#and I have big big personal beef with the way a lot of writing prompt generators work and/or source their prompts

[caspercryptid]

Hello everyone I am so unbelievably pissed about the NaNoWriMo situation that i'm going to take my massive stack of writing and craft books and my English degree and channel all my rage into making an email newsletter to send craft-oriented writing prompts and tips during the month of November. Say No to NaNoWriMo, but yes to WriMo. You get it.

I'm not going to make this have the same goals as Nanowrimo-- I'm not reskinning it but less ableist, I just really think having a whole month where people focused on their work is pretty cool and I want to keep up that spirit. This is going to be informal and run by Just Me, though I'll make a discord server if it's clear there's interest. Direct questions to @nowrimomo , which I literally just made and so will look like a skeleton currently.

I'm going to include prompts from various professional sources with options for Fiction, Nonfiction, Poetry, and Fanfic, so everybody can get in on this. It doesn't matter what you write, but we should all Write More.

[hardlypartying]

A little Riara scene analysis from the show. Ever notice how Rafe’s s3 boat that kiara pushes him off is labelled “cat and the fiddle”. Why would he name his boat that? Either he’s a big fan of the hey diddle diddle rhyme or it’s intentional. I know the Pates usually lack imagination but I’m going with the latter as in one frame you can see the words clearly with both of them standing opposite one another. To me it’s obvious foreshadowing she’ll betray him but also the writers were clearly trying to make an intentional connection with another scene later in s3 where Rafe has a conversation with Topper about how Sarah’s “playing [him] like a fiddle” and how he can’t trust her because she thinks she’s a pogue now. Remember how he talked about liking Kie as he thinks of her as half kook despite her thinking she’s a pogue and how he can’t trust the others but would help her, only for her to betray him thus play him like a fiddle. 

Considering how he brings up Barbados to Kiara twice in s4 it’s obvious Rafe is talking about Kiara under the guise of Sarah to Topper in that scene as he’s parroted his own thoughts on her in the rant. Anyway all this is a lil funny as it prompts Topper to find Sarah who’s with John B leading to him burning down the chateau almost killing the pogues. We may still have the chateau if he invested in a diary.

That’s crazy and I’ve never noticed that! I personally find that the best stuff you can write are the things that are totally accidental but in retrospect makes so much sense and gives you pause. The way that so many of the canon Riara scenes are the best “hey! wait a fucking minute..” moments should be reason enough for the writers to explore this dynamic and see where they can take it because the world truly is their oyster. It’d be idiotic to ignore this because even if they don’t want to go in a romantic hand-holding, getting some ice cream type of way, there limitless ways of interpreting Riara that would still be (if not more) compelling.

Re: this scene in particular. I think it highlights my thoughts about the Rafe/Kiara power dynamics in which she has the upper hand and he’s not as terrifying as she thinks he is. Okay but caveat, I think the writers did a major overhaul of their characters from the end (and honestly the mid-point of) season 2 to season 3 and 4 so I’m not sure why this shift happened but it is what it is. In season 1 Rafe 100% had the power in this dynamic, and so we got those uncomfortable scenes between them that were charged with this palpable energy— good and bad— with Kiara trying her hardest to establish some power. This continues with season 2 when he tries to drown her because he’s all tweaked out and truly does not give a fuck about anyone he hurts in his path to protect his family. Honestly the both of them were so reckless and desperate to preserve their relationship with their friends/family this season they should’ve just duked it out one on one. Lots in common and need to get physical.

Then in season 3 he sees her as an equal and I found that way too sudden despite them being kidnapped together. It wasn’t like Kiara was actively being kind and helping him out, maybe his sense of trust is so skewed that Kiara doing the bare minimum made him put her on a pedestal in his mind (which is so sad and so painfully typical of Rafe). At this point he doesn’t see her as a Pogue and calls her at least “half kook”, a compliment of the highest order from him and a big departure of him in season 1 yelling for JJ to “tell Kiara she’s pretty hot for a Pogue”. The change in his language has always interested me and I wish we got to see more of the shift from season 2 to 3 instead of giving us a fuckass montage scene and everyone acting kinda OOC (I have unadulterated beef with season 3 and 4, I’ll probably make a post about it). Because I’m wondering what happened from him being on that ship with his father to him transitioning into the man of the house— did he make amends in his head and promise a new way forward? HOW did this shift happen? Mind you the very last time we saw Rafe and Kiara was when he had that bazooka pointed that the little boat the Pogues were taking. You could see the hesitation in his eyes and the regret he would feel but then we pick up in season 3 and he’s just a suave guy. Ugh.

In any case, her being physically violent isn’t what was needed for Kiara to have power over Rafe in season 3 this is unlike how Kiara believes is necessary to be on equal footing with him because Rafe has power over her with the potential of physical violence. It’s more like soft power vs hard power, the slight extension of her empathy and trust toward him did more to level her with him than if she punched him in the teeth (I think that also would’ve been effective tbh, he’s a complete masochist. This violence is the reason he respects Barry and keeps going back to him as someone he can trust). To him he’s baring the softest part of himself out there and she isn’t digging her nails into it and butchering him for it, that extension of apathy is what he takes to be empathy— and power over him. This shift is invisible to everyone but Rafe, he truly thinks that Kiara is aware of her power now and can’t imagine her using it to betray him since 1. She’s a good person and 2. He’s not using his violence to hurt her.

Kiara, bless her, doesn’t see it that way— power is power to her and ultimately a physical manifestation over someone, so Rafe being a violent person and knowing that side to him makes her apprehensive but also brave enough to betray him first before he can betray her. It really doesn’t occur to her the possibility that he’s being honest. He isn’t a good person according to her, willing to save her but not her friends but in his eyes this is the kindest thing he can do— show mercy on her, show her that she’s special to him, that she’s the exception (it’s what he wants).

So when she pulls the rug from under him, he’s shocked because he truly didn’t see it coming. “The cat and the fiddle”. It’s probably worse and way more confusing to him because she didn’t hit him back or make him bleed, she embarrassed him and betrayed him so peacefully that it was even more offensive and difficult to comprehend. And the worst part for Kiara is that she has to swallow the fact that Rafe does not come after her, that he’s changed and she believed the worst in him and left him for dead. That in this case, she was the bad guy and betrayed him and he has every right to be evil and take it out on her but he doesn’t. If the roles were reversed, Kiara would’ve hated Rafe until the end of time. This makes for a fun conversation in season 5 hehe.

With that I wonder if in the final season we’ll have a call back to this but maybe this time Rafe will be the one to betray them? Maybe he’s on edge and doesn’t know his place in the group and believes they’ll cast him out once he’s not of service, just like how everyone else did. Then I could see Kiara apologizing to him and giving him the clarity he needs about his development and potential.

Okay I went on a tangent but thank you for sharing your analysis of this scene! Things like this make it so cool to think about their potential because the writers can look back and put the puzzle pieces together to shock the audience in a good way, one where they can go “oh wow I didn’t see that coming but looking back, how the fuck didn’t I see that coming? there were hints!” and not in a way “wtf is this fan service they’re throwing together at us?”. You summed it up beautifully and I have nothing clever to add, what a cool analysis that I will be thinking about from now on.

Also lmao at the Topper bit at the end, I miss the Chateau. Anything Poguelandia adjacent makes me gag, sorrryyyyy

[radiowallet]

I Can

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Marcus Moreno Summary: Dieter and Marcus meet a second time. WC: 4K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Explicit sexual content. Exclusive M/M dynamics. Written in third-person POV, male protagonists, handjob, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, a smidge of edging. Mentions of food and drug use. Small angsty moments. AU Marcus Moreno (no wife, no Missy).

A/N: A Saturday night fic drop? Why not? I'm literally just a chaos demon at this point. Big thanks to @writer-wednesday for this prompt and for inspiring me to revisit my boys (and basically create a whole entire universe for them). This is a follow-up to my random little drabble You Can. I have wanted to revisit these boys for so long and when the inspiration struck, I couldn't help but run with it. Thank you to my beloved @jazzelsaur and @magpie-to-the-morning for listening and encouraging every unhinged thought inside my head. The very best of enablers.

Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

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Dieter refuses to spend another meal in some stuffy, overpriced hoity-toity bullshit restaurant. Ever since his plane touched down at JFK he’s been dragged from meeting to table read to some supposed ‘life-changing’ meal and back again. Which, okay, there are worse things in life than a $100 dollar plate of food, but the pretentiousness of it all was starting to eat away at him. 

And the problem with the meals in particular is that even if they were somehow able to change the trajectory of his life, there were only so many tiny portions of shaved truffle caviar foie bullshit he could eat. 

No. Tonight he needs something else. Cheese, and bread, and beef. Something warm and comforting and covered in just a touch too much grease. Something he can purchase with a 20-dollar bill and bring back to his hotel room to eat while he watches something trashy on television, before downing an edible or two, and jerking himself off until he passed out. 

Marissa, thankfully, was a manager who knew when he had hit his limit. She waved him away with only two reminders of his call time for tomorrow and a promise to send a car. Dieter half mumbled his acknowledgment before slipping out of the lobby that housed one of the many studios he had met with that day, turning left and disappearing into the crowded streets of downtown Manhattan. 

This was Dieter’s favorite part of the city. Sure, it was too loud. Too busy. Too bright. But hiding in plain sight? That became easy. Even in his most outlandish of outfits he blended in, able to make the walk to his hotel in relative peace. 

He passes a myriad of carts on his way, each one smelling better than the last. He’s not sure what he’s craving, but Dieter is positive he’ll know it when he sees it. The sun has completely set by the time he turns the corner, the city lights guiding him towards the Park Hyatt just up ahead. And there, across the street, was a cart, neon signs for gyros and knish calling to him. 

The line was only one man deep by the time he jaywalked his way over, the street light shining down like a spotlight, catching the actor’s attention almost immediately. Dieter stops short at the sight of him, the breadth of his shoulders and cut of his jaw enough to drag up a memory that has his toes curling and his belly swooping low. The memory of a frustrated frown shifting into a soft smile, brown eyes wide beneath thick glasses, a kiss that should have lasted a lot longer than it did. 

He’s traded the tux from that night in for a black leather jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, his head bent low, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose. Dieter smiles, stepping in line with a little more bounce in his step, his lips caught between his teeth, his appetite suddenly shifting. It seems he’s finally figured out exactly what it is that he’s been craving. 

— — —

Marcus doesn’t really know how he feels about New York. He thinks maybe in another life he would hate it; one where he had a family at home waiting for him, someone to share the day-to-day mundane things with after all the superhero crap was put to bed. He probably would have pulled every string in the book to bring along this hypothetical family, and that thought alone takes his mood from sour to rancid. As it was, home, New York, Paris. It hardly mattered. He just wanted to wrap up the last of this press tour shit and get back to the real work. 

There was only one more round of interviews tomorrow, most of them with the entire team. God willing, he could get away with a few quick answers and then nod along as the rest of the Heroics did the heavy lifting. 

He was supposed to be out with the team right now. Drinks and dinner that he had (sort of) politely begged off, content with something hot and cheap to eat in the solitude of his hotel room. The smells from the Greek-themed cart had been calling to him since he first walked out of the Hyatt earlier that day and he was intent on stuffing his face full before passing out to the sound of some trashy reality show playing in the background. 

He’s just starting to rationalize ordering one of everything, the Heroics Amex card already in the palm of his hand when the flick of a lighter and the smell of a cigarette catch his attention from behind. He wants to frown as the smoke invades his senses, the nasty habit once something that turned his stomach. But now all it does is drudge up a memory, almost 6 months old, but still there at the back of his mind; a dimpled grin and a searing kiss that left him aching. 

He breathes in deep, letting the smell fill his lungs, humming at the bitter taste that coats his tongue. If he closes his eyes, he swears can almost feel the warmth of a breath on his neck, a man much too free for Marcus to keep, but who he wanted to anyway. 

A loud cough yanks him back to reality, a gentle nudge urging him forward. 

“Your turn, Heroic.”

Normally the call out would make his skin crawl, a signal to the beginning of either a very uncomfortable fan encounter or a 20-minute lecture on the interference of government sanctioned vigilantes. But the tone of the man is neither fawning nor judgmental, instead a teasing warmth that almost feels familiar. Marcus turns, an apology on the tip of his tongue and….

“It’s you.”

Dieter Bravo smiles around the cigarette dangling from his lips, all teeth and dimples and Hollywood charm, just as Marcus remembers. 

“And it’s you.” 

— — —

They end up ordering enough for two small armies, both men overtipping the patient cart owner enough that he promptly starts closing up shop the second they step away with their food. Marcus shrugs, the bag held tight to his chest, compelled to offer an explanation that Dieter didn’t ask for. 

“Superhero metabolism.”  

“I get it,” Dieter hums, wanting to put the other man at ease. It’s clear he’s wound just a bit too tight, the pressure of whatever responsibilities he carries with him not so much weighing him down as they do hold him up. Dieter thinks, assumes, the joy of being a hero left Marcus Moreno far too long ago, and he wonders if he could help him save just a tiny piece of it. Or at the very least get the man to smile once before they part ways again.

“I’m up for this gladiator thing. I have a feeling once I get back to L.A. it’s going to be all protein shakes and boiled chicken and green-colored juice. Probably best to indulge while I have the chance.”

Marcus frowns, shaking his head. “That’s not right. Starving yourself to hit some sort of stupid unattainable body image that was set by others.”

