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zirkkun · 4 years

Text

just before.

just before. (Undertale fanfic - based off of Wickedtale by @alch3mic - rated M by AO3 standards.)

+ soldier!sans x dancer!reader (they/them prns)

+ 4456 words, english

+ prologue to soldier’s story. first time he ever meets dancer.

+ cw: mentions of murder, classism, yandere/obsessive personality, abusive/controlling parents

+ “he hadn't heard that phrase in years. so constantly aware of the corruption plaguing the world... well, as it seemed, there was still one highlight to live to protect.”

+ AO3 link

Ebott City. The corrupted hell hole that was somehow above ground, while the actual hole the "monsters" came from had been far more palatable. At least, in one case. Many didn't have the same experience he did, but… whatever. That didn't really matter. He didn't really care about it anymore. Why dwell on the past? There's too much shit going on in the present to even have time for something like that.

Day-to-day life was flooded: constantly moving, constantly working, never slowing, never stopping. There's no time for that. The day he gets time to take off and sleep, get whatever medication he's sure he needs for his horrifically weak non-stomach, and lead a healthy and safe lifestyle while retaining his wealth? Ha. In dreams, maybe. This city wasn't kind enough for that. Though, maybe if his ambitions weren't so specific, he wouldn't have fallen into this path of endless work… but it's a little late for that.

His brother had made use of their skills the two of them had attained growing up, and with that opened a dance studio where others of all sorts could come through and learn how to dance. A small corner of peace in this awful world, that little building, where monsters and humans could both dance without feud, where rich and poor could both talk without judgement. Maybe it was ironic, maybe it was fate, or maybe it was straight coincidence that his brother had named the place "Enchanted Dancing." He knew that the name was merely in reference to the magic of their home where everyone had their own sort of dances they practiced, which they all soon found was very different from most other monsters who had battle magic specialties. But even still… heh, ah, it just further proved his point. The only decent place in the world was the Underground, before they ever surfaced.

A beep. 6:00 P.M. Work.

Or, rather, his second line of work.

While he'd abandoned his dance skills long ago, he never really fully disconnected with music as a whole. It's not like he really could when he doesn't have anything else to his life or history -- he doesn't know anything else. So, he made it a pastime to make his own musical works, trying to sell them online for money, but quickly found it's not exactly easy for people to find your work… let alone get them to pay for it when they do. He had run low on money fast -- so fast that he needed something quick and easy that he could do to not end up on the curb in a weeks' time.

He doesn't remember how he heard about it, or really what possessed him to go along with it anyway; but somewhere along the line, he'd caught word of some pretentious wealthy human furiously rattling off how their reputation would be "demolished" if the rumor that had begun about their business didn't come to a halt. How they would pay "insane amounts of money" to have that rumor "eradicated." You know, without really doing any work themself, or trying to better the work that they were doing, or fixing the root of their problem to begin with… Yes, because throwing money at the problem until it's pushed onto someone else is the better solution.

And yet… when someone comes up to you in your hour of despair, presenting to you an arguably invisible layer of protection in this world of work or die, something to get you out of the dark and stop the ticking clock of your otherwise inevitable doom…

It's not like he was going to turn down the offer.

He'd forged some sort of alias -- whatever it was at the time no longer mattered, since he'd had many over the half year or so he's been doing this -- and scribbled out a note of sorts explaining what was, at the time, a feigned, short "resume" for work as an information broker. The note was left with the pretentious prick, who did, in fact, end up contacting him in the end, offering more money than he thought he'd ever see in his waking life. Needless to say, he took the job… and found the issue to be so incredibly simple to resolve that even a child could have done it.

Well, no.

A child would have had more sense of morality.

... probably.

Who was he kidding here, honestly? He complains about the rich on a regular basis, their foolish waste of money, their apathy towards those that didn't have any money, just pure care for only money.

But here he was.

Morality erased.

Lives ruined.

Bank account overflowing.

Doing the same things they were doing.

The very least he could do -- and the very least he does do -- is support those whose music he'd wanted to support while he was on the edge of homelessness. Even some of his online friends, music composition friends, were consistently met with the cash they needed in a moment's notice. "Where did you even get this kind of money?" they would ask him. He would just jokingly say that an old witch blessed him with unending wealth, or something else to that extent of unbelievable ridiculousness.

But, unfortunately, not all of his money could go towards such good causes. While he did have far beyond the money to sustain multiple dozen families, at least a third of it was thrown right back into the exchange as he paid person after person for job after job he was unwilling to do.

There was no blood on his hands. No dust caked into his bones.

But it was splattered all over the money he handed out like trick-or-treat candy.

He'd met two others, notably, that did a lot of work alongside him. A crafty cat and a wily wolf… figuratively, of course. The three of them sharing the same first name, they merely tossed nicknames at each other. More often than he probably realized, they took much of his budget for work he was far too lazy to bother with. You know, scouring the dark web for information, stalking people to track their pathing… the occasional hit here and there. Sometimes, he would do it himself, but only if he really felt up to it… and frankly, he was never in the mood for murder. But that damn wolf was shockingly willing -- for the right paycheck.

He did recognize, however, the two of them did seem to have a mutual similarity that he, personally, did not share.

… he did not have anyone close to him. He didn't have anyone who looked after him, cared for him. It didn't bother him until recently, when apparently that damn wolf managed to lock the object of his affection into a relationship. Even the cat seemed bitter when he heard the news. Someone so fucked as him still manages to find someone?

… the world was just trying with his emotions at this point. Taunting happiness at the end of a pole taped to the back of his head, leaving it just out of reach, but always in his way and always in his line of sight.

Of course, he had his brother…

... who he doesn't talk to for weeks at a time…

... and he keeps turning down his offers to meet up again…

… yes, he had his brother. A strong emphasis on the "had."

He was alone. He knew that. But, at least for the case of his brother, he'd done it on purpose.

The last thing he wants is to have his brother, someone so passionate and pure, hands still clearly clean of sin; find out he has the richest humans of the city wrapped around his fingers out of both fear and dependability.

So, frankly, sometimes he found himself jealous of the other two. The other two who had someone to care for them.

He supposed the trio of them could sort of be friends…

He'd met the wolf a few times in person, both intentionally and not.

He'd bumped into the cat, wasted in a bar, more than once.

… No, they really weren't his friends. Co-workers is the best way he could probably describe them.

Yes, he was just jealous of them.

He was alone.

…

… Well, work isn't going to start itself. He pulled his phone back up to his face, clicking it on to see how long he'd zoned out for. 6:03 P.M. Not too terrible. He slammed shut his laptop, pushing back from his chair as he went to put on the outfit that had practically become his "uniform" at this point. A dark under layer of tight leggings and a fitted long-sleeve athletic tee with a zip-up turtleneck; a desaturated over layer of a baggy, now sleeveless hoodie and equally as baggy gym shorts. And, of course, a hat, as usual… but he wore those no matter the time of day.

His apartment door clicked shut behind him as he left, and once the door was locked, he evaporated into thin air.

-- only to appear, moments later, in front of one of the most lavish mansions in the richest part of Ebott City. It was so bleeding with "I'm such a rich, extra asshole" energy that it made his Soul twist with disgust. The walls were marble, shimmering from small lights below them to show off their sparkling, smooth surface. Each edge of the building was lined with gold-plated metal, even the rails to the stairway. Arching windows stood on either side of the front door, which was probably big enough for an average sized elephant to fit into with some extra ear room to boot.

Thank the stars he didn't have to go inside again. He already knew what his job was for the night, and to be back inside that disgustingly overdone building these pretentious humans called "home"... Just thinking about it made him feel beyond insulted.

He took another shortcut -- this time, finding himself on the rooftop. Although the sun had not yet fully set, even so, it was still much darker here than standing in front of the artificially-lit trophy they called a front entrance. He popped open his phone again. 6:05 P.M.

Unlocking it completely, he pulled up a message from the cat he'd gotten this morning.

morning soldier~ i managed to get done what you needed me to for today last night. which, you owe me BIG-TIME for, mister.

i was up until 4 am doing this!!

Soldier checked the timestamp. Yesterday, 11:34 P.M. Does that cat think he's an idiot? Whatever, it's not like this was the important part of the message. But, if anything, he's getting docked pay for really bad lying. It's not like the guy needs more alcohol money, anyway.

here's a list compiled of all the parties in ebott tonight. i only looked for ones starting after 6 pm like you asked, but there was still far too many… the list is very long (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

[file download link]

i hope you're happy!!! cause im not looking any more than that!!!!! ☆⌒(> _ <)

He downloaded the file to his phone, browsing through it to see what parties had been collected into the spreadsheet. He only could assume that's what was bringing them out, at the very least.

Oh, yes, his job for the evening. That's integral information, I suppose.

The mansion whose roof he sat upon currently was owned by a human family with the surname King. They had twelve children, all adopted, but were all also kept on very rigorous and strict schedules. The eldest of the children very recently had been caught sneaking out of the house every evening by one of their siblings, and sleeping noticeably late in the morning, their final semester of university was suffering from this all as they refused to finish their thesis. So, naturally as it is for all the rich, they threw their money at the problem hoping that would fix it.

Today's "that" was the skeleton monster sitting on their roof, waiting to see when someone would eventually leave the house.

With a hefty sum of money, upfront payment, as usual; Soldier was told to follow their child for three nights, and to report back after that time with what they had been up to. Seemed easy enough. Of all the jobs he'd gotten, tailing someone for a few days and tracking their every move was probably the easiest he's ever had the misfortune of doing.

He continued to scroll through the list. He had been given absolutely nothing to work with from the Kigngs as to where their kid was headed or when they tended to leave the house, or any information of actual use; so he was going into the job without a clue as to what he was really looking for. It was probably the most difficult aspect of the job -- hence why he outsourced the bulk of it. As for the "where," parties seemed like a reasonable assumption to make for a human college student. That's a rather common stereotype of sorts, college students getting drunk at party after party, is it not? Better than nothing, he supposed. Nothing else really came to mind anyway, but that doesn't mean there wasn't another option. Even still, it's a better start than nothing.

Now he had to just wait for the "when." He had the list in front of him, hoping he could deduce when the human would leave their house… but the more he read it over, the more bored he got. Guess the cat wasted his time. Oh well. That's not Soldier's problem.

Just as he locked his screen shut, planning to come down from the roof and investigate any exits that might be hidden to most of the house, he heard an absurdly loud sound he initially thought was a gunshot, followed by a raspy huff of various curses. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, after shortcutting there silently to avoid making attention towards himself; he noticed there was, in fact, no gunshot, but rather, an awfully messy and junky trap door of sorts, seemingly made of plywood. A human, who he assumed was the one who swore earlier, grabbed a bush that had been sitting next to it, picking it up like it was nothing and placing it over the door. It was in line with several other, similar bushes. The human dusted off their hands before walking, keeping a close eye on the mansion walls to their side.

Well, looks like he's found who he's supposed to tail.

He kept watch over them for as long as his eyes could follow, and then, the moment they left his vision, he shortcutted to where they had been moments ago, though slightly distanced as to be hidden nearby; and simply repeated the process. Soldier knew this part of the city better than the back of his hand, so he knew where he was at all times, as well, making shortcutting silently even easier.

… However, what he didn't understand was where the hell this human was headed. A few times he tried clicking on his phone, scrolling through the list again, but they weren't headed in any direction towards any party. And even when they started heading in the direction of one… they would end up taking a "wrong" turn and dodging it completely.

…

… this was taking a really long time…

It's… almost been an hour by now. Soldier's starting to recognize this area a little less. He knew the map layout, but not all of the details about where they were or what was distinctly different about each street. They were outside of the rich part of town, but not quite in the poorer side that he was used to, either. If he was remembering correctly, this was in the direction of downtown. Unless this human's planning on breaking into some probably-already-crashed college dorm party for the night, they definitely weren't planning to party at all. Okay, well, that throws that plan out the window.

But now he had no idea what to expect. Were they banned from getting help, so they're actively seeking it out? Unlikely. Were they secretly addicted to drugs? Unless it was alcohol, getting away with drug smuggling in downtown was a horrific, nearly impossible idea. Did they have a significant other that their family wouldn't let them see? Well… he had no idea. Thoughts and questions and possibilities kept cycling in and out, but he never lost sight of where they were going.

And, sure enough, the bright downtown lights descended upon them as they started making their way across the long bridge leading to the most eventful point of the city. Due to the sheer length of the bridge, and the fact that Soldier was not as well-versed in the map of the downtown Ebott area… he resorted to traditional stalking, mimicking their every step as casually and nonchalantly as possible, as though to avoid being spotted.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. One new message.

weeeeell? was my work useful? >:3c

He merely huffed half a laugh before typing out his response.

i didnt use it at all

what?! Σ(･口･) soldier, i went through all that hard work, and you didn't even LOOK at it???

i looked at it

i didnt use it

...you're at least still paying me, right?

you are the WORST 凸(｀△´＋）

i'm never doing anything for you again >:(

you dont need the alcohol money anyway

But the cat never responded to that one. Well, Soldier's never been the best at landing most jokes, despite his tendency to make them. Clearly sarcasm wasn't his strong point either. Whatever. He'd pay him later.

He put his phone back in his pocket, putting his attention back to his job as the bridge finally began to end. If the human was suspicious of his following them, they showed no signs of it. Good. Frankly, being silent by stalking someone in this manner isn't his strong suit. He had assumed they would have stayed nearby… not gone to the other side of the city.

The sun had set, but even still, downtown was overwhelmed with artificial lighting, and frankly, it was already giving Soldier a headache and he hadn't even been here for more than 10 minutes. Curse his ridiculously weak and sensitive body.

The human kept walking along, though their pace was beginning to hasten as they flickered their gaze between stepping and a phone screen. Naturally, he also quickened his footing, although unsure as to why. Maybe they were running late for something?

They took a sharp left into a shady alleyway; Soldier shortcut to its entrance, spotting them sprinting down it as fast as they could before eventually climbing up a wooden fence at the end, reaching its peak and jumping over it with ease. Like they'd done this many times before. Soldier, confused, checked the name of the buildings on either side of the alleyway… but neither were significant. One was even an apartment building of sorts, but it looked abandoned at best. Well, might as well continue.

Reaching the end of the alley and pushing himself over the fence with magic to avoid making as much sound as possible, Soldier's feet landed on the concrete of the other side. It was surprisingly… clean. As if someone kept it nice regularly. He went to take a step forward when he heard chattering, and instead, tucked himself behind the smallest edge of the nearby wall, barely peering over its edge to see the rest of the area.

It was like a very small park. Perhaps a courtyard? But it was too barren for that. Well, all except the trees. There were four skinny trunks sprouted from the ground, all of different kinds, and probably no more than two and a half meters tall. Around them was a square-shaped sidewalk of the same concrete he was standing on.

But, at that center of the trees, were two humans, not one. He recognized the one he'd been following up until this point -- vaguely, and mostly just from the color of their clothing -- but the other was new.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I was held up worrying I was going to get caught…" the human he'd followed spoke. "My dad apparently hired someone to follow me for a few days. One of my sisters told me… she apparently ratted me out -- she was forced to -- and now my dad's on a manhunt to find out what I'm doing."

"Yikes," the other person responded. They had a higher pitched voice, but a lower tone of interest. "Sorry to hear about it. You didn't need to come racing here to tell me that, you know. You could have stayed home and texted me to move the lesson."

Lesson?

"No, it's fine. I came because I wanted to. It probably would have been better if I waited… but I was too excited about tonight," the human explained. "It's the first time we're practicing the whole dance routine straight through. I've been practicing on my own some other nights, too."

… dance routine?

The other human let go of a heavy laugh. "You've really been practicing for two weeks straight with no other dance party breaks?"

"I said on some other nights!"

The both of them laughed.

But Soldier was stuck on "dance routine."

A phrase he typically only heard from his brother anymore, and he barely talked to him as is.

A phrase he'd never said himself in… so long.

An act he hasn't tried since they were still trapped Underground…

An act that, even back then, he'd sworn off doing after so many years of it.

It's like he'd been punched directly in the Soul. Possibly even with a knife.

"Well, are you ready to start, then?"

Soldier's attention peered back to the two humans.

"Yup, whenever you are!"

There was a brief period of silence.

Then the music started. He didn't recognize it at first…

But the realization that it was his own piece hit him in the face like a truck. Some sort of shivering heat rushed through his body. … embarrassment? ...maybe? He… wasn't sure.

But even still…

He soon became entranced by their dancing.

Only the human he had been following was dancing the routine. Every step timed perfectly to every beat and measure… so meticulously performed with such dedication. But then, some old part of him started to creep back from where it had been shoved away, as he started judging the technique of their every move. Sure, they had a… beautiful dedication to every step they took… but much of it was wrong. Though, they were not missteps. Everything planned was executed with confident perfection. The moves themselves were wrong. Some of them didn't match the tone of the piece at all, and it was clear that they were self-taught, just based on how they were moving in between each one. He wasn't mad, no… no, rather… he was utterly fascinated.

Soldier stood and watched the whole routine, start to finish. Though, he couldn't help but have a yelp from his own Soul every time they did something his own memory was screeching to be incorrect. It was yelping because… he wanted to correct them. He wanted to walk up to them, tell them what was wrong with their choices, and point them in the right direction. He wanted to… take them by the hand, directing their movements through his, teaching them how to dance the way he was taught. He… couldn't stop staring…

A scream. Soldier shortcut in a panic. He was now on the opposite side of the wooden fence, back in they alleyway.

"What, what is it?" The voice of the second human.

"I… I thought I saw someone." A breathy, horrified tone from the dancer. "I thought someone was watching me but… th-then I blinked and… they were gone."

The second human huffed angrily. "You haven't been getting proper sleep lately, have you? Maybe you should go home and rest."

Still breathing heavily, the dancer hummed a sound of malcontent. "I… Can I finish the routine first?"

"Really, now…" But with a sigh, the second human allowed them to start again from the beginning.

Meanwhile, Soldier…

He was doing his best not to scream on his own. So many emotions overwhelmed him entirely. Most of which he could not identify. But one thing would not stop looping in his mind. One thing other than a raging beat echoing in his skull from the sound of his own Soul racing, that was. In fact, that only heightened.

The thought of taking their hand. Teaching them to dance.

The overwhelming feeling of hearing someone else not just listening to his work… but expanding upon it. Being able to express themself through it. Being able to see themself through him.

The raging passion burning deep inside of him, regretting his forgone dancing career. It ate at his Soul, bit by bit. Begging his laziness to cave for them and them alone.

The fact that all of these thoughts happened in the very same millisecond that he made eye contact with them… he felt unexplainably and weirdly hot.

That eye contact. Their eyes, their face. They were almost as beautiful as the dances they performed… no… perhaps even more so.

Another loud beat echoed in his skull. The song was reaching its end. He knew he needed to start going home before he was caught.

But part of him wanted to be caught.

Part of him wanted to catch them.

… And all of him wanted to see them dancing… just one more time. Once more, that's all he asks.

Just one more time.

Maybe… maybe that will suffice.

Maybe that will drive away the fortissimo thoughts clouding his sense of reality. Maybe he'll be able to go back to…

A thought. A separate one, remembered from earlier this same evening.

"Alone."

He was… alone.

…

Did he really want to go down the same paths as…?

No, not really.

But it seemed his Soul was not giving him much other option. The mere thought of never being able to label himself as lonely… and if it was because of someone as beautiful as them…

Well. He already was a hypocrite, chanting against a society he partook in regularly. What other damage could be done by reaffirming what he already knew?

