and Barry turned around.

“What—”

“Nothing,” Taako said, and starting pulling Kravitz towards the bar. “Remember, we’re—”

“To, going to the—”

“The place.”

“Yeah. Bye!” Kravitz yelled, and they disappeared through the door.

When the door slammed back shut, Lup looked over at Barry.

He gave her a nervous smile and said, “Thanks for letting me play with you, and thanks for helping me.” He motioned to the back door. “I should get—”

“You can’t leave,” Lup interrupted. “Have a drink with me.”

Barry looked surprised. “It’s pretty late, I—”

“Please?” Lup asked nicely.

+

Forty-five minutes later, Lup and Barry were each on their third cocktails. They were at a low table by the bar, and the music and crowd were defeneningly loud. Lup threw back her drink and stared intently at Barry. “I don’t want to shout!” She shouted.

He blinked. “What?”

“You look like a girl scout!”

“...I can’t hear you!”

Lup rolled her eyes. “Do you want to make out?”

“Yes,” Barry said.

Lup stared at him, wondering if her half-joking question had worked or if he was fucking with her. She stared at his discerning, hesitant face, and couldn’t tell a thing. So she shifted closer to him, leaning in until her face was inches away from his. 

He stared into her eyes.

“Sure about that, Mozart?”

Barry didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move.

So Lup kissed him, squishing their noses together and holding him still in the bouncing bar. Barry pushed forwards and reached for her shoulder, so she held his face and kissed him deeper. 

“Barry,” She whispered contentedly when they readjusted and broke apart for half a second. She kissed him, pulling him as close as possible. Barry kissed her back steady and gentle, seeming fairly sure of himself for a man who tried to escape out the back door an hour ago.

+

Lup arrived backstage exactly when Merle expected her, towing Barry behind her, holding her hand. They joined Magnus and Julia, who were closely intertwined, and Kravitz and Taako, looking a bit too pleased with themselves.

Merle looked at Lup’s hand hanging tightly onto Barry and said, “Oh, jeez.”

Kravitz held up a little thumbs-up to Barry.

“Okay, look,” Merle explained, “The owner had some cancellations and now she has a few more open spots this week. She wants us to stay ‘til Thursday.”

Taako gasped in delight, but Magnus said, “But we don’t have Johann!”

Everyone looked over at Barry, so Lup turned to him, and smiled. “Whaddya say, will you play with us?” She asked.

“Um, yeah—yes,” Barry said.

Lup laughed and hugged him. She heard Taako and Magnus cheering. She gave Barry one last squeeze around the shoulders and let him go, turning back to face Merle. “Yeah, I think we should stay here a bit longer.”

“Let’s do it!” Magnus yelled.

“The ayes have it,” Merle declared. “Forget tear-down, you are officially free to par-tay.”

They all whooped and cheered, and it felt like New Year’s Eve when Lup pulled Barry in to kiss his cheek under a karaoke night poster.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you’d like to see more of my writing, all my info is here.

[atc74]

Our Love is Infinite

Square(s) Filled: “Two heads are better than one.” / Tattoos 

Warnings: Fluff, established poly relationship, dp, frottage, mentions of pregnancy

Summary: The show has wrapped and for the stars of Supenatural, one chapter is closing, but another is beginning. 

Pairing: Jared x Reader x Jensen

Word Count: 3589

Written for: @as-the-saying-goes-bingo and BTZ Bingo

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, thank you for all your love!

A/N: Here is the next chapter! This originally started as most definitely not a request from @supernatural-jackles, who told me she would love to see me write a J2 x Reader. It has exceeded my expectations and I hope yours too!

A/N2: Italics indicate flashback

To New Beginnings - catch up now!

Like Jared or Jensen’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families

Fifteen years. One hundred thirty-five months. Five hundred forty weeks. Three hundred thirty-seven episodes. Fourteen thousand one hundred fifty-four minutes. Two hundred thirty-six hours. That was Jared and Jensen’s life broken down since the start of Supernatural. Now it was the end. For Y/N, it wasn’t quite as long, but it was still the end of a chapter, well, a very long series, for her as well. 

But for Y/N, Jared, and Jensen, a new series was just beginning. Tonight was the wrap party. The final wrap party. The three of you had lounged around the house all day. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good. It just was. The final episode had been filmed almost eight weeks ago and, now, they had to say goodbye to the cast and crew, their family, all over again. Y/N refused to see it as the end, but as a new beginning, and she tried to lift Jared and Jensen’s spirits as well. 

“You boys better be ready to go in thirty!” Y/N called from the master suite, where she had been getting ready for the past hour. She had kicked both of them out to the guest rooms to shower and get dressed. She wanted her dress, her final look, to be a surprise to her lovers. 

Y/N had taken her time, making sure her make-up was just right, using some of the techniques she had picked up from the show’s artists. She had ordered her dress weeks ago, and it was perfect. She stepped into the dress gingerly so as not to snag her heels in the delicate tulle. Y/N pulled the dress over her hips, slipping her arms through the straps and over her shoulders, letting the flowing skirt fall into place at her feet. 

Y/N grabbed her clutch, checking the contents, and walked out of the master suite and down the long hallway. She made her way down the stairs, spotting both Jared and Jensen at the foot of the staircase. Both of them looked so damn handsome in their tuxes, she gasped. It wasn’t the first time she had seen them dressed formally, but it took her breath away every time, and she counted her lucky stars that she was so blessed because they were hers. 

“Our queen has arrived,” Jensen bowed as she reached the bottom step. 

“You look stunning, babe,” Jared whispered. 

“That dress...man,” Jensen let out a low whistle. “You’re exquisite.” 

“Thank you both. Help me with my bracelet?” Y/N smiled at them, holding up the jewelry. 

Jensen lifted the custom made piece from her hand and slipped it around her wrist, fastening it quickly. He placed a gentle kiss to the underside of her wrist before stepping back and extending his elbow. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be,” she agreed and slipped her hand through his arm. 

Jared followed, locking the door behind them as they made their way to the waiting car. Comfortably settled in the backseat, he turned to her, kissing her softly. “We’re the luckiest guys in the world.” 

“I second that,” Jensen nodded, kissing her as well. 

The ride to the party was mostly silent as Clif veered through the city. They had already discussed conversation topics all of them wished to avoid about their relationship. The cast and crew, and families, knew, but none of them were ready to announce it to the world, let alone the fans. They could be fickle and, with the finale episode airing the following week, they had all agreed to let the shock wear off before giving them more fuel. 

Clif pulled up in front of the venue, Jensen exiting the car and walking over to the other side just as Jared stepped out. They both held their hands out for Y/N to take as she slid down from the black leather seats. As the three main stars of the show, it wouldn’t be questioned, three of them, walking into the party hand in hand, posing for pictures for the fans, then answering questions on the red carpet. 

Just inside the doors, Samantha Highfill stopped the trio. “Jared, Jensen! Hi, Y/N!” She hugged them excitedly. Sam was a favorite and the preferred journalist amongst the cast and crew. She had become a trusted source over the years and Jensen had mentioned giving her the interview when they were ready to go public. 

“Sam, hey!” Y/N greeted the journalist. 

“It’s been a long time,” Samantha commented. 

“Not long enough!” Jensen joked, not missing the pretend scowl on the reporter’s face. “I kid! I kid!” 

“Can I get a sit down with the three of you this week before the final episode? I want your take on it for my new article Friday morning.” Samantha looked to each of them as they shared looks with each other. 

“I’ll call Monday and we’ll set something up,” Y/N finally spoke, putting all of them at ease. 

“Sounds good,” she agreed. The interviews were quick as they walked the red carpet, flashes going off every few feet as the photographers snapped pictures of everyone attending the soiree. 

Jared and Jensen headed to the bar for refreshments when Y/N was ambushed by Kim and Briana, gushing over her blush and gold dress. She spotted her men at the bar just as they walked toward her with two whiskeys and what appeared to be a margarita. Jensen handed it over to her and she took her first sip, sighing audibly at the refreshment, and licking some salt from the rim. 

“Oh margarita!” Briana yelped, trying to steal Y/N’s drink. 

“Bri, no!” she shouted at her longtime friend. “Sorry, I’ve got a cold and don’t want you bringing the crud home to your little girl.” 

“Aww that’s sweet of you to think of her,” Briana commented. “Kim. Bar.” 

Jared, Jensen, and Y/N watched their friends walk away. “Whoa, that was close.” 

“Can’t have anyone drinking my girl’s drink now, can we?” Jensen slinked his arm around her, leading them away from the bar. 

The party was a great success. There was so much love throughout the room. Everyone in attendance had shared stories from the past fifteen years, some of which Y/N had never heard before. After a couple hours, speeches were given by Bob Singer, Andrew Dabb, Jeremy Carver and Eric Kripke. Jensen, Jared, and Misha had all had their turn as well. As Y/N took the microphone from Jensen, he kissed her lightly on the cheek, whispering something in her ear to which she only nodded. 

“I don’t know exactly what to say that hasn’t already been said. The past five years have been beyond amazing. I have met so many wonderful people, people I consider my friends. My family. I’ve met the two most amazing men I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing,” she paused as Jensen returned to the stage with Jared in tow. They flanked her on either side as she continued. 

“My life changed for the better the day I auditioned, and I wouldn’t change a single thing. Thank you, all of you, for each and every one of you has had an impact on my life, even if you don’t realize it,” she sniffed, the emotions beginning to take hold. “Thank you for an amazing ride.” 

“You did great, darlin’,” Jensen drawled against her ear, hugging her once more. 

“You’re so strong, babe,” Jared whispered on her other side, both of them fighting back tears of their own. They made their way off stage, but Y/N excused herself to the ladies room. Her men nodded and headed back to the bar for another round. 

“Aye, you look ravishing, Y/N! That dress is spectacular,” Ruth chirped as she entered the restroom. 

“Oh, thank you, Ruthie. I just love it!” Y/N gushed, running her slender fingers along the roses adorning the skirt. 

“I’d never look good in something that feminine, but you, girlie, you can pull that off!” Kim exclaimed, stepping out of a stall.

“Y’all are so sweet,” Y/N blushed under the extra attention. 

“You look diff’rent, Y/N,” Ruth commented, eyeing her quizzically. 

“W-what are you talking about Ruth?” Y/N stammered, her face heating up. 

“Can’t quite put my wee finger on it…” Ruth trailed off. 

Kim dried her hands and looked suspiciously around the restroom, even checking under the stalls. “Are you..you know...knocked up?”

“What? Whatever gave you that idea?” Y/N squeaked in surprise. 

“You are! I knew it!” Kim threw her hands up in victory. “With the vomiting on set and your elegantly high-waisted three dimensional dress…” 

“Seriously, you can’t tell anyone. We haven’t even told our parents yet!” Y/N pleaded, looking from Kim to Ruth and back again. “Please.”

“Hey, your secrets are safe with me. All of ‘em,” Kim assured her, giving Y/N a tight hug before walking out of the restroom with Ruth. Y/N was speechless as she conducted her business and rejoined Jensen and Jared. 

“Um, Kim and Ruth know,” Y/N blurted out the minute she reached the table, slightly out of breath. 

“What? How? Why?” Jensen threw the questions rapid fire. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t say anything!” Y/N protested. “Kim said she heard me vomiting on set. And, does this dress not hide the bump like I thought it did? Do I look pregnant?” 

“You look amazing, baby,” Jared acknowledged. 

“That is not what I asked you, Padalecki! I said, Do. I. Look. Pregnant?” Y/N glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Well, I- I’m just- crap. I love you,” Jared stuttered. “Your boobs are a bit fuller, but the dress hides the bump perfectly. You look beautiful.” 

“Stupid pregnancy boobs,” Y/N slumped forward in her chair, pouting. 

“Hey, darlin’, look at me please,” Jensen lifted her chin with one finger. “Kim’s got our backs, okay? When we’re ready, she’d have them then, too. And no, you do not look like you are sixteen weeks along. You are a goddess in and out of that dress and, when we get home, we are going to worship you like you deserve.” 

Y/N’s body flushed from the inside under the intensity of his gaze and the implications of his words. “Take me home.” 

They quickly said their goodnights, using Y/N’s ‘cold’ as an early out, which normally would have been a faux pas at their own party, but mostly people wished her well. Clif was ready when they exited the venue and steered for home. 

“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” Jared murmured, one large hand snaking a path up her leg. 

“Me neither,” Jensen breathed heavily in her ear, one hand caressing the barely there baby bump she so painstakingly disguised with the dress she had chosen. 