“Yeah,” Dieter hums, poking Marcus in one of his firm shoulders. “Can’t imagine what that’s like.”

The other man blushes and shakes his head. “Mine’s mostly genetics. Which…hearing out loud just makes me sound like an ass.”

“Mmm, I actually think your ass could use a bit of work,” Dieter clicks his tongue, eyes drifting around to Marcus’s backside. 

His blush only darkens, and Dieter can’t help but delight in the reaction. “I’ll be okay, Heroic. All par for the course! Besides, it’s a 6-month shoot in Morocco. It’s been ages since I’ve been back there.” 

“Oh, well…if you need help…I mean before you leave. Shit. I’m pretty handy in the gym, I mean,” he stammers out, hands clinging tighter to the greasy brown bag in his hands.

“Do superheroes make house calls?”

Marcus grinds his jaw to the left, his eyes shifting as far from Dieter’s as they can, but the blush remains.  “If it’s something important.”

— — —

They’re staying in the same hotel. It shouldn’t surprise Marcus. Honestly, nothing should at this point, serendipitous coincidence managing to bring the two men together again despite all odds. They cross the street side by side, the doorman quick to open the door with a nod and a wave. Their steps echo through a seemingly empty lobby, most of the hotel guests having stepped out, their nights just getting started. 

Dieter moves easily, the hand holding his food swinging back and forth in time with his steps. His jaws works effortlessly at the piece of gum he traded with the cigarette he had been puffing at, the tip of it crushed into the side of the hotel perfectly in time with their entrance. Marcus watches from the corner of his eye, admiring the way the other man moves, as if he’s dancing, each movement as fluid as the last. 

The actor chatters beside him, an endless barrage of words that would be easy to write off as nonsense but despite that, Marcus finds himself listening with rapt attention. The actor talks about his meetings tomorrow, a chemistry read he hasn’t quite prepared for, an interview with Variety magazine scheduled directly after. Then he talks about the painting he had started before he left L.A. How he hopes the inspiration is still with him when he gets home. 

By the time they get on the elevator, their shoulders brushing in the tight space, Marcus knows the type of bike Dieter owns (a 10-speed he likes to ride down to the pier), how he likes his toast (just shy of burnt, butter and jelly), and his plans for the night (food, edible, jerking off). 

Marcus had even been caught up in the moment briefly, his own surprise at seeing the other man loosening his tongue just as it had all those months ago. He had stammered and stuttered in a way that he hadn’t since high school. He can’t seem to decide if he should be embarrassed or not, so he settles for quiet instead, only muttering his floor number once the elevator doors slide shut. 

Dieter eyes him over his shoulder, the flecks of grey in the scruff of his jaw illuminated in the low light and mirrored walls. He leans closer, just enough to nudge Marcus’s shoulder, his smile slipping into something more tentative, mint and menthol and something sweet hypnotizing the heroic. He can’t help but match the other man’s movement, leaning in and licking his lips, trying to capture the taste on his tongue. Dieter doesn’t miss it, brown eyes flickering to Marcus’s lips and back again. 

“Would you like some company?” 

— — —

They ultimately decide to go to Dieter’s room, a joke about seeing the Penthouse tilting the actor’s grin to just this side of wolfish. Marcus is instantly drawn to windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, the whole city lit up, a glaring shine just beyond the glass. 

“It seems brighter from up here.” 

“The lights are so bright but they blind me,” Dieter sings beneath his breath, spreading out the food with careful dedication. 

Marcus smiles at the sound of his voice, marveling at the sudden domestic turn his night has taken before placing his attention back on the skyline. Dieter moves around the couch to join him, carrying that same intoxicating smell with him. 

“Haven’t you seen it from rooftops?”

Marcus shakes his head, eyes still glued to the sparkling spectacle in front of him. “The world looks too dark from that angle.” 

Dark. Or Ugly. Honest. Yeah, Marcus can see everything from the rooftops, but none of it glittered. Not like this. Not like Dieter Bravo. 

The tip of a finger, softer than he expected, touches his chin, the pressure light but insistent, impossible to ignore. He turns to find Dieter watching him, brown eyes reflecting the city stars back at Marcus, and he fights the urge to blink and miss what comes next. They move in together, almost close enough but not, and Dieter laughs, a soft chuckle that rumbles in his chest. 

It reminds Marcus of that first kiss, so very long ago, down a dark alleyway, both of them pretending, for just a moment. He takes in a breath, a quick pull of air that steadies his nerves, before finally, finally, closing the last of the distance between them. 

The kiss is soft at first, a brush of lips and a scrape of stubble. It’s faint, the sweetest shade of something new between the press of their lips, the taste of mint and menthol permeating his senses. Marcus can’t help but take one more, letting his lips linger on Dieter’s, his hands fitting perfectly along the dip of the other man’s hips. 

It’s Dieter who deepens it, one palm sliding along the curve of Marcus’s cheek, the other grabbing where his leather jacket hangs open, fingers clenched into the fabric and yanking him closer. It’s the slip of a tongue between his lips that breaks him, a moan parting Marcus’s lips, the sound only encouraging Dieter to continue. 

The hand on his hips pushes him back gently, one, two, three steps before they stop. Marcus pulls away to catch his breath but Dieter keeps him close, soothing the pad of his thumb across the flush of his skin. 

“I missed you, baby.”

He wants to laugh, to point out it was just one kiss, and how? How could he miss him when he barely even knows him? But the endearment has him dizzy, the roof of his mouth tacky with desire, and all he can do is nod because yes. Of course, Marcus missed him too. What else was there to do but miss him? 

He swoops in for another kiss, this time meeting Dieter’s tongue with his own, tasting him full on and groaning into the feeling. The noise seems to startle something awake in the other man, the grip on his cheek growing tight, his own strangled whine rising up the column of his throat. 

When the kiss breaks, Dieter leans in, the scratch of his mustache rough where he hums his request in Marcus’s ear. “Can I take you to bed?”

“It’s been a while,” he can’t help but blurt out, pulling back to watch Dieter’s face carefully, preparing himself for the laughter and the teasing. “Almost 2 years.”

Still, Dieter doesn’t say anything, and Marcus can’t help but explain himself just a little bit more. “Most people can’t handle it.” 

Marcus hates to say it. Hates the way it sounds and feels and tastes, the words bitter and biting on his own ears. The harsh, unrelenting truth that what he is will always be overwhelming for those that dare to love him. That the painful responsibilities that were forced upon by the realities of his genetics will always be the barrier around his heart. Most days it was easy enough to ignore, and in the time since had last felt another’s touch, Marcus had found a way to cope, where loneliness was just another weight he would bear in order to do what was right.  

Dieter nods, eyes wide and frown small, an equal mix of understanding and pity marked across his features, as if to say ‘yeah, people can be assholes.’ 

And then he actually says it. “Assholes.” 

There’s another kiss and then another, their bodies moving slowly back towards the couch. Dieter's fingers are skilled, pushing and pulling, Marcus’s leather coat hitting the ground seconds before his own. Those same fingers find their way beneath his shirt, mapping the planes of his stomach, the quiver of muscle chasing Dieter’s touch. 

Marcus can only cling to the other man, refusing to part from their kiss for more than a second, breath traded back and forth, the only oxygen he ever needed between Dieter’s lips. His touch is insistent, smoothing at his heated skin, fingers digging into the flesh, the almost bite of his nails leaving Marcus gasping high and bright into their kiss. His glasses are pulled off somewhere in the fray, finding a home on the floor behind them. 

“The …t-the bed?”

“Figured I’d take it easy on you,” Dieter grins in time with Marcus’s knees bending around the couch cushions.

They fall down together, Dieter immediately crowding into Marcus, his large hand palming where he strains beneath his jeans while he takes care to kiss each and every freckle scattered across Marcus’s. His hips buck immediately, even the gentle touch enough to send him lurching. Dieter is quick to soothe him, teeth nipping at his ear as he coos sweetly, the press of his hand only growing more insistent.

“Patience, baby. We have time.”

There it is again. That little endearment. Sweet and small, and so so much that Marcus can only moan, head falling into the crook of Dieter’s neck. Somewhere above him there is a chuckle, the sound vibrating from one man to the other, and Marcus can only hold on tighter as Dieter tugs at the zipper of his jeans. His breath hitches as the sound of it echoes inside his head, and he feels Dieter pause, only the brush of his thumb on the head of his leaking cock ground them to this moment. 

Later, Dieter will confess, sweat cooling on Marcus’s temple, the actor's lips kissing the slick of it away, that he was watching him carefully at that moment. Desperate to see him fall apart, anxious to know if he needed to pull back. It’s then that they promise to say it. Always say it. Exactly what they need and what they want. 

Secrets have never done either man any good. 

Marcus leans into the light touch, awkward and needy, lips fusing to the curve of Dieter’s neck. There’s the musk of his cologne, something earthy and real clinging to his senses, mixing with the smell of smoke that always seems to burn around the other man’s edges. Marcus is ravenous for him, marking him with a bruising kiss, the steady chant of mine, mine, I wish he was mine thumping inside his chest. 

Dieter doesn’t falter, pulling Marcus’s aching length from the confines of his jeans, a loose grip around the base as he continues to stroke the tip softly, gathering the bead of precum with the pad of his thumb. It’s more intimate than he expected, reputations always proceeding those in the limelight. Marcus should have known better, the camera always giving away more falsehoods than beautiful truths. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” Dieter teases, not an ounce of cruelty in the words. Another kiss is gifted to Marcus’s neck, the drag of Dieter’s tongue follows, his own groan pouring out of him. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”

The effect of his words is maddening, and Marcus takes care to muffle his whine into Dieter’s neck, teeth and tongue still working along the salt of his skin. The actor is only encouraged by this, continuing to purr little drops of filthy encouragement into his ear as he starts to stroke Marcus from base to tip. 

“Been too long since someone made you feel this good,” he hums, twisting his wrist lightly each time he strokes up the length of Marcus’s cock, the velvet heat of his skin catching on the other man’s palm. The friction is almost too much, a staggering sort of gasp breaking past his lips as Dieter’s voice continues to coach him through each and every stroke of his hand. 

“You look so good like this, baby. So good. You can fuck my hand if you want. Go on, use your hips.” 

The prompt is all Marcus needs, his hips canting up to meet Dieter’s touch. His fingers dig in hard, one hand finding purchase on Dieter’s forearm, the other wrapped around the curve of his shoulder. He anchors himself to the other man, fucking up into his fist faster and faster and faster still. 

“Feel good? Hmm?” Dieter asks, the hook of his nose pressed into Marcus’s temple, lips teasing the swell of his cheek. “Fucking someone else’s hand instead of your own?” 

Marcus stutters out a ‘yes’ the word lost between his cries of pleasure. Dieter continues to indulge in the noises, each one helping to shift the weight of his touch, the grip around Marcus’s cock soft then hard, the pressure building faster than he can take in breaths. He tilts his head, eyes searching frantically, a desperate plea tumbling from his lips and hanging thick in the air between them.

“Kiss me.”

And Dieter does, lips molding to Marcus’s, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam until finally, he parts beneath, another moan for him to swallow. All the while, his pace is consistent, up and down, faster then slower then faster again. It’s indulgent, the way Dieter touches him, relishing in each pulse, every sound, and Marcus loses track of how long it’s really been. The pleasure is blinding, keeping him tethered to the edge of the cliff, release blissfully out of reach.

“Bet you look so pretty, all cock dumb, hmm? I’d love to see that,” Dieter teases and Marcus agrees, can only agree, something ragged taking over his sensibilities. 

He continues to move with the other man, rising up into the open air, hips awkwardly meeting each and every caress of his hand. Dieter moves with the same freedom he had in the hotel lobby, his own hips grinding up and down, the length of his cock hard and pulsating where it presses into Marcus’s side. Their kisses only grow more wild, just a sloppy press of lips, off-centered and well-intentioned, as they both work closer and closer to the crest of arousal. 

Dieter remains focused, his own pleasure secondary to that of the Heroic’s. The kiss breaks just in time for something white hot to settle at the base of Marcus’s spine, everything grows tight and bright and so so sweet. Teeth scrape along his jaw, the tip of a tongue soothing the same path, Dieter’s words coaxing him up to the top of the hill. 

“You’re close, baby. So close. Go on, you can let go. I’m right here.”

It’s all Marcus needs, the last of his strength giving out as everything burns, thick ropes of white cum spilling out of him. Dieter hums, using his seed to smooth out his strokes, and continues to whisper little bits of praise into Marcus’s ear.

“I know. I know, baby. You’re doing so good. Tell me if it’s too much.”

It is. It is too much, the way Dieter keeps stroking his cock, half hard and still dribbling drops of cum around the curl of his fist. But Marcus refuses to stop him, leaning into the painful overstimulation until the tips of his fingers go numb, his moans breaking out into sobs, tears tracking down his cheeks to mix with his sweat. Dieter decides for them both then, his hand finally slowing, giving Marcus a chance to adjust to the light touch before pulling away for good, the palm of his hand sliding a sticky trail up his cheek.

It should feel filthy, Marcus’s own cum pressed into his skin while Dieter grinds his cum soaked pants into the dip of his hips. But even now, Marcus can feel his cock twitch in interest, the moment so very decadent and dirty and leaving him hungry for more. Dieter grins, licking his lips, clearly agreeing with whatever look that is crossing Marcus’s features, swooping in for one more kiss, this one there and gone, a fleeting breath of him that leaves him whining. 