Besides. His Soul was desperate.

He wanted that dancer for his own.

No… no, this was most certainly a need.

#undertale #undertale au #soldier!sans #dancetale sans #wickedtale #undertale fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #yandere tw//#zircon writes #zircon arts #i am too tired for this #but i could not sleep #so instead i am posting this #ive had it done for a while #but the drawings been sitting half finished for a while lol

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Come Home, Take Two

CW: Vaguely referenced past noncon/whump of a minor, trauma response, survivors navigating physical touch (platonic), self-loathing, some negative stimming (no self-injury)

Direct follow-up to this piece where Chris overhears something Jake says to Dr Masood and runs off. I’ve had some requests for more Chris and Kauri lately so I hope this is what you were hoping for!

Timeline: Three days after Jake is returned to the safehouse following the Safehouse Raid mini-series

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions, @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump

There’s a scrape of shoes against the sidewalk behind him, plastic and canvas slip-ons, Chris thinks, closing his eyes. Black and white checks, the white part almost beige from dirt and everyday wear.

Faded black skinny jeans with holes in the knees, almost charcoal-gray color now. Probably just a t-shirt, stolen from someone’s bed the night before. The ever-present zip-up over it, the sweatshirt that belongs to someone Chris has never seen but Kauri talks about with stars or tears in his eyes, no in-between.

Chris keeps his eyes closed, feels the curb where he sits underneath him, hard rounded concrete. He’s rocking back and forth, so carefully that it’s probably not even obvious, but he doesn’t like the sound of the traffic driving back and forth, people shouting at each other to say hello or goodbye or just shouting.

Somewhere, deep inside of him, he feels a little boy’s grip onto a woman’s hand, to shield him against the endless, incessant noise.

There’s quiet, for a breath of time, and Chris thinks about so many things in that second - he is aware of the noise, and aware that he has a memory that wants to bubble up and hurt him, aware of the sharp edge of Jake’s voice saying I don’t want to fucking be around him if this is what happens! and the reality of his own utter perfect helplessness if they come back, how ugly it is to need to be saved, need someone like Jake to get hurt instead of him.

How much of a tiny little worm of a person he is that he can’t protect himself.

“Hey.” Kauri’s voice is calm - Chris can’t tell what he’s thinking from that voice, and then Kauri flops down onto the curb next to him, a mess of black curls and big blue eyes, setting his backpack next to him. He smells like the park - green grass and sunshine, children laughing. “Nick said you were asking people for me.”

Chris looks away from him, fixing his eyes on a bit of old gum a foot or so off to his right, stuck to the pavement and stepped in and ground in until it’s just a stain, just part of the sidewalk, ignored and not inconveniencing anyone. Unprotected. “I, I, I don’t know where I, um, am, but I saw people doing the, the, the thing you do, so I thought-”

“Chris, did you just assume I know every fucking homeless person in this city? Well, I guess you got lucky, because I kind of do.” Kauri’s voice is light and teasing, but Chris doesn’t react, and the smile starts to fade from Kauri’s face. “Chris, what are you even-... can I ask why you’re asking random people about me this far from home?”

Home. Chris tries to laugh all bitter like Jake does sometimes, but all that comes out a sniff, and he rubs at his nose with his sleep to try and pretend it wasn’t from tears. “I, I got lost,” he admits, voice low, almost muttering. “I was, um, was, was... was-was-was-was... was... upset. So I took, took a walk, and-”

“What made you upset? Did... did something new happen?” Kauri’s voice drops, not that anyone’s listening to them. But anyone could be. They’re never really safe, not ever. Once you sign the contract you never belong to yourself, ever again.

All pets are of legal and consenting age-

Chris tries to stop the memorized thought before it can derail everything else, before he gets lost in reciting what he’s been taught, been trained to think. His hands, curled against his stomach to hide them behind his knees, grip more tightly into the fabric of the oversized big blue shirt he’s wearing over the long-sleeved one underneath.

“Chris, are you... still not-... Nat called and said everything’s okay, now, that I could come back to visit again-”

“It’s fine. It’s, it’s, it’s all, it’s... it’s f-fine.” Chris clenches his eyes shut, hating himself for his stammer, for all his wrong fucking words, just one more thing other people do for him, to keep him safe so nobody looks close because he has to be protected, he can’t be free on his own like Kauri is. He can’t just go wherever he wants like Kauri does.

“It’s clearly not.” Kauri’s voice is wry, but soft, and he leans to the right, gently bumping Chris’s shoulder with his own. Someone across the street calls out Kauri’s name and Chris watches him lift his chin, a bright smile on his face as he waves at the man, who waves back and then ducks into a shop.

“Wh-who’s that?” Chris asks, craning his head to see the man a little better before he disappears into the shadows of the coffee shop’s interior.

“Hm? Oh, James something-something. He’s pretty cool.” Kauri shrugs carelessly, and Chris wonders what it’s like to be so careless about people - to get so close to people you don’t know if you can trust, to roll a dice like that over and over and over again. Kauri catches him looking and smiles again, nudging him with his elbow this time, sharp through the soft fabric of the zip-up he’s always wearing. “Tell me what happened, Chris.”

Chris is silent, letting his hair fall over his eyes like he would do sometimes at Sir’s, only Sir would always push it back out of his face and let his fingertips linger, grazing over Baldur’s forehead and cheeks and jaw, murmuring things Chris doesn’t want to think about, ever again.

Here, he keeps his hair in his eyes and nobody stops him.

“Jake said he, he, he-he-he doesn’t want me anymore,” Chris whispers.

Kauri blows out air with slightly puffed cheeks, almost comical, sitting back on his hands. The two of them are quiet for a second as cars drive past, scent the air with exhaust, turned-up bass beats that make Chris’s skin crawl with invisible insects at the pressure of the noise against his skin. “Chris, I’m not trying to say you don’t remember things, but there’s no fucking way he said that.”

“He, he, he-he did! He said, um, he said, said, said-said... said... he said he doesn’t want to, to be around me.” Chris feels his heart twist and lurch, the drop of miserable unhappiness.

“There’s no way-”

“He did! It’s, it’s exactly what he said!” Chris turns, all but shouts the words right into Kauri’s face, making the other rescue, older and freer and, in Chris’s mind, everything he wishes he could be... flinch.

Chris feels something between horror and excitement at the idea that he could ever do anything that would make someone else scared of him.

“Please don’t yell at me,” Kauri whispers, and all the elation drops out of Chris at the sudden wavering vulnerability in Kauri’s voice. Kauri doesn’t like yelling, Chris knows that - everyone knows that. If people start arguing, even normal arguments, Kauri disappears, just the slam of a door and running footsteps on the porch, flash of wild black curls disappearing over a fence.

“I’m, I’m sorry.” Chris feels even worse now. He’s lost and he doesn’t know where he is and Kauri came over to help and he yelled at him - and Jake is mad, and Jake should be mad because he shouldn’t have to get hurt so that Chris doesn’t, that shouldn’t have to happen and it wouldn’t if he wasn’t so-

so fucking helpless-

Chris groans and rocks forward hard, putting his hands up and twisting them into his hair, dropping his face between his knees to hide it, to muffle the sound he makes low in his throat, frustration and guilt twisted up together in his vocal chords.

“You’re okay,” Kauri says, softly, reaching out hesitantly to lay a hand against his back, rubbing up and down. Ready to pull back if Chris pulls away, hyperaware of the way he moves and thinks and feels the way they’re all trained to be. Ready to be good, to please-

Chris groans again, eyes hot and angry even though he’s clenched them shut as tightly as he can. “I’m not. I’m n-not, not, not-not-not safe, I’m not, I’m not safe for him-.. for Jake, I’m not safe.”

“Neither am I.” Kauri’s voice is low, and he leans over until his forehead rests gently against the side of Chris’s head, black curls and straight strawberry blond, glinting in the warm hint of sunshine on the chilly late-winter day. “Neither was Krista and neither is Leila and not even Antoni. None of us are safe for him. We could all get him arrested, put in jail, in prison, just for helping us escape. We could all get him hurt. All of us.”

“H-he said-”

“I guarantee whatever he said didn’t mean he’d walk away. If he hasn’t yet, he’s sure as fuck not going to now. Not from you, Chris.” Kauri’s arm slides around him, a barrier against the way the traffic noise has been settling in a weight on Chris, pressing in on him, forcing him deeper inside himself to try and escape it. “Jake doesn’t give up on people. He doesn’t do that.”

“What, what, what... what if... if I-”

What if I’m so bad that I’m the one he’ll give up on?

The words are caught in Chris’s throat. He can’t seem to force them up onto his tongue, out from behind his teeth. They sit like a lump he has to swallow and breathe around, the fear growing and growing and growing.

What if he was better as the statue boy? He served a purpose, Sir said, he was living for a reason, then, when otherwise he wouldn’t have had one. He was made for this, he was made to do this, he was made to be good to do what Sir wants to be so good-

“I know what you’re doing,” Kauri whispers, breath warm against his ear. “Chris, I do the same thing. You’re thinking and thinking and thinking until you think the worst things and then they get stuck in your head and you can’t make them stop. Listen, come with me to the park, let’s get you somewhere quieter-” Kauri’s phone went off, buzzing madly in his back pocket, and he slipped it out, not bothering to look and see who it was - he couldn’t read whatever name had been put there, anyway. “Hello?”

A pause, and then Kauri smiled, slightly.

“Hey. Yeah, I got... slow down, he’s right here. I’ve got him. Yeah, he’s across from that place that sells the big croissants with chocolate in them you like. He was asking around for me.” Kauri’s eyes flicker to the sign over the coffeeshop’s door and then away again, expertly shifting to avoid reading the sign and bringing on a headache or passing out right in the street again. “He’s okay, Jake.”

Chris’s heart beats faster, something between dread and hope.

“You want to talk to him? Yeah, okay.” Kauri drops the phone and hits the button for speaker, giving Chris another nudge. “Jake wants to talk to you, Chris. Can you say something?”

Chris feels about two inches tall. He keeps his eyes closed and curls up tighter, rocking again. “H-hi, Jake, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I’m not safe-”

“Chris, I’m so fucking sorry that I scared you-” Jake starts at the exact same moment.

There’s a pause as they both come to a rough, uncertain stop. A silence broken only by the sound of Kauri’s I told you so smile.

“Let me talk first,” Jake says, when the pause has drawn out too long. “Please? Can I talk first?”

Chris nods, then remembers Jake can’t actually see him nodding through the phone, and clears his throat against the growing lump of words there. “Y-yeah, okay, okay, you go, um, you go first.”

“Okay. Just. Can you come back, please? I need-... I need you to not be gone from the house right now.” Jake’s voice is thin and strained, the deep rich voice that has talked Chris through thunderstorms and nightmares a dozen times or more sounds higher-pitched, a little wobbly. Worried and scared and maybe... maybe something else, too. “I’m sorry what I said scared you, but I didn’t-... I think you thought I meant it a different way-...”

“I don’t-... I don’t, um, I don’t want to, to, t-... to to to get you hurt again, you said... you said if I got you arrested again-”

“No, I-... okay. Yeah. I see how that’s... listen. I just meant... fuck. I’m so fucking scared I’ll hurt you, Chris. You understand?”

Chris swallows, looking at Kauri, then back at the phone, studying it like it will explain this better. “No.”

“The last week just... fucked me up really bad, Chris. I saw what they-... I saw when-... fuck, I can’t even talk about it, it was so... so fucked up. But I can’t-... I can’t have you out there and I’m just sitting here like a dumbass. Can you come home so I can apologize to your face?” Jake hesitates, and his voice cracks on the next word. “Please?”

Come home.

Chris’s eyes water, because he has one, doesn’t he? He has a home to go to that isn’t a single hallway and a giant room and an awful bed he hates so much because he screams in his head every time he’s in it. He has his own bed with ugly plaid sheets he picked out himself and a framed painting of a bird above his bed and a white birch tree and a yard he can do backflips in and a Jake who will hold him and not want a single thing other than the holding.

“I’m scared of, of, of-of-of you getting hurt again,” Chris says, low and muffled behind his legs, but Jake hears it anyway.

“Yeah, I’m fucking terrified of that, only for you. Just-... come home, Chris. We can be scared together, at least, yeah? And I can explain what I was... trying to say.”

We can be scared together.

Chris sniffs and raises his head a little, blinking until tears run down his cheeks, rubbing at them with his hands. Thinks of Jake sliding the shirt off his head and handing it to Chris inside the hiding spot behind his closet when the men were downstairs bashing the house apart trying to find hidden rescues, to drag them back to hell.

Chris has those extra seconds Jake spent, when he should have been running downstairs to help Nat, instead whispering the words to the song that is the promise he made to a frightened boy seared into his mind for the rest of his life.

I will rescue you.

“Oh... okay. I’ll come right back now, I, I, I-I-I p-promise. But I, I, I don’t know where I, um, I am-”

“Oh, that’s not a thing,” Kauri says, and Chris jumps. He’d forgotten Kauri was there holding the phone at all, had been too focused on Jake’s voice. “I know every fucking block in this city by now. I’ll get him home in like an hour, Jake, yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Kauri. Keep him safe for me until I can-... until he��s right in front of me again, okay?”

Kauri smiles, and there’s a shimmer in his eyes, too. “Jesus, Jake. We should all be so lucky to have someone who wants to see us that badly.”

There’s a pause, and Jake says, softly, “You have that too and you know it, Kauri.”

“I’m not talking about that, you can’t make me, give it a rest. We’ll see you in an hour.” Kauri hangs up the call and turns to look at Chris, eyebrows raised. “Well? I made the grand total of fifty-three dollars and twelve cents between yesterday and this morning. What d’you say we go in there-” He points across the street. “-get ourselves something to drink and you something to eat, and head back to Jake before he melts into a puddle of worry over you?”

Chris hesitates, then leans over and kisses Kauri’s cheek, all impulse and suddenness, and feels the smile shift Kauri’s skin under the gentle press of his lips. “Thanks, Kauri.”

“Yeah, well.” Kauri might have a blush on his face as he stands and offers Chris his hand to help him up, too, picking up the backpack he always keeps on and sliding it over his shoulders, slung low with the weight of what’s in it. “You don’t go around being so fucking adorable and not expect us to give you whatever you want forever, right?”

Chris snorts, trying for Kauri’s dry, the-life-I’ve-lived sarcasm, but all he manages is to sound a little like a baby horse.

When Kauri laughs, so does he.

Then they wait for a break in traffic and, hand in hand, race across the street to get some coffee before they catch the bus and head back home, where Jake is waiting for Chris to keep his promise, and the words are warm and golden in his chest, just behind his heart.

Come home.

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northernxstories · 4 years

Photo

[ooc note - was talking to the marvellous @asphyxcia about this sort of dollification idea she had and of course my brain delighted in this idea and I woke up this morning with this running through my mind.]

Dollification

She could still remember the slap. For now at least. Her father’s hand had seemed to burn her skin. It wasn’t the first time he struck her but as she turned on her heel, she vowed to herself that it would be the last. They screamed at her, demanding she come back, demanding she obey. Fuck them. Fuck that. She got into her car, a half-rusted hulk that only ever seemed to turn over for her. She steered the vehicle onto the highway and headed out of her hometown. She would never return, she pledged to herself. She had little idea how prophetic those words would be. For even if she did return now, she would not recognize it. She would not recognize them. Eventually even that memory of the stinging slap would fade.

She used up all of her savings and then sold the car to pay rent. She worked two jobs to continue to pay that rent on her single bedroom in an area of the City that still frightened her, even all these months later. She lived on inexpensive noodles and fruit purchased from local grocers. One of her jobs was at a restaurant and the boss kindly looked the other way as the chefs made her something to eat a few times a week.

Still, she was exhausted.

Every day she was exhausted.

It was in this state of exhaustion that she was unable to get out of the way as the cab jumped the curb and knocked her flat. The driver did not stop, leaving her there, in the dark, alone and unconscious. She was fortunate, to a degree. Someone out walking their dog late that night noticed the girl fallen between two parked cars and called an ambulance. She awoke a week later and stared blankly as the physician explained that all of her injuries would require further surgeries. She didn’t have insurance. She didn’t have money for further surgeries, much less to fix her face after the cuts healed, leaving behind a spiderweb of scarring. Quietly, she nodded but after she was left alone, she wept. Heart-wrenching sobs. She couldn’t go home, and she couldn’t work until she was recovered. She would be homeless. She had never felt such choking fear in all her life.

A older woman, a nurse, came in and patted her hands and dried her tears. “Shhhh … little one … it isn’t so bad…. you are young. You will recover.” the elderly woman assured quietly. The elderly woman reminded her of her grandmother, long passed, but the one person she had always loved. Words spilled from her as she explained what had brought her to the city, the fact that she was alone, the fact that no one would come to help her and that she was terrified as to what all this meant for her future. A card was pressed into her hand. “They can help but you have to be sure. Once it happens, you can never take it back. There is no going back.”

There was no phone number. Just an address. A week later, she hobbled there, on rented crutches that she couldn’t afford. The building was glossy and cold. Only a sign the size of her palm indicated she was in the right spot. She was about to leave when her stomach growled. She was hungry but didn’t even have the resources to buy herself a sandwich. It was the straw. That little growl. That realization. The straw that broke her spirit completely.

Moving forward, she presented the small card to the concierge, who merely nodded politely and whisked it out of sight. She waited but it wasn’t long before the elevator doors opened and two men exited, one pushing a wheelchair. Settling into the chair, she opened her mouth to ask questions but the second man just met her gaze and shook his head. Just once. It was enough. Her mouth closed with a snap. When the elevator opened again, it exited into a private office. Everything was in monochrome shades but the man behind the desk had a voice that felt like warm velvet on her skin. He started to speak and she was soothed. Later she would know him as the Handler. He took care of everything. He took care of her. She could rest at last.

Six months passed in a blur. Time lost all meaning. When she woke, she knew today was the day and the excitement sang in her blood. She slipped out of bed and looked out the window. The City gleamed and sparkled like a jewel from this height, a hundred floors up from the ground. She padded to the washroom and slipped out of her sleeping clothes, placing them neatly in the hamper. Her gaze flicked critically over her body. She knows she did not look like this before but every time she tries to hold onto this memory, the memory of what she used to look like, it slips away, elusive and tricky. She has learned not to try to hold a memory now. The more she tries, the quicker they disappear.

What surprises her more are the freckles on her nose and dusting her cheeks and forehead. There are also some on her shoulders and knees. Those are hers. She has always had them and a piece of her thrilled that these pieces remained. Why should felt this way she could not say. Her musing comes to an end as she climbs under the jets of the glass-enclosed shower. It was so spacious that three people could have fit within and not touched. It felt almost absurd and yet she loved it. Her hair and make up take time. She needs to be beautiful today. More beautiful than she had ever been before in her life. Long glossy locks flow over her shoulders as she bends over her book in the spill of sunshine as she eats her morning meal. The coffee wakes her up the rest of the way. She feels alert and ready, both excited and immeasurably calm.

Once dressed she turns in the mirror, noting the fall of her skirt, the turn of her heels and her bare shoulders above the pretty dress. It flatters a body already made perfect. Then she walks to the elevator. She sees the others then. Pretty things that flutter and nod at one another as they pass. Bandages draped over some. Indications of nosejobs and peels. She doesn’t know them. Friendship is irrelevant. The others do not matter. Only he does.