“It’s all I can think about. I’m so horny all the time and I keep replaying it in my head,” Y/N admitted, sandwiched between them in the backseat. 

~

Y/N returned from the set later than the boys for once and was exhausted as she dropped her things by the front door. The house smelled amazing and she wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a meal, then to sleep for a week. She forgot how strenuous fight scenes were, and her muscles ached everywhere. “Honeys, I’m home!” she called, following her nose through the house to see Jared and Jensen in matching ‘Kiss The Cook’ aprons she had gotten them for Christmas. 

“Don’t you do look like you’re up to something,” she smirked, kissing each of them thoroughly. 

“Well, we know you had a long day. Your bath is ready, then come down for dinner,” Jared instructed, shooing her from the kitchen. 

After a hot, relaxing soak in the bubble tub, as Jared called it, she dressed in her favorite yoga pants and one of Jensen’s flannels and made her way back down to the kitchen. Expecting a home cooked meal, you can imagine the look of surprise on her face when she found the table not covered in dishes, but plastic wrap. “Um, what’s going on?” 

“We have a surprise for you,” Jensen said. 

“How many times do I have to tell you guys, I do not like surprises,” she scolded, turning to both of her boyfriends. 

Jared held his hands up and smiled. “We know. But we did okay with the last one, so we think you’ll be on board with this one, too.”

“We decided late last summer that we were in this for the long haul, right? Well, we can’t exactly get married as a show of our love to the world, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that is illegal, like everywhere. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have something that bonds us together for life, right?” Jensen explained as he urged her to take a seat at the table. 

“Hi, Y/N,” another voice rang out. 

“Jason!” Y/N exclaimed, jumping up from her seat to hug their friend. “What are you doing here? Wait...is this what I think it is?”

“Yeah, probably. See the boys said they wanted to do this thing and asked me if I would be open to doing it here, so here I am,” Jason shrugged. Jason was a good friend of Clif’s and had inked more people on the Supernatural set than he could count. 

“Are we getting tattoos?” Y/N asked excitedly, looking to Jared and Jensen.

“Yes, babe. We’re getting tattoos, but only if you want to do this,” Jared said. 

“Go on, man. Give it to her,” Jensen rubbed his hands together.

Jared pulled out a small box from behind his back and passed it to Y/N. “We got you a little something for our anniversary. I know we said no gifts, but Jen and I couldn’t say no when we saw it and, well, you’ll see why.” 

Y/N opened the box slowly to reveal a sterling silver necklace and bracelet set with three infinity symbols linked together. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “Guys, this is- I’m- Wow. This is beautiful and powerful and I love it so much.” 

“You are beautiful and powerful and we love you so much,” Jared echoed her words. 

“Can I show her now?” Jason piped up from the table. Three heads nodded in unison as he pulled out the transfer paper carefully from his folder and placed it on the table. “It’s brilliant,” Y/N murmured as she inspected the drawing. 

“You said it already, but this represents all of us. It’s beauty, power and love,” Jensen explained. “You ready?” 

“Yes!” Y/N took her turn first and, within forty-five minutes, Jason had inked all three of them on the inside of their left wrists, bonding them together. After wrapping them and giving final care instructions, Jared ushered Jason out the door. He returned to the kitchen to find Jensen and Y/N with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, and he joined them. 

“Our love is infinite,” Jared whispered. 

“Take me to bed and show me,” she mewled. 

Jared’s house had soon become where they all called home, and she led her lovers to the master suite they shared. They wasted no time shedding their clothing and climbing into the oversized bed. Y/N reached out her hands, wrapping her slender digits around their lengths, stroking them to hardness.

“Can I have both of you?” she asked. 

“Whatever you want,” Jensen moaned. 

“Whatever you need,” Jared panted. 

“Together, I want you both. Let’s try tonight.”

The promise of finally starting a family was all the motivation they needed. Jensen made himself comfortable between her legs, hanging off the end of the bed, licking wide stripes up her slit. He plunged two fingers inside her pussy, prepping her for what was to come. Hurting her was the last thing they wanted to do and Jensen took his time, adding a third finger, massaging her g-spot and sucking on her clit, bringing her to her first orgasm of the night. She panted heavily as he worked her through her high. 

Jared retrieved the lube from the side table and slicked himself up before getting comfortable on the bed next to her and pulling her on top of him. He slid home easily, aided by the lube and her own wetness. “God you feel so good babe.” He grabbed her hips and pulled her down for a searing kiss. 

“Jen,” she whined, grinding down on Jared’s dick. 

“I’m right here, darling. Come one more time for us, darlin’. Come on Jared’s cock and I’ll be right here, waiting,” he drawled, stroking himself as he watched her ride. 

“Fuck!” Jared reached down, rubbing her already swollen clit, pulling another climax from her. She bore down, her walls closing in on him. “I’m not gonna last if you do that again, babe.” 

“Sorry, it just feels so good,” she mumbled, her face buried in Jared’s neck. 

“It’s about to get better, just hold on,” Jensen declared, stepping between Jared’s legs. He watched as Y/N relaxed around Jared. Jensen slipped a lubed finger alongside Jared’s length, continuing to open her up even further. Her moans and Jared’s groans filled the room when Jensen added a second finger. He growled deep in his chest. 

His own cock was lubed, and he withdrew his fingers from her hole, both Y/N and Jared letting out a deep breath. “I’m coming in. Just keep breathing.” Jensen eased the head of his dick to her opening, pushing in along Jared’s length slowly. It only took about a minute, but it seemed like an eternity before they were both fully seated inside of her. 

“Oh my fucking god!” she cried out between them. “Somebody please fucking move!” 

Jared pulled back, his hips pushing into the mattress, before thrusting back in. Both men groaned at the friction as Jensen pulled out and drove back in. Y/N had a steel grip on Jensen’s hand on her hip and Jared’s shoulder, her nails digging in as she held on. The men established a rhythm and accelerated their thrusting. 

The screams from Y/N mixed with Jared’s grunting and Jensen’s growls. The view he had of both his and Jared’s cock stretching her open propelled him to his finish faster than he wished, but the pressure, the friction, it was all too much. 

“I need to come,” Jensen blurted out as he thrust his hips against her ass. 

“Me too,” Jared panted. 

“I’m almost th-here a-again,” Y/N faltered. 

Both men could feel her walls clenching down around them as they slid in and out. With a flutter, her body seized between them, her cries echoing off the neutral walls. “Fuck! Jen! Jare! Oh Christ!” 

“Uh!” Jensen grunted and Jared followed closely behind with a primal growl, as they simultaneously emptied themselves inside her waiting womb. Jensen lowered himself over Y/N’s back, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her sweat slicked skin, while Jared buried his face in her hair, breathing her in deeply. 

Y/N whimpered slightly, shifting her weight. “Jen.”

“Sorry,” he groaned, leaning back and feeling his softening cock slide from her pussy, leaking with his and Jared’s combined spendings. He slipped his arms around her waist, lifting her off Jared. He carried her to the head of the bed and laid her down gently. 

When Jensen turned, he found Jared there with a warm washcloth. He took the cloth and gingerly cleaned between Y/N’s legs, allowing her to roll over to the middle of the bed. Jensen cleaned himself up as well, before discarding the soiled cloth. He and Jared slipped under the covers with her, holding her close between them. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, snuggling closer to both of them. 

“I love you. Thank you for letting us love you like that,” Jared whispered. 

“We’d do anything for you, darlin’,” Jensen affirmed. “I love you.” 

“I love you both, too. Do you think it worked?” she asked, looking up at both of them with hopeful eyes. 

“Only time will tell. Now let’s get some rest,” Jared reasoned. 

~

“It really did work,” she giggled, a hand over her mouth. 

“Two heads are better than one,” Jared quipped. “Hmph!”

“Dude!” Jensen scolded him with a not-so-subtle back hand to the chest. 

“Well, I just call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Jared argued. 

“Have some tact. This is the love of our life you’re talking about,” Jensen reminded him. 

“Jen, he’s not wrong. We may have had sex dozens of times that weekend, but I still think that was the one that drove it home,” Y/N defended Jared. 

“People are going to think we’re nuts, not wanting to know which of us is the father,” Jensen commented. 

“It doesn’t matter. This baby will serve as definitive proof of nature versus nurture. Neither of you will love this child more just because it shares your DNA,” she argued. 

“You’re absolutely right, babe. Our love is infinite. For each other and little Tex,” Jared agreed, placing his hand on her bump. 

~

Over breakfast the next morning, the three of them made an important phone call.

“Hi Sam! It’s Y/N.” 

“And Jared!” 

“Hi Sam, it’s Jensen.” 

“Hey guys! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Samantha inquired, her heart beating out of her chest.

“How do you feel about exclusives?” 

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @emoryhemsworth

Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants  @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever @supernatural-jackles

Jared’s Menagerie: @mtngirlforever​ @supernatural-jackles

Additional BTZ Crew tags: @katymacsupernatural @chelsea072498 @pinknerdpanda​ @bees0are0awesome​ 

[thejollyroger-writer]

What Happens in Berkshire {{1/2}}

SUMMARY: When Emma’s boyfriend leaves her for the woman he’s been cheating with, she accepts an offer from her hospital to move to England. While she is out celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her friends before they head back to America, she drunkenly kisses the statue of Captain Hook in front of Eton College, and he comes to life. Together, he and Emma try to figure out what this curse means for them by searching for the witch that cursed him in the first place — are they really True Love, as he wants to believe they are, or did Emma’s magic go awry?

a/n: IT’S HEEEEERE! IT’S STATUE FIC TIME!  it all started with this post (via @write-it-motherfuckers and it’s grown into this beautiful, monstrous two-shot about magic and True Love and tight pants and magic. Thanks to the always-lovely @cssns mods AGAIN for hosting events like this one, that allow us to roll with all the weirdness that comes to us – without you, we certainly wouldn’t have this story, to @shireness-says for constantly talking me out of overthinking, and to @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite for helping me make this story into what is appears before you as. Seriously, it wouldn’t be the same without you.  Also, check out Meredith’s ( @captainsjedi ) amazing art for this story and many others! Somehow she is always able to capture the ideas floating around in my head and pin them down long enough to make aesthetics.

RATED G // CURRENTLY 12 K AND COUNTING // ALSO ON AO3

▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

Emma Swan does not get stupid drunk. 

Usually. 

Most of the time, she can down a few beers, a mixed drink or three, and even after adding a few shots in there, she can still have full memory in the morning. Besides, getting that drunk usually means losing control of her magic, and while the time she made it snow in August in their sweltering apartment or when she procured a mini fireworks display in the palm of her hand were both fun, it’s never been something she felt comfortable doing, always waking the next morning with a pounding headache and the harsh warnings of Ingrid, the woman that helped her hone her powers, howling at the forefront of her memory: only use your magic when necessary, and never for fun. She’s almost never lost her head, and even fewer times than that has she lost her memory. Sure, there was that one time in college with the jungle juice, and Ruby’s 25th birthday when all they did was shots, but both of those times, she was already in her apartment. 

But today was her thirtieth birthday, and her goal was to get drunk — especially after everything else that led her here. They are out not only to celebrate her birthday, but also her move to England after her decision to accept the position offered to her by the Princess Margaret Hospital, which just happens to be in the same town Belle’s university is in. The move that she decided to take because she wanted something new — and because Neal decided after four years that he wanted something new, as well. 

Only for him, it was breaking up with her and dating one of the women from his office, telling her that she “wasn’t good enough” for him anymore, even though she was at least a hundred times better than he was in the first place. 

Ruby’s pretty sure he was cheating on her anyway, but she was always too blind to see it. 

So she accepted the position from the hospital headhunters and packed up everything she owned, using Belle to do apartment walkthroughs, though she decided just to take the apartment next to the one Belle shares with her colleague. Two weeks later, she was on a plane all by herself, wishing she didn’t have to wait a month for Ruby and Mary Margaret to help her — but that month has passed, her apartment now filled with her things and fully furnished, and now they’re all out to celebrate before Ruby and Mary Margaret fly back home.

But it’s her birthday, god damn it, and she is going to celebrate. She’s already been here for a few weeks, but she’s already loving Windsor, loving England, how different it is from Boston, from New England, but still a little reminiscent of home. She’ll be just fine here on her own. 

Neal would have hated it here anyway, if he would have decided that he cared enough to come with her. If he actually loved her. Emma doesn’t need him, doesn’t need anyone, just needs to take some time and take care of herself. 