But Dieter doesn’t go far, his hand smoothing up to push back an errant curl, brown eyes impossibly deep, and he takes his time to kiss away each and every tear. When he pulls away, it’s only to whisper a quiet promise. “I can.”

Marcus tilts his head, his confusion unspoken, the haze of his orgasm still gripping tight to his senses. Dieter takes it in stride, his smile growing, confident and cocky with how dumb he’s rendered the heroic. 

“I can handle it,” he clarifies, dragging his hand down to rest his thumb where Marcus’s lips part, the faintest taste of himself waiting there. “Can you?”

And all Marcus can do is nod. Because. Yes. Of course. Of course, he can. What other answer is there? 

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Pretend Alleyways Masterlist II Main Masterlist

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

Dedications:

To my dearest, my wonderful enablers @jazzelsaur and @magpie-to-the-morning who have listened to me talk about these boys ALL. WEEK. Literally, every random thought I had about Dieter and Marcus, together or separate, was blasted into their DM's. I have become a woman possessed. The best friends a girl could ask for in these trying fandom times. Thank you both, for loving me and my boys.

[m-s-justice]

Warning for Unpopular Opinion:

I kinda hate Primis Richtofen

As a character, he's fantastic. But if I were to ever cross paths with him, he would be on the receiving end of at least 28 stab wounds.

Strap in for another Long Fucking Textpost.

I have three main gripes with the guy.

1. How he treats Victis/The Rest of Primis

Richtofen manipulates Victis into doing his dirty work, actively putting their lives in danger by siccing Undead Ultimis Richtofen on them, and then puts them on ice in a parallel to his Ultimis self doing the same thing to his teammates. Not to mention Victis is frozen in a HELL POCKET DIMENSION. And EVEN THEN, he’s not even the one to wake them up; it’s Ultimis Richtofen, likely prompted by Primis Nikolai. 

As for how he treats his team, holy shit. He deceives them the entire cycle. Sure, he didn’t technically lie to them, but omission of information is just as bad. The other three had no idea what they were walking into. They didn’t expect to have to kill themselves. And that’s the fucking thing. They didn’t sign up for this. Richtofen clearly never asked if the other three wanted to live in Agartha with him. Richtofen never considered that they have lives of their own, outside of the cycle. Richtofen considered his own goals above the lives of his team. In ZnS one of his opening lines is “Do you trust me, [whichever of the three he is talking to]?”, to which both Dempsey and Takeo respond that they feel like they have no choice but to and Nikolai who basically says no. And yet, RIchtofen keeps charging ahead, doing “what he has to”. Sure, he ensured that they didn’t get wiped from existence, nevermind the fact that they wouldn’t have even been in danger of that without Richtofen leading them there. Instead, Richtofen leads them in a fucking circle. They’re going to do the same song and dance, forever. Now, no matter how much personal beef I have with BO4’s writing, it’s implied that the only way peace could ever be achieved is through the Motherfuckers’ deaths. Accepting his own death is something Richtofen could never do, we even see it happen. When he dies in Blood, it’s not graceful. Rather than subject himself to death, he instead has everyone go through something arguably worse, a never-ending loop of suicide by proxy. What the actual fuck.

2. Dimensional collapse

Richtofen lets Dimension 63 (Morg City [SoE]) get eaten by Apothicons. To give him some credit, there’s probably not a lot he could’ve done by himself. Apothicons are known for gobbling down dimensions like rednecks at a pie eating contest. But also. There was Keeper intervention. Maybe let the Keeper use the Incredibly Powerful, yet Loosely Defined MacGuffin #52 to save the dimension before swooping in, stealing the Key, and then dipping? I don’t know man, the general lack of remorse in his actions, the whole “I have a universe to set right” line before dooming the entire place just rubs me the wrong way.

3. General Assholery

Richtofen is a bit of an arrogant prick. The apparent reason the others can’t peek at the Big Book of Plot Convenience is because they’re too stupid. He also refuses to answer any of their questions. No wonder the other three don’t trust him, what with his complete and utter lack of transparency and his compulsive need to beat around every goddamn bush in the Forest of Equivocation.

On a slightly different note, there’s one quote of his that stood out to me. It’s a start of session conversation with Takeo.

Takeo: “I fear that denying Dempsey the chance to better understand himself may have… consequences.”

Richtofen: “Even had he been conscious before his death, I do not believe that Dempsey had any… great knowledge to impart.”

What the hell. My Brother in CoD, you made him that way. An alternate you literally experimented on and tortured him and then froze him taking away all autonomy from him. Not only that, you selected that dimension. You chose that specific Dempsey. If you wanted a "smart” Dempsey, then literally go anywhere else and murder him instead. Holy fucking shit. And Primis Dempsey is also there. Mourning himself. And you’re out here insulting a dead man that you murdered behind his back. Richtofen did murder him; Dempsey was coerced into doing it. Even fucking worse, is that Dempsey confesses to Nikolai that he’s starting to trust Richtofen. The one thing Richtofen wants most and he doesn’t deserve it.

However, the actual worst part is that nothing comes from Dempsey not being able to properly meet with his other self. Dempsey pulls himself together by himself, which is very admirable, but does have the unfortunate outcome of confirming Richtofen’s position. There were no ramifications. That Dempsey was simply an idiot who had nothing of worth to contribute, other than his death.

PART 4: END OF POST WHERE I SAY MORE RANDOM BULLSHIT IN A SLIGHTLY INCREASED INCOHERENT WAY AS A MOCKERY OF A CONCLUSION

Ok now to preface this I’m not attacking anybody who interprets Primis Richtofen differently.  He's a fictional character and other people viewing art in a different way than me will not cramp my style.

I do think that he genuinely loved his friends and wanted the best for all of them. The way he goes about it is just one of the worst ways possible. Comedically terrible, falling on his face, fucking Looney Tunes-ing it up. 

Simultaneously, however, I think at his core, Richtofen is a selfish character. And that’s shown in both version’s actions. Ultimis is pretty blatant in his egoistic pursuits. I spent the entire post pretty much draggin Primis in the mud, so I’m not going to repeat myself.

To end this: I hate him so much I want to rip him to pieces. But I also really like him as a character, so I would sitch him back together. And then his insufferable face would send me into an irrepressible rage and I’d shred him again. Rinse and repeat.

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Do you have any advice for someone who wants to write drabbles? I don't know how you do it, it's almost as if you don't sleep 🤣

Ooh! Thanks for the question! :) I actually talked a lot about this recently on @ishipitpod with @idontgettechnology, so if you want lots of tips for writing drabbles, plus some silly stories and lots of giggling, go check out that episode! It was really fun.

I definitely sleep! 😂 BUT, drabbles are writing, and writing does take time. Once you've written enough drabbles, you'll get faster at them, just like most other skills and hobbies. At this point, I can write a drabble in about ten minutes... though that being said, I post between 5-10 drabbles a day and try to write 500-1000 words of longfic or other writing every day, too, so I spend between an hour and three hours every day just writing. Writing is a skill that requires active practice, and the only way to get better at it is to put in the time. "Ten thousand hours of work or 1,000,000 words on the page" etc.

*And I'd put in a self-deprecating caveat here about "not saying I'm a GOOD writer," but like, I am a good writer. Not every drabble I write is prizeworthy, but they're also 97% of the time not crappy, and working hard on something only to denigrate your own skills is a Tool Of The Patriarchy and I Refuse.

So: my biggest tip for writing drabbles is just to try writing drabbles. They're definitely a skill that takes practice, like any other writing, and the only way to build the "muscle" for it is to do it. What's really nice about them is that they're also building your scene-writing muscle and your concision muscle and your to-the-point dialogue muscle and your grounding muscle in a really tight, focused way, which I've personally found super helpful for writing longer things as well. Because really, I think if the idea of writing drabbles seems intimidating, you can very easily not think of them as "drabbles" and instead think of them as 100-word scenes.

Drabbles kind of straddle the line between being short stories and being story beats/scenes, IMO. You can handle them in either way and you're not wrong, you know? Both require your drabble to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. You should try in both to ground your characters in a space so that their actions or dialogue have meaning. Both need something to happen either physically or emotionally that changes the scope of things for the characters (unless you're writing a drabble that is purely imagery scene-setting world-building candyfloss which, IMO, is also totally valid).

When you're first starting to write drabbles, these are my biggest tips:

1. REMEMBER YOUR SCOPE. It's only 100 words long, so don't try to tell too big of a story for your wordcount. This is why I don't let people suggest plot points or AU scenarios when they request drabbles and why I use single-word prompts. Trying to tell too much story in too small a space, or vice-versa, is a really frustrating writing experience. You don't have room to set up an elaborate AU or tell a complete sex scene from foreplay to afterglow, so keep that in mind when you decide what you want to write your drabble about.

2. START WITH 1:1:1 AND THEN PLAY LATER. One sentence exposition, one sentence climax or change, and one sentence denouement is a good place to start with drabbles. Set up your scenario in one sentence, write one sentence of the "point" of the scene, and one sentence to sum up or demonstrate how things have changed since the set-up. If you write long sentences, like, ahem, I often do, then you've got 33 words-per-sentence to play with, and even I'm rarely that verbose. But that's a good thing, because it means you'll be under 100 words and can go back and beef up whichever section(s) need more meat.

Ex)

SET-UP: Because of Cinna’s expertise in clothing, he saw that something was wrong with the Districts.

ESSENTIAL CHANGE: He only saw the Districts the same way that all Capitolites did, in the nightly news propos about how grateful the Districts were to be under the guidance of the great Capitol, or how these backwoods heathens needed the strict hand of the Capitol to even pass for human.

CLOSURE: But Cinna saw the moth-eaten wool, the stretched-out soiled cotton.

74 words. I can go back and add more detail of what Cinna noticed in the propos, or I can go back and add more detail to what Capitol life is like, or I can set up what he's going to do about the noticing. There's a LOT of room left in 26 words!

3. 100 WORDS IS LONGER THAN YOU THINK. It is! If the idea of a 33-word sentence is insane (and it probably is), then naturally you can assume you've got way more than 3 sentences' worth of room in a drabble. One page in Microsoft Word TNR-12 is ~250 words, so a drabble is really half a page long. That's not nothing. You have to be purposeful and concise, but not to a degree that feels actively stifling. Don't stress about HOW SHORT 100 words is. Fanfiction is often, compared to book-books, insanely long. 100 words is a pretty normal scene/beat length, tbh. Focus on how much you can fit into the wordcount, not how much you can't fit in.

4. BE SPECIFIC. Drabbles are not a place to eschew $4 vocabulary words if you can use them correctly and if they mean the particular, specific thing you want them to mean. In longer works, I'm generally not a fan of Fancy Dialogue Tags, but in a drabble, if someone whispers or mutters or exclaims, then that's what they're doing and it's okay because that word exists to set the tone of the line. Most writing advice about eliminating adverbs/adjectives/dialogue tags neglects to mention that their PURPOSE determines whether they're appropriate, not their existence as a part of speech. Drabbles are GREAT practice for this, tbh, because you really have to be judicious about WHEN and WHY you're deploying your words.

Ex)

"Yelena, I'm gonna kill you," Kate muttered as they pressed together in the suddenly-not-unoccupied dorm shower. <- Muttered sets the tone of the whole line and what comes after in this case as a drabble-opener because we have no other context to show the reader how she's speaking. She could be yelling it. She could be texting it! She could be saying it as she's literally committing murder. We don't know because it's the scene-opener. It's fine to use an illustrative tag when it's opening a scene because you're grounding the scene into a context. It also doesn't add anything more to your wordcount than the less-illustrative "said" would.

"Yelena, I'm gonna kill you," Kate said calmly as she looked at the arsenal that appeared in her apartment overnight. <- Again, you can use an adjective here because it defines the tone of the whole scenario for the reader in a way that NOT using the adjective leaves out. There is no indication otherwise what Kate is feeling or how she is reacting in seeing an arsenal in her apartment, and in a way, saying something "calmly" is counter to what the reader expects from both what Kate says and the situation in which she's saying it. It adds a word to your wordcount, but it's a GOOD wordcount expenditure.

"Yelena, I'm gonna kill you." Kate clenched her hands into fists, trying not to succumb to the urge to grab some blonde hair and yank. <- You can also avoid using dialogue tags and/or adjectives at all by utilizing your verbs and putting those into context, in this case "trying not to succumb to the urge to..." This adds the most words, even though you're taking out the dialogue tags, but it also gives you more space for imagery and can be great for tone.

ALSO, giving yourself a 100-word limit is excellent practice for training yourself out of using phrases like "the dark-haired boy" or "the verdant green orbs," because they're fucking longer than "Jesse" or "his eyes." Be specific, not poetic, unless poesy is the whole point of your particular drabble.

5. TONE TONE TONE TONE TONE. The single biggest way to eliminate extraneous words and tell a complete story/scene/beat is to know exactly what, who, and how you're writing about. You should ideally be able to write a drabble in just dialogue, no dialogue tags or narrative, and still have it be clear which character is saying what, if you're writing fic and your readers know the characters already, yk? Like, if you can capture the idiosyncrasies of your characters in concise ways, that's the best way to keep your wordcount down. Not every character ducks their head and blushes when they're feeling shy, not every character speaks in grammatically proper Writer's English, etc. Writing each character's behavior and/or speech patterns as they actually are in the show/movie/book/whatever is a GREAT way to keep your wordcounts low AND practice writing in different tones and voices. Plus, it's fic; people are probably reading it because they like the characters, and you should want to have it feel like the characters, yk?