She presses the elevator button and the butterflies within begin to dance. The car was already waiting and she waits as the bellman holds open the door and smiles at her. Her things would be packed and brought to her, if he permitted such a thing. Nerves were starting to build. What if after all this time he didn’t want her? What if she was too imperfect? Dusting a shaking hand over her skirt she squirms in her seat and tries to find her calm.

She stands on the carpet in the library. Rows and rows of shelves surround a broad wooden desk, polished to a dark gleam. Ordinarily the books would call to her but right now her whole being is focused on him. Please want me, is all she thinks. Her will is overridden. He is all things. She watches as he rises to his feet and moves around the desk. His cane taps on the floor as he walks and the sound sends shivers down her spine. A hand rises and touches her cheek, only then does she meet his gaze. Warm blue eyes clash with her own as his thumb traces along her cheekbone. “Welcome home, my beauty.” He murmured, his voice raspy, like a growl. Turning her head she presses a kiss to his wrist, submission writ large in her eyes. Without hesitation, she steps into his arms. She is finally home.

#bedtime stories #stories to read by the northern lights #dollification

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tabloidtoc · 4 years

Text

National Examiner, January 25

Cover: Secret Dawn Wells took to the grave: her affair with Bob Denver of Gilligan’s Island

Page 2: Best and Worst Celeb Tippers -- Katherine Heigl, Amy Schumer, Drew Barrymore, Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears, Madonna, Johnny Depp, Jay-Z

Page 3: Charlie Sheen, Ben Affleck, Sean Penn, Sharon Stone, Naomi Campbell, Mark Zuckerberg, Tom Selleck and Donnie Wahlberg took the 2020 Tip Challenge

Page 4: Goldie Hawn’s movie roles

Page 6: Melissa Gilbert who played Laura Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie says if there’s one piece of unfinished business that emerged from the show it’s that she’d like to punch former co-star Shannen Doherty -- Shannen was only 12 when she joined the Little House cast for the show’s ninth and final season playing Jenny Wilder but in a couples therapy session with her first husband Bo Brinkman it came out that Shannen at 22 had bagged Bo in bed

Page 7: Country star Dolly Parton may be 75 year old but that doesn’t stop her from leaping out of bed at 3 a.m. every morning -- she’s a very very very early riser and she goes to bed pretty early but she’s up and down

* Tom Hanks has been in countless movies and TV shows but his most important role in life has been as a father of four and he has tips for how to do it right

Page 8: If you’ve soured on feeding canned dog food to your precious pooch you’re not alone -- plenty of owners are switching over to healthy people-food diets for their pets but it’s essential to get guidance from your veterinarian

Page 9: Most of your kitty’s diet should be a nutritionally complete cat food but you can give them a treat from your plate every once in a while -- you just need to know how to choose feline-friendly snacks with nutrients they need and which they should NEVER eat -- check with your veterinarian

* Why animals creep into our dreams -- we all dream about animals from time to time and here are some of the most common creatures of our nights and what they could be trying to tell us

Page 10: On his 21st birthday Matt Goodman raised a glass to his late father who had left behind the money to buy his son’s first beer

Page 11: Your Health -- the stark truth is that sleeping naked is good for you

Page 12: Top Guns -- these Hollywood stars were fastest on the draw -- James Garner, Henry Fonda, Eli Wallach, Burt Lancaster, Roy Rogers

Page 13: Kevin Costner, Yul Brynner, Gary Cooper, Clint Eastwood, John Wayne

Page 14: Dear Tony, America’s Top Psychic Healer -- a lesson from COVID-19 which is work on mentally healing ourselves, Tony predicts Miley Cyrus will struggle to overcome many of her self-destructive habits, finding strength through religion and she will be back on the hit parade come summer

Page 15: If you and your partner fight a lot here’s a great idea to grasp: holding each other’s hand is the key to better conflict resolution

Page 16: Prince William and Duchess Kate Middleton might be royals but they’re raising their children just like any other parents and family is their first priority and Will and Kate are rarely apart from their three kids Prince George and Prince Charlotte and Prince Louis

Page 18: Maggie the shelter stray was twice unlucky when two potential forever homes kicked her to the curb but now she’s found her true calling as a beloved K-9 officer

Page 19: A homeless man in Atlanta put his life on the line to rescue every single cat and dog from a blazing inferno at an animal shelter

Page 20: Cover Story -- a three-hour tour that turned into a three-season laugh-fest on Gilligan’s Island made Dawn Wells a star and she took the show’s juiciest secrets to her grave including a red-hot affair with co-star Bob Denver -- Dawn who died of complications related to COVID-19 at age 82 hid a crazy sexy side which she kept under wraps because it was the exact opposite of the squeaky-clean image se presented to the world as farm girl Mary Ann on Gilligan’s Island

Page 22: This Michigan teen is a top Elvis Presley impersonator even performing in Las Vegas and the only one with Down syndrome

Page 24: Texas firefighters were hailed as heroes after they rescued a four-year-old boy who had fallen down a well

Page 25: Here’s the dirt on soil-free gardening

Page 26: Nice Work If You Can Get It -- celebs shell out stupid money for stupid jobs -- Rod Stewart travels with a room-darkening team, Lady Gaga hates to sleep alone and her personal assistant had to get in bed with her on nights when Gaga was solo, Larry Ellison likes to play basketball on his yacht and employs a person who job it is to circle it in a boat and retrieve stray balls from the ocean, Mariah Carey has a woman who stands beside her at all times holding a drink, Snoop Dogg pays a professional blunts roller, Prince Charles has a personal dresser, Justin Bieber’s entourage includes someone to hold his drink and another to hold his slice of pizza, Sean Combs has an assistant whose only job is to carry around an umbrella for him

Page 28: Burt Lancaster was one of Hollywood’s biggest stars acting in more than 70 movies during a four-decade-long career but he was also a silly practical joker says his daughter Joanna Lancaster one of the actor’s five children

Page 30: Legendary actress and dancer Ann-Marget will be 80 years old in April but she’s still stepping out and making movies -- you’re not dead when you reach a certain age said the star who shot to fame when she famously dated Elvis Presley when they made Viva Las Vegas in 1964

* Candice Bergen running wild and free at age 74 -- she recently became a first-time grandmother and is selling her hand-designed merchandise online

* What is Marie Osmond doing during the pandemic? She bought a Harley motorcycle and so did her husband Steve and they love to go riding together -- the twosome also take walks and see their kids and grandkids and stay busy and have fun

Page 42: All Washed Up -- surprising facts about bathing and showering

Page 44: Eyes on the Stars -- Ellen DeGeneres goes for a spin in California (picture), Chrissy Teigen and John Legend take their kids Luna and Miles to watch planes make the tricky landing at St. Barts’ airport (picture), Joan Collins claims she once gave Bobby Kennedy the brush off because neither of them was single at the time, George Clooney can’t bear the thought of his early film Grizzly II seeing the light of day but it is set to be released later this year, Barry Gibb the last living member of The Bee Gees says life was incredibly hard after losing his brothers and bandmates Robin Gibb and Maurice Gibb who died in 2012 and 2003, Ray Liotta and Jacy Nittolo engaged, Bob Seger paid tribute to saxophonist Alto Reed a longtime member of his Silver Bullet Band who lost his life to colon cancer

Page 45: Prince Charles and Duchess Camilla show off their walking sticks outside their home at Birkhall in Scotland (picture), Tori Spelling gets some puppy love from one of their pet pooches in L.A. with help from hubby Dean McDermott (picture), Megan Fox has moved on with Machine Gun Kelly and her estranged husband Brian Austin Green isn’t moping solo -- he vacationed in Hawaii with Sharna Burgess of Dancing with the Stars, British photographer David Bailey is dishing on his storied career in his memoir -- he claims sloshed Elizabeth Taylor tried to swipe his camera and his first impression of ex-wife Catherine Deneuve was that she was short and a bit on the fat side, Phyllis McGuire who shared the stage with her late siblings Dorothy and Ruby as the McGuire Sisters died in her lavish Las Vegas home -- she found fame through her voice and infamy through her relationship with Sin City mobster Sam Giancana

Page 46: Good-hearted sheriff’s deputies surprised a woman with a vehicle after they kept getting calls about her walking along the highway in the freezing cold each morning

Page 47: These UN Ambassadors use star power to help -- Emma Watson, Danny Glover, Nicole Kidman, Angelina Jolie, Antonio Banderas, Whoopi Goldberg, Susan Sarandon, Liam Neeson, Laurence Fishburne, Mia Farrow, Katy Perry, Alyssa Milano

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naughtyxstories · 5 years

Photo

[ooc note - was talking to the marvellous @asphyxcia yesterday about this sort of dollification idea she had and of course my brain delighted in this idea and I woke up this morning with this running through my mind. It is akin to my body mod universe but different again so I am calling it the Dollification verse.]

Still, she was exhausted.

Every day she was exhausted.

A older woman, a nurse, came in and patted her hands and dried her tears. “Shhhh ... little one ... it isn’t so bad.... you are young. You will recover.” the elderly woman assured quietly. The elderly woman reminded her of her grandmother, long passed, but the one person she had always loved. Words spilled from her as she explained what had brought her to the city, the fact that she was alone, the fact that no one would come to help her and that she was terrified as to what all this meant for her future. A card was pressed into her hand. “They can help but you have to be sure. Once it happens, you can never take it back. There is no going back.”

#verse: dollification #bedtime stories

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florianwirtz · 6 years

Text

It’s not right, but it’s okay - Trent Alexander-Arnold

Warnings: strong language, mentions of drug use

It was one of those cold Liverpool nights where Trent had decided to go out as his tight schedule allowed him to do nothing on the next day. Nevertheless, he found himself leaving the club earlier than originally planned as he quickly realised that being the only sober person surrounded by all of his drunk friends was no fun at all.

Never in his life did he expect what would happen to him on his way home.

At this time of the night, the streets were empty, the street and car light the only source of vision he had while he was driving.

Which is why he nearly didn't spot the person sitting on the curb near a bus stop, face buried and hands wrapped around her knees. The first thing he noticed was the short pants and thin jacket the person was wearing which made him frown confusedly. Liverpool at night in this season was anything but warm

The good person he was, he decided to stop by and offer some help as his instinct told him that something might be wrong with her. Because even if it was just a homeless person, he knew that sometimes a simple conversation was enough to make a person's day.

"Are you okay?" He asked cautiously while standing in front of her, waiting for her to reveal her face.

The figure flinched slightly at the sound of his voice, probably only realising now that he was speaking to her and slowly raised her head to see who was bothering her.

He couldn't believe who was sitting in front of him.

"Wait... I know you!" Trent called out your name in a questioning tone as he didn't know how to greet you, his former best friend. Due to the hood which hid every space of your hair, he only managed to identify you now.

You only chuckled quietly at his surprised expression. "This is everything you have to say to an old friend of yours, after all this time? How long has it been, three years?"

His eyes only eyed you up as a response which only made you laugh louder. But it wasn't a joyful laugh, it was full of irony and bitterness and so was your response.

"Do I look so miserable so that my presence made you speechless?"

"N-no it's not like that." He finally managed to stammer out, now unsettled by your snappy reaction. "I simply didn't expect you to sit here all alone, that's why. I mean you're evidently not dressed appropriately for this weather so why would you voluntarily sit here in the cold? Where are your friends? Or your boyfriend?" He asked as he had the Instagram pictures of you and people he didn't know in mind, assuming they were from your friends from college. He also remembered the picture with a boy, standing a bit too close for his taste to being considered only as a friend.

"If this is all what you have to say, then you're welcome to leave me alone now." Your glance was cold, your words harsh, making Trent flinch one step back. Now he felt even more unsure about how to approach you as everything he seemed to say was wrong. Nothing reminded him of the warm personality he had always appreciated anymore. It was like he was talking to a stranger and not a person he used to call best friend.

An awkward silence appeared as for some reason Trent was unable to go away even though you just told him to get lost. Maybe it was his instinct which told him that your inexplicable rudeness towards him was only a cover-up for a call for help. Or maybe it was just his characteristic to believe in the good nature of humans always and made him feel responsible to stay and figure out what your problem was.

So instead of going back to his car, he offered you his hand.

"Come on, I'll drive you home, you will freeze yourself to death otherwise."

And he achieved the reaction he wanted as your repellent expression changed to a surprised one since you were used to people leaving you alone as soon as they realised you weren't too keen to talk to them. But Trent was different compared to the others, instead of giving up he tried, again and again, not being scared of receiving another snappy reaction of yours.

"I'm not cold and I can't go home, my mam thinks I'm with a friend, she will kill me if she sees me like this." You said without any intention to move from your current place. "Just drive home, I'll survive somehow."

While you still weren't ready to cooperate with him, the sudden vulnerability in your voice didn't go unnoticed and as he squatted down in front of you and took a closer look at you, he immediately saw the exhausted and dejected eyes behind your stern expression. His concerns and suspicions about your stubbornness to stay here were confirmed as you immediately tried to turn your face away as soon as his hand tried to examine it further, but your reaction was too slow so that he managed to get a hold of your face.

"Are you on drugs?!" He immediately asked after seeing a shade of redness in your pupils, the concern and disbelief in his voice clearly audible. "Oh god, you did drink as well, I can smell it." Never in his life did he thought you'd end up as a person who would spend their nights like this since his memory had you as a well-behaved and joyful person in mind. On the other hand, he knew that a person could change a lot within three years but then again, you were the last person he had expected to end up like this.

"I'll manage, I'm used to this, just leave already, yeah?" Without responding to his question, you harshly freed yourself from his grip, the softness in your voice all gone. "Look, we're not friends anymore even if you're currently pretending to care but I don't want any of your concern if you're going to forget me again the next day, so kindly piss off!" While you let your emotions take over you, you already tried to stand up in order to leave by yourself but of course, your reaction speed was restricted due to your drug use earlier on so that Trent was able to get a grip of your wrist immediately and wasn't ready to let go of it soon.

"Don't be ridiculous. Something serious could happen in your current state and you shouldn't be alone right now. Let me help you. You can come home with me, you can sleep in my room." He proposed without further thought just to calm you down and win your trust.

Unfazed by his suggestion, you only frowned at him. "Trent, you live with your parents, they surely won't welcome me with open arms."

"They're already sleeping, we can sneak you in, no worries, yeah? I'm not going to let you stay in the cold, whether you like it or not."

His voice sounded so determined and certain, you realised that you had no other choice than to accept his suggestion. And even though you'd never admit it, you were slightly delighted not to spend your night in the streets of Liverpool like you had planned.

Eventually, you slowly nodded your head approvingly as a sign that you were coming with him which made Trent smile at you encouragingly. He then led you to his car and gave you the blanket lying in the backseat as the effect of the alcohol in your blood slowly faded away, making you feel the low temperatures for the first time.

The entire ride to his home was quiet, nothing else but a few subtle glances were exchanged as none of you knew about what topic to speak without coming off as small talk. And you felt more uncomfortable than ever, the broken friendship between you two had affected you more than you'd ever like to admit even though you had been convinced that you were over it but just feeling his touch on your skin and hearing his fond voice again was enough to remind you of all the pain you had felt by missing him since you had grown apart.

After arriving at Trent's home, a much bigger building than the one in your neighbourhood he had previously lived in, he put his finger to his mouth, signalling you to be quiet as he wasn't sure if anyone was still awake at this hour.

Ultimately, you sneaked the stairs up to his room, trying to make as little noise as possible until you suddenly missed the next step and slipped on the staircase, landing with your knees and hands on the cold material.

You winced at the slight pain caused by your fall and Trent immediately put his hand protectively on you, concerned that you had seriously hurt yourself until he saw you trying to control your burst of laughter.

"Reminds me of the time when we used to steal candy from the kitchen and tried to be as discreet as possible, eh?"

And you weren't sure if it were the drugs still affecting your behaviour or the fact that this all felt familiar, but it made you feel unexplainably giggly and also leaving a confused Trent there. But eventually, he cracked a grin as well, leading to him quickly grabbing your hand and rushing to his room as you could barely hold your laughs together and let it out onto one of his pillows.

After you managed to calm down, he showed you the bathroom including an additional toothbrush and lent you one of his old sweaters to change.

It all reminded you of easier times and after crawling in his bed, you definitely felt like you were kids again, only missing him lying next to you.

Instead, he stood beside his door, ready to leave but before making sure that you were okay.

"I'll go sleep downstairs, yeah? I'm just gonna say I was so tired, I passed out on the couch. I'll come back next morning and try to sneak you out."

"Can't you... stay? Like at least hold me until I fall asleep and protect me from all the monsters coming at night?" You chuckled shortly at your reference to nightmares you used to have when in reality, you were just trying to cover up the nervousness you felt by asking.

But then you saw his surprised expression which made you immediately conclude that it was a dumb idea of yours to ask.

"Sorry, forget that I asked I-"

"No no, it's fine." He immediately interrupted you. "I was just surprised because you didn't seem too fond of me before." Hesitantly, he made himself comfortable on the space beside you and cautiously put an arm around you.

You didn't dare to move as the sudden closeness between you two sparked all the different feelings you had felt before at once. On the one hand, you wanted to push him away and numb all the emotions you felt towards him as thinking of him had brought you so much pain and tears. On the other hand, you wanted the friend you had lost over the years of growing older back because no matter what you tried to make yourself believe, you knew that you'd always take him back.

"I only was so snappy to you because I wanted to pretend that I'm perfectly fine without you." You finally blurted out the truth after meeting his remark with silence. "Because seeing you doing even better without me destroyed me."

He didn't know what you meant with your last sentence but didn't dare to demand either. Instead, he pulled you even closer, signalling that he wasn't going anywhere soon. For this night at least. And this time you didn't flinch at his attempt to touch you on your arm.

"Honestly, I don't even remember how our friendship fell apart anyway."

Suddenly, you felt a lump in your throat, unable to answer anything without sounding bitter but in the end, you decided to speak it out anyway.

"Probably a mix of you moving away and becoming a regular for the first team and me finding new friends. Becoming an adult I guess."

Once again he noticed the bitter irony you were speaking with, this time he realised that he was definitely at least partly at fault of the break of your friendship.

"I'm not trying to find excuses or anything, but I admit that I could've texted you more at least, considering that you always asked me how I've been. But life got really busy after I signed my first professional contract, you know."

"I'm over it, I guess. I understand that you were busy. Though I agree with you, sometimes I would've loved to know how Liverpool's golden boy was doing."

"Don't call me like that" He chuckled softly at your last remark even though laughing seemed not appropriate at the moment. "Maybe I thought you were doing fine without me as well because you were posing with all of your new friends. Even though I don't trust them, were they those who introduced you to drugs?"

For the first time in this conversation, you moved from your position on your side so that you forced him to let go of you and face you instead of looking at the ceiling.

"Well, they are the ones who cared or at least pretended to care unlike you who just stopped answering my texts and hanging out with me even though you only live like 10 minutes with the car away from me. Stop making any excuses, seriously, " You hissed at him, all the anger from before returning back to you.

"If they do, then they have a strange way to show it." Trent now contradicted you in the same harsh tone you did. "The only thing I know is that my friends would never leave me alone in the streets, high and drunk, simply because someone didn't text me back. Not my fault you turned to a drug junkie!"