Neal can go fuck himself. Or fuck that woman from his office that he was already fucking. 

Alright, she might already be pretty drunk. But she wants more. She wants to forget, forget him enough to celebrate even more, and she’s maybe almost there. 

But it’s two in the morning, last call at the only bar Belle had ever been to in this part of town, and she’s run out of time. 

So Ruby buys them another round of shots, of whatever the strongest alcohol that would affect Emma the most — and, even wincing as much externally as she is on the inside, she knows the answer is tequila. One more, a double after Ruby insists, a small orange juice chaser, and they’re out, the smiling, greying bartender locking the door behind them. 

The weather in Berkshire is far from perfect, though perhaps better than it could have been at the end of October. Instead of the regular downpour that Belle told them to expect, it’s simply drizzling, the air around them wet instead of drenching. So, of course, they decide to go for a walk. 

Which just gives Ruby another reason to gripe. 

“You can’t even, just, make us a protective bubble? Or a big umbrella?” 

Emma rolls her eyes. 

“You already know that I can’t,” she says, though she feels the way her magic hums through her, just itching to be used. 

Ruby groans, loud enough to be heard by the whole group. “What good is it to be best friends with a witch, if she can’t even use her magic to keep us dry?” 

Emma rolls her eyes. Again. 

“I’m not going through this with you again,” she snaps. “I can’t just use my magic. It doesn’t work like that.” Of course, she always wished she could, but this is a thought that she chooses to keep to herself. 

What’s the purpose of having magic if she’s not allowed to use it? 

Thankfully, Belle changes the subject. “Did you know that Berkshire is where — where the original Captain Hook was from?” Belle asks, her words coming slowly and slurred. 

“Really?” Mary Margaret seems genuinely interested, the only one of them that has stayed fully away from alcohol on their trip, mainly because of the ever-growing baby bump, though she never was one to get anywhere beyond tipsy since that first margarita experience during her sophomore year of college, where Emma had to talk her out of streaking across campus. 

“Yeah, there’s a statue of him and everything.” 

“Let’s go see it!” Ruby suggests, arm wrapped around Emma’s shoulders, though she seems to miss the fact that Emma seems to currently be having trouble standing on her own as it is. 

The walk is only a few blocks, all of them thankfully sporting waterproof coats that Belle insisted they all bring with, even though Ruby had to sit on her suitcase to close it before the jacket was added. How that woman seemed to wear so little clothing but still have trouble fitting everything into a suitcase was beyond all of them. Their walk is quiet, all of them trying their hardest not to let the drizzle get to them any deeper than their coats. 

But then they see it, lit up by a light recessed into the sidewalk before him, and he’s… well, he’s perfect. The most incredible-looking man Emma has ever seen, and he’s made out of damned stone. Just her luck. 

Of course, it’s not the first time Emma has seen the statue – in fact, she’s gone the past month eating her lunch on a nearby bench without even knowing it was supposed to be Captain Hook. 

In hindsight, the hook that he has in place of his left hand probably would have been a good clue. 

She remembers the first time she walked past this statue, meeting Belle for lunch in her office in the library. She had been taken aback by its perfection from that very first moment, the world seeming to slow around her as she stared at him. Something about him seemed to comfort her, bring the chaos of her life to a pause, just long enough for her to catch her breath and focus on something else for a little while at a time.

So she kept coming back. Eating lunch on the bench beside him has been a regular occurrence for her, and she’s spent a few days a week just sitting there, looking up at his anguished face. Sometimes she even talks to him, as long as no one is around to hear — which isn’t very often, given it’s the middle of a college campus in the beginning of the fall. 

He’s become… a friend, of sorts. Someone she can talk to without using her international minutes to call Mary Margaret. A confidant, who she knows won’t go around spewing her secrets. 

Because, you know, he’s a statue. 

Belle is saying something in the background, explaining to them the history of the statue, of the story of Peter Pan and how the town believes that Barrie’s villain is based off of this statue that has been here for as long as anyone can remember. Emma is trying to listen to the story, she really is, but there is just something about the statue standing in front of her that steals her attention, just as it has every other time she’s found herself near it. Every time she tries to focus on his features, it’s as if the rest of the world around them goes silent. 

It’s just a weird side effect from the tequila, she tells herself, but even the voice in her head is muffled as she stares at him.

He’s gorgeous, even for a damned statue. 

“I thought he was an old, skinny guy with a handlebar mustache?” Emma asks, realizing halfway through her sentence that she cut Belle off in the middle of a thought. 

“Why, because of that animated movie?” Belle asks, turning her attention to Emma, but Emma’s eyes are still glued to the statue. 

“Well, yeah.” 

“The version of him in that movie is nothing like the Hook that Barrie described. People have given him a black perm and bushy eyebrows, but Barrie himself described our villain as ‘in a word, the handsomest man I have ever seen, and he was a magnificent pirate and not wholly unheroic.’ He had black hair, yes, but it didn’t have to be a perm, and there is nothing in Barrie’s description to say that he is a tall, thin old man.”

Ruby comes to stand beside Emma, her eyes trained on the statue in the same way. “This is a perfect specimen of a man, and he’s made from a slab of marble.”

“Do we know the artist who made it?” Mary Margaret asks from the back of the group, always interested in artists. 

Belle is silent for a moment, then turns to face the group, her eyebrows forming a low ‘v’ on her forehead. “Actually, I’m not sure about that. From what I know, the statue has been here for longer than the college has.”

“So no one knows where it came from?”

“Well, there’s an old wives’ tale that he used to be a sailor, a pirate, who watched the woman he loved die in his arms and was cursed for not doing anything to save her, cursed to stand here and wait for his True Love to save him.”

“But obviously that’s not true,” Mary Margaret comments, perhaps not sounding quite as convincing as she was hoping to. 

“No,” Emma replies, and Belle shakes her head. “No, of course not.”

A beat of silence passes between the four of them, each of them staring at the statue from a different angle, overcome by the spell he has them under. 

And then, suddenly, Ruby starts laughing. Cackling, almost, unable to stand up straight until she takes a wheezing deep breath, clapping her hand against Emma’s shoulder. 

“It’s your birthday, Swan!” she barely gets out, cackling again. “Go up and give him a kiss!” 

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret scolds from the other side of the statue, leaning to the side to stare at her around the man’s perfectly sculpted legs, so realistic that they can actually see the curves of muscles beneath the marble britches. 

But Belle and Emma are just drunk enough to join in with the laughter, also thinking it’s a good idea. 

“What the hell,” Emma says, shrugging. “I’m thirty years old and my boyfriend just broke up with me. It’s probably safer than a one-night stand.” 

Belle thinks this is particularly funny, and her laughter, echoing around the courtyard around them, drives Ruby into another fit of laughter herself. 

“Come on, guys, help me up!” Emma yells, hooking her arm around the leg of the statue, trying to use it to hoist herself up on the pedestal. Mary Margaret, the only one of them sober enough to give her any actual assistance, walks over to her, understanding that it would do more harm to try to talk her out of this than to just help her. 

One foot up on the pedestal, then the other, grasping her free hand around the curve of his arm, the hand of which is wrapped around the hilt of his sword. She almost loses her footing as she tries to move her grasp from his leg to his other arm, finding a hold on his hook. Finally, she has reached the platform, standing almost face to face with the statue, though it stands a few inches taller than she does. He really is a magnificent piece of art, from the individual strands of hair on his head to the stubble covering his chin to the embroidery work on his vest — amazing detail, she realizes even in her drunken haze, for a statue that has been standing for longer than the college around it, details surviving the wind and the rain that she has already discovered are regular for England. For a moment, Emma is overcome with compassion for the man standing before her, for the sadness visible not only in his eyes, but that’s written across his whole face. 

Christ, she thinks, I must have had more to drink than I thought. 

“Just kiss him, damn it!” Ruby yells, laughing at her some more, and Emma stares back at him for another moment before pulling her face to his, pressing her lips hard against the cold, wet stone. 

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, suddenly, a flash of lightning strikes on the other side of the building beside them, startling Emma enough to almost lose her footing, so focused on keeping her balance that she does not notice the spark of magic that erupts from her fingertips at the same time another flash of lightning hits just a few feet from where they are, the thunder from both of them rolling almost simultaneously in the charged air around them. 

“Emma, get down from there!” Mary Margaret yells, just as Emma feels the stone beneath her fingers start to change, and when she looks up, the statue has turned into a man. A real-life, living, breathing man with twinkling eyes and a bright smile.

“Hello, love,” he says, his voice dark and deep. 

Taken aback, she moves to take a step back, forgetting for a moment where she is, and the edge of her boot slips off the edge of the pedestal. For the briefest moment, she believes this is how she dies — falling to her death after kissing a statue and hallucinating. But when she feels a warm, hard arm wrap around her waist, she automatically moves her arms around his neck. 

He smiles. 

Everyone is quiet for a moment, still trying to piece together what has happened in front of them. While the rest of the girls share glances, though, Emma finds herself only able to focus on the man in front of her, the very real man who has come to life under her fingertips. Or, to be more specific, she can only focus on his eyes. They are unlike any color she has ever seen, lit up only by the streetlights around them and the few recessed into the pavement, specifically there to light up the statue, a bright blue that reminds her of the brightest, clearest sky, but at the same time somehow also the dark blue of the depths of the ocean. 

“How did—” she starts, somehow more sober than moments before, but the words get lodged in her throat even further when he smiles at her. Swallowing her nerves, she takes a breath and tries again. “What happened? How are you… not a statue?” 

His smile grows, somehow, overtaking his eyes as the brightest feature on his face, since it seems to radiate its own light. 

“I have my suspicions, love, but I do know that I am forever grateful for it.” 

“I’m not your love,” she mumbles, the words coming out much less defiant than they sounded in her head. 

But what if… Belle’s comment from earlier suddenly comes rushing back to her:  ‘cursed to stand here and wait for his True Love to save him.’

That’s insane. 

This whole situation is insane. 

“Emma,” Ruby says from below them, and both Emma and the statue-man turn their heads towards her. “What in the hell just happened?” 

“He's…” Belle tries, then shakes her head. “That’s damn impossible, that is.” 

“You must have done it with your magic, Emma,” Mary Margaret says matter-of-factly, the obviousness of it all washing away any memory of what Belle may have said earlier. 

“Is it really…” Belle starts again, snapping her eyes to the man still standing against Emma, holding her against his hard, sculpted chest, the ridges of his muscles almost as prominent as when they were made of stone. 

Not that she really notices that. Of course not. 

“Are you really Captain Hook?” Belle asks, and Emma thinks it’s a joke at first, until she looks down at the seriousness painted across her friend’s face. 

“Captain Killian Jones, at your service,” he says, nodding down towards Belle, then quickly flitting his eyes from her to Mary Margaret, to Ruby, and back to Emma, a sparkle in his gaze that was not there before. “In every way imaginable,” he mutters, pressing his lips closer to her ear so only she can hear it before leaning back again and quickly winking at her. “Though, yes, you seem to have heard of me by my more colorful moniker, Hook.” Finally, he unwraps his hands from her waist and moves to step off the pedestal, which he accomplishes with the help of Mary Margaret before reaching his own hand up to assist Emma. When she reaches the ground beside him, he leans in towards her again, his breath warm against her cheek, and he whispers, “I was hoping it would be you,” before turning his attention back to the half-circle of women now gathered around him. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Mary Margaret asks. 

Ruby is the first to respond, failing to even attempt to hide the way her eyes take in his whole body. “I have a few ideas.” 

For some reason, Ruby’s comment makes Emma’s stomach sink, but she ignores the feeling, just as she chooses to ignore the quickening rain falling all around them. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“I appreciate that, love, truly,” the man says. Killian. The statue that has come to life has a name.  

“The couch in my apartment is still unclaimed,” Emma suggests quickly, before Ruby can add another of her comments. “As long as it’s okay with the rest of you, he can stay there for the night. And we can figure out what to do in the morning when we’re all in a better shape.” 

They all silently agree, and when Emma turns to face Killian, to see if he has anything to say about their plan, he simply smiles at her, his hook resting in the guard of his sword and his other hand propped on his hip.

“Can I at least have the name of my savior and her lovely acquaintances?” he asks, reaching his arm out in hopes of shaking their hands, starting with Mary Margaret. While Mary Margaret and Belle remain casual, Ruby sways into his body, pressing her free hand against his chest.  