But tone is also the structure of the drabble. A short, staccato drabble is going to have a disjointed and fractured feel to it, so it fits a character whose mentality is disjointed and fractured. A beat from a really sensuous sex scene will probably involve longer sentences with more sibilant adjectives and slow, soft pacing to get between clauses (whereas a really hard fucking scene will be shorter sentences and more consonants). Semicolons and em-dashes and ellipses can be your friends if you use them properly--ending a tense drabble with an em-dash leaves the reader hanging on the precipice, where ending on an ellipsis lets them tumble over. USE YOUR WRITING CRAFT. Study writing craft! And then use it!

So overall, just treat drabbles like you would treat any other piece of writing: with care and respect to your readers. Don't over-promise and under-deliver; you literally cannot set up and execute a wild AU in a drabble, so don't say that you're going to do that. What you can do in a drabble is show a scene. So SHOW it.

Use every one of your 100 words on purpose.

[tchallasbabymama]

Don't Forget About Us

Hello, my lovelies. Here’s my contribution to @nahimjustfeelingit-writes smut challenge (the prompt is in bold!) Let’s see what Erik’s up to now, shall we?

Don’t forget to check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots. Your comments and reblogs mean the world to me, so make sure to let me know what you think! And let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my writing. Enjoy😘

Word count: 5,595

CW: smut...duh.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

Kayla sighed internally at the question and took a sip of her Pinot Grigio. She hated first dates with a burning passion, but unfortunately, that was the only way to find a man around here. She went through the motions of politely answering his questions, barely asking any of her own. She didn’t care. Even just fifteen minutes in, Kayla could tell he didn’t excite her, and she lamented the waste of a good outfit as she listened to him drone on about his life. Every now and then, he’d stop and ask a question about her, but she could tell he was only asking so he could talk more about himself.

How many siblings do you have?

What’s your sign?

Why did your last relationship end?

Her mind traveled to her ex-boyfriend, Erik Stevens. They had spent six blissful years together, and Kayla thought he was the one. She wanted them to get married and start a family, and she thought he did, too, but every time she brought it up, he’d find some excuse to change the subject. At thirty years old, Kayla wasn’t getting any younger, so she grew tired of his avoidance and eventually cut him loose. She needed more out of life, but the guy currently sitting across from her certainly wasn’t it.

“We wanted different things,” she answered vaguely and took another sip. It would be a long night with what’s-his-name. David? Devon? Whatever. At least he had money and took her to a nice restaurant.

Darryl took the opportunity to bore her with the details of his job, which Kayla already knew. He was a colleague of her best friend, Carina’s husband. They worked at the same law firm, and Carina decided to hook them up after tiring of hearing Kayla complain about dating apps. As much as Kayla hated Tinder, she would’ve much rather been at home on her couch swiping left on the cesspool of single men Oakland had to offer. Every few dozen swipes or so, she’d find a cutie, but his bio would be abysmal, or his conversation skills would fall flat.

Despite the fact that their relationship just couldn’t make it, Kayla still thought of Erik as the gold standard. Just thinking about his dimples and his struggle beard made her smile dreamily. His big, strong arms would wrap around her and hold her tight at night, and she’d trace her fingers over the intentionally placed keloid scars that held his darkest secrets. She missed retwisting his locs and the way he always smelled like sandalwood and warm vanilla. Kayla didn’t want to admit it, but she still loved him. No man could compare to her Erik.

“Hello? Kayla?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Can you repeat that last part?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What’s got you so distracted, babygirl?”

Kayla fought the bile rising in her throat. She wasn’t his babygirl. It didn’t even sound right coming from his mouth. Maybe it was the thinness of his lips. They weren’t “white man” thin, but they couldn’t hold a candle to the juicy pussy pleasers she had grown accustomed to.

“Nothing, just thought I saw somebody I know. You were saying?”

“Just that you look beautiful tonight,” Damon attempted to flirt with her.

Kayla wanted to roll her eyes but thanked him instead and smiled politely again. Of course she looked beautiful; she had pulled out all the stops for what she had hoped would be a good night out. Kayla had squeezed her thickness into a lavender satin dress. The way the dress’s skirt cinched on the side kept it snug around her plush waist, but the high slit that traveled up her thigh was the main attraction. The strappy silver heels on her feet showed off her matching pedicure that contrasted beautifully with her glistening brown skin, and her makeup was flawless. Her outerwear for the night, a cropped fur jacket that had found its way to the coat check when they arrived, was the icing on the cake. Her outfit deserved the appreciation, just not from Deshawn.

The waiter saved her from having to focus on her date when she brought out the food they had ordered. Since Kayla knew Derek had money, she had ordered the whole lobster, and she fought her mouth from drooling too much as the waiter set it down in front of her. It laid on a bed of forbidden rice, and the side of roasted brussels sprouts and cremini mushrooms looked heavenly. The ramekin of drawn butter off to the side tempted her as it sat next to the minuscule seafood fork. She may not enjoy her company for the evening, but Kayla damn sure was going to enjoy her meal.

“Looks good,” Dominic called from the other side of the table, breaking Kayla from her trance as he cut into his wagyu beef.

“Sure does.” Kayla wasted no time before digging into her meal. Not only was it the perfect excuse to avoid conversation, but it was perfect, period.

A slight chill permeated the air as the door swung open and the crisp January air entered the small restaurant. Kayla shivered as she complained internally about being forced to sit near the door, but that shiver intensified as she heard a voice. His voice.

“Reservation for Stevens, please.”

Kayla stilled.

“Of course. Right this way, sir,” the maitre d’ responded, and Kayla heard three sets of footsteps coming her way.

--------

“Babe, let’s go!”

“Yell at me one more time, woman,” Erik warned as he came around the corner into the living room, fastening his watch.

“I swear, you take more time getting ready than I do.”

“Whatever, Mo. You ready?”

“Nigga, I been ready!”

Erik rolled his eyes and grabbed his keys. It would be a rough night, and things were already starting off on a bad foot. He and Monique had been seeing each other for the better part of a year, and he’d finally reached his limit. She was overbearing, rude, and just after him for his money, but he hated being alone, so he put up with her bullshit. His cousin, T’Challa, had tried to hook him up with a few ladies back in Wakanda when he went to visit after his breakup, but nothing stuck. Almost immediately after coming back to the states, Erik met Monique at a charity event for the Outreach Center. She had the singing voice of an angel and had been booked as the entertainment for the evening. Erik was drawn to her like a sailor to a siren, and she immediately sank her teeth into him. Past her vocal talents, Monique wasn’t really anything special. Her personality left a lot to be desired, she wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, and she just wasn’t her.

The moment Kayla ended their relationship a year ago, Erik’s whole world shattered. He had lived a life full of pain and loss, but Kayla had been his lifeline. She pulled him out of the dark and made him revel in the sunshine. Hell, she was the sunshine, but now he had settled for a UV lamp at best. Kayla had wanted a life that Erik was too scared to give her, but that fear became his downfall. He still missed her most nights. He was lonely, and Monique was there to keep him company, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. Erik craved a connection that Monique just couldn’t provide. So he decided he had to break it off and figured that doing so in a public place would probably be best. She had a tendency to throw things when she got angry.

The car ride to Chez Martine was tense. Monique had been angry all day because Erik had taken back his credit card even though she wanted to buy a new dress for their date. Her lousy mood almost made him dump her back at his condo, but Erik kept a cool head and stayed focused on the plan. He ignored the way Monique complained the entire time she got ready, reluctantly putting on a dress he had seen her wear before. It didn’t matter to him; he knew what the night held.

When they walked into the restaurant, Erik’s heart dropped into his stomach. He’d recognize that shoulder blade tattoo anywhere. She had cut off all her hair and lost a few pounds, but he knew for sure that he was looking at Kayla. His Kayla. He forced himself to look straight ahead as they passed her table and prayed that the maitre d’ didn’t sit them where she could see him. Unfortunately, he had no such luck because the only open table for two was directly within her line of sight. He prayed again that Monique would sit on the far side of the table, but Bast ignored his pleas once more. He had to sit facing her, and as soon as he got comfortable in his chair, her gaze slyly trailed over to him. They locked eyes across the room, and Erik’s heart stopped. She was just as beautiful as the last time he saw her all those months ago, but who the fuck was that sitting across from her?

“What are you looking at?” Monique’s abrasive voice cut through his eardrums.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I know, that’s all.”

She cut her eyes at him and turned around to look as he buried his face in the menu.

“Quit being nosy,” he complained.

“I just wanna see who’s got your attention, that’s all.” Monique turned back around with a sour look on her face. “It’s probably that fat girl with her cleavage all out.”

“Mo, just look at the fucking menu and act like you got some sense.”

“Fine.”

Monique pouted until the waiter showed up, but she plastered a fake smile on her face as he took their order. As usual, she ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, and it bothered him to no end that she was hellbent on spending all of his money. Of course, he had plenty, but she felt entitled to it. Kayla never cared about him being rich. Hell, when they got together, she didn’t even know he was a prince, but he loved to spoil her nonetheless. He loved the look on her face when he’d buy her things or take her on the expensive trips that she more than deserved. Kayla appreciated everything he did for her with all her heart, but she’d say the same thing every time.

“Thank you, baby, but you’re all I need.”

Erik smiled fondly at the memory of when he bought her a diamond tennis bracelet from Wakanda for their second anniversary. She was so excited to have diamonds that weren’t marred by exploited labor that she damn near dropped the box when she saw what was inside. It had been a rough year for them, what with him disappearing for a couple of months to seize the Wakandan throne and all. She certainly had plenty of colorful words for him when he came back. He’ll never forget the look on her face when he showed up at her door. He had brought T’Challa for backup just in case, but she looked right past the king as tears welled up in her eyes at seeing her Erik, alive and well.

Erik’s eyes started to get misty as he thought about the way she kissed him with so much emotion...then slapped him across the face for leaving. His gaze wandered back over to Kayla and he noticed the light bounce off of something on her arm. She was wearing the bracelet.

As if she felt his glare, Kayla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, so he averted his eyes back to Monique, who had caught him staring again.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” she asked sarcastically, making him roll his eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

--------

Erik Stevens. Here, of all places. He just had to be here.

Kayla noticed that he didn’t seem to be enjoying his modelesque date’s company any more than she was enjoying Darwin’s, and the pang of jealousy she felt at seeing him with another woman went away. She knew she had no right to feel any kind of way about it, especially since she was the one that broke things off. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

Dylan was too wrapped up in his steak to notice her wandering eye, but it seemed that Erik’s food was as uninteresting as the woman across from him. Kayla watched as he half-heartedly pushed it around his plate, but he certainly kept his favorite whiskey coming. She wanted to chuckle but didn’t want Daniel to think he had anything to do with her levity. They were both drowning their dissatisfactions in their alcohols of choice, and Kayla got a phantom taste of Uncle Nearest 1856 on her lips as she watched him take a sip. When he set the glass down and licked his lips, Kayla felt flush. She missed those lips…

“So, how about dessert?” Damien asked as he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “I hear their creme brulee is amazing.”

“Uh, sure, why not?”

“You know,” he began as he leaned in and reached for her hands. She allowed him to take them, but the softness of his hands disgusted her. No callouses, no roughness, not even a firm grip. “I’ve had a great night. I’d love to see you again.”

Kayla chuckled nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“What are you doing next-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

A shrill voice pierced the air as Erik’s date bolted up from her seat. Desmond, and the whole restaurant, turned around to see what was going on, and Kayla took the opportunity to remove her hands from his.

“Keep your voice down,” Erik sneered through his teeth. “We’re in public.”

“So?! You bring me out here just to dump me? To dump this?!” she gestured at her slim figure, and he rolled his eyes.

“You ain’t even all that,” he waved her off. He was tired of playing nice, and Kayla could see the exasperation written all over his face.

“Excuse me, miss-” the waiter attempted to calm her down, but the crazed woman cut him off.

“Stay out of this!”

“I’m so sorry,” Erik mouthed to the poor man who would absolutely be getting a monstrous tip later.

“Oh, you’re sorry for him, but not for me?”

“Mo, just sit down. We can finish our meal like adults-”

“Fuck you, Erik.” She threw her dirty martini at him, soaking the front of his all-black ensemble.

Kayla could damn near see the steam coming out of his ears as his apparent ex stormed out of the restaurant. Erik locked eyes with her across the room, and when he saw the concern written all over her face, his softened.

“Whew, poor fella,” Dexter commented as he turned back around. “Where was I? Oh-”

“Excuse me, where’s your restroom?” Kayla interrupted him as their waiter walked by.

“Right down there.” She pointed at a set of stairs off to the side, and Kayla thanked her as she slid out of her seat.

“I’ll be back, Darius.”

“It’s Denzel.” He deflated.

“Fuck,” she froze. She had been sure it was Darius. “Still, I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” he responded, obviously upset by her slip-up.

Kayla hurried off down the stairs and leaned against the wall as she waited for either of the single-use restrooms to open up. She took a deep breath and opened her clutch, reaching in to pull out her phone with a shaky hand and typing in his number. It was one of the few she had memorized, just in case.

“You ok?”