The last sentence wasn't meant to be spoken out loud but for some reason, it accidentally slipped from Trent's mouth. And he immediately regretted it as soon as he saw your hurt mien and the silent tears running down your cheek before you wordlessly moved to the other side of the bed, not even thinking of paying him any more attention.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, god I'm awful." He tried to pull you towards him again but you stubbornly pushed his hands from your body while also trying to wipe your tears with the back of your hands from your eyes which didn't seem to stop even though you were thinking it was a dumb thing to do.

But the remark of him certainly impacted you deeply as there was definitely some truth in it even though you hated to admit it.

Nevertheless, Trent didn't give up and repeatedly caressed your hair and neck and told you how sorry and stupid he was, not stopping to apologise and tell you that he liked you the way you are.

At some point, you finally gave in and slowly turned back to him. Your eyes were still red from crying and the quiet sniffles signalled that you weren't ready to speak after all but at least you were showing that you were willing to forgive him.

Without thinking further, he pulled you as close as you allowed him to so he was able to hold your face with both of his hands and also to remove the rest of your tears with his thumb and repeatedly whispered how much of a dick he is for his remark.

"I never wanted this to happen, I mean the drugs." Suddenly, you spoke again after remaining silent for a while. "But they introduced me to them and for some reason, it felt comforting to feel nothing for the moment. And I know you're judging me hard for this but I just wanted to let you know that I still miss you whenever I think about you. Missing my best friend who stole candies in the kitchen with me or played football with me besides me being shit at it."

"I won't judge you for this, I promise. It's partly my fault that you got involved with this, I could've stopped you. I was a dick to you and I miss you too."

Silent apologises were exchanged until one of you stayed silent and instead caressed each other's back, neither of you wanted to leave the position you were in.

"Can I kiss you?"

Your suggestion came out of nowhere, leaving Trent perplexed and confused.

"You have a boyfriend.", was the only thing Trent said to you.

"He dumped me last night."

“It’s still not right, you’re drunk and high, I don’t wanna make you regret this.”

“The effects are gone, I’m almost sober.”

And with these last words, you pressed your lips against his, not waiting for his permission to do so. It didn't matter anyway, as he seemed reassured after your last sentence cause he immediately kissed you back.

It felt better than any kiss you used to have with your so-called boyfriend, minutes of no words exchanged, just enjoying the repeated touch of each other's lips while holding each other closely and you putting your fingers through his hair.

And it didn't take long until your fingers sneaked under his shirt, finally feeling the naked skin of his back, your touch making him shiver as his mouth was wildly leaving marks on your neck, leaving you as a moaning mess.

But suddenly some sense came into his mind and the feeling of his tongue on your skin quickly disappeared, signalling you to stop as well and fastly your hands were removed from each other.

"Sorry, but we can't... when my parents are here." He said with an apologising glance before you could ask if you did something wrong which definitely wasn't the case.

You gave him a relieved look and laughed quietly as you nodded approvingly. "I understand, can you at least cuddle me to sleep?"

And you considered yourself as lucky as he threw his arms around your body while whispering sweet nothings in your ear, feeling the hot breath of him as you both fell asleep peacefully.

He woke up alone in his bed as there was no sign of you staying here. First, he couldn't deny that he was disappointed, thinking that it was only him who thought last night was special. But then he saw the small note with a spidery writing on his bedside table, having a slight chuckle as soon as he identified it.

Sorry for not saying bye but you looked so cute while sleeping. I climbed down through your window and sneaked out, so you couldn't get in trouble, luckily some things never change ;)

"Trent?" The sudden voice of his mother in front of his door made him panic for a short time but then he relaxed immediately as he realised that you were long gone.

She entered his room after he allowed her to go in and asked him about yesterday.

"I heard you coming home, was everything alright? I thought I heard laughter or something. You didn't drink, didn't you?"

"Of course not!" He immediately reassured her. "Just got a video from the boys who were full and it was just so funny."

His mother didn't seem completely convinced but she accepted her son's answer as she already wanted to make her way out.

But suddenly her face remained petrified, focusing at a certain subject which didn't seem to fit in his room and immediately picking the thin material up, holding it in front of Trent.

"Where does that jacket come from?"

#football imagine #trent alexander arnold imagine #soccer imagine #football imagines #footballer imagine #football oneshot #Football Fanfiction #reader insert

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glenngaylord · 5 years

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HUSTLE & BLOW - My Review of SAUVAGE/WILD (3 1/2 Stars)

I’ll never forget the buttplug scene. Not because it’s disturbing and somewhat graphic, but because it prompted my favorite indignant Writers Guild walk-out I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing, and there have been many. As soon as things got hot and heavy, a woman across the aisle from me stood up, waved her arms furiously, and muttered, “I CAN NOT E-V-E-N!!!” And here, my friends, is why good, challenging films can’t have Oscars!

The delicate sensibilities of professional writers notwithstanding, SAUVAGE/WILD, the debut feature of writer/director Camille Vidal-Naquet, traces the downward spiral of a young, gay street hustler in small town France and it pulls no punches. It’s a dour, violent, explicit, drug-fueled tale of a man who for better or for worse (and let’s face it, he leans into worse), lives life on his own terms. The unnamed hustler called Leo in the credits and played by the remarkable Félix Maritaud (KNIFE + HEART, BPM) spends his time turning tricks, dancing in clubs, squatting in crack dens or sleeping on curbs. Leo pines after a fellow hustler, dynamically played by Eric Bernard, who does “gay for pay” only and has attached himself to a wealthy, older gentleman.

Leo also faces some looming health issues yet charges forward from one horrific incident to the next. Vidal-Naquet, however, manages to instill this upsetting film with a lot of unexpected tenderness, whether it’s coming from his crush, a fellow gay hustler, and in one breathtaking moment, a female doctor who allows Leo the space to speak his truth. The film feels like a direct descendant of the late, great Agnès Varda’s 1985 film, VAGABOND, which told the story of a homeless female drifter. Both films share the DNA of a propulsive docu-style of storytelling and a difficult but empathetic lead character. I’m also reminded of the New Queer Cinema films of the 1990s, such as HEAD ON and THE LIVING END, which also pointed its cameras at people living on the edge.

Despite the similarities, SAUVAGE/WILD has its own voice. It’s harsh and brutal, but Leo has agency and owns every decision he makes. The world may want to fix him, but he has other plans. He’s aware of the horrors, but also feels alive whenever he charges into the flames. One person’s existentialist nightmare may be another’s paradise. Think of Alex in A CLOCKWORK ORANGE. After all of the brainwashing, the change in appearance and attitude, don’t you think he was way more interesting and fun as a practitioner of the old ultra-violence? SAUVAGE/WILD risks asking this same question. You may not like Leo’s decisions or actions, but they’re his, not yours.

The film also benefits from some incredible cinematography by Jacques Girault. Yes, many scenes feature the usual handheld camera, but then we’re thrust into evocative strobing images in a club, or beautifully framed scenes by the park roads where the hustlers work. Still, it’s not a film for everyone. It often feels stuck on repeat as Leo’s life goes from one dark moment to the next, and it has plenty of nudity and some really aggressive sex. It also has plenty of bloody violence, yet spares us the most intense of these episodes, showing us only the aftermath. Did I mention there’s lots of sex? If on-camera thrusting and blow jobs aren’t your jam, you might want to go down the hall and watch MISSING LINK instead. And yes, that buttplug scene may end up as notorious as the peach scene in CALL ME BY YOUR NAME, but for me, its unforgettable quality lies in how Leo responds to every humiliating demand of his sociopathic johns.

Credit goes, however, to Félix Maritaud for injecting his character with empathy and heartbreaking fragility. He allows that vulnerability to peak out in key moments, yet it never feels overly sentimental. It’s as if he’s letting a little of angst out so he can steel himself for whatever comes next. Leo also has no issues kissing his clients, a line most hustlers won’t cross. It’s as if his character will accept love and affection anywhere he can get it. Camille Vidal-Naquet reportedly spent a few years researching the lives of hustler in order to write his screenplay and it shows in the ways they interact with their customers. You may wince at the methods they employ to drug and rob one client, but it also feels very believable.

I admired this film’s unblinking determination to give us something new in this gritty, tried and true genre. Leo lives for the moment, seemingly relishing not having a road map. Not everyone will want to follow him in his freefall, but, as it turns out,  I CAN E-V-E-N!

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mareebrittenford · 6 years

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The Extra Fakes- Shadow Mirrors Chapter 3

The story so far... Lyse is drawn to the charming old house over on Orangethorpe, but when she tries to point it out to others, it’s like they can’t even see it. Only her two closest friends, Georgia and Lionel seem to be able to see it too. Them and David, the weird chess nerd turned distance runner. But he’s loaded up with his own issues.

Lyse is just about convinced it’s an elaborate prank, when her little sister momentarily disapears right in front of the place.

Here’s links to the previous chapters 1, 2

Please let me know what you think, I love feedback!

I sleep like crap Friday night, stressing about that weird moment when Melody seemed to cease to exist.

Maybe I should have come straight home and told my parents about it, but what would I have said? Besides, I can't seem to trust anyone or any thing.

So instead I tried to sleep on it. When that didn't work out I decided to try my next best option for clearing my head. Running.

I decide to hit the river trail.

The river trail is not nearly as nice as it sounds. There are nice parts, the coves is a pretty little stretch, but this is the Santa Ana River, and long ago the banks were reinforced with concrete, so it looks more like a drainage culvert than a river. Since its dry right now it looks like a massive culvert with sand at the bottom. It's dry most of the time, and you can't imagine it ever filling up, until the winter rains come and turns into a raging torrent overnight.

If you head north eventually you'll get to the wealthier areas where it's lined with trees and moderately pretty. But here in Anaheim it's a big ditch paralleled with seepage pools, and a few hardy trees set back behind the trail. At this time of year the trail is hard packed dirt, dry and dusty, and not at all scenic. But you can run for miles without a traffic light, or worrying about cars.

I never go south, there's a huge homeless encampment right before Angel Stadium that my parents made me promise to stay away from. Me running on the river trail makes my parents nervous in general. But today, on a Saturday in the bright early morning there's plenty of runners and bikers out along both sides of the river. It's perfectly safe.

I'm not surprised when someone draws along side me, although I should be. He's been avoiding me for weeks, but now when I desperately need to talk to someone who maybe gets why I'm so scared he just appears, like I summoned him to me. And I expected him to.

"Hey," David says.

Of course I did come out here looking for him. He told me he likes running the river trail in the early morning. So it's not like he magically appeared. Perhaps outside of school, away from the pressure of that environment he can relax. Maybe he's ready to give me some answers. I should've tried this ages ago.

"Hey," I reply.

And that is literally all the conversation we have. I can't seem to figure out what to ask, and he's as avoidant as always.

When I reach my turn about spot I half expect him to go on further, but he sticks with me, all the way back to the gate onto the street near my house.

Okay, I want to talk to him, but he's not a puppy that I'm going to let follow me home. Even though he does know where I live (thanks Lionel!) that doesn't mean I'm fine with him following me back there. As much as I want answers he still makes me nervous.

So I stop under a shady tree and take off my sunglasses, waiting for him to look at me. He does, with reluctance, taking off his cap. His eyes are just as magnetic as I remembered. Brown, I note. They're brown. Probably why I couldn't remember the color before. I kept trying to imagine deep blue or exotic green. Now I know why I couldn't make it fit. I can't define what's so special about his eyes, but I find I have to force myself to look away.

"Why do you hide your eyes? They're beautiful." Not quite the opener I intended.

He hunches his shoulders. "Most people say creepy. I'd rather not freak people out when they look at me." That's weird, but not my concern right now.

"So, are you okay? We were worried about you." After you freaked out and ran off, I don't add.

"I'm okay. I mean, I get it. You had to test me, right?"

"Test you?" I want to be incredulous, but wasn't that sort of what I was doing? "I wasn't testing you."

He backs up looking nervous, and I hold my hands out, trying to look nonthreatening.

"Okay, I wasn't testing you, but maybe I was testing something. That house..."

He frowns. "What is that place?"

"I don't know!" That's what's scaring me.

"Okay, then easier question. What are you? You and Lionel. Are you, are you guys like me?"

His special eyes are lit with such hope. I don't want to disappoint him, but-

"Like you? Like you how? Do you mean your anxiety stuff?" What do I call it. Anxiety issues? Problems?

"No. Never mind. I thought something dumb." He looks away, breaking the connection.

I reach out to him, slowly, mindful of how he panicked when Lionel touched him, but even though he flinches a little when I touch his arm, he doesn't run.

"Are you okay? Seriously?"

To my horror he bursts into tears.

He sits down on the curb and puts his head in his hands. "Am I okay? Is it okay when your whole life is gone to hell and the people you thought were your friends don't want anything to do with you, and you don't really blame them, because you've become a monster."

Crap.

All I want is some answers and instead I've got a 16 year old guy crying his eyes out right in front of me.

I so don't want to deal with this.

I sit down beside him anyway and awkwardly pat his shoulder.

"You're not a monster. Lots of people have mental health issues."

He laughs, that sort of sob laugh that people do when they're crying and laughing at the same time.

I press on anyway. "You know you can ask for help if you need it. I'm not judging you."

He's quiet for a few moments.

"You really don't know what I am, do you?"

"Dude, unless you're going around hurting people you're not a monster. I know that."

"How about freak? Does that fit me better?"

What happened to this guy? He said that he had these panic attacks because he went through something. What happened to him that makes him think he's a monster? I don't ask, what if asking makes him cry again? I don't want him to cry more. That was hella embarrassing.

"You're not a monster, or a freak."

"You don't know what I am."

"I know my instincts, and I trust what they're telling me." And I do. Somewhere in the last few minutes I've realized that the nervous edgy feeling I'm getting is because he's radiating it. I feel anxious for him, not because of him.

Amazingly that seems to calm him down, and he tilts his head, studying me, like he's been doing at school. Like he's trying to figure me out.

"How good are your instincts?"

The question feel oddly loaded. He's not asking casually, this is important. So instead of the flippant way I normally would deal with a question like that I answer seriously.

"I always know what people want. And you, you're a harder read than most, but you don't want to hurt anyone. You're just-- really scared."

And there's something else. Something I'm not sure how to express. It's why I had such a hard time reading him.

"Please," I ask. "I just want to know what's going on. I'm scared too. You know something about this weird stuff that's happening. Help. Please?"

He gives me a look, straight on with those eyes, I'm suddenly aware of my heart thumping in my chest, the swish of my blood, the thrum of my muscles, tired from the run, as if my body is a machine and I am aware of each part.

"I have to go," he says, and before I can say another word he's on his feet, face hidden beneath his cap, and leaving.

I clench my teeth in frustration as I watch him lope away.

I curse Lionel for asking me to help with his exciting new recruit. Does he even know what kind of mess he's handed me? Because from where I sit this whole mess seems to have started with David.

I stand by my belief that he doesn't want to hurt me, but he's set something in motion, something strange and frightening.

And I'm afraid that neither of us can stop it now.

I can't stay focused on my day after that. I go through the usual, chores at home, some homework, I meet up with Georgia and Alexis for lunch.

Alexis is Lionel's older sister, but she's a grade ahead of us in school, and we never seem to see her much anymore, so it should be nice to spend some time with her.

Instead all I do is wonder what she'd see if I put her in front of the fairy house.

Luckily the two of them chat on together and so I eat my hamburger and say no to going over to Alexis' place to hang out. Although Lionel would probably be around I don't feel up to coping with their loud busy household.

It's a relief to get home and find that my family has gone out, and I have the place to myself.

But hours of silence don't deliver any answers. Either there is something extremely weird about that place, or everyone I know is delivering up a massive prank. And I can't truly believe either. And now I have to weigh David and his cryptic comments in on the issue.

I start to type in an internet search, although what search terms should I use? I can't explain this in a few specific words.

Googling invisible, and only visible to some, and other related types of terms lead, predictably, to lots of stories about ghosts, stuff about science fiction, and finally some interesting articles about real science. How some people can literally see more colors because of an extra cone thing in their eyes.

That's cool, but hardly seems to explain what's happening to me. It's not like we're arguing about the line between pink and purple.

Besides, if it was some sort of genetic mutation (which, really? That makes a whole building seem to be another different building?) wouldn't my own sister be the person most likely to share that? Instead of my two best friends, with our fairly divergent gene pools, and some random other white guy who just conveniently showed up when this all started.

There's one page I read about how in fiction if a person can see the monsters that makes them one too. And I pause.

David seemed certain he was a monster. Is there something spooky and supernatural going on? If David is a monster, then what does that make me? I mean if I'm going to believe that I can see things that other people can't, then that is, strangely, the most logical conclusion.

It all seems so crazy. But I can't unthink it. My sister disappeared right in front of my eyes. A a place where I seem to be able to see things most other people can't.

David claimed straight up to be a monster. And he was asking if I was like him.

I need to make that guy talk to me.

I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling for a while.

Should I text Lionel and ask him for David's number and deal with the inevitable teasing? Or should I call Georgia and get her help to try to talk this out?

My phone vibrates with a text from an unknown number.

-Hey, it's David

-I got your number off Lionel, hope that's okay.

I stare at my phone for a moment. I summoned him again. It sounds crazy but today I feel like I could believe anything.

C- Can you read my mind?

I follow it up with an emoji, to show I'm not serious. Can’t be having him think I’m totally crazy.

D- No. At least I don't think so.

D- I just assumed you'd want to talk to me.

D- Should I be able to?

Well, this can't get any weirder.

C- I don't know how what anyone should be able to do anymore.

D- are you okay?

C- No.

D- I'm sorry about before. We can talk if you want.

C- Yes!

C- Can we meet?

By the time I get there I'm seriously regretting my decision to go over to his house, hurrying along in the orange light of the sunset. David assured me that his mother will be at home, and he didn't act like it was a stupid question. He knows that he makes me uneasy. It's why I didn't tell him to come to me, because somehow inviting him into my space feels too invasive. It's stupid, stupid, I'm trusting him with my secrets, but not my safety?

I'm hanging onto my confidence from earlier, that he doesn't want to hurt me, that what he wants from me is a friend.

It doesn't help when I realize that his house is a large, creepy Victorian, looming 3 stories high and painted dark shades of green and plum that seem to fade around the edges into the dusk.

It's in one of those strange little pockets of history that you get around here. Four fabulous heritage listed houses sit in a row, complete with vintage lamp posts and permit only parking, and right across the street there's crowded rows of shabby apartments. Not a good neighborhood. Not one I feel safe walking in after dark. How am I going to get home? So yeah, to sum up, I'm going out at night, to a rough neighborhood, into a creepy Victorian mansion, to hang out with a guy who believes he's a monster, and we're going to talk about the supernaturalish stuff that's been happening. Absolutely nothing about that can go wrong, right?

I stop and text Georgia and after I think for a second I text my mom too, telling her I'm working on something for school with David. She responds immediately, telling me it's getting late and to message her when I'm ready to come home and she'll pick me up.

The mundane conversation breaks the weird anything can happen type sense I've been building up for the last twenty four hours.

But then I turn back to David's creepy house. There's no easy access to the front door. I mean, there's a wrought iron fence with a gate, but there's also a huge black dog, some sort of boxer crossed with a bear by the looks of it, lounging on the front porch.

So I stand there and text David to come let me in. Some men cat call me from across the street, I'm many generations Californian, so despite the color of my skin I don't really speak Spanish, but I still know what those words mean. I try not to cringe, and regret not changing into something less revealing, although my shorts are hardly skimpy.

"Hurry up jerk," I mutter, resentful of David for not being here to let me in.

He appears in front of me suddenly.