Though she cannot figure out why, this causes heat to rise to Emma’s cheeks, but it is nothing compared to the rush of warmth that Emma feels over her body when, instead of simply shaking her hand, Killian raises it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles. His lips are soft, warm, welcoming — though she has no reason to notice that. 

What the actual fuck? 

“I thank you, again, Swan,” he says, choosing her last name for some reason, his eyes still shining bright, and she has to turn her gaze down to the sidewalk to stop herself from getting lost in them. 

“We should head back,” Belle says, and Emma has never been more thankful for the quickening rain before in her life. “The rain will probably just get worse.” 

“Can you tell us what happened to you, Killian?” Mary Margaret asks as they all begin to follow Belle back down the road and to Emma’s apartment.

“I would really rather not go into detail as of yet,” he says softly, his eyes turned down to the ground. “But the much-shortened version of it is that I fell in love with another man’s wife and she chose to run away with me, though her husband came after us and—” Emma hears his voice falter, can see the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he struggles for a moment, the rise and fall of his shoulders as he takes a deep breath. “He killed her,” he says finally, though he has not completely pulled himself back together. “And then convinced a witch to cast a curse to turn me into a statue until my True Love came and broke it.”

“And, uh, how long ago was this?” Emma asks, filling the silence that settled at the end of his story. 

“What year is it now?” 

Emma’s eyes grow wide, and when she doesn’t respond right away, Ruby fills in with the answer: “2019.” 

She hears him take a sharp breath, rubbing his hand over his mouth and his scruff before pushing his fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles, though Emma is fairly sure she is the only one that heard him. “It was just upwards of four hundred years ago.”

Silence settles around them again as they all think about this statement. Emma has so much more she wants to ask him, questions about his love and this witch and how the hell she broke the spell the witch cast on him. 

But half-drunk and surrounded by her friends, all three of whom will overthink her growing interest in him, is not the right time to bring up these questions. So, instead of voicing the concerns that cloud her already-clouded mind, she reaches out and finds his hand with her own, turning to him just in time to see the soft smile that spreads across his features, so different in contrast with the rest of the persona he has shown them over the past few minutes. 

By the time they make it back across the small town and to their apartment, the drizzle that was in the air when they left the bar has turned into a torrential downpour, which isn’t as much of a problem for the girls as it is for Killian, who has been wearing the same outfit for four hundred years — that very outfit which now is dripping puddles in the entryway as the girls dig through their suitcases for clothing for him to wear until they can go out the next morning and get him something more modern. 

“I have a pair of sweatpants?” Emma offers, running from her room with them and another towel to where he is waiting. “Though I do have to apologize, you’ll have to… uh…” She is useless against the blush that rises to her cheeks, even more so when she raises her eyes to find a knowing smirk on his face. “I have nothing for you to, uh, wear under them.” 

He leans in towards her, adding a smile to his smirk as his lips almost graze her ear. “No different than usual, love,” he murmurs, pulling away to watch Emma’s eyes widen in realization before he says, “Now, where should I go to change, unless you would like to offer your assistance?” 

“Take off your boots,” she responds, trying not to let the effect he has on her show on her face. “The bathroom is on the other side of the fridge.” 

His smirk disappears in a second. “The what now?”

“Oh, shit. Right, four hundred years,” she says, then points to the appliance in question, waiting for him to step out of his boots to follow her. “That large silver thing is the fridge. It’s where we keep cold food.” 

“Ah.” 

“I guess the world has changed a lot over the last four hundred years, huh?” she asks, trying to fill the silence again. 

“Aye, love, it seems it did,” he says softly, swaying into her space again. “Though I will say, I am thankful for the assistance you and your acquaintances have to offer. And incredibly indebted to you for breaking my curse. Even if you’re a tad wary of believing what that means about you and I.” 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she takes a step back from him, needing to put more space between them. “I’m not wary of anything, Jones.” 

“I beg to differ, love. You’re a bit of an open book.” 

I’m not your love, she moves to snap back at him, the words on the tip of her tongue, but they don’t come once she turns her gaze up to his, once she sees the sincerity in his sky blue gaze. Her next breath doesn’t come, either, lodged with the words halfway down her throat and unable to budge.

“I found a shirt that might fit him!” Mary Margaret yells, running into the hallway before Emma can step away from him again, her friend’s eyes widen for a moment before she takes hold of herself. 

“Good,” Emma says quickly, shoving the sweatpants into his arms as she backs away from him, her hands finding the hallway wall behind her. Her breath is still stuck in her lungs, though, and she’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to dislodge it if he keeps looking at her like that. Turning to Mary Margaret, she points to the bathroom as he reaches out to take the shirt from Mary Margaret. “Now he can go get changed, and we can all go to bed.” 

Not even waiting for a response, she turns and rushes down the hallway into her bedroom, practically slamming the door behind her. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

It takes her much longer to fall asleep than it should after all the alcohol she consumed. Usually, her body is ready to pass out, barely having the energy to scroll through social media before sleep overtakes her; but tonight, she does not even worry about trying to use her phone. Instead, she lays still, her eyes set on the ceiling but her mind set on anything but, small sparks of magic tingling between her fingers. 

What the fuck even happened today? ‘True Love’s kiss’ is absolutely insane, and there’s no way that was what happened with Killian. It must have been her magic, gone awry with her drunken stupor, mixed with the weird weather and that story Belle put in her head. 

Except… 

Except his story wasn’t that far off from the one Belle told them. Cursed by a witch. That’s impossible. Or, there was a point in her life where she would have believed it was impossible. But then she turned twenty and learned that she was a magic-wielder. And if she was a magic-wielder — a witch, by all senses of the word — then why was it so hard for her to believe Killian’s story? 

She already knows the answer to that. It’s because of what it would mean if it’s true. What it would mean about her. About them. 

Maybe if she hadn’t just gotten out of a relationship, especially the relationship she believed was never going to end, it would be a little easier to comprehend. Maybe. She seriously doubts it, she can’t even kid herself with that. But maybe if she hadn’t been so blind and put everything she had into her relationship with Neal, she would not have been as destroyed. And maybe — maybe — if her heart hadn’t been that destroyed just a few days before she moved across a damned ocean, she may have been more open to letting someone else in. Instead, she had decided to bar her heart from more hurt, had decided not to let anyone else in. 

And then Killian came back to life. 

It would be a completely different story if she didn’t feel so drawn to him, if she didn’t actually enjoy his company so much after so short a time. (And, who is she kidding, if he wasn’t so gorgeous.) 

There’s far too much to unpack there, so she tries to close her eyes —  only to see his shining blue ones staring right back at her, sparkling with mischief when he is not being terribly forward. 

What is happening to her? 

She tries to quiet her mind, and when sleep finally does overtake her, all of her dreams are filled with tight leather pants and shining ocean blue eyes. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

“This is the most terrible swill I have ever tasted,” he comments, setting the mug of coffee back on the saucer in front of him, his face contorted into an expression of pure disgust. He’s tasted a lot of things in his time, especially over all the years he’s spent on ships — hard bread, half-purified saltwater, more kinds of fish than a man should have to endure, but this — it’s all nothing compared to whatever the infernal black liquid in the mug before him is. 

“Alright then,” Mary Margaret says, and Emma rolls her eyes as she pulls the mug back in front of her. “Mark it down, Killian does not like coffee.” 

“For a man who hasn’t eaten for four hundred years, you sure are pretty picky, Jones,” Emma comments, and when she turns to jeer at him, he narrows his eyes, and points the end of his now-hookless brace in her direction. 

He’s still not quite sure why he had to leave his hook behind this morning. Belle tried to tell him that he wouldn’t need it, though he barely agreed with her; it had always proven useful to him in the past, and there was no way for him to know if he was going to need it in this new world. Emma had just told him that it would draw attention to him, which was probably slightly more valid, though it took him years to get past the insecurity of having a hook in the first place. 

And then Mary Margaret, apparently their voice of reason, pointed out just how much easier it would be to try on new clothing without the hook, and he saw the sense behind this and agreed. 

“A man knows what he likes.” 

“Or, more appropriately, what he doesn’t,” she jokes. 

He is already enthralled with her. She’s utterly brilliant in every way that entices him the most: her smarts, the way she is not afraid to speak her mind, how she does not hold back from putting him in his place, not to mention the way he is drawn towards her. Beyond the fact that she has broken his curse, he is thankful for her, to say the very least, though she does not yet seem ready to feel the same about him.  

The waitress drops a plate in front of him and a glass of orange liquid in front of Ruby. He does not miss the way the woman’s eyes scan him, or the half-smile that she offers before turning away — but he also does not miss the flash of anger that crosses Emma’s face at the woman’s attention. He has never had trouble winning affections of women, but the last thing he wants to do is lose what little affection the blonde goddess before him has for him. So, after she takes another sip from the mug, apparently liking the brown liquid — coffee — much more than he does, he smiles warmly at her, picking up the pastry on the plate before him, trying to work the cogs of thought rolling through his head into that one expression before he takes a bite. 

“Oh!” he exclaims, his momentarily-closed eyes missing the way Emma’s eyes go wide at the sound. “This, however, is a confectionery delight.” He takes another bite, closing his eyes again as he quickly chews the mouthful he has just taken. “What do you call this again?” 

“A muffin.” 

“Muffin,” he repeats, liking the way it feels on his tongue, though before he has a chance to say anything else, a loud rumble from his stomach takes the place of any words he may say. “I did order more food than this, aye?” 

Emma smiles at him. “I ordered you waffles. If you think your muffin is good, wait until you get to those.” 

“Thank you, love,” he says, then turns his attention back towards his muffin, though it takes everything in him not to focus on the bright smile that is still spread across Emma’s face. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️

“What is the next thing on our to-do list, Emma?” Mary Margaret asks, signing the bill from their breakfast as everyone gathers their things to leave. 

“Well, Killian needs some clothing that isn’t leather and sopping wet, or scraps from some suitcases.”

While Emma assumed this wasn’t going to be the easiest feat for a man who had never even heard of denim (and who admitted to her the night before he never wore any sort of undergarment), she didn’t expect it to be fun. 

It started when she was standing beside him surrounded by packages of boxers and briefs (after, of course, winning the argument against Ruby of who should help him make this decision), trying to keep her cool and not let the heat she feels rushing through her body show on her cheeks.  

“Why do we need to start with these again, love?” he asks, reading over the words on the back of the boxer-brief package as she does the same with the boxers, if only to avoid his eyes. 

She sighs, wondering how in the world she found herself in this situation. “Because you’re going to need to wear these when you try on pants, so we need to buy them first so you can take them out of the package.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him nod as he turns his attention towards the package in her hands. 

“And, uh, what —” he tries, then takes a moment to cough before starting again, trying to hide his own embarrassment. “What seems to be the difference between these again?” 

Wetting her bottom lip, Emma shakes her head and closes her eyes, still not entirely sure this isn’t just a big, embarrassing dream. “The ones you’re holding are tighter, so they… hold you in place better.”

“Aha.” A beat passes, and he gestures the end of the brace towards her. “So those…?”

“They’re looser, yes.”

“What if, uh…” he starts, darting his eyes towards Emma, but the moment she meets them, he turns his gaze back down to the package in his hand. “What if I choose one of these and decide I do not like them?” 

Emma reaches over and pulls the package from his hand, holding them both at her side as she turns to look at him. “We’ll just buy both and I’ll keep the ones you don’t want, okay?” 

At this, his eyes go wide, his cheeks even redder than they were before, and he fails to hide the way his eyes snap down to her hips before returning to the package in his hand, seemingly needing to avert his gaze. “You wear these, as well?” 

“As pajamas, Killian. I wear them as pajamas,” she replies, rolling her eyes, but she can’t help but smile at him. “Let’s go buy these so we can move on to pants.” 

As they turn away from the aisle and head towards the cash registers, Killian bumps his arm into hers, and when she turns to him, he wags his eyebrows across his forehead. “Are you going to help me with those, too, love?” he asks, his voice deep, embarrassment completely melted away as if they hadn’t been discussing the benefits of boxers versus boxer-briefs just moments ago. 

“Uh, no,” she replies cooly, watching his face fall. “You can handle pants on your own, though I will help you with the fun part, if you need it.” His face lights up in an instant, an almost-inappropriate response on his lips, but when she adds, “The shirts,” it almost disappears again.

“Putting clothing back on is hardly the fun part, wouldn’t you say, love?”

“Jesus, Killian,” Emma breathes, rolling her eyes. “We’re here to buy you clothing.” 