Her thumb hovered over the send button, but she couldn’t press it. Her heart nearly thumped out of her chest at the thought of starting a conversation with him, but something within her said that she should. It would be weird not to say anything after all that, right?

“Hey-”

“Shit!” Kayla dropped her phone when his silky baritone graced her ears.

“My fault, ma.” Erik leaned over and picked the phone off the floor, checking it for cracks. He saw she had typed a message out to him and smirked before handing it back to her.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem. And, yeah, I’m ok.”

“Huh?”

Erik pointed at her phone screen.

“Oh! Right. Um, well, that’s good to hear.” Kayla attempted to push her hair behind her ear out of habit, forgetting she had just cut it all off a week ago.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ok? You don’t seem to into ole dude out there.”

Kayla sighed and rolled her eyes, “Oh, him.”

“Damn, it’s like that?” Erik laughed, and she slapped his arm. That slight contact was enough to spark a flame in them both, and Erik’s face turned serious. “For real, though, not going well?”

“Better than you, it seems,” she quipped as she eyed his wet shirt. That was a bad idea because his first three buttons were undone, and she caught a peek of the raised scars that she missed so much. And that broad chest, and the chain with his father’s ring that he always wore. He’d let her wear it from time to time, and she always felt like it was such an honor. He trusted her enough to let her wear it. He loved her enough to-

Kayla pried her eyes away and made yet another mistake: she looked up at him. Those eyes still looked like sweet, sweet molasses, and even though his locs were braided back, she could tell he was letting them grow out. She momentarily wondered who was retwisting them nowadays, but her train of thought was cut short by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. Kayla’s mind went blank as she inhaled slowly.

“Heh, yeah. That was...that was pretty embarrassing. Not even gonna lie.” Erik looked away shyly, unable to hold her gaze.

“I guess you’ll need to find a new date spot, huh?”

“Nah, I think I’m good on dating for a while.”

“Same,” Kayla sighed. “Dating sucks.”

“Yeah…”

One of the bathroom doors unlocked, and a middle-aged white man stepped out and passed them on the way up the stairs.

“Well, I should-”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Kayla walked towards the bathroom, but before she could reach the door, she felt a light tug on her wrist. His touch still gave her goosebumps, and he noticed her raised skin as she turned to face him.

“I just, uh...it was nice seeing you, Kay-kay.” Erik smiled at her, and she nearly melted. She missed when he called her that, too. “You look good.”

“Thanks, E.” She smiled back. “So do you.”

He let her go, and Kayla disappeared into the bathroom. When she closed the door behind her, she took a deep breath to center herself. After all these months, Erik still took her breath away. He clouded her senses and scrambled her mind. Even as she took care of business, her brain replayed their short interaction on a loop.

Kayla locked eyes with her reflection as she dried her hands. How could she go back up there to- what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Da- Denzel. That’s it, Denzel. How could she go back up there to his mediocre company when the man she still loved had made her feel so alive with just one touch. That was the magic of Erik, his magnetism. When they were together, she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, even when she wanted to slap him across his beautiful face. Those were some of the best times, though. If she was angry at him, he knew exactly what to do to calm her down. To put her in her place. To remind her-

Kayla’s daydreaming was cut short by a knock at the door.

“Occupied!”

It came again.

“I’ll be out in a minute!”

She reached for another paper towel to dab off the sweat that had started to pool on her skin at the thought of Erik’s dominance when the door opened.

“What the f- Erik?!”

He pushed inside the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

“You need to start locking doors, Kay.”

“I- what do you want?”

“I want to talk to you,” he spoke as he moved closer to her.

“Here?!”

“Yeah, here,” he chuckled.

Kayla rolled her eyes and tried to push past him.

“Now is not the time or place-”

“When is?” he blocked her exit, and she crossed her arms in defeat, looking up at him through her lashes as she leaned against the sink. “Look, I just need to say something real quick.”

“Fine,” Kayla sighed and gestured for him to continue. She knew there was no use fighting him. She wasn’t leaving that bathroom until he was good and ready.

“Kay,” his voice softened, and she looked away only to have her face pulled back in his direction. “Kay-kay, look at me.”

She made the mistake of doing just that, getting lost in his eyes again.

“I miss you,” Erik murmured.

“Erik-”

“Look, I know, ok? I know. And I’m sorry, Kay. I really am- no, look at me. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you...but I miss you, girl.”

Kayla’s eyes welled up with tears that she tried her hardest to blink away, but one had the nerve to fall. Erik wiped it away, and the next one, and the next one. A sob wracked Kayla’s body, and he wrapped his arms around her body.

“Don’t cry, babygirl. I know you worked hard on your makeup.”

Kayla laughed through her tears, but the emotions washed back over her, and she buried her face into his chest. It was already soaked with gin, so what harm would a few tears do?

He held her and rocked her softly from side to side as she cried, and after a couple of minutes, she found the will to look up at him again. His cheeks were wet, so she reached up and swiped her thumbs over them as she held his face in her small hands. He nuzzled into them and kissed her wrists.

“I miss you, too, E,” she croaked.

“I know, babygirl.”

He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and she closed her eyes as his soft lips caressed her skin. They stayed intertwined for who knows how long until Erik felt Kayla begin to pull back. He looked down at her, and the two of them locked eyes. Before they knew it, their lips had met in the middle in a passionate embrace. They got lost in each other for a moment until common sense returned to Kayla, and she pushed him off.

“We can’t-”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because what, Kay?” Erik’s voice rumbled as he closed what little gap was between their bodies. He left soft kisses on her temples before working down to her cheeks, then her jawline, and eventually the column of her neck. She let out a soft whimper when his teeth grazed the crook of her neck but pushed him back again before he could continue any further.

“Erik, I...I still love you, and-”

He attacked her lips with his, hands feverishly gripping her waist as he pushed her further into the sink. She had nowhere to go, and she was ok with that.

“I...love you...too...babygirl,” he whispered between kisses.

Kayla’s mind went blank as he lifted her up on the counter and pressed himself between her legs. She could feel him, all of him, and damn did she miss that monster between his legs.

“Erik,” she moaned as he nipped at her earlobe. He still knew how to play her body like a violin.

“Mmm, say it again.”

“Erik!” she squeaked as she felt his strong hands grip her thighs.

“Just like that,” he groaned, and she flooded her already wet panties.

“Baby-”

He connected his forehead to hers and stared deep into her eyes. “You miss me?”

“Mhm,” Kayla nodded with her lip between her teeth.

“I miss you, too, baby. I think about you all the time. Every day,” he pecked her lips, “every night. I miss everything about you, Kay-kay. Your off-key singing, your horrible cooking-”

“Shut up,” Kayla giggled as his hands traveled up her dress.

“Your body…fuck I miss this body. I miss how you smell, how you taste...how that tight little pussy feels wrapped around my dick.”

Kayla widened her legs for him as his fingers found their way to the seat of her panties, stroking up and down her slit. Erik kissed his way back down her face and over to her ear, his warm breath sending chills down her spine.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself? Because I do. You’re all I see when I stroke my dick...wishing it was your hand...your lips...this fucking pussy.”

Erik pushed her panties to the side, and his nimble fingers circled her clit. Kayla let out a small moan that was music to his ears, making fingers move faster and her breath grow shallower with each rotation.

“Answer me.”

“Mhm.”

“Come on, babygirl, you can do better than that. You think about me when you play in your pussy? This pussy right here?” he asked as he slapped her vulva, her wetness sticking to his hand.

“Y-yes, baby-”

“Uh-uh, you know who I am. Say it,” Erik commanded as he snuck three fingers inside her wetness, making her moan loudly in his ear. “Shhh, you gotta be quiet, babygirl. You don’t want people out there knowing how much of a slut you are, right?”

Kayla shook her head no.

“That’s what I thought. Now, I asked you a question, Kayla,” he reminded her. His gruff voice made her weak, and the fingers that were steadily speeding up inside her certainly didn’t help. “Answer me. Who am I, babygirl?”

Kayla tried to hold out as much as she could. She didn’t want to say it, too proud to give in, but the way he was currently stretching out her pussy and curling his fingers inside her made her cling to his shoulders. The bastard knew what he was doing, and she didn’t want to let him win. But then, he played dirty and bit down on her neck. She cried out, and when he pulled back to look at her, the ferocity in his eyes drove her up the wall.

“I said, who the fuck am I, Kayla?” Erik growled. His hand sped up, making her weak with every thrust. She couldn’t hold it anymore and came undone around him, her mouth betraying her as his name fell from her lips.

“Daddy!” she gasped as her pussy spasmed, and he chuckled darkly.

“Damn right I am,” he kissed her lips, “now gimme that pussy. Daddy missed his pussy.”

Kayla heard a rip and felt the cool air between her legs as he tore through her panties to get to her treasure trove. She reached down between them and grabbed his clothed erection in her hand, making him groan as he bit down on his luscious bottom lip. She undid his belt buckle and slowly unzipped his pants before reaching in and pulling out his throbbing dick.

The longing in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, so he pushed her legs back and tapped his head on her clit.

“You want daddy’s dick in you?”

“Mhm,” she whimpered.

“Good.”

He pushed in and groaned at the feeling of her pussy walls gripping him as he sheathed himself inside her.

“Fuck, you feel like home.”

Kayla moaned into his neck in response and wound her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust as he stroked into her slow and deep. She couldn’t form words. He felt so damn good inside her that Kayla’s brain had short-circuited. Erik’s dick hit spots that she could never find herself no matter how hard she tried. Even in her dreams, he drove her body wild. She had spent the last year trying to find somebody, anybody who could make her feel that way, but nobody could compare to Erik Stevens.

Erik and Kayla panted heavily into each others’ mouths as he made love to her body, and as soon as Kayla started to tense up, his thrusts grew harder.

“I-I-”

“I know, babygirl. Daddy feels it,” he groaned as he nipped at her bottom lip. “Cum on my dick like a good girl.”

His words sent Kayla into overdrive, and her body shook as she spilled over him. Her spasming walls hugged him tight, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, begging him with her eyes.

“You feel amazing,” she moaned.

“Mhm. I know them other niggas wasn’t hitting it like this. I just know it. Look at you, cumming all over daddy’s dick. Look at it!” He grabbed her chin and made her look down at her throbbing pussy as his dick slid in and out of her.

“We look so good, daddy!”

Erik slammed into her, and she bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming. He gave her his all over and over, rocking the countertop in the process.

“We’ll look even better if you let me cum in this pussy. Mix my cum with yours-”

“Yes!”

“Yes?” He chuckled. “You want it that bad, huh? Nasty ass, in here getting fucked while that bum ass nigga’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Mmm, I want it.”

“Want what, babygirl?” Erik teased as he brought his thumb to her clit, strumming it slowly as he thrust into her.

“You. I want you to cum deep in me.”

“Shit,” Erik groaned. “You want it deep in there?”

“Mhm. Put it where it belongs, daddy.” Kayla licked up the side of his neck, making his knees buckle. “Cum in your pussy.”

Erik lost all sense of control and pounded into her tight pussy, somehow getting even deeper in preparation for his release. Kayla held on tight as she felt him begin to spasm inside her, and she released around him again as his deep moans tickled her ear. Erik thrust extra deep and held his dick in place as he emptied his balls into her warmth, whimpering lightly as she rubbed his back to soothe him and bring him back down.

“I missed you, babygirl.”

“I missed you, too, daddy.”

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other until their breathing slowed. Erik was the first to move, slowly pulling himself out of Kayla as she whined at the loss of contact. He kissed all over her face before planting a slow, sweet kiss on her lips.

“I can’t let you go again, Kay-kay,” his voice cracked as tears threatened to fall from his eyes again.

Kayla pulled him back in and kissed him so deeply that she nearly lost herself in him again, but he pulled away and looked her in her eyes.

“I’m serious, girl. I’ll do anything. I’ll marry you, give you as many big-headed babies as you want. Just, please, Kay-” she cut him off with another kiss to shut him up.

“We should go back to my place and talk,” she whispered, and Erik’s face lit up. Something about the way she said it, the way she kissed him, the way her body still responded to his...it gave him hope. Kayla smiled at him and pecked his lips once more before hopping off of the sink. He had to catch her because her legs were wobbly, and she stumbled a little in her heels.

“You aight?” he laughed.

“No, nigga,” she slapped his chest, and the two of them got caught in a laughing fit. They had really just fucked in the bathroom at Chez Martine. Kayla was on cloud nine until a thought occurred to her, and her face fell flat. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Erik’s face turned serious, and his eyes scanned over her body, looking for whatever the problem was.

Kayla started giggling again, and he looked confused.

“What is it?” he asked, barely able to keep a straight face. Her laugh was always so infectious…

“Demetrius.”

“Who?!”

“My date.”

“Girl, don’t worry about him. He probably thinks you dipped out anyway.”

Kayla shrugged and fixed her dress as Erik stuffed his shirt back in his pants. They checked their reflections in the mirror, and Kayla was pleasantly surprised that her makeup was still intact thanks to that setting spray she had splurged on the other day.

“Ready?” Erik asked as he admired her beauty. Kayla nodded, and he unlocked the door, opening it to find Duncan leaning against the wall with a sour look on his face. Kayla’s eyes blew wide as she tried to figure out what to say to her date for the evening.

“Heyyy, um…”

“Denzel,” he seethed.

“Yeah, sorry. So, um, we’re-”

“Sorry, bruh,” Erik clapped him on the shoulder, “but we heading out. Bathroom’s all yours, though.”