"Hey, why didn't you just come on in? The gate's not locked."

I point to the dog, still lounging on the porch.

"He's fine, he won't bother you."

In fact, as we walk up the front steps the dog whines and backs away, it's eyes fixed on David.

"Your dog is afraid of you?" That seems bad.

"Yeah. Just another sucky development in my life. Come on. My mother is dying to meet you."

He opens the door and gestures ahead of him. I know he's just being polite, but somehow it feels like the point of no return. But who am I kidding? I'm not walking away from this. I need to know what the hell is going on.

To my relief his mother is hovering in the living room, just as promised. She's the most elegant, beautiful woman I think I've ever seen in real life. Her shiny dark hair is highlighted with deep red undertones and is beautifully styled, laying in artful curls and waves, and her makeup is impeccable. I feel shabby and sweaty, thoughtlessly dressed in a pair of jean shorts and tank top plus one of my vintage finds, a wool openwork top that I've repaired the moth holes in. I thought I did a good job of it, but I'm sure someone as fancy as this can tell.

But I feel no judgment. She seems truly thrilled to meet me, telling me to please call her Meredith. She takes us back to the kitchen and offering me a snack, a meal, whatever I want.

I accept a bottle of water, giving David a wary look. He shrugs and hunches his shoulders.

"No hats on indoors, you know that dear," his mom scolds, tapping him on the head.

He reluctantly removes his cap, fidgeting with it like he's just waiting for the moment he can put it back on.

It seems that his parents are going out for the evening (something I should've realized when I saw how nice his mom looked) and I shoot David a deadly glance.

"How are you going to get home dear? I don't want a young girl like you wandering around after dark." She looks back over at David. "Perhaps you can get your brother to drive her home?"

David frowns. "I'll walk her home."

At the same time I say "My mom is going to pick me up."

David smirks at me and then hunches back up.

Meredith frowns at that, wrinkles marring her smooth forehead. "Oh I suppose that's all right. We won't be leaving for another thirty minutes anyway, so if you're done before then we can drop you off."

David’s eyes flick to me. "We might hang out for a bit longer, so..."

And his mother smiles indulgently. Is this what it's like being a boy? You can have random girls over when your parents aren't home and your mom just smiles?

She pats me on the head and tells me how lovely it is to meet me and how she hopes to see me again soon.

I follow David upstairs to his room. I feel like I'm following a bear into a cave. I might be exaggerating the gothicness of all of it. I don't feel threatened by David, and at any time I can call my mom to come and pick me up. I'm not trapped. But it's all so weird.

We pass a door in the hallway with music vibrating out around the seams.

"My brother," David says, waving a hand toward the music emanating door. "He's not going to surface any time soon, don't worry."

Why should I be worried about seeing his brother?

"Why was your mom so excited to see me? Don't you have other friends? You better not have told her we're dating."

"No, no, it's just-- part of what is going on with me. My friends aren't around much any more. She's just been worried about me."

His room is kind of a mess. The normal kind of mess. It looks like he picked up a bit before I came over, if the overflowing laundry hamper in the corner is any indication. But it's a comfortable, lived in sort of mess. It's not the mathematical perfection of Lionel's room, nor the regimented chaos Georgia lives in.

"This is nice," I say, looking around. The room is more of a suite actually. It's two fairly big rooms with a wide arch in the wall between them. He's got a bedroom, and a sort of living room, with a couch and a couple of armchairs. There's a big flatscreen tv, a desk along one wall littered with books and papers. Everything is done in pale neutral colors, like something from a magazine, if it was all tidy. He's got several gaming systems laid out below the television, and I can see an attached bathroom through a half open door. Everything about the space looks expensive. I should've realized when I saw the house, but David is rich.

"I'd have started hanging out with you before if I knew you had this kind of set up," I say, running my hand across a throw blanket, plaid in shades of grey and cream. Is that wool? I pick it up and drape it around my shoulders, instantly feeling safer and more comfortable.

"Why are you going to school with us regular people, shouldn't you be going to some place that ends with 'Academy?'"

"Yeah, yeah. My parents don't believe in private schools." He slumps down into one of the armchairs, and I take the one opposite, relieved that we're not going to be hanging out in his bedroom, even though the textiles on that bed look extremely desirable.

"So, ah, sorry about this morning. I'm really not usually so dramatic."

I laugh. "Really? Because from where I sit, you're just one dramatic moment after another."

He scowls and slouches down even lower. "Okay, fair," he mutters, tugging his cap down onto his head.

He really does seem to prefer to remain invisible.

"Whatever happened to you must have been rough, for you to be having so much trouble dealing with it."

"Yeah." But he doesn't volunteer any more.

I study him. Perhaps invisible is the wrong word. Hidden. Seeking the shadows, even here in his own space. He looks almost relaxed, but it's relaxed like a cat lounging, ready to run or fight at the slightest provocation.

He's a human fight or flight response. Does he ever truly drop his guard?

He's also not talking.

Waiting. Waiting for me to set the tone of the conversation.

I take a deep breath.

"Look. Something weird is going on, and I don't understand it. But I think you do. Help me. Please. This is all scaring me."

"I don't know anything about that freaky house."

"but you know something," I persist. "You thought we were causing it or testing you or whatever."

"I know what happened to me. That's it."

"And?"

He squirms. "I don't know if you really want to hear about that."

I don't know if I want to either."If you don't want to tell me then fine. But I thought that was why you had me come over. I thought you wanted to tell me about it."

He stares for a moment. "Okay. I'm nervous I guess. That you'll run away, that you'll hate me?" He leaps up and goes to the french doors, opening them out onto a balcony,that runs along the back of the house overlooking the jungle like back yard. Not a lot of maintenance going on with that, or perhaps they like having a yard that looks like unkempt wilderness.

Heavy shadow are gathering beneath the trees.

"Let's go into the back yard."

"Do we have to? Can we at least take a flashlight?"

"Flashlight, good idea. I forget about that now."

He ducks around me and back into his room, returning in a moment with a heavy duty looking light. The kind that you take camping, and floats in water and all that good indestructible stuff. He hands it to me, and then swings himself easily over the railing, dropping down to the ground below. Because, oh, there's no stairs.

"Are you for real? I know you have actual stairs in this house. We just came up them. I could go use them. It'll take one minute longer."

"This is faster. And my mom won't see us. Come on. You'll be fine, you're an athlete. Just toss me down the light first."

And despite never having done a thing like this before, I find that it is easy. I grab the railing and swing my legs over like David did, and then lower myself down to the ground.

"See? Easy."

"Why do we have to talk outside anyway?"

"So I don't freak out. Sorry. It's the enclosed spaces thing. Come on." He slips silently into the shadows.

Am I really doing this? Am I following this boy, who I know so little about, who makes me uneasy, into the dark? I seem to recall promising myself not to do this exact thing. But that was before.

He's not going to hurt me. I met his mother ten minutes ago, and despite how strange and remote this place feels there is a busy crowded apartment complex across the street. If I stop and listen I can hear cars and voices. Surely if I scream someone will come for me. Besides. I trust my instincts. And my instincts say he needs my help more than I need his.

David has disappeared anyway. I turn on the flashlight and pan it across the bushes, and I almost jump out of my skin when I see the flash of golden eyes. I swing the light back quickly, my heart pounding, but it's just David, standing patiently, waiting for me.

"Jeez you scared me. I thought for a second that I saw some sort of animal."

He's finally lost the cap, and he's staring at me with those odd eyes of his.

"Yeah, well not too far wrong."

"Well? Are you going to tell me something? Because I'd rather not get eaten alive by mosquitoes if it's all the same to you."

Bugs like mosquitoes aren't something that we normally have a problem with around here, the area being more desert than anything, but I'm sure that this lush yard has lots of places for them to breed. My skin itches in anticipation.

"I'm just trying to decide if I should just show you, or try to explain things first."

"Just show me. Unless it's the graves of your previous victims or something. In that case, I'm really hoping your mother isn't in on it with you."

He grins, and unease ripples down my back.

"No previous victims."

But then he's jiggling on his toes looking as unthreatening as can be.

"Okay, just, promise me that you'll wait, and let me explain, after. Okay?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that will hurt you. I promise. I'm not even going to touch you. But, I think it's going to scare you a bit. I'm going to do something to myself. I'll try to change back right away, but sometimes it's really hard, so be patient, okay?"

Why did I get myself into this?

"I ah, I need to take off my clothes first," he says, and and promptly pulls his tee-shirt over his head, and then kicks off his All Stars and starts unbuttoning his jeans.

I yelp and turn my back on him to give him privacy for whatever the hell he thinks he's doing. But somehow this had gone from intimidating to comedic.

"You can turn back, I'm keeping my shorts on, I think that should be okay."

I grudgingly turn back, and seriously. I cannot feel threatened by this guy standing there looking so pale and skinny. He's not very tall, maybe 5'7" at the most, and while he's definitely got some muscle definition he's still skinny and pasty. He can't weigh more than 130 pounds. Not at all threatening.

And despite his near nudity, nothing about this says sexy either. He just looks anxious and embarrassed.

"Okay. Here goes. Don't freak out, okay?"

He closes his eyes and takes a few slow deep breaths, like he's centering himself.

And then, and then he starts to change.

Yay cliffhanger ending. I’m sure no one at all can guess what David is lol.

If you’ve made it this far thanks for reading, As always I appreciate any support for my writing, so please check out my novels #1, #2, patreon and ko-fi!

Links to the previous chapters 1, 2

tagging @pinehutch @focusdumbass @timeenoughforamasterpiece @maximillianvalentine @q-oetry @rosy-writes @sunsetsrmydreams @goddessofnothingatall

As always if you’d like to be added or removed from this list please shoot me a message or comment on this post!

#the extra fakes #wip boost #shadow mirrors #urban fantasy

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devydevsblog · 3 years

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Curbing Officer Involved Shootings with Traffic Stops.

I am constantly bothered whenever I see or hear about a person being shot and killed by a police officer by what started out as a simple traffic stop. Whatever escalation led to it, a person is dead and they shouldn’t be. Fighting with a cop or trying to flee should never be a death sentence. As I was walking this evening, I began thinking about what could be done. I know this isn’t an original idea, but the more i think about it, the more I think it could work and have an impact.

Take police officers off of traffic duty. That’s step one. Before you throw up your arms, hear me out. Department of Transportation could have unarmed traffic enforcement officers. These officers could have authority to pull over people who have committed a violation and issue tickets or warnings. These officers are not armed and do NOT run names or use IDs to check for warrants. Take that part of a traffic stop out completely. They issue traffic tickets ONLY. That’s it. They don’t run names, they have no powers of arrest, they can’t ask questions about anything other than what is related to why they stopped that person. Take the fear of arrest completely out of the equation. Everyone is way more relaxed. No one is going to try to shoot an unarmed civilian who wont even be able to check them for warrants.

That alone, would cut down on officer traffic stop shootings immensely.

Cops can find other ways to hunt down people with warrants, they shouldn’t rely on traffic stops.

Obviously, for felony car stops (stolen cars, cars racing, a kidnapping suspect fleeing, etc) police can use their means to stop the vehicle and arrest.

Traffic stops (which almost always are not even misdemeanors) have become relied on as a way to take people to jail. That’s a main reason why people run, flee and fight with cops and often end up hurt or killed or arrested. It’s not necessary.

If a traffic enforcement officer smells alcohol or sees something obviously illegal in the vehicle, they have the plate number and description and can phone it in just like any citizen who calls 911 can do.

I think one of the best ways to limit unnecessary police shootings, is to limit the amount of contact the public has with police. There are many community issues that police respond to that are not warranted, for example kids playing in a park late at night; loud music from an apartment at 2am; a homeless person sleeping on a sidewalk, etc.... These are community issues that need to be addressed, but shouldn’t be by a police officer.

We need police officers in communities. We need them because crime will always be here. Imagine how less stressful cops lives can be if we freed them of so many of their duties. More time to focus on solving murders and catching sex traffickers.

It won’t solve everything, but I think it’s a good start and the city will still get revenue from fines.

Okay, so what if people want to fight the violation in court (which is their right)..hmmm I haven’t thought that part through. It could be done at a separate place other than a court house. A mediator at a dept transportation building could oversee it or something. I just don’t think traffic violations that are not misdemeanors or felons shouldn’t involve police at all.

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pokefanbri · 4 years

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I got in touch with my 1st love a couple months ago..hes a half native American & white dude, pretty pudgy now like triple the size of himself in middle school lol. Doesn't have much time left on this earth I feel for him, im glad I know now cause if I hadn't it probably would've been alot more devastating. Doesnt have to wear a mask cuz really whats the point. We met for coffee, got to hang out at the mall & he visited my work, we did talk & clear the air..got some things out that were left unsaid & i gotta say it really did help & we're better for it 😊 we're now cool & no hard feelings.

We used to be on & off in hs but the last time I broke it off with him for good reasons & also due to my mother 😒 If it weren't for him & our own experiences, & then every guy since...I would've have known how much I really love or attached I can be to someone (which has been all of them really but does disintegrate over time & going into new relationships they become just a distant memory as the yrs go by & then ur all about the new guy 🤔 basically right) or how unattached I can get when I just dont love them anymore...(of which has only happened twice)

For the record I've had 5 relationships my whole life...not counting flings..out of 2 they broke up with me.. & they so happen to be the ones i fell hard & fast for...its a common theme but they are the best ones I've experienced & I think I have a confirmed type now that I think about it lol. Im thinking too much again, but..they're top tier unforgettable.

I fell damn fucking hard this time around just like I did Thomas..don't think I got enough of him either...😤 seriously wtf is it with these charming & hilarious, headstrong, smart ass, string bean, stoner, Leo men fucking my heart up after only a few months time! What is the universe trying to tell me! I swear to God in another lifetime they would've been friends its an incredible likeness. History repeated itself it seems..I was so in love with him too, we were only 19 but omg he was awesome & we were ALL OVER EACHOTHER 🤤. He was my coworker, a red headed skinny bobblehead tho, & lived in my apt complex his best friend Danny boy did too in his own, hard core Call of Duty players I remember they high jacked my tv for optimum experience...😒 walking the tv across the parking lot was super sketchy looking lol.

Anyway after Thomas broke up with me for saying the L word "too soon" it freaked him out I guess & my brain cracked from the devastation...doctors are convinced it was the weed 😒 and apparently I ODd on Tylenol...crock of bs btw but whatever...i couldn't sleep & for days I was in a haze til I finally called my aunt for help & all of a sudden I was locked away in a psych ward for 2 weeks so they could observe what was wrong & diagnose me. Had to quit pima college & stop working, put everything on hold for my health. After I came back, Tom admitted he wanted me back but he hated my 1st love with a passion. I confessed I was back with my 1st as he was there at my side & visiting..when Tom had no idea where tf I was, me missing worried him sick. I had no clue & for all I knew he forgot about me while I was grieving over us in the hospital (I couldn't have my phone..knew a select few #s by heart otherwise he would've been the 1st I'd call), I was still dazed & super fucked up from the hospital..just outright exhausted when Thomas came to my apartment wanting to try again....yea I messed that up though regretfully. I told him the truth...I know it hurt him, hurt me too. Never saw Thomas again 😔 he was my 2nd, wonder how he is.

After I broke up with my 1st there was like a 1 or 2 month relationship with a fat Irish dude named Patrick I met from college, he insulted my mom..kicked his ass the curb 😂 yea she chased him away too just like my 1st...but an Irish version..was kinda a deadbeat anyway good riddance. I was alone for about 5 years after that til eventually met my ex-husband matt & was with him for technically 7 years & then that ended.

Long story short I was hit with another love bomb over the past year (T2.0 lol) & the fallout is taking forever to disapate lol...well good technically I don't want it to yet lmao, it feels good to love someone with a full heart except for the fact they ain't here 😔

I love genuinely & with a full heart, ive never had a problem with love, except for my abusive mother I sought approval for....never have I been with someone that didnt want it...didn't want me, until him. If someone shows that to me in a relationship it hurts me at the roots, u don't understand how much it brings out that little girl that just wants to be loved back..to be wanted. It hurts to think im not even worth that. I realize though that he may have his own issues to get past first b4 he can learn to give it back & its not my fault. I should on some things honestly but I don't blame him..not anymore. I blame my own trauma that made me so fucking sensitive & off-putting to him, going from 1 relationship to another without healing first, & not knowing how to function walking on eggshells around a new person trying not to piss them off...not knowing how to do a fresh relationship from the start again....when you've been with 1 person prior for 7 yrs.

I grew up being beaten as a kid, I have no father, my mother chose drugs over her own children, everybody in my family arent like a hallmark card far from it...its fucking tucson ok it's a hell hole. A good amount are notorious for causing trouble around the city, nobody talks to eachother..stays away & fends for themselves, or just killing themselves with drugs & selfishly hurting people around them. Very few of us are really trying to make it out & create life for ourselves but it's really hard to escape because we're all struggling. I cry because I've been strong for way too long on my own, I cry when I think im not good enough. Besides some relationships & friendships along the way for support guess who's always taken care of herself to survive, yours truly. It's a huge accomplishment that I've never been homeless, only a couple times have I had to rely on a friend or family member for a roof over my head & that was just 2020-2021,boy is it good to have connections during a pandemic phew, alot more tough to find someone willing to help. My big sis Lisa, my mentor assigned to me at 12 yrs old cuz my mom couldn't be a real parent lol...she says im a strong princess thats gone through hell & back, she's seen me do it countless times, she can attest to how much of a boss & survivor I am...she knows I deserve nothing but to be appreciated,respected, valued. I'm underestimated all the time because apparently people think they can read what kinda person I am just by looking at me or by word of mouth, hell no very doubtful screw u lol... i don't need anybody's belittling opinions of what kind of person I am ok, how about talk to me & ill see if u in the ballpark lol cuz I guarantee im a boss ass goody 2 shoes that can kick butt 😊. So listen here, I know my worth & I deserve a prince to keep me safe from the big bad world right? I need an actual shoulder to cry on not someone that'll walk away when I need them most 😔 Why tf do I feel like rapunzel & all I get is fuckin Flynn 😂 I'm a queen ok, hear me now.

This will be my 3rd own rented apartment. The 1st time I was a teen & imancipated...had that place for a few years 1st & 2nd love era, 2nd time was the escape from my mother as an adult & I moved away eventually got married. And now at another turning point in my life... escaping a very different hell & losing pretty much everything including the man that started it all, 3rd time is the charm right. Fuck my life sidewinder style. Honestly this is the best apartment complex I've found that I want as my home....its gated nothing can touch me from outside unless I say so, so at least im secure to a point.

Why am I talking and not sleeping 😐 I'm tired, it's 5am now. Yeaaaaa I'm done 💤

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the-captains-ayebrows · 7 years

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Handy Helpers

A CS Modern AU featuring Captain Charming as Handymen with a side of Snowing and some Ruby being Ruby.

Rated: M for smut and swears. One-shot. About 13K words.

[On AO3 here]

A/N: About a month or so ago, my house was being remodeled to sell. I made a post about how it gave me a need to write David and Killian as handymen, and a few folks seemed interested in the idea. So, instead of updating one of my many WIPs, I did... this. It is silly and a little smutty and full of bad puns and innuendo. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not... then go yell at @tnlph because she read the beginning part and egged me on.

Emma always thought of her apartment as quirky and charming. It had character. It’s… okay, it’s kind of a dump. But it’s hers and she liked it the way it is and had no intention of changing it. That is, until her building all of a sudden went co-op, meaning her quirky little rent-controlled rat hole is about to be a gentrified, mortgage-requiring nightmare that she simply can’t afford on her bail bondsperson income.