He shrugs, swaying away from her again, and she immediately misses the warmth where his skin pressed against her own, though she tries her hardest to ignore it, even as a chill passes through her body. “Your loss.”

But watching him come out of the dressing room in the first pair of jeans he deems to fit him reasonably enough is definitely not her loss. 

Though the fact that Ruby is sitting beside her when he comes out wearing the first pair takes some of the excitement away. 

“What do you think, Swan?” he asks, coming back around the corner, and before he sees them sitting there, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and gets distracted. “I could get used to this denim,” he comments, his eyes going wide as he admires his reflection from multiple angles. 

Ruby lets out a low whistle, and Killian’s eyes snap towards her, his face reddening a few shades when he realizes she’s there. “So could I,” she comments, and Emma elbows her hard.  

“They look great,” she comments, trying her hardest to not make it obvious that she is most definitely amazed with how the dark denim moulds to the curves of his ass. Emma is fairly sure that she’s never stared at a man’s ass with the severity she’s trying to avoid staring at his. “Do they fit you? Are they comfortable?” 

“Well, not as comfortable as my leathers, I will say, but I see why they’ve become more popular.” 

“Did you try the other sizes?”

“The first was definitely too small, since I struggled to even squeeze my thighs into them. But I’m so used to the tightness of my old breeches that I think any looser would make me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Ruby mumbles, and though Emma tries to ignore her, she fears the anger she feels still shows on her face. Still, though, she tries to push it down. 

“Ready for the next part of the adventure?” she asks, needing to change the subject.

Killian’s face lights up, smiling at her as he slips his hand into his back pocket. “The fun part, aye,” he says, winking at her, and she avoids Ruby’s glare as she follows him back into the dressing room. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️

“Holy shit,” she breathes, the words slipping past her tongue without her permission, and once Killian has tossed the long-sleeved shirt Mary Margaret loaned him on the bench of the dressing room, he turns to her. His eyes have darkened to a stormy blue-grey, his brows low on his face. 

“What?” he asks, a hard bite to the word that Emma feels in her stomach.

“Your tattoos,” she says quickly, trying to alleviate the tension between them, at the same time Killian angrily asks, “My scars?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Your tattoos,” she says again, reaching out to gently run her finger along the one furthest down his forearm, a heart with a dagger through it, all behind a ribbon that reads “Milah” in elegant letters, though she finds herself unable to contain the sparks that shoot from her fingertips at the contact and pulls her hand away quickly, clutching it to her chest. 

When she turns her eyes up to his, they are slowly turning back to a less angry shade of blue. “You have… you have so many,” she whispers, moving just a touch closer to him so she can take a better look at the art that covers his body, for some reason feeling the need to touch them all, though the way her magic responded to his touch simultaneously makes her want to recoil and lean into him all at once.

“Aye, love,” he answers, and she takes the chance to reach her fingers out once more, only a few sparks this time as she begins tracing the circle of the compass on his right bicep that has Greek letters at the compass points and is surrounded with lettering in a different language beside flowers that turn into intricate, swirling linework leading to a skull and crossbones on the front of his right shoulder. “That’s what years spent on the seas will do to a man.” 

“What do they all mean?” she asks, her eyes falling to the very top edge of an anchor in a sea of swirling blue that peeks out over the top of his newly-acquired jeans. 

“They don’t all have to mean things, you know?” 

Her fingers ghost across his chest, both emitting and filling her with a warmth she has never felt before even though she is barely touching the dark chest hair that covers him as her fingers move towards his left shoulder, where the corner of the intricate piece that covers his back comes around with a kraken’s tentacle, tangled with the leather straps that hold his brace on his arm. 

“But some of them do?” 

“Aye,” he breathes, her fingers reaching over his shoulder. Here, he reaches up to hold her wrist, stopping her fingers from moving any further. Pulling her hand away from him, he moves it back to his right shoulder, to the compass. “This one is my first, for my brother. His initials are the north, and the most important lesson he taught me before he was taken is what it says around it.” 

“What language is it in?” 

“You can’t read Gaeilge?” he asks, a touch of humor to his voice, as if he’s joking; but when he looks down at her, at the confused expression on her face, she knows he’s serious. “It’s in Irish, since that’s where my brother and I were born. It says ‘a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.’ And the flowers are for my mother, Alyce, since lilies and daisies were her favorite.” 

“How old were you when she passed?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper as she traces the outline of the compass with her index finger. 

“Six. And Liam was ten. We only stayed in Ireland long enough to bury her before father found us passage to England on a ship.”

“Where you joined the Navy?” 

“Obviously not right away, but yes. England was…” his eyes fall to the ground, rubbing his hand against the side of his face. “Let’s just say Liam and I did not have the nicest childhoods, but we — we don’t have to get into that today.” When he looks back up at her, he tries to pull the corners of his lips up into a smile. “The skull and crossbones explains itself, though,” he continues, as if he weren’t talking about the death of his mother and his rough childhood. “Handsome British Naval Lieutenant turned pirate captain. The Jolly Roger became my life. The ship became the only home I ever had.” 

A beat of silence passes between them, Emma’s eyes still set on the intricate flowers around his compass, her fingers lightly tracing the lines and trying to ignore the soft warmth that continues to slowly fill her body, the soft hum of her magic more intense than it has ever been before. 

“Can I see the one on your back?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, but when she raises her eyes to try to gauge his response, she realizes that he has been watching her intently. It is not until she meets his eyes, almost losing herself in the oceans she finds there, that he slowly nods. 

“Just, don’t… don’t touch it, please,” he mumbles, as if he is ashamed of it — and when he turns around, Emma sees why. 

The artwork is incredible, of course: a ship, bright yellow and brown, caught in the middle of a dark storm, with the tentacles of a kraken coming up out of the sea, some wrapped around the ship and others wrapping around his body. 

But that’s not what Emma’s focus is on. 

If Killian had said nothing, she probably would not have noticed them, but with his whispered words on her mind as she looks at the colors covering the muscles there, she can also see the mangled lines of scars running in every direction, casting small shadows over his back from the harsh fluorescent lights off the dressing room. 

She has nothing to say. There is nothing she can say that would do anything except thicken the tension that lies between them. She watches the rise and fall off his shoulders as he takes a deep breath, then meets his eyes in the mirror. His face is set, hardened, the muscles of his jaw ticking as he grinds them together. 

“Let’s try on one of these t-shirts, yeah?” she asks, smiling softly at him. Of course she wants to know what happened to him, was interested in the story behind his scars, but he is obviously ashamed of them. She has scars of her own, both physical and mental, so she understands the fear that he’s trying his best to hide. If he ever decides that he does want to tell her, then she will be thankful for that day. Maybe someday, she’ll do the same thing for him, let him in enough to learn of her past, her parents that left her on the side of the road, the foster families that never liked her enough to keep her. Getting the hell out of Maine as soon as she was able. 

Maybe someday. 

For now, she just reaches behind her and picks up one of the folded t-shirts that he picked out, a soft blue color that reminded her of his eyes as soon as she ran her hand against the soft fabric. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, taking the shirt from her hand but avoiding her eyes. “This is the part you said you’d help me with, aye?“ The sadness in his eyes is completely gone, every trace of the past conversation replaced with a single wink.

Emma can’t help but let out the soft chuckle that rises through her chest as she reaches out to bunch up the material so she can help guide it over his head. He gets his right arm through on his own, but seems to be struggling with the left, not sure exactly how to guide the brace through the hole, so Emma reaches out to help. 

But when she wraps her fingers around the edge of the leather strap between his skin and the cool metal, he tears it out of her grasp, his eyes wide and angry when she snaps her eyes to meet his. 

“I can only help you if you let me, Killian,” she says softly, and the longest moment she has ever felt passes before the angry lines on his face smooth away, and he nods. She reaches out again, purposefully trying to avoid contact with the brace. 

“Sorry, love,” he mumbles as they work together to get the tip of his brace through the arm hole, but smiles at her as she helps him smooth down the front of the material. “What do you think?” 

She takes a step back to let him look in the mirror, joining him to look at his reflection. “I mean, it fits. And I like the color. But what I think doesn’t really matter as much as what you think.” 

He smooths the material over his stomach before reaching down to pick up the next t-shirt on the bench. “Is this one smaller?” 

“Yeah, we started with the bigger one.” 

“Can we try the smaller?” 

Emma nods, reaching out to help him take off the large, not even meaning to brush her fingers along his ribcage, but suddenly becoming very aware of the hitch of his breath when her fingers run along the rigid muscles of his chest. And then she makes the mistake of looking up at his face, meeting his eyes in time to watch them darken for just a flash, turning from the bright midday sky to the deep depths of the dark ocean.

“Sorry,” she whispers, her voice much weaker than she anticipated, and she finds herself wondering if his lips are as warm as his skin, as soft and gentle and welcoming as she originally thought they might be.

So she takes a step back, pulling away from him and letting his shirt fall back into place. 

“No, love,” he says gently, reaching down to pull the fabric up as far as he’s able, only needing her help to slide the brace out. “It is I who should be sorry. It’s not your fault I’ve been without a woman’s touch for four hundred years.” She helps him pull the fabric up over his head, taking it from him to refold it but continuing to avoid his eyes. 

Until he reaches out and places his index finger under her chin, pulling her gaze back up to meet his. “I’m truly thankful for all your assistance.  I missed four hundred years, I would be lost here without you.”

The faintest beginning of a smile passes across her face, but that seems to be enough for him, and he holds the next t-shirt out between them. He helps as much as he’s able with this one, though it proves itself to be much more difficult than removing it on his own. The medium is much tighter across his chest, clinging closer to the ridges of his muscles and the sleeves cropped short enough to reveal all but the very top of the compass on his bicep. 

This time when he looks at himself in the mirror, he smiles. “I like this much better, do you agree?” 

She rolls his eyes at him again, but when a smile begins to grow across her features this time, she lets it. She’s faced again with the absurdity of it all, the fact that he’s real, that he’s here beside her — that he’s so absolutely full of himself — but also because damn does she agree. She keeps her mouth shut as he tries on some other colors, keeps her jealousy to herself when every single color he puts on compliments him somehow — the black bringing out the brightness of his eyes, the red his light complexion, the white v-neck a stark contrast to the dark chest hair that peeks out from below the collar while barely doing anything to hide the muscles it is hiding. 

But when he slides a charcoal grey button-down shirt over the crisp white t-shirt, leaving the top three buttons undone as he turns to face the mirror, Emma loses her ability to keep her mouth shut any longer. 

“Is there anything you don’t look good in?” She tries to pull the words back, clamping her hand over her mouth, but it is too late — and when he turns to her, eyes wide with surprise as he runs his tongue over his smiling bottom lip, there is nothing she can do to hide the embarrassment that rises up her cheeks. 

“No, darling,” he replies, which just makes her redden more. “I would like to believe not.” 

They leave the store with three pairs of pants, a handful of t-shirts, a few long-sleeved Henleys (that are, in her opinion, the most unfair-looking on him, though she manages to keep it to herself this time), two button-downs, and a pair of black leather boots. 

As she swipes her debit card through the machine, Mary Margaret leans closer to her, mumbling in her ear, “I thought that money was for emergencies?” 

Sliding the card back into her wallet, she turns to Mary Margaret. “Are you saying that randomly bringing some man to life and being responsible for him isn’t what you would classify as an emergency?” 

Mary Margaret has no response to this. 

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Belle signs them into a study room in the library of Eton College before leading them to the section in one of the back corners where their special “Captain Hook” collection resides — because researching Killian is the next thing they need to do. There are books on J. M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan ; carefully-bound original versions of Barrie’s play and of the original novel form. There are books on what has been learned about Hook, collections of papers written on him, on the fables about the statue, about what can be proven about these fables — which begins, and ends, at the existence of a British Naval Captain, Killian Jones, born in the 1580’s and whose love was killed in front of him and his left hand chopped off on the deck of his ship a few years prior to his disappearance in 1618, according to his discovered Captain’s Logs. 

But that’s it. They spend the next few hours mulling over a few shelves’ worth of materials to discover anything they can about Killian, and all they get is a speculation about his birth and death. 

Though, after Belle reads the last of these findings out loud, Emma rests her forehead against the table in front of her, Mary Margaret and Ruby turn to her, waiting for a response. 

Emma pushes herself to her feet, her breath heavy in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she tries, coming out barely a breath. “I need — I need some air.” 

Before anyone can respond, she is out of their study room and around the corner. 