Erik pulled Kayla along, and she sent Deion an apologetic glance before following Erik up the stairs. It seemed the whole restaurant knew what had occurred, but neither one of them cared. They were just happy to be around each other again. It had been entirely too long.

Taglist: @ladymac82, @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy, @raysunshine78, @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me,@toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @blacklytical, @uzumaki-rebellion, @honeyandpeaches, @cecereads209, @wakandama2,

[goldenclosetnetwork]

23 | Jungkook’s Birthday Project [Masterlist]

In celebration of Jungkook’s birthday, GCN is hosting our very first project! In honor of our Golden Maknae turning 23, our project will be based on 23 Prompts and 23 AUs! 

Thank you to everyone who joined us!! We hope you had loads of fun writing for JK’s bday!!

Official Post

⥼ Header & borders made by @mindays​ ♡

⥼ Collaborating Networks: @winterbearnet​ | @suganetwork​ | @bangtanarmynet​ | @thebtswritersclub​ | @bangtan-headquarters​ | @kwritersworld​ | @btswritingcafe​ | @hopeworldnet​ | @bangtanfairygarden​ | @btsnoonanet​ | @bighitcity​

⤚ A Hero’s Journey by @hansolmates​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Jungkook and Jisoo are the mightiest power couple. However, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. You realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story ⤜ genre: best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst, smut, graphic designer au, editor au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ EXPLORER by @1kook​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. ⤜ genre: fluff, smut, strangers to friends to lovers, alien au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader 

⤚ Good Different by @prettyboongi​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: You and Jeon Jungkook have been best friends for as long as you could remember. Everyone knows you two as "The Gruesome Twosome" and you'd be so lost without your best guy. So imagine your shock when one day Jungkook suddenly confesses his true feelings for you and asks you to be his girlfriend! Surprised and anxious, you accept his feelings and agree to try out a relationship with Jungkook while wrestling your own conflicting feelings towards him. ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, friends 2 lovers au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Here Comes The Bride, All Dressed In Pride by @hansolmates​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend. ⤜ genre: fluff, crack, fake dating au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x reader

⤚ Into The Shadows by @mikroparadise​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Late nights at the office were never really your thing. But when the new guy Jeon Jungkook asks you to stay late to help him with a personal project one evening, despite you barely knowing him from Adam, you can’t bring yourself to say no to him. Your first coffee break of the night proves to be horrifying, however, when you accidentally witness an event that you should have never been there to see. And now, you and Jungkook have to run like your lives depend on it. Because they do. ⤜ genre: angst, smut, mafia au, s2l au, mafia au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x reader

⤚ i wanna do (whatever you wanna do) by @joopiterjoon​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Jungkook gets into trouble a lot, but that's okay because his three hyungs always forgive him. ⤜ genre: fluff, slice of life, mxm, poly au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x Rapline

⤚ Losing It by @yoonseoksoftie​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: there are many ways jungkook thought he’d lose his v-card. prom, at his debutant ball, at jin’s crazy house parties, during his first semester at college or maybe a one night stand. but never did he think it would be to you. ⤜ genre: fluff, smut, fuckgirl au, f22l au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x reader

⤚ Love Language by @ezralia-writes​​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: “Relationships grow better when we understand each other. Each love language is important and expresses love in its own way. Learning the way we feel loved and appreciated helps create a stronger bond in a relationship.” ~ The Five Love Languages Perhaps the reason two best friends retained unrequited crushes for each other all these years is simply because neither of you could understand the different ways you express your undying affections for one another. ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, f2l (idiots 2 lovers) ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Personal Galaxy by @baepsaesbae​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: You and your boyfriend, Jungkook, go on a stargazing date to celebrate your anniversary. ⤜ genre: smut, fluff, established relationship au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Prince of Darkness by @suqakoo​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Your coven has protected the Prince of Darkness for centuries before you were even born. He was never supposed to wake without his mate, unless...she lives. ⤜ genre: smut, minor angst, romance, vampire au, witch au, soulmate au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Roseraie by @yeojaa​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: What you had - so brilliant and beautiful and bright it was almost impossible to look at head-on - was what was tearing you two apart.  It was your love that would be your demise. ⤜ genre: angst, soulmate au, hanahaki au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ 神奇 (Shénqí) by @heyitsmeee2​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Lost in a magical forest is not what you expected. Neither was being stuck in a fairy village for the unforeseeable future. But you didn't mind it too much, especially when there was a sweet fairy willing to help you out. ⤜ genre: romance, fantasy au, fairy au, s2l-e2l-f2l au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (gender neutral) reader

⤚ Stupid Love by @daydreamindollie​ 

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: you want to be honest with him but saying you love him would be stupid; he wouldn't know love if it slapped him across the face ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, superhero au, best friends 2 lovers ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Sugar Pink by @dewykth​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: maybe asking his brother's best friend to teach him about sex was a stupid, impulsive decision. but jungkook has never been one for good plans. besides, it's not like it could get any worse than this right? ⤜ genre: romance, angst, smut, brother's best friend au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x reader

⤚ The Most Lonely Creature by @astraljoon​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Playing with an old radio seemed silly, but you had nothing better to do. you didn't expect to come into contact with someone, or something, and they so happened to be on the other side of the cosmos. ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, smut, alien au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ There You Are by @joonkookiemonster​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Everyone around him found their mates already and he is very anxious about his. Out of all scenarios he had imagined, it didn't cross his mind that his omega comes into his house as the shy fried chicken delivery girl, under his big pet dog. ⤜ genre: fluff, smut, werewolf au, a/b/o au, alpha au, omega au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x reader

⤚ (Un)welcomed Addition by @honeyj00ns​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: After a drunken one night stand with your neighbor, you have your reasons for wanting to forget it ever happened and never talk to him again. Unfortunately, Jungkook wins the award for the world’s worst neighbor so his 3 am wakeup calls and mail stealing have you banging at his door on an almost weekly basis. You just want to make it to the end of your lease so you can leave all the traces of the fuckboy next door behind...unless your feelings get in the way of course. ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, neighbors 2 lovers au, fuckboy au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Wherever You Are by @suhdays​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: It’s not that he was afraid, he was just unsure of how to connect to those so unlike him. It’s not that he was never in love before, he just never loved anyone quite like he loves you. In all of the decades that has passed since his turning to a vampire, Jeongguk wanted nothing more than to be with you. ⤜ genre: fluff, slight angst, vampire au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Your Eyes Tell by @pars-ley​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: When your best friend’s a prince and inherits the throne, he needs to find a wife to rule alongside him as Queen, you’re more than happy to help him choose an eligible bachelorette. But what happens when you, who only wants to marry for love, are forced to be one of the participants? Jungkook already knows he wants to choose you. He’s loved you for years but could he do that to his best friend; force a marriage of  convenience and a life of loyalty to the throne onto you, when he knows all you desire is love and romance? ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, royals au, arranged marriage au, unrequited love au ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

⤚ Zero to Hero by @btsxdoll​

⥼ read here ⥽

⤜ summary: Life hadn't been kind to Jungguk but that hadn't stopped him before, so why would it not? ⤜ genre: fluff, angst, romance, greek mythology au   ⤜ pairing: Jungkook x (f) reader

[ct-multifandom]

Everyone always makes jokes about how Bustier would react when an akuma strikes and almost her entire class is suddenly making crappy excuses for why they need to get out. Maybe she has them all figured out and supports them, or maybe she just feels bad for what they’ve been through and understands the desire to evacuate, even when that specific akuma shouldn’t be a threat to them. Maybe Marinette’s fooling-no-one bs has made her numb to even marginally better bad excuses.

But as funny as that scenario is, I wonder what Mendeleiv would think. Each time, these two kids in particular need to scram. IMO that’s so much more suspicious than everyone going. Does she use her scientific mind to correctly put the pieces together? Realistically, probably not, so here is where we enter fanfic prompt territory.

She begrudgingly assumes they’re taking advantage of the chaos to go vape in the bathroom or some crap

She starts snooping, and walks in on them hiding in the big stall seconds after transforming. She asks what they’re doing and Marc’s like, “uhhhhh DRUGS” and Zoe facepalms while Mendeleiv’s like ugh typical alt kids

Her gaydar is irreparably out of whack, and she thinks they’ve been playing Super Penguino until she finds out Marc is dating Nathaniel and has to sit down for a second.

Two options here: Mendeleiv genuinely likes Marc because he’s attentive, responsible, and most importantly, good at science. When she finds out, she’s like, no baby, why, you can do so much better than him, and Marc’s like, why do you have personal beef with a 14 yo

OR she hates him because he spends all class writing at at some point she realizes that he is in fact not fervently taking notes but rather writing fiction. She has flashbacks to teaching Bustier’s class and has a moment of how the hell haven’t I connected these two dots before

And here’s my favorite scenario:

Mendeleiv is convinced that Zoe and Marc are Ladybug and Chat Noir. She just needs the solid evidence to prove it.

The eye colors and hair length check out. Hell, why not just swap hair colors with each other for the sake of the disguise

Somehow she can never recall a situation where they’re in class while LB and CN are confirmed to be out fighting. People just don’t get akumatized smack dab in the middle of the school day like they used to. Which is great and also really nice of Hawkmoth because class doesn’t get interrupted but the evidenceeee

It finally happens. That goth chick from Caline’s is crying over something and all her kids run to comfort her, but get sucked into her sentimonster. Mendeleiv follows suit, cursing that the one time it happens is when she’s not teaching her own kids, but to no avail. She gets caught too. At least her theory’s not disproven.

(After Ladybug finishes forming her team) Zoe is an amazing actress and Marc can weave together a believable scenario on the spot but that doesn’t save either of them from the inherent suspiciousness of instantly skedaddling at the news of an akuma

Sure, Zoe only “moved to France” recently, but that could be a coverup. Her family is insanely rich and powerful, so she could have been homeschooled in secrecy, allowing her the freedom to be a superhero during “school time”. Maybe she only started school to make more friends and participate in extracurriculars? Plus, Queen Bee was revealed to be her own half-sister. It’s all connected.

Marc cryptically spawned into existence at some point and Mendeleiv doesn’t like to think too hard on it. He didn’t “transfer” like Zoe. He just appeared one day. Her working theory is that he’s always been there, just much less memorable until he decided to spontaneously reboot his entire aesthetic to something a lot more “main character”. Could he be transitioning? Like, probably, but certainly not from “invisible” to “visible”. Either way, it’s much too late to pull the casual, “hey, did you get a haircut?” to test the waters.

She thinks they might have something to do with those little flying sprite thingies nobody else ever seems to see or believe her about...

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles - Moments of Wonder

Well my plans for this prompt month definitely tanked but that’s okay, I’m still gonna finish this Hallmark AU at least. I’m gonna try not to write a ten paragraph authors note detailing all my struggles with this piece and just say, I hope the intention comes through even with all the life interruptions.

Find the prompt list here!

Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

“Spaghetti?” Rose screeched. “Luka, nobody looks good eating spaghetti. She’ll be uncomfortable. Make something else.”

Luka looked at the ceiling for a moment and prayed for patience. “It’s not like this is a date,” he muttered, going to look through the pantry to see what else he could make. Rose’s pestering was making him nervous, and his hand hovered over several options before he shook himself and picked up a bag of rice. Casserole seemed like such a homely option but—

Not a date , he reminded himself resolutely. He didn’t want to make Marinette uncomfortable. She hadn’t agreed to a date, so it wasn’t one, and he wasn’t going to let Rose’s fantasizing make him treat it like one.

“Casserole?” Rose said doubtfully when he got out the pan. 

Luka groaned. “Out, Rose.” He grabbed the kitchen towel hanging on the oven rail and snapped it at her, making her squeak and jump back. She folded her arms with a pout. “Nope. Not gonna work on me,” he told her, flapping her out of the kitchen with the towel like a fly. “Get lost.” 

“I’m just trying to help,” Rose wailed as she backed away. 

“And stay out,” Luka told her shortly, and turned to go back in the kitchen. He leaned on the counter and sighed. He was a patient guy, and he liked Rose, and okay so she was right that he and Marinette would hit it off, but— enough , already. He was nervous enough about whether she would understand what he wanted to show her tonight, and not really sure why it was important to him anyway. 

Maybe it was lingering guilt for disappearing without any real explanation or apology to his fans. Maybe if he could make even one fan understand, he’d feel better. 

Orrrr maybe it has nothing to do with your fans and you just want Marinette to understand, Rose’s voice sing-songed in his head, because you liiiiiike her. Luka sighed. 

He did like her. He liked her, and he wanted to know her, and the only way he knew of to do that was to invite her to know him. He sighed again, and went back to his dinner preparations.

Marinette knocked on the Couffaines’ door with so many butterflies in her stomach that she wasn’t at all sure she was going to be able to eat. It had been easy to accept the invitation with Luka there in front of her, with his relaxed smile and calm presence, but by the time she got back to her grandmother’s house, her brain had gone into a panicked spiral of overthinking that had her feeling jumpy and on edge. She always put thought into her appearance, but she’d agonized over it tonight, afraid of looking too...date-like. In the end she’d kept her pigtails and kept her makeup light, and worn a slightly oversized cream sweater over red leggings. Easy, seasonally appropriate, not unflattering but not aiming to attract, either. 