To add insult to injury, the new co-op board is making her fix the place up so they can sell it out from under her. They had the decency to offer her reimbursement for some of the renovation expenses, but damn. After the fourth general contractor laughed in her face when she told him the budget, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

Well, besides whiskey drinking and late-night google searching.

It is in the throes of these activities that she finds them: Handy Helpers. Two guys, three hands, everything you need for your home improvement project. It doesn’t occur to her until much later that there’s a numerical irregularity in that advertisement.

Much later, as in, at 8 am the next morning when they show up at her door.

“Emma Swan?” The man is tall and blond-ish, with a kind face and a slightly worried expression. When she only stares at him blankly, he prompts, “You, uh, submitted a request through our website for a free estimate?”

Website? Emma narrows her eyes, racking her brain and absently smoothing down her sleep-rumpled hair. Just as she’s about to tell the guy he has the wrong apartment, another voice - this one crisp and accented - chimes in from the hallway.

“I believe the exact words you put on the form were, ‘As soon as humanly possible before the co-op harpies swoop in and make me homeless.’ We don’t normally do estimates on the weekend, but far be it from us to allow a lady to be kicked out on the street. So, here we are.”

Here they are. Here he is. Oh, just… oh crap. He is not quite as tall as the first man and of a leaner build, but where the first man strikes her as the human manifestation of a yellow labrador, this guy is a black cat. Sinuous, wry and smirking, he’s all dark hair and smooth lines and eyes so blue they probably glow in the dark, and why is she standing here not talking and making up animal analogies in her head?

She pulls her eyes away from his, dragging her gaze floorward as she tucks her hair behind her ears, and it is at this point that she has the realization. The end of his left arm is covered by a brace and hook-like prosthetic. Two guys, three hands. Oh crap.

Emma looks up at the blond man who had first spoken to her. “You’re the Handy Helpers.”

He smiles at her, seemingly relieved to have cleared things up and places his hands on his hips in something of a superhero pose. “That’s right, ma’am.”

“Says so right on the shirt,” the dark-haired man adds, tapping a finger just beneath the logo embroidered on the left side of his chest.

Emma follows the movement with her eyes, and that proves to be a huge mistake as just next to that logo is a rather enticing thatch of chest hair, exposed by the fully unbuttoned placket of his polo shirt. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she can stop herself, and if the guy was smirking before, now he’s… Is there a level above smirking? Smarking. He’s smarking at her because he’s smiling and smirking and those stupid blue eyes are sparkling and, oh geez, she must still be a little drunk from last night. What the hell is wrong with her?

The blond man throws a quick dirty look his partner’s way, then extends his hand for Emma to shake. She accepts it, feeling vaguely reassured by his confident grip. “I’m David Nolan and this is Killian Jones. May we come in?”

Emma jolts as it finally registers in her brain that, why yes, in fact, she is supposed to be doing something besides standing in her doorway ogling strangers and steps aside. She gestures awkwardly in the direction of her living room. “Yes, yes of course. Come on in. I’ll just -” and it’s at this point that another completely humiliating thought registers and she looks down at the oversized t-shirt she’d slept in that at least thankfully covers her underwear, if only barely.

“I’ll just go and put some pants on. Sorry. Be right back.” She flees to her bedroom and slams the door.

Aside from the initial embarrassment, it’s hard to argue (and Emma prides herself on her ability to argue about damn near anything) with the Handy Helpers’ estimate. Their bid is thousands (thousands!) of dollars lower than any of the other contractors - completely within her budget, in fact - and they seem to have a realistic view of what work actually needs to be done and what was just the co-op board’s wishful thinking. She hires them, and they agree to begin work the following Wednesday.

On the appointed day, David and Killian arrive exactly two minutes early, which Emma takes as a good sign. As much as she hates to be kept waiting, she also gets irritated with people who are too early. It just seems like pointless sucking up, not to mention the fact that if they’d been about ten minutes earlier, she would have once again been caught pantless. Now, Emma Swan does not have any hang-ups about her body. She’s actually pretty comfortable naked, but at this point, it’s kind of the principle of the thing because what she doesn't like is to be caught off guard. Metaphorically pantless, so to speak, and she’ll be damned if it happens again.

Speaking of attire, this time, instead of their company polos, the guys are dressed for manual labor: basic tees, heavy boots, and looser fitting jeans. There are no buttons to leave undone, and yet Killian’s chest hair seems determined to make its presence known, peeking out at her at the neck of his t-shirt. Not that she was looking. That would be creepy.

They get to work right away, leaving Emma in relative peace to sip her coffee and watch Brooklyn 99 on Hulu until a knock at her door signals the arrival of her ride to work.

“Hey, Snow. Thanks for the lift. The shop called back this morning and the Bug isn’t going to be ready until Friday afternoon. Come on in, I’ll go grab my jacket.” Emma turns and walks back toward her coat closet, hearing the shuffle of her best friend’s feet follow her into the living room.

“It's really no trouble, Emma. I told you I…”

Emma pauses, jacket in hand and looks over her shoulder to see what made Snow trail off mid-sentence. She never considered herself much of a romantic, hell, she avoids rom-coms like the plague. Yet as she looks at David standing stock still, a paintbrush dangling precariously from his hand and his eyes locked on Snow who in turn is staring back at him as if she’s seeing a sunrise for the first time, well… Emma could almost swear she hears a swell of violins in the background.

It’s one of those great moments - the kind you use years later in a Maid of Honor toast. So naturally, Emma ruins it with an unsuppressed snort of laughter that she tries to cover with a cough. David startles at the sound, dropping the paintbrush onto the floor with a wet squelch and Snow nearly jumps out of her skin.

Emma clears her throat (for real this time) and pulls on her jacket as she begins the introductions. “Snow, this is David Nolan. He’s the handyman I mentioned before. David, this is Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known as Snow.”

“Like Snow White? It’s just a silly nickname because of the black hair and fair skin.” Snow tosses her head with a girlish giggle and literally flutters her eyelashes like a Disney princess and Emma had no idea her best friend had that in her. But it seems like David-

“The fairest of them all? I’d say it suits you.” Yep, he’s clearly eating it up if the broad grin splitting his face is anything to go by.

Well, this just got weird. Not bad exactly, but weird. Definitely weird.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular Prince Charming,” Emma says, unable to curb her sarcasm. Snow glares at her, muttering ‘Emma’ under her breath in that disappointed teacher voice she’s perfected over years in the classroom.

David ducks his head, finally remembering the paintbrush he’d dropped a minute ago. “I’ll clean that up while you’re gone. Throw in a free floor polishing.”

He bends to pick up the brush and dammit if Snow doesn’t stare at his ass the whole time. It’s a good ass. Emma can’t really blame her, but she’s going to be late for work and for some reason she really, really wants to get out of the apartment before-

“As the lady said, you’re a regular Prince Charming, Dave. Swan, I’m nearly finished in the bedroom. Do you have anything else that needs nailing?”

-that happened.

He didn’t really say it like an innuendo, but Emma can feel her face heating up, and it has nothing (everything) to do with the mental images inspired by Killian’s particular choice of phrasing.

Now Snow is staring at her with narrowed eyes and a calculating expression and that’s the Snow Emma knows and loves, but really hates in moments like this. And Snow is the one who should be embarrassed right now, not her, because what kind of person just blatantly stares at the ass of some contractor she’s just met, and why does her voice inside her head sound so high pitched and squeaky?

Emma is sick and tired of being wrong-footed by co-op boards, and handymen, and best friends who are looking between her and one such handyman with way too much interest, so she defaults to her best scowl. “Nope. I have no interest in any nailing. Guess you better put your tool away.”

Three pairs of eyes are staring at her now, Snow’s in near horror, David’s in surprise, but Killian? Killian’s got one thick, dark eyebrow raised, one corner of his lips tilting up, and she meant to be off-putting and prickly, but somehow he doesn’t look the least bit put off. He looks kind of… impressed? Oh crap.

His tongue swipes across the back of his teeth as he seems to consider something, then he narrows his eyes. “How about screwing then? I’ve an incredible tool for that.”

Did he just? Ridiculous smirking, smarking bastard. If he thinks that fake innocent look is fooling anyone he’s- he’s- “No need. I’ve got my own tools actually. Motorized. Nothing gets the job done like a little extra power.”

Emma crosses her arms, smug as can be and sure she’s won. Instead, Killian does something positively sinful with his tongue, his entire bearing radiating a challenge, and she has to tighten her arms around her torso, bracing herself for god-knows-what and then-

“Ah, a woman with her own tools! I can respect that. I’d love to take a look at your box-”

“Jones!” David shouts, then catches himself, turning a polite, if tense, smile to Snow. “Why don’t we let these ladies get to work before we get ourselves fired?”

To his credit, Killian manages to school his features into something more or less apologetic and relaxes his stance. “Too right, mate. Have a lovely day, Swan. Miss Blanchard.”

With a genteel nod to each woman, Killian returns to Emma’s bedroom as if nothing had happened. As if he- As if they- But then nothing did happen, besides him being a dick and she was only showing him she could give as good as she got and boy, was that a poor choice of words and ugh. Irritating, attractive asshole!

When she finishes her internal fuming she looks over to see David shaking, or more accurately holding , Snow’s hand, both beaming like it’s Christmas morning.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchard.”

“Snow. Please call me Snow.” The fingers of her free hand trace the strand of pearls around her neck and David stands taller.

“A pleasure, Snow.”

Emma’s had about all she can take. She grabs Snow’s arm and practically drags her out the front door. No sooner does said door latch shut behind the two women when they both speak simultaneously:

“What the hell was that about?”

“You tell me!” Emma retorts, each heavy thud of her boots down the hallway serving to underscore her words. “What was all the giggling and hair tossing and please call me Snow ? You went full southern belle in there, bless your heart. I thought you were about to fan yourself and faint.”

Snow matches her pace, the sharp clack of her heels against the wood floor acting as a jarring counterpoint. “Me? What was with you and all the dirty puns and the eye-fucking?”

Emma stops dead, nearly knocking into Snow as she whirls to face her friend. For the first time in forever, Emma Swan actually feels scandalized and maybe she’s the one who’s gone full southern belle. “You teach your students with that mouth?”

Snow rolls her eyes. “Emma, I teach middle school. Where do you think I learned that term?”

It takes a beat because it’s been a weird week and holy crap Snow just said ‘eye-fucking’, but Emma bursts into laughter, and Snow joins right in.

As they settle back down, Emma swipes a thumb under her eye. “Okay, so we both got a little weird around the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“But above all else, we can’t tell Ruby about the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Absolutely agreed. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’re both hiding something.”

Well, that lasted all of two minutes. Ruby had fixed them with a gaze like a tractor beam as soon as they'd sat down in her section, her eyes narrowing in suspicion with every sauntered step across the checkerboard linoleum floor.

It was all Emma could do not to squirm. “Hi to you, too. How’s life treating you? Looks like a busy lunch shift-”

“Don't start that with me, Emma Swan. You can't lie and Snow can't keep a secret, so let's save us all the trouble by just telling me.”

“Can we at least get our tea and hot chocolate before the interrogation begins?” Snow pleads.

Ruby purses her lips, then nods magnanimously. “I’ll give you a hot beverage reprieve, but as soon as I get back with those drinks you better spill. The gossip, not the drinks. You know what I meant.”

As Ruby hustles through the swinging doors that lead to the diner’s kitchen, Snow rolls her eyes. “Remind me why she’s our favorite waitress again?”

Emma shrugs. “She gives us free drinks. That, and because she let you hide in her Granny’s barn when you were convinced Regina and her clique were ‘out to get you’ back in ninth grade.”

Snow’s expression shifts from annoyance to fondness. “Yeah, right. That.”

Ruby returns with the steaming drinks, placing the mugs down in front of Emma and Snow, then plunking herself down in the booth, bumping Emma with her hip to force her to make room. She dramatically places her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together under her chin, then tilts her head and smiles expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

Emma sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. I have a couple of handymen at my apartment doing some reno. No big deal.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Are they hot?”

“Ruby!” Snow exclaims, once again reverting to teacher voice, while Emma makes her standard ‘unimpressed’ face.

“They are . I told you guys you couldn’t hide anything from me. My shift ends at 4, I’ll be over there at 5. Make popcorn.” Before Emma can object, Ruby begins muttering to herself. “I need to think of some home improvement related innuendo between now and then. Lemme see…” She taps a red manicured fingernail against her chin. “Something about pounding? Banging? Nailing! That’s a good one.”

Ruby is rising out of her seat and Emma’s almost in the clear now that Ruby’s been distracted, but she sees it in Snow’s eyes the moment before -

“Emma already used ‘nailing’. ‘Screwing’, too.”

Emma crosses her arms, hunching over until she’s burrowed as far as she can into the cracked vinyl seat and grumbles, ‘ Traitor, ’ under her breath. At the same time, Ruby spins back to face their booth, eyes wide.

“She what?”

Snow’s got this wicked gleam in her eyes, and Emma doesn’t like it one bit. “Oh yeah, Emma was definitely having unprotected eye sex with one of the handymen while the two of them traded comments about his ‘tool’.”

Ruby presses a hand to her chest and blinks rapidly, a distinct look of pride on her face.

Emma makes a garbled noise of disgust. “Seriously, Snow, your eighth graders are rotting your brain, but you’re one to talk. Ruby, miss innocent over here is skipping the part where she fell in pearl-clutching, eyelash-batting, gag-inducing love-at-first-sight with the other guy.”

Ruby presses her lips together and slaps the edge of the tabletop for emphasis. “This is the best day of my life. You guys are better than a primetime drama. I’ll be there at 5:30. I’m gonna need a fresh manicure for this.”

Emma makes a pained expression and catches Ruby’s wrist. “I know better than to try to stop you, but if you insist on coming over, can you at least attempt to be cool? Please?”

Ruby’s smile is broad to the point of being unsettling. “Would you expect anything else?” Emma releases Ruby’s wrist in defeat and sighs, not looking up when her retreating friend calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll bring the wine!”

It’s 5:47 pm. Ruby was early and Ruby is never early. There is a glass of chilled rosé in each woman’s hand and they’re pretending to be watching some movie on Netflix, but in reality, their attention is all elsewhere. Mostly about 7 feet to the left of the TV, where Killian and David are on all fours hand-polishing a paint splatter off of Emma’s wood floor. It’s really all too much.

Emma takes a sip of her wine but nearly chokes on it when Ruby nudges her shoulder.

“Girl, I’m going to buy you a pair of safety glasses. Even eye-fucking that man could get you pregnant. Holy shit. You need protection.”

Snow lets out an inelegant snort and Emma really does choke on her wine, but most of all Ruby really needs to work on her stage whisper . All the blood rushes to Emma’s face because Killian has definitely paused mid-polish or whatever and is looking at her with that damned raised eyebrow. And he winks.

Way, way too much. Emma’s hackles rise. “Does it really take both of you to clean the floor? Jones, why don’t you go work on the bathroom or something. The shower drain is clogged.”

He stands slowly, hitching his thumb at his belt buckle and takes a swaggering step toward her end of the couch. “I see. Sounds like someone needs their pipe snaked. I’d be happy to oblige.”

While Emma splutters, Ruby squeaks in delight, and David sits back on his heels and shakes his head in annoyance. “Actually, I think we’re about done for the day. Jones, how about you help pack up our gear and we’ll get out of here so Emma and her friends can enjoy their evening?”

“Oh, you’re not in the way,” Snow pipes up. “We were enjoying, um…” She trails off, her cheeks pinkening.

Ruby turns to Snow, an exaggerated expression of interest on her face. “Yes, honey, what was it that you were enjoying?”

“The show?” It comes out as a question and Snow is clearly floundering for a reason to keep David there - a fact he must be realizing because his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he’s grinning - but Emma is so glad to have the attention off of herself that she can’t quite make herself say anything to help Snow.

“I, I mean it’s like getting to watch an HGTV show live. I just love Fixer-Upper ,” Snow finishes lamely.

Ruby pats her on the shoulder, but the stage-whispered, “Nice save, honey,” falls a little flat.

Anxious to avoid death by secondhand awkwardness, Emma downs the rest of the contents of her glass and taps her finger against the side. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Anybody need anything?”

“Ooh! Me.” Ruby gulps the last of her wine and hands Emma the empty glass.

David stands, tucking his wipe rag into his back pocket and wiping his hands on his pants, and Snow couldn’t possibly be staring harder if she tried. “I’m more of a beer man, myself, but if you’re offering?”

Emma stands there blinking, making some kind of intelligent sound like “Ummmm”, but David just laughs.

“I’m kidding, Emma, you don’t need to fix me a drink. But,” and at this, he turns to Snow with a hopeful gleam in his eye, “I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink sometime if you’d like?”

Snow is wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open in surprise, and it’s Ruby that speaks first. “Oh, that was smooth. Say, yes!” She chucks a piece of popcorn (rosé and popcorn, god they’re classy) at Snow’s face.

The kernel bounces off Snow’s cheek and that seems to remind her she’s supposed to say something. “I’d like that.” She beams, reaching for those pearls again, and Emma really needs more alcohol for this.

Emma escapes to the kitchen and snatches the bottle out of the fridge. She chugs the first glass she pours herself, then pours another liberal measure, leaving only enough left in the bottle for Ruby’s refill. As she’s taking a sip from what would be her third glass of wine for the evening, she hears footsteps coming her way, and she knows it’s him even before she hears-

“Easy there, Swan. Don’t want you getting tipsy and recruiting more handymen in the middle of the night.”

“That was…” Emma sighs and sets her glass down on the counter. “A one-time thing. I don’t really make a habit of drunk dialing contractors.”

He smiles warmly and his eyes are doing that annoying twinkly thing. “More’s the pity. I wouldn’t mind a late night call from a tough lass like you.”

Emma leans back resting her elbows against her newly installed granite countertop. “And what makes you think I’m a ‘tough lass’?” she asks in a poor imitation of his accent, then raises a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I mean, I am , but how would you know that?”

Killian leans back as well, resting his (firm, shapely - not that she’s been looking) ass against the edge of her new flat glass cooktop. He crosses his legs at the ankle and his stupid feet are so big that if Emma pointed her toes, their feet would touch.

“You’re something of an open book,” he answers finally. “You don’t want to reveal yourself or be vulnerable, so when you get caught out, you use sarcasm and innuendo as a shield.”

Is this guy for real right now? Emma scoffs. “Hi there, Pot. I’m the Kettle. Nice to meetcha.”

Killian chuckles. “Thank you for proving my point. But you’re right, I suppose. I think the phrase is ‘Takes one to know one’.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but this time there’s a smile teasing at her lips that she can’t quite stifle. Killian reaches out with one of his big, stupid clown feet and nudges her calf to get her attention. When she looks up, he’s smiling at her and it does strange things to her insides.

“I’ll make you a deal. Tell me one true thing, something real, and I’ll stop with the innuendo. Otherwise, I’ve got some great material in store for you.” He waggles his eyebrows and Emma can’t decide if it’s dorky or obscene. “Really kinky stuff about taping and bedding. You’ll have to step up your pun game to keep up.”

“Much as I’d love to hear that ...” Emma exhales slowly, scrunching her mouth to the side in thought, but with the way Killian is studying her face, his eyes catch the movement and flick down to her lips. Her breath catches and her mouth goes dry and… something real, something real… She’s not ready to tell him anything real about her yet, but maybe - “How’s this for real? I’m pretty sure my best friend has a massive crush on your partner.”