Thankfully, no one follows her for a few minutes. She finds a bench, her eyes closed as she focuses on the slowly-slowing beat of her heart, on the measured draw of her breath. This is all so much, too much, far too much to handle on top of everything else happening to her recently, and she pushes herself away from the bench, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the shelf, her head flooding with too many thoughts. The break up, the move — all the way across a fucking ocean — and now stories of True Love, corroborated by academic papers and things from this… shelf. 

She turns on her heel, turns back towards the shelf, slowly running her finger along the spines, one shelf and then the next, top to bottom, until she is sitting on the floor beside the shelf. 

Except the bottom shelf is empty, so she can see behind it, where the shelf meets the wall — and there, she sees it: a small, leather-bound book behind the shelf, stuck between the metal and the wall. She reaches back, curling her fingers around the leather binding, and when she finally frees it, she feels the air leave her lungs, suddenly lightheaded and simultaneously weighed down in ways that she has never felt before. 

Jones

Etched into the cover, surrounded by the same intricate, swirling linework around Killian’s Jolly Roger tattoo, is his last name. She opens to the first page, covered in perfect calligraphic penmanship, and reading her slow translation of the old-fashioned spelling certainly doesn’t make it any easier to breathe. 

22 June 1604

Todaye, as the first day of my posytion as captain of His Majestie’s Jewel of the Realm , I, Liam Jones, do begyn here the Captain’s Logs for saide vessyl, where I will hence-forth keep reckord of alle pertinent informatyon. Here, I shal keep track of the dailie happenyngs withe and around the ship, begyning todaye with my taking over as Captain. 

There are more pages of the same, of Captain Jones recording the journeys and missions of the Jewel of the Realm. Until, one day, it changes to a less-perfect script, fewer loops and curls and more ink splattered across the pages. 

04 March 1607

Todaye, our greate captain was takyn from us, kylled on a mission comissyoned by our kinge. As per his last entrie, the kinge sent us to fynd a flower on a smal northern islande under the gyse as a medicinal herbe that would help overcome a great syckness that has spread through the lande. In hopes of provieng me wrong,  Liam  Captain Jones cut his own arme wyth this plante and was quicklie kiled by this herbe, which turns out to be not medicyn, but poisyn. In his deathe, I, Lieutenant Killian Jones, have taken up his posytione as captain of this vessle.

Because of the coruptyn of the kinge, the kynd of man that would send his naval officyr to collect this poisyn for him, I have decyded to sail this ship not in the name of the kinge, but insted now in the name of pyracy. This shyp is no longer the Jewel of the Realm , but wyll hence-forthe sayl under the name of the Jolly Roger , flying pirate colors. 

She continues to flip through the pages, reading clips here and there as Killian describes the workings of a pirate ship. 

Slowly paging through it, Emma can’t believe what she is seeing before her very eyes. “This is… impossible,” she whispers, running her index finger down one of the pages that catches her eye.

12 April 1610

Milah’s husband founde his waie to the JR todae. The whole crewe tryed to fight him offe, but were useles agynst whatever forms of Blacke magyk he has at his dysposal, and as I was dueling with him, I tooke a particularle bad blow to my left hande, cleaved clean offe, whych the Crocidyle tooke with him when he disapeard. We could not act in tyme to save Milah from his Evil, either, and there was nothyng I could do as he crushed her hearte before mye very eyes and she crumpld to the deck, pledging her love to me wyth her last breathe as the vyle man dysapearred into a cloud of ashe and smoke. I vowed to her that I would avenge the wrong that her wycked husband did againste her, and even as her bodie now lay on the bottom of the Sea, it is a vow that I feare wyll follow me to the grayve. 

“Impossible,” she breathes again, knowing that the words corroborate the story he recalled to her with more detail than she could have imagined. So she turns to the end, and though the last few pages are blank, there are a few covered in a script other than Killian’s, she assumes after he is cursed and his First Mate takes over. 

18 Jan. 1618. 

Captain Jones was todaie deceivd by a member of hys own crewe, believed now to be working undere the orders of Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark Magicyan marryd to the Captain’s love Milah. Folowyng the directione of this man, he and Jones, along with meself and Lt Humphrey, ventured into the foreyst northe of the English towne Berkshyre to fynd a wytch said to have a spelle to lead him to his enemie and help defeat hym once and for alle. Instead, folowing the wytch’s instruction, we watchd helples-ly as his bodie instead transformyd into stone before our eyes. Instead of transcrybing, I have included it in the backe of this booke in hopes that one daye we may fynd a way to sayv our goode Captain from the wytch’s kurse. 

Quickly finishing the end of the page, which turns out to be the last written page in the book, Emma turns through the remaining pages until she finds what the First Mate said he left in the book, though it seems to be by some sort of miracle that it is still attached. 

Stuck between two of the last few pages, Emma finds a small piece of paper, no more than two inches wide, which was probably rolled up at one point, though it has since then folded flat; when she unrolls it, she finds it to be around a foot long. The writing on it is more calligraphic than the script from the Captain’s Log, parts of it more difficult to read with age and part of the bottom corner torn off, but at she reads it, she feels the breath leave her lungs. 

Captain Killian Jones, cursed synce the d———s brother’s lyfe-less body into the Sea, now fynds himselfe cursed for alle eternity to watche the World move around hym, use-less agaynst the kurse of time that will ——— of the villainous blakness that filles hys heart after —————— untile the daie his One True Love saves hym with True Love’s Kyss. 

Using the shelf behind her to help her back to her feet, she rushes back around the corner to the study room, the leather-bound book clutched between her hands. She wants to just reveal what she has found, but she has another plan, one that would allow her to corroborate this story of Killian’s.

“Killian!” she yells, pulling open the door, and every eye in the room is wide as they turn towards her. 

“Yes, love?” 

“When — when was Milah killed? What day?” 

“Emma, you can’t really expect— “ Mary Margaret says, but Killian holds up his hand, silencing her as he speaks. 

“The twelfth of April, sixteen hundred and ten.” His answer comes immediately, not even needing a moment to pull the answer from the back of his mind. 

“And what about — what about the day Liam died?” 

“The fourth of March, four years prior. Swan, what is this about?” 

In response, Emma tosses the book down on the table, where it slides across the surface and lands in front of him. 

Killian’s eyes go wide, a smile spreading across his face as he runs his thumb over the embossed leather cover — but everyone else in the room is utterly confused. 

“What is this?” Ruby asks as Killian flips open the cover and begins to read over the pages in front of them. 

“This is the Captain’s Log from my ship, though how this library managed to get their hands on it is a bloody miracle. It has — it has everything in it. It starts during Liam’s time as a Captain, the mission the king sent us on that got him killed. The turn to piracy. Milah. It’s all there.”

Mary Margaret and Belle turn towards Emma at his words, Ruby’s eyes set on the script from across the table. 

Emma nods. “I read through it, and it’s all there. It has Milah’s death, Killian losing his hand, getting deceived and visiting the witch.”

“Where did you find this?” Belle asks, turning to look at the pages over Killian’s shoulder. 

“It must have fallen behind the shelf at some point, it was wedged between it and the wall all the way at the bottom.“ 

"Brilliant,” Belle whispers, and when Emma turns to Killian, he is brightly beaming at her, as if he can tell that this find brought her so much closer to actually believing all the madness that is happening around them. 

“And,” she says, holding up the slip of paper that she has kept between her fingers. “I think I know what to do next." 

They make a plan — and not one that the rest of the girls like. Killian still has the map in his satchel that he used to find the witch’s cabin the first time around, and even though the town has changed a lot over the past few hundred years, they can get a general idea from natural landmarks and as soon as they are out of the town, Emma will cast a locator spell on the witch’s parchment from the journal to take them the rest of the way there. 

"I just don’t understand why just the two of you are going,” Mary Margaret argues, and not for the first time. “You don’t have to go alone, so I don’t see why you’re insisting on doing just that." 

"Admit it, darling,” Killian says, leaning closer to bump his shoulder against hers. “You just want to get me alone." 

Emma rolls her eyes at him, hoping that it is enough to hide the blush that rises to her cheeks when she realizes that he’s actually right — he’s growing on her, damn it, and she is actually beginning to like spending time with him.

Though neither of these reasons are the ones behind her insistence that they go alone. "This is a journey that Killian and I should take together, just the two of us,” Emma says quickly, trying not to wince at how hopeful that sounds. “Besides, he’s an excellent swordsman and I’m a magic-wielder. I’m sure we’re more than capable of taking care of anything that we come across on this journey." 

Finally, Mary Margaret smiles in response to this, and again Emma tries not to wince at how hopeful she looks.

"We should get home and prepare for this adventure, though,” Belle says, always the voice of reason. “Plus then the two of you can get ready to fly back home tomorrow." 

“Can I ask you a favor first, ladies?” Killian asks, pushing away from the table, and Emma turns her attention towards him. “This is one of the places where one would go to procure new information, right?” 

Emma nods, and he nods in return. 

“What do I have to do to borrow a few books? To help me learn about the four hundred years of updated technological advancements that I have missed.”

Emma turns to Belle, who is already digging through her purse to find her employee ID. “Of course,” she says. “Whatever I can do to help.” 

“I’d like to spend some time to peruse what’s available,” he says, making his way out of the room. “I’ll be back before too long.”

In what Emma realizes immediately is an out-of-character goodbye for him, he leaves the room without another word. She watches as he walks away from their room, heading away from their corner of the library, and by the time he has turned the corner and exited her line of sight, she realizes Ruby is trying to talk to her, though she heard none of it. 

“What?” 

“I said, what do you think you’re going to do?” 

“What do you mean ‘what am I going to do’? I’m going to see what we can learn about him and this — this witch that cursed him to try to get him back where he needs to be.”

“What does that mean?” Mary Margaret asks, dropping the pen from her hand onto the notebook in front of her. 

“You know,” she tries, twirling the end of her ponytail around her pointer finger. “He has to have something…” She shakes her head, not even sure exactly what she is trying to say. Not even sure what the excuse she is trying to make is. “… Somewhere he can… somewhere…” It’s still too much to try to take in, too much to try to take as seriously as her friends want her to. 

When she looks up at Belle, she is also shaking her head. “If the stories are true, and if what he’s been telling us is true, he’s been a statue since the 1600s. That means he has nowhere, no one, no home. Nothing except us, the people that were there when the curse was broken.” 

Emma shrugs, trying to avoid anyone else’s gaze. She supposes it could be worse; she at least has friends that are willing to help her figure out whatever the hell her life has become. If she was alone, just her and Killian, it would be a completely different story. 

One where she never kissed a damned statue in the first place. Never broke a True Love curse on a drunken dare. Never brought an incredibly attractive man back to life to follow a prophecy, apparently. 

“I just…” she tries, holding her head in her hands, and then repositions herself to lean back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, focusing her eyes on the ceiling. “I have no idea what any of this means. What am I supposed to do with him? How do I explain to customs that he has no passport because he was born in 1580-whatever and has been a statue for four hundred years when I want to go back to America? I barely make enough money to sustain myself, nonetheless this new person, who has none of the skills or knowledge he needs to get a job. Is he going to live in the spare bedroom for the rest of my life?” 

Mary Margaret reaches over to gently run her hand across Emma’s back. “But he’s your True Love. That has to mean something.”

Emma grinds her jaw together, squeezing her eyes shut before snapping her head to the side to look at her friend. “Not at the moment it doesn’t. My relationship literally just fell apart. I wasn’t — I wasn’t even ready to find some gorgeous Berkshire guy to have a quick fling with and never speak to again, so I definitely wasn’t ready to break some bullshit one True Love curse on a drunk dare. You can’t just — love doesn’t just work like that.”

Ruby leans across the table towards Emma, worry painted across her face. “So what do you think you’re going to do?” she asks, her voice soft. 

Emma crosses her arms on the table in front of her, resting her forehead on top of them. “At least I don’t have to leave for America in the morning,” she reminds them, simultaneously changing the subject. She really doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, none of her friends push her any further.

"Besides,” Belle adds. “We don’t want to keep you two from travelling back home any longer than we need to." 

Mary Margaret smiles, no doubt thinking of David and their two-year-old son back at home, but Ruby just waves her hand, dismissing the thought. 

"All I have to look forward to back at home is going back to work, and even saying that I'm looking forward to it is a stretch." 

"Ruby,” Emma groans, not wanting to have this argument again, but there’s no need once Mary Margaret speaks again. 

“Whether you like it or not, Ruby Lucas, you’re getting on that plane with me tomorrow and going back to Boston." 