When the door flew open, Rose’s excited, beaming face did nothing to ease her nerves. As Rose dragged her inside, bouncing a little, Marinette had an unsettling feeling like she had been caught in a trap of some kind, and it didn’t get any better when Rose introduced her to Luka’s sister. Juleka gave her a quick once over and smirked, and Marinette was struck by an urge to flee the premises.  

Then Luka was there, taking her elbow gently and somehow getting everyone moving to the table. He wasn’t dressed for a date either, wearing a slightly worn navy pullover with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows and jeans that had seen better days. The look he gave her as he escorted her to the dining room said please ignore them, we both know better, and Marinette began to relax a little bit. That’s right. Rose might be scheming but she and Luka had already talked it out, and they knew where they stood. They were friends, and whatever he wanted to show her tonight had nothing to do with...with wooing her, or whatever Rose seemed to think was going on.

Dinner wasn’t fancy, either, and that made her feel better too. She managed to strike up a conversation with Juleka after Luka pointed out that many of the photographs on the walls were Juleka’s work. He turned all of Rose’s attempts to get them started on personal topics into casual conversation, and Marinette honestly could have kissed him just for making everything so... easy.

Not that she would. Not that he wanted her to. Not that she wanted to! Oh no, she was starting again…

Marinette nearly jumped out of her seat when a peppy tune blared out seemingly from nowhere. Luka put a steadying hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile while Rose pulled her phone out of her pocket, frowning. 

“Excuse me a second,” Rose said apologetically, “It’s work so I better see what they want.” 

Marinette had to blink for a moment. She’d forgotten that normal people didn’t take phone calls during dinner.

“Sabrina, what’s up?” Rose chirped, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin as she held the phone to her ear and slipped out of her chair to walk into the other side of the room—not that it really made a difference since they could all still hear her. “Well, finally, what took so long? So, what’s the big deal?” There was a pause, and Rose frowned. “Come down there? Why are you being so dramatic, Sabrina, can’t you just tell me?” 

That got Luka’s attention. He shot Rose an alarmed look, and Rose rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, fine. I’m on my way.” She hung up the phone and came back over to kiss Juleka’s cheek. “I have to go. There’s something up with the costumes for the children’s pageant and Sabrina’s making a big deal about it. I’ll come back after I find out what’s going on.” She grinned at Luka and Marinette. “Have fun without me.” She fluttered her hand and left the table, blowing a kiss to them all as she flounced out of the door.

Luka gaped after her for a moment. No, no, this was no good. Rose’s excited fluttering aside, she and Juleka were supposed to go do their own thing and get so distracted with each other that he could talk to Marinette in peace, but without Rose—Luka glanced at his sister, and saw her smirking at him. Luka tried to convey with nothing but his eyes that if she ruined this for him he’d never forgive her. Juleka just rolled her eyes and went back to eating. 

“Children’s pageant?” Marinette was repeating next to him in confusion. “At the library? I thought that was usually a church thing.” 

“Oh, it is,” Juleka smirked. “The church has one every year too, and Rose...Rose has a beef with it. Let’s just say they’ve had the same Joseph and Mary for the last three years and Rose doesn’t feel like it represents the proper Christmas spirit.” 

“Oh,” Marinette said, blinking. “Huh.” 

“Are you finished, Juleka?” Luka asked a little too quickly, standing up. “I can take your plate.” 

Juleka gave him a look that said she knew what he was doing, but she got up too. “Yeah. Thanks. It was nice to meet you Marinette.” She went to the stairs, but couldn’t resist a parting “You two have fun,” before she thunked up them.

Luka sighed, and took Juleka’s plate and his own to the kitchen. He nearly bumped into Marinette when he turned around, standing behind him with her own mostly-empty plate. “Oh, sorry,” he said, taking it from her automatically. “I didn’t mean to rush you, if you weren’t done.” 

“No, I’m good,” Marinette said, with a nervous little flutter of her hands. “I was done. Can I help you clean up?”

“Nah, Jules can get it later,” he said, opening the cabinet to dump the last of the food in the trash before he put the plate in the sink. “I cooked, so dishes are her job. Let me just put the leftovers in the fridge. Why don’t you come on into the great room while I do that?” 

He led her out of the kitchen into the two-story great room, with its huge windows and exposed beams and the large crackling fireplace. 

“Wow, this is lovely,” Marinette breathed, looking around.

“I like it,” Luka shrugged with a self-conscious smile. “Great acoustics in here, actually. Just have a seat wherever you’re comfortable and I’ll be right back. Watch your step, we’re...not exactly neat freaks, if you know what I mean.” 

“It looks lived in,” Marinette agreed diplomatically. The furniture was all mismatched and...unique. Some of it looked so old and rickety that she wasn’t sure it was safe to sit on, and there were...boxes everywhere. Not really boxes, but old army footlockers, heavy-looking chests, and a dozen other things. They were mostly tucked in the corners of the room, leaving the floor clear for the enormous Christmas tree that took up an entire corner of the huge room. 

Marinette made her way to one of the couches as Luka went back to the kitchen. It looked like an antique, with an old brocade fabric that was slightly faded but otherwise in good condition, and sturdy enough. Marinette perched on the end of it, feeling a little awkward. She looked around the room. Despite the size, it was cozy, with a rustic air, much like all the other buildings she’d been in around town, and though she’d been being polite, her statement was accurate. It didn’t look so much cluttered as lived-in, as if this room was used a lot by the entire family. As she looked at the Christmas tree, she had to smile. The decorations were a bit...eccentric. Several of the ornaments on the tree were little bats wearing tiny knitted scarves or carrying miniature instruments that looked like they might have come from a doll collection. Music seemed to feature prominently in the tree, she realized. Many of the figures had instruments, not just the bats (there were spiders, too, she saw with amusement). Some of the ornaments were cheap, clearly mass manufactured things, but others were carefully crafted and looked like they’d come from far away places. Guitars weren’t the only instruments featured, but they did outnumber the others by quite a bit. Luka wasn’t the only musical one in the family, she concluded. His father was Jagged Stone, after all, and boy there was probably a story there, but she’d never dare ask. 

Her eyes widened slightly when Luka reappeared with an electric guitar in one hand. Marinette blushed, one hand fluttering up to fuss nervously with her hair. Surely he wasn’t going to play now? For her? 

Luka smirked a little at the expression on her face, and winked at her as he set the guitar down in a stand she hadn’t noticed. “In a minute,” he told her, and Marinette wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. Could she act more like a starstruck fan? Luka crossed to a funny looking cabinet that turned out to have a CD player inside. “You know Blue Lightning, right?

“Yes, of course,” Marinette said, blinking. It was one of the singles off his most recent album—his last album, she realized with a pang.  

Luka nodded as he put the CD he’d been holding in the player. “This was the demo I pitched to the label when I wrote it.” 

He pressed play, and turned the volume up. He walked over to one of the windows and stuck his hands in his pockets as the music began to play.

Marinette’s mouth dropped open. It sounded so...different. Of course a demo would sound different, she’d heard demo tracks before and they didn’t necessarily have full instrumentation or backup vocals, but...the whole feel of the song was different. Peppier, more fluid, less...angry. Still a rock song, but not so...gritty, or harsh, as the version she knew. 

Luka kept his eyes down as he switched off the CD player and closed the cabinet, and then went to sit next to Marinette on the couch. Only then did he look up at her.

“The execs said they loved it,” he told her softly, “but it didn’t fit my brand. They didn’t think it would sell. Later, they told me. When I was a bigger star, then I could put out something like that, but not yet.”

“That’s—” a shame, Marinette wanted to say, but instead she twined her fingers together and looked down. “Well, I guess they know what sells, right? It makes sense that you would take their advice.”

“That’s what I thought.” Luka nodded. “So I agreed to change it. And then in post production they ‘tweaked it’ some more, and…” He grimaced. “And then I had to go up on stage and perform it like that, and even though it made sense at the time, I just...hated it. When I complained, they told me I wasn’t bringing in enough sales yet to be such a diva and that if I wanted to make the music I wanted to make, then I needed to work harder.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it,” Marinette sighed. “But you have to make your bones, right? It’s the same with fashion. That’s just...part of the industry.” She glanced at him uncertainly.

“So they told me,” Luka gave her a wry smile. 

Marinette looked back at her hands. “Well, if it was making you unhappy, then it’s good that you left,” she said, but she said it without conviction, and she knew that he could hear it. 

Luka sighed. “Well. There was more to it than just that.” He got to his feet. “You’ve been to one of my shows, right? I think you said you had.” He picked up the guitar from the stand, and slung the strap across his shoulders. 

Marinette nodded. “Mmhmm.” She watched as he rummaged behind one of the chairs, pulled out an amp cord, and plugged it into the guitar.

“Good,” Luka said, sitting down across from her in one of the rickety-looking chairs. Marinette’s hands moved involuntarily before fluttering back into her lap. He lived here; surely he knew the hazards of the furniture. She curled her fingers under and tried not to fidget. He grinned without looking at her as he tuned the guitar.

“It’ll hold,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “I promise nothing around here is as fragile as it looks.” 

“Right,” Marinette said, hunching her shoulders slightly. “Of course.” She didn’t know where to look, and she suddenly felt very stupid. Why was she here again?. 

“Just relax,” Luka’s deep voice soothed, and she glanced up, color deepening. He sounded like Luke Stone in that moment, with the smooth, musical tone of his voice. “Just listen. If you don’t understand when I’m done, then...then that’ll be okay. But I’d like to try and show you what I mean. The difference between Luke Stone, and...me.” 

He took a breath, blew it out slowly...and played. Marinette’s breath caught. It was just White Christmas, which she’d heard a thousand times over in a hundred different styles. Even so, it was beautiful, embellished with unique touches that face it the same evocative quality that had first drawn her to Luke’s—to Luka’s music. 

Apparently he was just warming up, though, because he took another deep breath, and the music segued into a different tune—one she didn’t recognize. 

It resonated somewhere deep inside her, touched a well of pain she’d been trying to ignore for months. Not only the music, which by itself was beautiful and seemed to vibrate in her soul—but the artistry. And when she looked at him— 

Luka’s eyes were half closed, and his face was serene, with just a slight wrinkle of concentration between his brows. His hands, rough and abused as they were, moved easily and gracefully, with a confidence that Marinette suddenly realized was familiar. She’d had that once, back when she’d been young and inexperienced and thought too highly of herself. Before she’d learned better, and seen how far she still had to go. 

She found that she envied Luka in that moment. It must be nice, to be away from all that pressure and just...create for yourself again. Not to be constantly questioning your instincts, because you only had yourself to please anyway. 

Her chest suddenly felt tight, and her eyes stung. She swallowed hard and tore her eyes away from him, looking down at her hands. She closed her eyes and put her hand on her heart, determined to listen until the end. 

It was so beautiful. Poignant. 

She recognized now what he’d been trying to show her with the demo track. She had been too distracted at the time by the other differences, but...there had been so much more feeling in the demo version. Because Luka had loved it, she realized. He’d been excited about that song, and by the time the studio was done with it, that enthusiasm was lost. He played the studio version well, with all the technical skill he possessed, but it lacked the passion of the original. If anything, it sounded angry because Luka was angry when he played it.

That’s part of the process, though. It’s just part of the industry. Editing is important, even if it isn’t fun. Of course you’re tired of a project before it’s finished. You’ve still got to see it through. You don’t just quit or give up on a project because you feel pouty that people told you what was wrong.

It was the truth, so...why did watching Luka, and hearing him play, make it feel like such a lie?

The studio was wrong, she admitted to herself. Even if it was an objectively better song when they were done, even if the sales numbers said they were right...what they lost along the way was so much more precious than perfection. 

Luka’s song ended softly, but on a questioning note, without really concluding. He looked up at her, and then came over to sit next to her on the couch, his expression concerned. 

She wasn’t sure why until Luka reached out, and wiped away the tear trickling down her face with the rough pad of his thumb. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m—” Marinette began, trying to smile, but she couldn’t finish. Her face crumpled and she buried in her hands before she began to cry in earnest. 

Luka put the guitar down, and came to sit beside her. His hands curled around her shoulders and tugged her to him. Marinette yielded, letting him pull her close. One arm wrapped around her back and one big hand gently cradled her head, guiding it down to his shoulder, and he held her, swaying gently, while she hid her face in his shirt and wept. 

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Luka said apologetically, and Marinette shook her head without lifting it. He held her for a long moment, until she finally managed to pull herself together and pull away from him, sitting up and wiping at her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I was enjoying it so much, I can’t believe I just...lost it like that, ugh.” 

“It’s okay,” Luka soothed, putting his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed and rubbed it lightly. “Do you feel better?” 

“I...think I do, actually,” Marinette gave him a quick smile. “Thank you.” She was still embarrassed, but she meant it. It felt like a pressure valve had opened somewhere inside of her, and while nothing had really changed, it all felt just a little bit less oppressive. “I think I understand, at least a little. Why you left. But…” Marinette pressed her lips together, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to go on. Luka squeezed her shoulder again lightly, waiting for her to continue.

“I just...was quitting really the only way? Wasn’t it your dream? Wasn’t it worth fighting for?”

Luka swallowed and drew his hand back. He folded his hands together between his knees, looking at the floor, and hoped he could say what he wanted to without sounding like a pretentious drama queen or a weakling. 