Killian laughs, his hand reaching up to tug at the slightly too long hair at the back of his neck. “Fair enough, Swan. I suppose I should have specified I meant one real thing about you , but that’ll do for now.” He drops his hand and Emma finds herself fascinated with the way the little flips of hair he’s just rustled fall back into place and curl around his ear as he speaks again. “Tit for tat, I feel obligated to tell you that I’m quite sure my partner has a massive crush on your best friend.”

They’re talking about their friends but still, Emma suddenly feels a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, which of course means she needs another sip of wine to drown the stupid bugs.

“Hey! Where’s my refill? I know I heard a man’s voice in the kitchen with you. Are you guys making out in there?” Ruby’s voice can really carry like no other, and Emma huffs, both grateful for and irritated by the interruption.

“I’m coming, Ruby.”

“Oh, good! Take your time then. Go back for seconds if you want!”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I-” Emma stops herself, shaking her head as she picks her glass back up and drinks deeply. She looks back at Killian to find his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, then returns her attention to the wine bottle and Ruby’s refill.

“She’s just trying to get a rise out of me,” she says half to herself.

“By insinuating that you’re getting a rise out of me.”

“Not helping, Jones.”

“Sorry, Swan, that was low-hanging fruit. I couldn’t resist. But speaking of helping, David is right. We should be going. We’ll, ah, get a fresh start in the morning.”

There’s something about the way he looks at her when he says it. Something almost hopeful, and it knocks on a door she thought she’d dead bolted and padlocked years ago.

“Fresh start, huh? Sounds good.”

Thursday morning, when the Handy Helpers arrive to resume their work, Killian proves true to his word. Not a single innuendo in sight. He even goes so far as to start her coffee pot for her when Snow arrives a full half-hour early to take her to work and Emma’s only gotten half her makeup on. A hissing gurgle heralds the end of the brew cycle and draws Emma to the kitchen where she finds Killian tightening the new hardware on her cabinet doors.

“You didn’t have to do that you know.”

Emma catches a hint of a smile in Killian’s profile, but he simply keeps working. “I considered it a public service. Wouldn’t want to send a cranky Swan out into the world.”

She gives him an unimpressed hum in response, but as she grabs a mug from one of the cabinets he’s already finished and pours herself a cup, she feels an odd sense of relief. Almost as if some part of her was afraid she’d miss his banter if he stopped altogether. Huh.

He finishes installing one last drawer pull and asks if she’d mind him having a cup with her.

“Help yourself, Handy Helper.”

“Droll, Swan. Very droll.”

They stand side by side leaning back against the counter and sip in silence for a few moments, but they’ve got a great view into the living room and of the two people in it. David is listening with rapt attention to Snow who is gesturing enthusiastically (and occasionally reaching out to touch David’s arm) as she tells some story they can’t quite hear.

Without thinking, Emma leans closer to Killian and raises her mug in the direction of the living room.

“Think he’s proposed yet?”

Killian takes a sip of his coffee and moves closer as well until they’re shoulder to shoulder, the warmth from that point of contact sending tingles down Emma’s arm.

“Of course not. David’s a bit old-fashioned. He would never propose to a lass before the third date.”

Emma chuckles at that, and they spend the next few minutes imagining what David and Snow are talking about with Emma playing David’s part and Killian playing Snow’s. Emma clamps her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting her coffee when she hears Killian’s falsetto.

“ Oh, David, when you’re finished here, why don’t you come to my place? I’d love to put you to work. I have a gap that needs filling and you seem like a man who can handle his caulk…”

Far sooner than she’d like, Emma’s cup is empty and it’s time to go. She hates being late to work, but still she catches herself lingering. With a deep breath, she pushes off the counter and sets her mug in the sink. Before she walks into the living room to hustle Snow along, she turns back.

“Will you, you know, still be here working when I get back?”

Killian nods, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “Aye, Swan. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Without anyone ever really saying anything about it, morning coffee and making fun of David and Snow has become sort of a thing. Not like a thing- thing. That’s crazy. Emma has known Killian barely more than a week. They can’t have a thing . It’s more of a- a habit .

Just a silly habit. Like their fake flirting (yep, totally fake). Or his habit of scratching behind his ear when he’s being awkward. Or her habit of scowling at him when what she really wants to do is… but that’s neither here nor there.

She can’t deny he’s easy to talk to, not to mention easy on the eyes, but what difference does it make? He’s only in her life and her apartment because of a job. When the job is over, he’ll be gone. So, there is no thing between her and Killian.

When the work is done, she probably won’t ever see him again until the inevitable wedding of David and Snow, who had their first date Friday night. And now her traitorous brain is lighting up with images of Killian in a tux, raising a glass of champagne as he delivers a best man speech and that’s just- just counterproductive is what it is.

As she slumps into her desk on Monday, her mood is thoroughly soured. Today was supposed to be a good day! The apartment is almost finished. Her beloved yellow Volkswagen is running again. She’s got a new stack of cases to work.

Work! That’s what she needs to do. Go round up some scumbag and slap a pair of handcuffs on him. Because cuffing a guy will definitely not make her think about Killian, especially in any sort of kinky or inappropriate way. Right.

Eleven hours later, however, Emma is more disgruntled than ever and dammit, what the ever-loving hell is that noise coming from her apartment?

Seething with frustration, she jams her key into the lock and shoulders her door open. The noise only grows louder.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Emma drops her purse on the couch and sticks her fingers in her ears to muffle the sound. Getting angrier with each step, she rounds the couch and ducks under the metal stairs leading up to her junk loft. The pounding finally stops just as she reaches her half-bath where she finds Killian Jones on the floor, pry bar in hand ripping up her old tile.

“Jones, what the hell are you doing here? It’s after 8:00!”

Killian, clearly having not heard her approach, jumps several inches in the air and the pry bar falls from his hand, crashing to the tile with a deafening clank.

“Bloody hell, Swan! You could give a man heart failure.”

“And you could make a woman’s ears bleed from all that racket. What are you doing here so late?”

Of course, the answer is that he’s working. For her. She knows this, and it does a little bit to abate her anger. Emma swallows and shifts her weight between her feet as Killian sighs heavily and stands to face her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Snow came by earlier and left a key for David and me to lock up. She said you had a stakeout?”

Emma deflates at his words, her shoulders sagging. “I was supposed to, yes. My mark showed up earlier than I expected and saw me taking pictures of the front of his building from my car. He ran and I lost him and now the bastard knows what I look like, so I have to hand the case to someone else.” She pauses, takes a deep breath and shoves her hair behind her ears. “Sorry for yelling. I guess I’m just frustrated.”

Oh and now the corners of his eyes are crinkling with his stupid grin and Emma remembers the other reason she was feeling frustrated when he says-

“You know, perhaps I could help you with that.”

Emma’s eyebrows form a little peak above her nose, and Killian takes a step closer. “Some physical exertion to blow off steam. Care to bang one out? I’d wager a good pounding would make you feel better.”

“Killian…” It was meant to sound like a warning, but Emma’s so tired it comes out more like a whine.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pair of neon orange earplugs and offers them to Emma. “Here, love. Put these in.”

She takes them and after an encouraging nod from him, places them in her ears. He gestures for her to follow him and she sits down next to him on what’s left of the tile floor. She watches in fascination as he places the chisel on the grout, maneuvering his hook to brace it in place, then using his other hand to hammer until the tile pops loose. He then drops the hammer in favor of the pry bar, positions it and pulls until the tile is removed completely. He slides the hammer and chisel over to Emma.

“Your turn. Picture the face of your runaway criminal or whomever you find most vexing and have at it.”

Emma gives him a sidelong glance but does her best to copy what he’d just done. After a few good hits, she feels the grout and glue give way and dammit he’s right. It’s really, really cathartic. She looks up at Killian and he’s wearing an expression of pride that somehow eases even more of the tension from her. She can’t help but smile back at him.

“I pound, you pry?”

“As you wish, Swan.”

Emma scoots back away from him only long enough to remove her boots, and the two of them set to work. Between the hammer’s noise and the dampening effect of the earplugs, conversation is difficult. The silence between them is comfortable. Easy. Though it’s a small space, they never get in the other’s way. But still…

Emma finds herself hyper-aware of how close Killian is to her. Even with her eyes focused on the chisel and hammer, she feels his every shift and movement. Feels the warmth from his body. Feels his eyes on her. Her pulse kicks up a notch and all the stress she’d been feeling earlier is rapidly being replaced by a completely different kind of tension.

When the last tile is removed, Emma sits back on her heels and pulls the plugs from her ears. Instead of just handing them back like a normal person, she takes the hand holding the plugs and slaps it against Killian’s chest. The gesture was supposed to be playful, or at least that’s how it went in her head, but Killian quickly catches her hand with his, trapping it against his chest. And then they’re just sitting there, eyes locked on each other, both breathing a little fast and he’s kind of almost holding her hand while she can feel his heartbeat under her palm and it’s just... It’s- it’s-

“How about a drink?” Emma blurts, standing up quickly. “To, you know, celebrate my first job as a handyperson.”

Killian eyes her for a second, then stands as well, his hand drifting up to scratch behind his ear. “Aye. That sounds grand.”

Emma digs a mostly empty whiskey bottle out of the back of one of her kitchen cabinets, laughing to herself a little when she realizes it’s the same bottle she’d been drinking the night she ran across the Handy Helpers’ website. She pours two fingers of liquor into each glass, adds a couple of ice cubes and meets Killian at the table where he’s taken a seat.

He fiddles with the glass for a moment, his eyes studying her face, then he raises the glass toward her propping his elbow on the table. “To us, Swan. I don’t mean to upset you, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma gives him a quick smile and clinks her glass against his. As she sips the whiskey her thoughts are all over the place, but the burn of the liquor is helping and she finally manages to catch hold of one idea. “You know, you never did tell me why you’re here so late. Just because I wasn’t here didn’t mean you couldn’t go home.”

Killian looks down for a moment focusing on the ice cubes as they swirl in his whiskey. “I may have encouraged Dave to leave with Snow for a drink.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes and Emma can tell he’s holding something back.

“That just tells me why you were here by yourself, not why you decided to stay late.” A thought occurs to her that saps the warmth the whiskey had been building inside her and she instinctively draws back. “Are you that ready to get this job finished so you can move on?”

She hates the defensive edge to her voice and the way Killian’s eyes have gone wide and most of all the way this turn of conversation is making her gut churn. But Killian surprises her (which shouldn’t be a surprise, she guesses, because he’s constantly surprising her) by reaching out for her hand.

“No, no, love. Not at all. In fact, if I’m being honest, I’m rather loathe to be done now that I’ve discovered such a competent new apprentice.”

Emma rolls her eyes even as her smile returns because this is the second time he’s used that particular epithet and she maybe kind of doesn’t hate it. He gives her hand a teasing squeeze before releasing it to lean back in his chair.

“I suppose…” and here goes that hand to the back of his neck again, “I just don’t have much to go home to. Not for a while now.”

His eyes fall to his hook. Emma follows his line of sight and it all finally clicks. Why he can read her so well. Why he understands her defenses. Why he feels like a kindred spirit. He’s known loss and loneliness just like she has. It takes one to know one.

“You lost more than just your hand, didn’t you?” It’s a statement, not a question, and Emma levels him with a stare that she hopes shows she gets it. That it’s okay.

He nods and in the slight uptick in his lips, the flash of recognition in his eyes, she knows that he knows. “Aye. But that’s a grim tale for another day. Not appropriate for what’s supposed to be a celebratory drink.”

He picks up his glass and raises it toward her again. “To lost boys and lost girls?”

Emma nods, holding his gaze, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the whiskey begins to bloom in her chest. She raises her glass. “To us.”

By noon on Wednesday, the guys are finished and gone. Emma comes home that evening to an immaculate and beautiful apartment that is barely recognizable as hers. Well, that’s only partly true. It’s not recognizable as her old one bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom, plus a storage loft apartment, but it does look strikingly similar to the two bedroom, two bath apartment she dreamed of but never thought she could have. Which, she supposes is still accurate because the place really isn’t hers. In two days, it will belong to the co-op board and she can only stay there until they find someone to buy it.

So, as lovely as it is, it feels… empty. Or maybe she’s just projecting. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because she didn’t get the chance to tell her handymen goodbye. Because maybe, just maybe she’s going to miss them. Miss him.

On the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee pot, Emma notices a business card for the Handy Helpers. When she turns it over she finds a phone number and a short note written in perfect looping script:

“In case of emergency. -K”

Just like that the butterflies are back in her stomach. She tries valiantly to squash them, tries to fortify her defenses to keep them at bay, but the little critters are tenacious. Still, she decides that the sensible thing to do is program the number into her phone. Like he said, just for emergencies.

It figures that she wouldn’t even get to enjoy her final days in her gorgeous remodeled apartment. Thursday afternoon, she’s assigned to an overnight stakeout. Thankfully, when Emma stops at Granny’s Diner to get takeout, Ruby agrees to help her by swinging by the apartment to turn Emma’s spare key over to the board first thing the next morning.

Stakeouts have never really bothered Emma before. She’s always been okay with her own company, but the long hours alone sure give a person a lot of time to think. About all kinds of things. Like lost boys with understanding eyes, and a lewd sense of humor that matches right up with hers. And how hard it might be for a person to break her own radiator. And what exactly constitutes an emergency. Stuff like that.

She arrives back at the apartment (she can’t even bring herself to call it home anymore) Friday evening. She caught the skip, saved the day and collected her paycheck, but she doesn’t really feel like celebrating. All Emma really wants is to finish off that bottle of whiskey and take a long, hot bath. And maybe if while she’s soaking in the tub, her mind drifts to a certain handyman and her fingers decide to wander, well… who’s to know?

Much to her consternation, there’s really only about one good shot left in the bottle. With a half-hearted shrug, she drinks it down then walks over to the sink to rinse out the glass. One problem. The water is running, but it’s not draining. Maybe she just needs to run the garbage disposal?

She flips the switch and her only warning is a wailing groan like a dying cow before orange gloop shoots up out of the drain three feet into the air. The splatters are everywhere. All up the wall, all over the floor, all over her face, her sweater, her hair… Emma has the presence of mind to flip the switch back off, but now her damn sink is broken and she has to have the place ready for the co-op board tomorrow and she’s freaking the hell out.

She grabs a dish towel and wipes off her face and hands. Somehow she digs her phone out of her purse without dripping goo all over it and calls the first person she thinks of. He answers right away.

Later, she doesn’t even remember what it was that she said to him. All she knows is that he’s here. No questions, no innuendo. He made it to her apartment before she’d even gotten the kitchen floor mopped, and now they’re working more or less side by side. He’s half under the sink while she finishes cleaning the walls and countertop.

“Killian, you need anything? If you’re good, I’m gonna go wash this gunk out of my hair.”

“All set, love. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Emma slinks off through her bedroom to her en-suite, carefully picking up some clean clothes to change into along the way. It isn’t until she’s standing under the shower spray that she finally begins to process the evening’s events. How when something went wrong, Killian was the first person she wanted. Not Snow. Not Ruby. And how he was there for her. Without batting an eye or raising an eyebrow. Not so much as a smirk.

She doesn’t even bother trying to tell herself that she called him because he’s her contractor. Contractors do not show up at your door to fix your sink on a Friday night. Friends do, though. Is that what they are? Okay, yeah. She can deal with the word ‘friend’ as applied to Killian Jones. Even if it still somehow doesn’t sound exactly accurate.

Once she’s all clean and shiny again, Emma shuts off the water and hopes to God she remembered to shut her bedroom door, because it’s just now occurring to her that she’s very naked and there is a very attractive man-friend-person in her kitchen. She can feel her face and neck flushing at the thought while she towels off and pulls on her yoga pants and a t-shirt. She wills the blushing to stop, but figures at worst (meaning if he notices it) she can blame the heat from the shower. As she’s standing in front of her mirror running a wide-tooth comb through her wet hair, Emma hears a knock on her bedroom door. Guess she did close it after all.

“I’m decent. You can come in.”

Muffled footsteps signal that Killian is crossing her bedroom, but she doesn’t turn around, still attempting to unsnarl a particularly nasty tangle. One last thud of a work boot on tile and the footsteps stop. She looks up from her split ends to see his reflection behind her in the mirror. He’s leaning against the door jamb smiling softly, a hint of smugness but not his usual variety of smug. More like he’s just really, really pleased with something, but she can’t imagine why he’d be so proud of unclogging a drain.

“What?”

“All fixed.” He pushes off the door frame leading with his hips and takes a slow, deliberate step toward her. Emma can’t take her eyes off his reflection, mostly afraid that if she looks at her own she’ll see how flushed her face and chest still are. “You know, if you want to get close to me, you just have to ask. There’s no need to use home repair as an excuse.”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes, though her pulse has kicked up several notches. Oh, God. Deflect! Deflect!

“Why am I not surprised you’re making this about you?” she mutters, more to herself than him. Setting the comb in her hand down on the countertop, she meets his gaze in the mirror again. “I guess I could’ve called David, but he’s out on a date with Snow right now-”

“Right, right. You could have.” He nods and takes another step forward. “But, that wasn’t really what I meant, and I think you know it.”

He’s right behind her now, close enough she can feel the warmth of his body on her back and the next thing she knows he’s grabbing her hips and spinning her around to face him. So, of course, she goes into full defensive mode. Arms crossed, scowl on face.

“Oh you think so, do you?”

“I do. I also think that perhaps gratitude is in order now.” And with this, Killian somehow manages to turn his usual adorably awkward ear scratch into a smooth as hell move ending in a tap of his finger against his lips. His eyebrow raises inquiringly, but there’s no question at all in Emma’s mind what he’s asking for.

Are they there ? Is this...? Are they...? Careless innuendos and shameless flirting are one thing, and yeah, they’ve gotten pretty friendly lately, but, but, but-

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.” Her voice is breathy and husky and a smile toys with the corners of her mouth, but for a second at least she feels like she has the upper hand again.

His eyes dart between hers, piercing blue and searching. She doesn’t know what he sees, but he’s suddenly locked on target. It’s a strange turn of phrase even as she thinks it, (okay, what she actually thinks is something along the lines of holy shit his eyes are pretty ) but there’s not a better way to describe it, and then-

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” Low, but clear. Inviting, but challenging. His words shut down Emma’s ability to make words of her own, except for the one word that keeps flashing in her brain like a giant neon sign: Want, want, want, want.

She’s staring at his eyes, his lips, and she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. Then her hands are moving, gripping his ratty black t-shirt and pulling him down into a kiss filled with hours, days, weeks (fucking years for all she can think right now) worth of pent up sexual tension and maybe’s and what if’s finally getting an answer. And that answer is yes. Absolutely, unequivocally and perfectly yes.

It’s messy and urgent. Their noses crush against each other’s cheeks, and Killian can’t seem to decide where to put his hand, first threading it into her still-damp hair, then clutching at her waist to pull her closer. Emma is no better. Her fingers hold so tightly to his shirt she has the fleeting fear she’s ripping out the chest hair beneath it, and she isn’t quite sure if she should use her tongue, but then Killian kind of sighs into her mouth and makes this sort of growling noise in the back of his throat and… Oh yeah. Tongue. Definitely tongue.