Huffing, she crosses her arms over her chest, looking even more like a teenager when she adds a roll of her eyes. "Ugh, fine." 

▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️ ▫️▪️▫️▪️⭐▪️▫️▪️▫️

tagging the crew:  @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @teamhook @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @jonirobinson64 @nikkiemms @bmbbcs4evr @spartanguard @stahlop @jennjenn615 @xrandomdreamx @kday426 @courtorderedcake @kingofmyheart14 @aprilqueen84 @pirateherokillian @capswantrue @socmono @superchocovian @darkcolinodonorgasm 

(it you’re not here and want to be, let me know!! – there will be a part two!)

[harrystylesgoldencreature]

Don’t Let Me Go

ONE SHOT REQUEST Harry telling long time best friend YN that he loves her********I decided to do the opposite of this and instead of a one shot make it a little longer. soooo there will be a total of 3 parts of this story! 

“Hey, Hazz. Are we still set for movie night?” You asked your long time best-friend, hopeful.

“I'm sorry y/n, I can't. I promised Addie I would take her out tonight. Rain check?”

“Of course,” you told him disappointed. “Have fun!” You encouraged him with fake enthusiasm.

Hanging up the phone, your heart fell. You and Harry had been best friends for as long as you could remember. He had been there for you throughout the many ups and downs you had both shared, and you couldn't imagine life without him.

You stood by his side as he prepared to launch his singing career, and you where there when he became what he was today. You were beyond proud of the success  he had achieved, and you wanted nothing but the best for him. He truly deserved it.

You loved Harry deeply. You had never seen him as the mega star the world had known. Instead, he was the goofy, kind, and warmhearted man that you had known since the two of you were 6 years old.

To you, Harry was no ordinary man. Yes he was your absolute best-friend, but he was also the love of your life. You see, you had been in love with him for as long as you could remember. You had tried multiple times to get over him, by dating other guys, but your heart refused to let him go.

Harry was oblivious to your desires. As far as he was concerned you were just extremely picking in who you dated. He was none the wiser.

It sometimes proved extremely difficult to be Harry's friend. You watched him date countless girls over the years, and each girl you'd see him with would break your heart even more. It was beginning to become to much for you to bare.

He was currently seeing one of your friends, he had met a few weeks back at a party you had hosted. This seemed to be the worst stab to your heart, out of all the relationships of his you had to endure.

Although, Addison was a lovely girl, she had known of your feelings for Harry. Despite her knowledge, she had agreed to go out with him. Her betrayal was hard to digest. You've refused to talk to her since the night of the party, and Harry had been clueless of this.

You were beginning to consider ending your friendship with him altogether. You know it would be hard, but it would be what was best for your heart.

You had discussed your options with his sister, Gemma. Over the years, the two of you had grown quite close. Not having a sister of your own, you rarely had someone to talk about these things with. She had became the sister you had always dreamed of.

“I'm not sure what to do anymore,” You told her one night on the phone. “I can't bare to see him out with these girls.”

“I know honey. I'm not sure what to stay. My brother is an idiot and will come around eventually. The two of you are meant for each other.”

“I'm not sure that is true anymore. I think I need a break from him all together.”

“I think that's a great idea. Take some time for yourself. Come out and see me! It's been way to long, and we could both use some girl time!”

“Alright, I think I just might. Besides Christmas is just around the corner. I need to get my head straight before I have to spend the holidays pretending to be cheerful around him.”

“Well fly out here and I will help take your mind off of it!”

“Sounds like a plan! I will book a flight now!”

“Marvelous! I'll see you soon!” she said cheerfully.

Hanging up the phone, you felt the first spark of hope in months. You had missed Gemma terribly, and she was the only person in the world who could help you forget about Harry if only for a little while.

In the end, you decided not to tell Harry of your plans. You knew he would worry if you up and disappeared for a while, but you needed to distance yourself from him. Telling Gemma to do the same, you booked your flight to London. You had taken the entire month off of work for December in advance, so it was perfect timing.

You were just finishing up packing your bags, when you heard a knock on your door.

“Crap!” You muttered. You debated on if you should pretend not to be at home, but knew that he would see your car in the driveway. Taking a deep breath, you walked to the door to open it.

“Hey Harry,” you said casually.

“Y/n!” he cheered hugging you and letting himself in. “So I brought some of our favorite movies, and I thought we could do an old fashioned sleep over and order in.” He started rambling.

“Actually, Hazz, I was just headed out,” you told him a bit uncomfortably.

Looking around, he noticed your suitcase in the corner of the room. Frowning, he grew confused.

“Where are you going? You didn't tell me you had any trips planned.”

“It was just a spur of the moment thing. I'm actually going to visit your sister for a bit.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well I'll come with you! Just let me get somethings together.” He exclaimed, heading towards the door.

“Actually it was going to be a girls getaway, you know. Like a spa weekend.”

“Oh, I see.” He said his face falling.

“I'm sorry, I mean we can change our plans if you want.”

“No, no that's alright. I'm sure I can find something to do while you're gone.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Maybe you can take Addison out somewhere or something.” You suggested, hating the idea.

“Yeah maybe,” he frowned. “Well I hope the two of you have fun, let me know when you make it back so we can get together.”

“Sure,” you said simply. Harry gave you a hug, before opening the door.

“I love you y/n, be safe.”

“I'll try,” you told him. Frowning once more he made his exit. He could tell something was wrong, but decided to let it go.

You watched him leave, as a single tear fell down your cheek.

.........................

The trip to London didn't take quite as long as you thought it would. Stepping out of the airport terminal, you spotted Gemma right away. Running up to her, you wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Oh, how I've missed you!” You cheered.

“Same! It's been way to long! Now come along dear, we have much to discuss.”

The trip back to Gemma's place didn't take to long. Soon, the two of you were lounged by her pool sipping on margaritas.

“So, spill!” Gemma urged.

“There's not much to spill. You know better than anyone how I feel about your brother. I don't know, I guess I’ve just given up hope on us ever being together.”

“It's gonna happen. I know he feels the same way about you. The problem is, he just doesn't know that yet.”

“I wish you were right,” you told her gloomily. “He's dating one of my friends now.”

“Wait, what?” Gemma yelped, chocking on her drink.

“Yup, her name is Addison. They met at one of my parties I threw.”

“Wow,” she sighed. “That sucks! I'm so sorry.”

“What's worse is the fact that she was one of my best friends, and she knew how I felt about Harry. Yet, she went out with him anyway. She claims that she just didn't want to be rude, but you and I both know that was just an excuse.”

“That Bitch!” She yelled.

“Tell me about it,” you told her rolling your eyes.

“If only Harry knew, he would never date someone like that.”

“Yeah.. well.. he can't know!”

“I know, I know,” she sighed.”

“We'll lets go out tonight! I know a great new club that just opened up. It's very exclusive, but I can get us on the list.”

“Sounds good to me. Maybe I can drink my feelings away.”

“Or maybe you'll meet someone new who will grab your attention.”

“Yeah right.”

Later that night, the two of you headed for the club. Against your wishes, Gemma made you dress rather sexy. You had on a skin tight black dress that fit your body perfectly and showed off your smooth tan back. You matched it with killer heels, and your makeup was to die for. You had to admit, you looked rather stunning. Gemma was in a similar red dress and looked breathtaking.

The two of you were granted access to the club, right away. Entering, you took a look around. It was spectacular. The lights were off, with spotlights flashing every which way. It was crowded with many a-listers who all looked very elegant.  

You headed towards the bar first, each of you ordering a drink. You chatted and mingled with many different celebrities. After about an hour of this, you were already quite bored and a little tipsy.

Out of nowhere, a tall dirty blonde haired man came up to you and Gemma.

“Gemma! It's so good to see you again!” He told her hugging her closely.

“Niall! It's been ages! You remember Y/n, right?” She asked pointing to you.

“Harry's friend? Of course! How are you tonight?” He asked you smiling brightly.

“I'm wonderful, how are you.”

“Oh, you know just hanging out. It's been a wild few weeks, let me tell you.”

As the three of you dove into conversation, Gemma winked at you.  

“So Niall,” she said after a while. “Are you seeing anyone these days?”

You gave her a dirty look, you knew where she was going with this.

“No, not recently. Why? Are you in the market?” He teased.

Laughing, she shook her head. “No I was actually referring to my friend y/n here. I think the two of you would be a perfect match!” She gushed wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

“Y/n?” he asked. “I don't see how you're single, you're gorgeous!”

His comment made you blush, “Well thank you! What can I say though.. I guess I'm just waiting for the perfect guy.”

“Well I would love to take you out sometime.”

“She would love to!” Gemma chimed in.

“Wonderful!” Niall exclaimed. “Here, let me give you my number

Reluctantly, you took out your phone and handed it to him. Giving you his, you quickly typed in your name and number.

“Splendid, I will text you!” He smiled brightly. “Well ladies, I must be going now. It was wonderful to see you both, and I do look forward to seeing you again miss y/n.” He gave you a kiss on your hand and made his way to the exit.

“I can't believe you just did that!” You exclaimed, smacking Gemma lightly on the arm.

“What?! He's hot! Just give him a chance, you may find out you really like him.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say my dear.” You told her sarcastically.

It was quite late, when the two of you arrived back at Gemma's. Throwing off your clothes, you took a hot shower and climbed into bed. Taking a look at your phone, you noticed you already had a text from Niall. You also noticed that you had quite a few from Harry, but you decided to ignore him.

Opening up the message from Niall, you couldn't help but smile. 'It was lovely seeing you again y/n. You were absolutely stunning. Do you maybe want to grab a bite to eat tomorrow evening?'

Against your better judgment, you agreed to date.

[twistednuns]

February 2020

I managed to use my iPad as a second monitor for my computer. So tech savvy. Yay me!

Joking about developing a sex-based cardio programme with Manu. Powerfucking! Might help against aggression as well.

A late night phone call with Tom. Not saying much.

Making a huge pot of my grandmother’s signature veggie stew.

More Bon Appétit test kitchen videos. Chris recreating tacos. Claire making Ben&Jerry’s. Priya making her mum’s Indian curries.

Writing a letter to Lena. Drawing upside down bats (which makes them look like they’re having a wicked dance-off). Just the act of writing. I thoroughly enjoy looking at my handwriting.

Using the Salted Coconut handscrub by Lush. Especially now that I wash my hands so often when we’re working with clay at school. I feel like the peeling triggers some pressure points on my palms.

That Saturday productivity high. Cooking and preparing heaps of stuff, cleaning the windows, doing laundry.

Painting my nails like an expressionist artist.

Some portrait studies. Accidentally drawing Sirius Black.

Being really motivated to improve my Spanish. Working with Lorena, the Duolingo app and even starting my own grammar/vocabulary book.

This ultra quirky ASMR video. Also: watching videos with Erin an her boyfriend Chris. It’s amazing how well they work together. How you can almost feel their connection, how similar they are.

Carrot cake oats.

Seeing the The Darkness live again, this time with Margit. Justin’s outfit and personality, singing along, especially to Time of my Life, the band’s traditional first song after the show.

Meeting Chris. Having a Bramblette cocktail at Pusser’s. I like that place. Feels very old-timey with a rowing boat right under the ceiling. We made out in front of a tiger slide in a toy store window on our way to the next bar.

Peeling fresh carrots.

Pickling onions and making kimchi. My fermentation game is strong these days!

Looking through Dominik’s sketchbook. I loved the tree whose bark resembled a mole burrow with its underground tunnel system.

The flu. Yes, really. Fewer pupils at school. Quiet times. I’m actually surprisingly healthy. I’d guess my probiotics must play a role here… Who knows.

More sourdough experiments. Writing about it (DELICACY - a haiku. Oven-warm sourdough / salted butter, alpine cheese / and a strawberry).

Finding a really interesting list of SanFran hippie era book recommendations at the end of Robin Sloan’s Ajax Penumbra: 1969. In the mood to read Maya Angelou, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Richard Brautigan.

Even more beautiful books: I really enjoyed Die weiße Stadt by Karolina Ramqvist, a feminist author from Sweden, and the graphic novel version of To Kill a Mockingbird. But two books that literally (well, figuratively obviously) blew my mind were Circe by Madeline Miller (mythology, loneliness, animals and plants, magic and monsters, some desperate kind of feminism, independence and strength) and Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (magical realms, university setting, psychological depth, unexpected twists and turns). I haven’t read anything comparable in a very long time and I desperately hope that there’s more to come from these authors.