But for all the first-kiss frenzy, it’s everything . Passionate and scalding hot and sweet and tender and a little desperate. This isn’t just a guy who wants her. This is a guy who actually gets her, understands her, likes her, defensive mechanisms and all. So, she takes a breath and dives back in, letting herself go and holding onto him for dear life.

When the initial hormonal burst begins to wane, Emma finds herself smiling against his mouth, damn near giggling and Emma Swan does not giggle. He pulls back to look at her, his own smile outshining the vanity light fixtures he’d installed last week, and shakes his head in bewilderment.

“That was…”

Emma presses her forehead against his. “Yeah, it was.”

He lets out a relieved breath, and she releases her grip on him, leaning away just enough to rest her ass on the edge of the counter, but still close enough to loop her arms loosely around his neck. They both really seem to have lost track of the whole personal space concept, and she could not possibly give less of a damn.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and waggles an eyebrow. “So. You wanna see my toolbox now?”

He gapes only for a split second, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he recovers. “No need.” He leans in, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “Darling, you are about to discover just exactly how handy of a man I can be.”

It’s entirely possible that the sound Emma makes when Killian’s lips descend on her neck could be classed as undignified, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much. If anything, he must find it rather encouraging because he redoubles his efforts there, the drag of his scruff against her skin heightening the sensation of his warm mouth and the occasional nip of teeth. His hand and hook find the back of her thighs, lifting as he nudges her further onto the counter and then he’s right there where she wants him, thick and hard and hot. Wrapping her legs around his waist seems like the best idea she’s ever had in her life and he apparently agrees, groaning softly as he nuzzles behind her ear.

Emma threads her fingers into his hair, carefully guiding him back to her mouth. Her whole body is singing, hips rocking against him, lips and teeth and tongue working in tandem with his, but there’s something that’s-

Something she can’t quite-

The back of her head touches the mirror as Killian leans into her and gives a throbbingly wonderful, if hesitant, experimental thrust. Oh. That.

She halts him with a hand on his chest and his face when he leans back is a picture of confusion and worry. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but if we fuck up my new bathroom counter, the co-op board is going to kill me. And then I’ll have to kill you.”

Killian’s look of panic immediately shifts into her favorite smirk ( smark? ), and he’s clearly headed right back to her lips again as he whispers, “I was thinking more ‘on’ than ‘up’, but if you-” he stops and pulls away again, this time looking supremely affronted. “Wait a minute, are you seriously saying you don’t trust my installation job?”

“Are you seriously saying you don’t want to take this to the bedroom?”

He shrugs a little and good grief, could the man possibly have a more expressive face? Now he’s right back to lascivious again. He takes a quick but deliberate glance at the mirror behind her. “I don’t know, love, I rather like the view right here.”

Emma pats him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes, then nudges him aside so she can hop down from the countertop. She takes his hand as she walks past him and begins pulling him behind her to her bedroom.

“Comfort over kink, babe.” She pauses and looks back at him over her shoulder with what she hopes is a coquettish expression. She can be expressive, too, dammit. “Besides, we’ve got to save something for next time.”

She turns to start walking again, but Killian tugs on her hand, making her turn back to face him.

“Next time?”

And if she wasn’t absolutely sure about this - about him - already, that right there. That little uptick in his voice, that little flash of vulnerability and hope in his eyes. That would’ve done it.

She lets just one corner of her mouth curve gently upwards. “Yeah. Next time.” She gives his hand a squeeze and raises her eyebrows. “Or the time after that. Come on.” She finishes the command with a quick jerk of her head toward the bed and he’s already beaming at her, and after that, it’s less her leading him by the hand and more her just trying to keep up.

Eager hands and searching lips seem to be everywhere at once. His t-shirt is done for. She’s not sure if it was her nails or his hook, but that rip isn’t fixable. Her bra suffers a similar fate. Her pants get stuck on one leg in her haste to get rid of the damn things, but it’s hardly her fault. Killian is already naked and all tight and lean and in her bed looking very much like he belongs there and it’s really freaking distracting.

She finally manages to extricate her foot and lays down on her side, leaning over the edge of the bed to drop her pants on the floor. In an instant, there’s a warm body wrapped around her from behind, a scruffy chin rasping her shoulder and a large hand splayed flat against her stomach. Emma really can’t be held responsible for the sound she makes when he ruts his hips forward, her ass cradling his manhood as he nips playfully at her shoulder.

She cranes her neck to kiss him, but can’t quite reach, so she lays her head back down, opting instead to wriggle back against him and lace her fingers through his.

Killian grunts in disapproval. “Angle’s all wrong.”

Emma cants her hips back suggestively and he groans, tightening their joined hands around her waist. “Seems like the angle is pretty good to me.”

“While I must admit it offers certain intriguing possibilities, I can’t make out with you like this.”

Emma looks up at him, frowning in confusion. “Is that a problem?”

Killian sighs, a heartbreaking openness in his gaze. “You know, I’d normally make a crack right now about how a true craftsman begins every job with a good priming, but the truth is I just really, desperately want to kiss you. Is that alright?”

Emma blinks, swallowing hard, and it takes her several moments before she trusts her own voice not to waver because she can’t remember the last time a man simply wanted to kiss her and be with her. Probably never, actually. And she just- She just-

“Yeah. That’s alright.”

He scoots backward to make room for her and she rolls over to face him. Her arm snakes around his neck, one thigh hitching over his hip, wrapping as much of her herself around him as possible. And he kisses her. God, does he kiss her. So different from the flash-bang clutching and scrambling of their first kiss, this time there’s an unhurried determination about him. It’s almost funny when she thinks about it, how she’s gone from feeling like this is her last night on earth to feeling like she - like they have all the time in the world.

But still…

Just because they have all the time in the world, doesn’t mean she wants to spend it all on first base. Even naked first base. Because that flashing neon sign of WANT is back. His lips are just too damn soft and his arms too solid around her, and with every breath, the coarse hair on his chest teases her breasts making the WANT rapidly shift into NEED.

He’s rock hard between her legs, his hips moving in minute thrusts and she doesn’t think he even knows he’s doing that, but it’s slowly driving her crazy. So she shifts her weight and rolls on top of him until she’s straddling him and this time it’s Emma who can’t keep still, lightly rocking in his lap as she urges him to sit up with her.

When they’re practically eye to eye, his hooked arm holding her fast by the waist while he keeps his balance with the other, Emma realizes he’s studying her face, his eyes darting between hers searching for some sign of hesitation or uncertainty.

“Love, are you sure this is what you want?”

Killian’s dark hair is a mess. Not it’s usual devil-may-care mess, but an I’ve-been-fucked-proper mess courtesy of her wandering fingers. She rakes it back off of his forehead, trailing her hand down to cup his jaw and he leans into her palm, closing his eyes as he presses a light kiss to the inside of her wrist. And if he isn’t the damndest thing she’s ever seen, Emma doesn’t know what is.

She doesn’t even bother trying to hide her smile. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Oh, thank God.”

He surges forward, the words barely out of his mouth before he captures hers in a toe-curling kiss. His arm tightens around her and he flips their positions, Emma bouncing against the mattress at the impact. She giggles (maybe Emma Swan is a giggler after all?) and thinks something very eloquent along the lines of, “ That was hella impressive .”

She’s ready. She’s so, so very ready as he lines himself up, and God, it’s been awhile, but her body seems to remember how this all works. Because as he slides in, slow and steady, there’s no awkwardness, no distracting stops and starts to take her out of the moment. Their eyes are locked, faces flushed and it’s just them. Like this how it’s supposed to be. Like the universe is smiling indulgently at her as if she’s an idiot for not realizing this was its idea the whole time.

His head tips forward, resting his forehead against hers, and they’re breathing the same air, and yeah. This was definitely the plan the whole time. She didn’t know. She’s not sure how she didn’t know, but at least she’s finally learning.

She’s learning a lot right now actually. Like the way that dip just beneath his Adam’s apple tastes. Like the color his skin turns where her questing mouth has left its mark. Like the sound he makes when she drags her nails down his back. Like the way he can make her back arch off the bed when he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Turns out he’s a pretty fast learner, too.

Speaking of fast. It’s illogical and unbelievable and she’s never been able to get off from missionary, but she feels her orgasm building and it’s gonna be the good, deep kind. The kind that makes her teeth buzz and toes go numb. She opens her eyes (because when he found that spot behind her ear with his tongue, there was no way she could manage to keep them open) to check and see if he’s as far gone as she is. There’s a sheen of sweat over both of them. He’s just as flushed as she knows she is, his face set with tension.

“Are you close, love?”

Words are not within her power right now, so she nods quickly, her breaths coming shallow and fast.

“May I…?” He shifts his weight onto one arm and begins to reach down between them to where they are joined, but Emma stops him with a small shake of her head. Instead, she widens her thighs, wrapping one arm tighter around his waist and squeezing his ass (and it’s everything that his stupid tight jeans had promised) to encourage him to go deeper. Not exactly spurring, but it’s close enough for him to get the message.

She has no idea how he’s managing to grind against her clit and thrust at the same time, but it’s-

Oh…

Oh, fuck…

“Oh Fuck!”

Yeah, that last one was definitely out loud, but she’s too blissed out to care. Oh, she was right. Right with the buzzing and the ringing in her ears and the tingling toes and the freaking unicorns and rainbows dancing across her vision as he thrusts a few more times and calls out a few expletives of his own. And her name.

They’re breathing hard, both of them, and he’s smiling down at her and it’s really not fair for a guy to have eyelashes that long and black. She scrunches her nose at him and he kisses the tip of it before shifting himself off to her side.

“You got me all sweaty.” Emma clearly displays her distaste for said sweat by snuggling herself under the crook of Killian’s arm and using his chest for a headrest. It’s a good vantage point for her to hear his low, skeptical hum in response.

“I understand you have a lovely newly remodeled shower you could use to rectify the problem.”

She lifts her head to look at him, and he’s got an eyebrow raised, but his eyes are twinkling.

“The shower head has way more settings than I’m used to. If only someone knowledgeable could, you know… give me a demonstration?” Emma tries to pull her lower lip between her teeth suggestively, but when Killian chuckles she joins right in.

“Oof, give a man a moment to collect himself, Swan. Though I suppose I’d prefer to give you a demonstration of the hardware, rather than have you resort to sabotage for my attentions.”

She was with him right up to the word ‘sabotage’. Emma sits up on the bed, her brow furrowed. “Wait, what?” Killian only grins broadly and tucks his arms behind his head. He’s still gloriously naked and it’s horribly distracting, but she won’t be deterred. “What do you mean ‘sabotage’?”

“Come now. Surely you didn’t think I’d believe the better part of a frozen lasagna accidentally shoved itself down your garbage disposal. I’m actually quite perceptive, darling. And I must say I’m flattered.”

His voice had taken on that rich, purring quality and under other circumstances, Emma would’ve melted like Milk Duds in warm popcorn, but she’s incensed at the accusation. Mostly because she’d kind of thought about doing that. Something like that anyway. But the point is she didn’t .

Her jaw drops open to protest, and he’s starting to look a bit unsure of himself. Good. He should be unsure of himself because did he really think that she-

“Hang on - did you say frozen lasagna?”

“Indeed. Several helpings by the look. Jammed the gears in the disposal, then melted which is why the sink backed up-”

“And then exploded all over my kitchen.”

Killian’s sitting up now, too, looking thoroughly confused. “You mean you didn’t…?”

Emma drops her chin to her chest and huffs a laugh, before meeting his eyes again. “Nope. But I know who did.”

“We’ve been set up?”

“Uh huh.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian flops back down onto the bed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Emma scooches closer and nestles back into his side.

They lay there together for the space of several slow breaths, Emma absentmindedly toying with the soft hair on his stomach, while Killian gently strokes his fingers up and down her arm. It’s so peaceful that when his hand stills she thinks he may have fallen asleep.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye.” His voice is a little rough and maybe he was asleep, but something is bugging her.

“Was that the reason you made a move on me tonight? Because you thought I’d blown up my kitchen just to get to see you?”

“Oi! You kissed me first, Swan, but aye. I must admit it gave me a boost of confidence.”

“I didn’t know you were lacking in confidence, Jones.”

He chuckles softly and resumes trailing his fingers over her arm. “I’m confident in most things, true, but when it comes to whether I’ve won the heart of the woman I fancy? I suppose I have more hope than confidence.”

Emma looks up at him wide-eyed, searching for any hint of a lie, but he means it. She tucks her head beneath his chin to hide her smile.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a massive crush on David’s business partner.”

“Just pretty sure?”

“More like very sure.”

“Good. Because I’m very sure I’ve a massive crush on Snow’s best friend.”

After a short nap and a thorough demonstration of her new shower hardware, Killian spends the night. Emma wakes up warm and sated, her head pillowed on his bicep. He makes a compelling argument for spending the day in bed, his lips on the back of her neck and his fingers slowly slipping down her abdomen and stroking gently when they reach their destination.

It’s tempting. So, so tempting, especially when he dips one finger, then two inside her, curling and thrusting them in earnest now. But her stomach is growling and there’s something she really needs to do, so she very reluctantly stops him with a heated promise to pick right back up where he left off after breakfast.

They dress hurriedly. Emma offers him one of her oversized ‘Storybrooke U’ t-shirts to replace the one she basically ripped off of him the night before. There’s a little bit of groping and a lot of kissing, but they finally make it out the door and down the street to Granny’s Diner.

As soon as they walk through the door (hand in hand, and Emma could really get used to that), they spot a familiar couple canoodling in a corner booth. Ruby spots Emma and Killian a moment later and shoos them over to sit with Snow and David. David shakes Killian’s hand with a knowing smile. Emma hugs Snow who looks as tired and happy as Emma is fairly sure she herself does.

Ruby pulls out her notepad and pen and beams at the four of them. “And what can I get you lovely fornicators for breakfast this morning? And don’t even bother trying to look innocent, Snow. Your eyeliner has clearly been slept in, and that-” she jabs her pen in Killian’s direction. “-is clearly Emma’s shirt. Love to hear about what happened to his, by the way. But I’m just so happy for you guys!”

Honestly, Emma’s feeling pretty good about life right now, but she didn’t come here for pancakes and girl talk. She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms.

“Ruby, did you drop off my key to the co-op board yesterday morning?”

Ruby’s smile falters for a second, but it’s enough to confirm Emma’s suspicion. “Sure did. Now, do you want bacon or toast with-”

“Did you take a look around the apartment while you were there?”

“Oh, yeah. The place looks fantastic. You boys did a great job. So how do you take your-”

“And did you maybe shove half a frozen lasagna down my kitchen sink while you were there?”

Ruby exhales sharply, all pretense gone, and puts her hands on her hips. “I did and I regret nothing. My evil plan clearly worked.”

Emma groans, letting her head fall to Killian’s shoulder. “But why-”

“Because you needed a little extra push, babe,” Ruby answers kindly. She looks over to Killian who is now resting his head atop Emma’s. “Maybe he did, too.”

Killian squeezes Emma’s leg under the table. “Hard to argue with that, love.”

Snow leans in and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, she can argue with anything. Stick around a while, you’ll see.”

Emma harrumphs, but there’s no real rancor behind it. Ruby raises her pad and pen again.

“So, pancakes, bacon and coffee all around?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement, and Ruby scribbles down the order.

“She’s right about the apartment,” Snow says after Ruby disappears back into the kitchen. “I saw it Monday when it wasn’t even finished yet and it looked terrific.” She nudges David with her shoulder and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You guys really did an amazing job.”

Emma sighs. “Yeah, so amazing that it’s gonna sell immediately and I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Killian drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, the quiet show of solidarity making her feel slightly better.

Snow furrows her brow. “You know you can stay with me as long as you need.”

Emma gives her a small smile in return. “Thanks, but I think it could get a little crowded since you’ve just got the one bedroom.” She turns a sly look to David. “And a little noisy.”

Snow blushes, and David laughs, tucking Snow’s hand into the crook of his arm. “It just might,” he confirms. “You don’t think you can talk your board into coming down on the price?”

Emma shakes her head. “Nope. Definitely not, now that you and Killian converted my junk loft into an actual second bedroom.”

“What about a flatmate, love?” Killian asks. “Perhaps Snow?” He nods in her friend’s direction, but now Emma and Snow are both shaking their heads.

“I’m stuck in my lease for another nine months,” Snow replies.

“Not to mention the building doesn’t allow sub-leasing, and I’m sure as hell not about to try to buy my apartment with some stranger.”

At that moment, Ruby arrives with four mugs and a coffee pot in hand, but she stops at the end of their table, a frown at the corners of her scarlet lips. “And what am I, a day-old bagel?”

“Huh?” is the best response Emma can come up with.

“Emma, I’ve been living here with Granny rent-free for years. I’ve got a pretty nice nest egg saved up. What if I bought half the apartment?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Look, honey, much as I love Granny, she’s really starting to cramp my style, if you know what I mean. I can’t get away with anything. The old battle-ax has ears like a wolf.”

The kitchen door swings open, and Granny herself sticks her head out. “I’m a wolf? You’re the maneater, girl.”

Ruby turns and calls back, “My Granny, what a big mouth you have!” There’s a loud hmph and a smacking sound as the kitchen door swings closed again. Ruby sets the coffee down on the table and faces Emma again. “You see my point. So what do you say to taking on a delightfully inappropriate roommate?”

Emma blinks a few times, still trying to come to grips with this new information. Is it really possible? Can she actually be lucky enough to get to keep her apartment? She can feel everybody at the table looking at her expectantly and it finally occurs to her that she’s not speaking. She shakes herself and looks wide-eyed up at Ruby.

“Yes. Ohmigod. Yes! Ruby, thank you so much.”

Ruby grins brightly. “My shift ends at two. I’ll meet you at the building to do the paperwork after that. We don’t want those co-op bitches selling the place out from under us.” She takes a pointed glance at Killian then waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And it looks like you’ve got some business to attend to while you still have the place to yourself. I’ll just go pack your breakfast to go.”

Before Emma can say anything else, Ruby turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen. The next thing Emma knows, Snow is congratulating her and Killian is brushing a kiss to her hair and David is grinning at her and she's just- she’s just…Happy. And it kind of surprises her to realize it, but she thinks maybe she can get used to it.

Ruby returns with a take-out bag a few minutes later, and Emma and Killian stand to leave. Killian reaches to take the bag, but Ruby pulls it back, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re gonna take good care of our girl, right? Because I'll be right there to know if you don’t.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian nods solemnly. “I promise I will.” And Emma’s heart melts just that little bit more.

Ruby releases the bag to him with a toothy grin. “Good. And don’t worry, I’ll give you a good deal when you want to buy out my share of the apartment later.”

David and Snow laugh, Emma splutters, and Killian’s ears turn pink and she knows he’d be scratching behind his ear if he wasn’t holding the food. Before either of them can say anything, Ruby is waving them away.

“Now don’t even try to argue with me. You two just go on home and have… pancakes.”

With a little wave of her fingers, Ruby was off to the kitchen. Emma glanced back at the table to find Snow and David completely engrossed with each other once more. As much as her head was reeling from everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, looking up into Killian’s smiling (and maybe a little bit smarking ) eyes, she finally feels that yes, this is it. She’s finally getting it right.

She wraps her fingers around Killian’s hook, taking note of the little hitch in his breath when she does, and smiles up at him.

“Yeah. Pancakes sound good.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs modern au #Handy Helpers #cs handyman au #with a little bit of Snowing #and some Captain Charming #and Ruby save the day #God I think I'm funny

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