A beach collecting all the world’s single socks in The Magicians. Oh and of course seeing them break the moon. What a sight. The show is super confusing, obnoxious and absolutely fabulous at the same time. Best example: the Freaky Friday szene in which Margo and Eliot switch bodies. I love how the actors took on each other’s speech patterns and behaviour.

A new addition to my colour vocabular: celadon (a greyish green; there is a type of ceramics you’ll only see in this colour which is not surprising since the shade provides such an interesting contrast to the the earthy, rusty orange of burnt clay.)

Manu telling me that he had rarely seen people with more joy in their eyes than me (“Ich habe schon Freude in deinen Augen gesehen! So ein Leuchten kann man nicht simulieren.”) after complaining about being bored and lifeless. / Making curry with or, well, for him the other night. Drinking Liqueur 43 with cinnamon and milk. Playing the Jackbox party games for which you can use your phone as a controller.

Finding myself in a well-known sitation from the past. Lying in Frank’s bed in the early morning hours, not that tired yet, when he starts talking about his life and his depression. In English, obviously, because that’s our emotional filter. Relating, since I feel quite similar. Coming up with a suggestion for a reciprocal support system. Let’s see what we can do for each other.

Looking at travel photographs. The sea, the cenotes. Longing to go back to Mexico or Australia. Diving. Taking it all in.

Dreaming of my grandmother talking about her biggest regrets in life. Weirdly she was in a little bundle under a coffee table, much like Voldemort in the last Harry Potter movie.

My weird, weird brain. How both pleasure and pain enhance my sense of smell and increase my brain activity, almost causing hallucinations and fixations on ideas. Like geometric shapes in gloomy off-colours and a beige silicon-like surface the other night. All I could think of was a benchscraper.

Blue eyeliner.

Brainstorming three-letter-words with Frank since I’m thinking of getting personalised Nike Blazers. Sad cat. Yes but. Dat ass. Why tho.

Flying squirrels. Watching them wobble through the air. How they look like cute exhibitionist when they’re extending their limbs and thus stretching their, well, let’s just call it wings.

The fact that red cabbage has an intricate pattern like brain convolutions when you cut it open.

Talking to Sonja for the first time in over two years. What a strange person. Interesting, too. At least in homeopathic doses.

Ripe strawberries and nectarines. Oh my god. I love fruit.

Meeting Eve at Pub Quiz. She identifies as female, loves swing dance, used to be an animator and I love her style. Also, I realised that really like Betty. And Dennis wasn’t mean to me for once. I love my nerd friends <3 And I learned that Starbucks was named after the first mate in Moby Dick! Also, coincidentally they asked a question about the city where To Kill a Mockingbird takes place (Maycombe, Alabama) after I had read it the week before.

Inviting Lorena to the Botanical Gardens. I always feel very happy and very much myself when I’m there. I sometimes wish I was a gardener. Lorena was late so I walked along the Spring Path outside and it might have been the first time I’ve seen a brussels sprouts plant. Inside I learned lots of Spanish words and marveled at the incredible butterflies. The huge yellow one right behind the entrance was my favourite. Its delicate feelers were fascinating.

Washing my hands at the Keg’s bathroom. Looking into the mirror. Suddenly thinking of the perfect karaoke song… Rescue Me by Bell Book and Candle! I kept singing it for days on repeat. My neighbour must hate me (nothing new here) especially since my voice is too low for the chorus.

It isn’t hard to see how such attachment patterns can undermine mental health. Both anxious and avoidant coping have been linked to a heightened risk of anxiety, depression, loneliness, eating and conduct disorders, alcohol dependence, substance abuse and hostility. The way to treat these problems, say attachment theorists, is in and through a new relationship. On this view, the good therapist becomes a temporary attachment figure, assuming the functions of a nurturing mother, repairing lost trust, restoring security, and instilling two of the key skills engendered by a normal childhood: the regulation of emotions and a healthy intimacy. // An interesting article on attachment styles and why theraphy works; it makes me want to learn more about attachment theory. This School of Life video is a nice addition as well.

That dream. About a book shop modeled after my picture of Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore. There was an old man in a very narrow but high-ceilinged room full of books. There was no light source except for moonlight or some street lights. There were loads of stairs, very steep, leading to the back of the house. Upstairs the man would set out cat food and on the rooftop there was an old sailing boat. One day the man decided to open the door to the roof and let visitors see the ship, much like a museum; perhaps to attract customers. However, in the next night a cat-shaped ghost appeared who reminded me quite a lot of Kot Behemoth character in Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. The ghost was not amused about the old man’s decision and took away his key, a big golden one adorned with a red ribbon.

Toasted sesame makes pretty much every dish so much better.

Watching High Fidelity with gorgeous Zoe Kravitz (I adore her effortless style and her outfits), getting in the mood for making a playlist and listening to more music in general. There are all these great songs out there I forgot about.

Remembering the xkcd storm chaser comics.

Making a wicked good batch of Pho for Tom.

Spending a nice evening with Alex at Shamrock. Singing along to American Boy by Estelle. Confirming the hypothesis that the nerdy, quiet ones usually have a freak streak. That moment in the morning. Eye contact and kegel exercises.

Karaoke with Margit and Betty. Meeting Manu’s doppelganger. Same type, looks, voice. Eerie.

Making a BA Gourmet Makes meme for Steffen after he had passed his law examps. Strangely Gaby kinda looked like him after I was done with it.

Saturday morning in bed. Reading comics and graphic novels. Fresh bedclothes, surrounded by books. Since it was February 29 I thought about leap years and asked a few friends what their inner seven-year-old would have done that day (based on the thought experiment that your birthday was on February 29 and you’d age in 4-year-steps which would divide your age by 4 obviously).      

I came up with: visiting grandma / eating Cini-Minis / falling asleep with my face buried in a cat / beating my neighbour Anna at Memory / drawing while listening to a Bibi Blocksberg cassette.

Alex said he’d have been outside all day, building a snow igloo. Not noticing his mum telling him to come to dinner. If the weather had been bad he would have played with his dinosaur collection. His inner 7-year-old was a hopeless dreamer who got agitated whenever his parents had a fight. Who came home late from school every day because he forgot about time when he was talking to his friend next to a hedge with thorns that looked like tiny airplanes.

Lena said she would have been outside all day long, playing in the mud with the neighbours’ kids. Of course.

[graybeards]

The Unspoken Wish, part one

Ralph’s eyes wandered over a pair of sorority sisters, one blonde and one brunette, who just sat at a nearby table. He licked his lips lustily and took a swig from his sweating beer. The fading tan line on his ring finger would disappear completely after a few more days of Cancun sun, and I envied him this newfound freedom. 

The beach-side bar and pool were the perfect spot to camp out for the day. Plenty of eye candy, drinks, and sun. We’d been sitting around all morning in our swim trunks, just enjoying the mild warm wind gusting from the sea. It was the perfect way to relax just the two of us, but Ralph had been keeping busy.

“This was a great idea, Ben,” he said as he flagged down a server and sent over a round to the sisters. “Just what I needed after everything.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I replied mildly and licked salt off the rim of my margarita glass. It wasn’t a lie. I was happy for him, but it was hard not to be jealous when I spent my nights lying in bed a few feet away as he nailed college girls, leggy women who were all smooth skin and perfect breasts.

A pair of margaritas arrived at the sisters’ table. They looked over at us and smiled at Ralph until they rose from their chairs. The blonde made it to the seat beside him first and the brunette settled for sitting beside me. They thanked us for the drinks and let their soft fingers caress us. I felt a bit silly as the brunette tried to flatter me, my slender body and spindly arms stood in sharp contrast to Ralph’s robustness. He had a big gut, sure, but it matched his tree trunk arms and barrel chest, all covered in a thick brown pelt still a little damp and flat against his skin from the pool. We chatted for a little while. Idle stuff.

“He’s married, honey,” Ralph finally interrupted the chat just before the brunette’s hand could slide down to my swim trunks, but she seemed relieved. “But if you girls don’t mind sharing…” He grinned at the blonde as her fingers slipped under his waistband and grasped him. Her eyes went wide and she nodded with a smile to her friend. Ralph turned to me with a wink and said, “I’ll catch up with you later?” I nodded with a forced smile and watched the sorority sisters slide up beside him with his burly arms wrapped around their slight shoulders.

I rolled my eyes and huffed as soon as they were out of earshot. I’d known Ralph since we were little boys, and this was classic him. Marriage had mellowed the man for a while, but after twenty years of it, the old Ralph started to emerge. Now that the divorce was final, my best friend had reverted back to a horny 22-year-old again. It was tempting, though even if I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t do as well as he did. The guy had a classic dadbod, an easy charm, and an alpha attitude, whereas I was zero for three.

I moved over and struck up some small-talk with the young Mexican man behind the bar. At least I was getting a chance to practice my Spanish. He flirted a little, which was flattering but still not my thing. 

“Your friend is quite the man. Isn’t he?” the bartender suggested.

I sipped a fresh margarita with a grin and shrugged. “He’s always been like that.”

“Does it ever make you jealous?”

I chuckled, “I’m not a hard guy to read I guess.”

“It was a bit obvious,” he smilingly confirmed. After a moment, he added, “You know, I have something that might help.”

My eyebrow raised itself even as I steeled myself with skepticism. I was ready with a no if that something turned out to be cocaine.

Noticing my tensed expression, he said, “No, no, nothing like that, just a little local trick. Could you grab his glass from the table?”

I did as he asked, as curious as I was wary. He’d assembled a concoction in the shaker and I listened to the clashing of ice as he mixed it. He strained it into Ralph’s glass and said, “Drink that and you’ll have nothing to be jealous about for the rest of your trip.”

“Why the glass?” I asked.

The bartender smirked and admitted, “It’s a bit strange, but the man’s saliva is part of the recipe.”

With a shrug, I discarded my margarita for the fresh, cloudy drink. It was bitter, so bitter I winced when the brew hit my tongue. It burned all the way down, making my throat tingle and my stomach rumble. “That’s god awful,” I coughed.

“Believe me,” he replied, “just finish it and you’ll see what I mean.”

After a second hurried gulp, I felt my body begin to tingle. It felt unnatural, almost magical. I didn’t believe in such things, but that couldn’t stop me from hoping. I imagined my arms swelling with muscle and my chest broadening. I dreamed of reaching down and feeling a manhood to rival Ralph’s between my legs. My chest would be covered in hair and I’d finally look like a man, just like my buddy.

My fantasy had me guzzling down the bitter liquid until the leftover ice clattered against my teeth as my vision blurred. The world spun around me as I slammed down the glass and I felt the bartenders hand on my shoulder steadying me. He practically lifted me out of my chair, guiding me behind the bar and into the back room. “What did you do to me?” I protested.

“Just give it a minute,” he whispered. The world went black.

And then it came rushing back. I felt cool tile against my bare back. I opened my eyes and saw the bartender’s eyes staring down at me with concern. “Are you OK?”

“I think so,” I muttered as I rose up onto my elbows, but I wasn’t so sure when I looked down. A pair of plump breasts had grown from my chest and just beyond I could see the void in my now-loose swim trunks. “What the fuck happened to me?” I gasped, noticing the heightened pitch of my voice.

“You wanted to be with your friend,” the bartender explained with a pleased smile, “and now you can. You’ll be irresistible to him, in fact. The potion mixed with his saliva to make sure of it.”

“I was jealous of Ralph, not those sluts he was banging!” I growled as I jumped up to my feet, finding myself standing a few inches shorter than the bartender I’d towered over before. “How long will this last?”

The bartender suppressed a laugh as he said, “Sorry, I just assumed you were… You should be back to normal by tomorrow morning.” He grabbed my shoulder as I made my way out. “But you can’t go out like that.”

I looked down and saw myself, my beautiful body, bare naked after my trunks fell off me. I sighed as he handed me a two-piece swimsuit, but I pulled them on, eager to escape from this awkward situation. This seemed impossible, like a dream, but it was real. I wanted to wake up. However, getting out of there and finding another drink would be a start.

“Don’t forget your wedding ring,” he said. It had slipped off my slender finger, but he picked it up and pressed it into my hand. “Sorry again,” he murmured, sincerely this time. “I just assumed.”

I saw myself in a mirror and paused, admiring my new dark features and long brown hair. Ralph had good taste; I would’ve fucked me. I poked the bartender in the chest and said sternly, “This better wear off.”

“It will,” he promised as I walked back out. He added in an unheard whisper, “I think.”

Part 2