“What happened between us just now,” Luka began slowly, “Luke Stone could never do that. I didn’t mind the work, or the hours, or even the touring. It’s just, the more we ‘refined’ Luke Stone’s image, the less it felt like me, and it put up this...wall between me and the rest of the world. It wasn’t just the label interfering with my music, it was the image they wanted me to project. The brand. It was harder and harder to be somebody different off-stage, because after a certain point, there’s really no such thing as off-stage. Jagged, you know, he can turn it on and off like that.” He snapped his fingers. “He tried to help me, he really did, but...I just...wasn’t connecting with people the way I needed to, for the music to really flow. I felt so alone, and unhappy, and I was still making music but it wasn’t mine, anymore. It was just something I did to keep the label happy. Finally I decided that clinging to the dream for the sake of the dream wasn’t very smart if it didn’t actually make me happy, and it was more important to be me than to be a star.” Luka glanced up. Marinette was staring at him, her eyes huge in her pale face. He felt himself beginning to blush and dropped his eyes again. “So I told Dad I was done,” he went on quickly. “He was disappointed, but he understood. I finished out my contract and came home to figure out what in the world comes next.” 

Marinette was silent for a moment. Luka swallowed nervously, and was trying to think of a graceful way to end the conversation when she finally said, “You’re really brave, Luka.”

He blinked, the words he’d been about to force out dying on his tongue. “What?” he said instead.

“I think it takes a lot of courage to admit that,” Marinette said quietly. “Even to yourself, let alone actually making the break and leaving it all behind. I’m glad you did it. I loved your music, but…” She reached out hesitantly, and slid her hand over Luka’s. He released his clasped hands to turn his fingers up to lace with hers. “I’m glad that you did what was right for you, instead of…”

“Flaming out and becoming an alcoholic drug addict?” he asked with a sardonic grin. Her hand was so small in his, he couldn’t help noticing. 

Marinette giggled. “Something like that. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. You really didn’t have to rehash all of that for me.” 

Luka shrugged and repeated, “I wanted you to understand.” She had no idea how bad he wanted her to understand. He was grateful and relieved that she did...and at the same time, it was a little frightening. Things might have been simpler if she had scoffed and blown him off. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, holding her hand and looking into her soft, beautiful eyes, feeling like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. 

Marinette bit her lip, and his gaze dropped to it. “I should...if it’s okay with you, I think I should go home now.” 

Luka shook himself back to reality. “Of course. Are you sure you’re alright? Will you be okay to get home?”

Marinette nodded and tried a smile. It mostly looked steady, so Luka smiled back. He stood up, still holding her hand, and drew her up after him. “Thanks for taking the time to listen to me, Marinette.” Luka let her hand slide out of his. “It actually feels good to be able to explain it to someone.” 

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Marinette told him, and they didn’t say anything more as Luka got her coat and held it for her. 

Once she was gone, he barely made it back to a chair before his knees gave way. He rubbed a hand over his face and then leaned into it, sighing. That had been…intense. All of it, not just Marinette, but...playing like that, when he hadn’t played for anyone but his family in so long, and trying to help her understand...he hadn’t realized how much it would take out of him.

He was still sitting there when Rose burst in. “Marinette!” she cried, looking at Luka with wide eyes. “Where is she?” 

“She went home,” Luka mumbled, leaning back in the chair.

“What? No, I need her!” Rose exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Why did she leave? What happened?”

“Nothing happened—” Luka began, but a voice from the doorway interrupted him.

“He made her cry,” Juleka smirked. 

Rose whirled to look at her, while Luka glared at her over Rose’s head, but Juleka just grinned wider when Rose turned back and began to hit Luka in the arm over and over with her tiny yet surprisingly hard fist. “You idiot! You did not! You made her cry? What’s the matter with you?” 

Luka put up his hands in defense. “Rose,” he whined. “Look, I told you this wasn’t a date, and it’s not going to happen—”

“Who cares about your pathetic excuse for a love life?” Rose roared, hitting him faster. “You can’t run her off, I need her! The pageant’s going to be a disaster!”

“Wait, what?” Juleka frowned, coming into the room. 

“That’s what Sabrina was calling about!” Rose exclaimed. “The costumes that were in storage—they’re a disaster! Moths or rats or water or all three, I don’t even know. And here I made friends with someone who designs and sews and then like a bonehead I had to set her up with your stupid socially inept—”  

“He played for her,” Juleka broke in, and Rose stopped hitting him long enough to look at her. It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then Rose’s eyes widened. She turned back to Luka and he flinched. “You did not!”

“I did,” Luka admitted, running his fingers through his hair. “I really did,” he realized, feeling suddenly weak again. He covered his mouth with his hand and tried to pretend like he wasn’t suppressing the urge to scream. 

“Tell me everything right now!” Rose demanded, grabbing a fistful of his sweater and dragging him out of his chair and over to the couch. She sat down next to him with a determined expression. Luka looked up at Juleka pleadingly, but she just grinned. 

That’s for eating all the cookies, she mouthed, and left before Luka could make a rude gesture. 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[dannypuro]

So I just binged Something Telling and it’s just, so amazing? Like, your characterization is so on point and I just have nothing but nice things to say about it. Can I make a list? I’m gonna make one cause I have Emotions™️ about every one of these dweebs.

1. Grantaire is just, so nice and kind and smart, and not an alcoholic! Like, I love the fics where he deals with that, but it’s nice to see him being a semi-functional adult person. (Was he an alcoholic in this universe at one point?) Plus, he’s still enough of an emotional disaster otherwise. Love him ❤️

2. ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. I could read about that forever. Swearing in an elevator? Iconic. Never using the space bar? Perfect. Also now I refer to movies as “movings” in my head so there’s that.

3. Combeferre is the sane man of this family and I love it so much. Also I never thought of vaccines for time travel AUs and I genuinely cackled when Ferre brought it up. Like, yeah, that’s a good point.

4. Jehan is always chaotic and I love them for it. Also, I know R doesn’t want to hear about it, but I absolutely want to know what their sex talk consisted of. I’m curious.

5. Baz and Feuilly. Yes. Good. Lovely boys. So glad they got their shit together.

6. “I am wanted by the government for high treason.” Honestly Enj has so many golden moments/lines. He is trying his best and I love him.

7. The PTSD our boy has and how he’ll have to work through it, but he has Friends and Boyfriend to help. (Side note: I live in the US, so I don’t know how much of a thing it might be in Paris, but do they set off a lot of fireworks on New Years? Cause I feel like that would be a thing that Enj would have to deal with, especially if no one tells him about it beforehand)

8. The research you would have had to do for this is just, incredible. And I think you captured how someone would really be if they just got yeeted into the future with no tech experience whatsoever. Like, I’ve been living here since 1994 and I’m overwhelmed by stuff sometimes.

9. Slightly unrelated but I also saw that you did the AU where Grantaire is a baker and Enj is totally not in the mafia (the name escapes me) and I also love that fic.

Hopefully that was somewhat coherent! Seriously though your work is great and I can’t wait for more!

(Also, if you want and it’s not a plot point of the next one, what is Enjolras’s reaction to musicals? I know the boy loves his opera, but someone had to have shown him something on YouTube and I just crave knowledge about this universe) Thanks! 🥰

GUH thank you!!!!!!! thank you thank you!!! and thank you for taking the time to make a list because i thrive off of validation alone and it made my day 🥺. SO.

grantaire is a total sweetheart. like, genuinely a nice person who is trying his best despite the fact that he has a hard time. baby. of course, the funniest part about him is the fact that he has NO idea that he’s actually just like... nice. he’s like... oh man it sure sucks that i’m the worst person possible to help someone in need... sucks that i’m the only one here... sorry dude i’m sorry i’m not combeferre... and then he proceeds to just like. make beef stew and be so careful and kind and thoughtful and try his very best and let enjolras go to sleep on his shoulder during a moving. like... sir. ok. also, yes, i tend to write him a little more... with his shit together, especially in this fic. you mentioned that you read And If I See You In The Daylight (the bakery fic)--i kind of wrote this assuming a similar character arc (minus the bakery, of course. like, grantaire used to be much, much more of a mess in a lot of ways, and drinking too much was a part of that, and he’s slowly been working on it. and now he’s 29, and he’s doing his best, and his friends love him. he’s doing a little better in this fic than in the bakery fic--maybe he’s a little older? maybe because combeferre is a little harsher than jbm and gets on his case when he starts to slip back into old habits? yeah.

ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. sweetie. baby. the first time combeferre vacuums his apartment when enj is around he’s like “hey man, do you mind if i do the vacuuming?” and enj (has NO idea what that word is, is falling asleep while reading on the couch in the sun) is like “do what you will” and then ferre turns the vacuum on and enjy does that thing when a cat is startled and it jumps like three feet up in the air and puffs up like a squirrel. he’s awake now.

combeferre. baby. he’s genuinely, genuinely trying his best, but it’s fucking hard when you’re tired and overworked and also none of your friends use their brains more than 30% of the time and also your new best friend is a spiky little revolutionary from EIGHTEEN THIRTY TWO. so. um. he’s a little stressed. but he loves enjy so much and doesn’t even mind when he’s dramatic and annoying because he’s such a sweet dude and they’re FRIENDS. sometimes he comes home from a long day of work and enj has come over and washed all of his dishes and brought over takeout but also rearranged all of his books and also eaten like three mangoes. listen. friendship is about gently tormenting your BFF because you are COMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER.

jehan. baby. instagram influencer supreme. i’ve gotten like a bazillion asks about their sex talk--i SWEAR i will write it eventually because the concept of it just cracks me up. jehan is like. “ok. enjy. tell me what you know about sex” and enj is like... “i understand that..... it occurs?” and jehan is like :^/ and enj is like “one must be careful not to contract syphilis from unseemly sources?” and jehan is like “TIme For A Conversation Before Grantaire Messes This Up”

baz and feuilly. babies. they’re just such a sweet, casual couple and they  like each other so much. also, first date 3 am kebabs? after they FINALLY communicated? and then baz gets railed like he deserves? they deserve it.

enj has a secret little sense of humor and it’s just a little hidden by the fact that he is 1) repressed 2) awkward. but it’s there! he’s just so smart and secretly funny and grantaire thinks he’s fucking hilarious. except when he jokes about the fact that he’s technically dead. it makes grantaire sad. he’s like YOU’RE NOT DEAD THOUGH BABE YOU’RE EATING JAPCHAE RIGHT NOW and enj is like. “i believe that if you observe my wicky encyclopaedia you shall learn otherwise 🤷” and grantaire is like 😰BABE

yeah. yeah. listen. he’s got a lot of shit to deal with. it’s gonna take a while. like... that is some SERIOUS trauma, and he didn’t even have any time in his own century to process it. he went straight from a very violent event--LITERALLY about to be executed 😰--to being zapped to a time where he recognizes NOTHING. that... didn’t help. and he can’t really go to a therapist (which causes combeferre no shortage of distress) since like... he wouldn’t be able to explain anything about the barricades or the source of his trauma to begin with. so... yeah. but yes! he has friends and a boyfriend who love and support him so much! and it’s the framework he needs to begin to work through stuff at his own pace 🥺 (also, yes, fireworks are a big thing. they’re also big for the 14 juillet, which i... kind of forgot to address. i might go back and write a scene somewhere around ch. 5 for it and post it on here. we’ll see.)

i’m so glad you appreciated the research! 🥺🥺🥺 legit i... kind of spent a stupid amount of time on it. i really tried to make it as realistic as possible (barring, like, the whole time-zap thing, and also the whole “characters from les mis” thing) since the whole POINT is the differences between their two times, so... i’m glad it paid off. it means a lot to hear that u vibed with it.

thank you thank you! again-- And If I See You In The Daylight is the name of the bakery fic, and i also love it 🥺🥺🥺 . to everyone else... READ IT!

enjolras does not like musicals. like... yes, there was a natural progression from 20th century opera to early musicals, but enjolras missed all of that. and 21st century musicals are pretty fucking different from 1820s/30s opera. he can’t quite understand the music. the plotlines don’t make sense. the plots aren’t stupid enough for his taste. they take themselves too seriously. not enough miscommunication. orchestral parts not nice enough. cosette tries to show him a musical on youtube and enjy is like. who is that. why are they all dressed the same. what is going on. why do they not use their Pocket Fones? why does it sound like this. hellp. (she gives up and shows him a Puccini opera instead.)

anyways. THANK YOU! and to everyone else--send me asks! send me prompts! send me questions! i WILL respond to them and i treasure them all i just tend to be kind of slow! but i love to receive them! thank you!!!

[mc-slowwalker]

I am curious how you have parasocial beef with hasan. Is it the way he’s known for yelling at his twitch chat in order to get them in line when they get too unruly?

No I think more streamers should yell at their chats actually I’m a mc twitch stream enjoyer these chats SUCK

It’s more the pattern of casual ableism from him? And I’m sure that he’d call me a neoliberal or whatever for saying that but I still think it’s important to talk about. The specific thing that prompted that post was him watching nancy pelosi act a fool and then he went on to talk about how he hates that “they can’t string two sentences together” and being upset that democratic political figures trip over their words and stutter a lot. Someone in the chat called him ableist which prompted him to go on a rant about how he is ableist when it comes to people in power and referenced one of the american presidents who had Alzheimer’s. This reaction was pretty extreme and comparing having difficultly speaking in public to a person with a life altering neurological disease is just straight up a bad comparison. He has a point there are certain jobs that can’t/shouldn’t be done but then you start to argue about personal freedoms vs general freedoms. That’s not what this is about though. He uses a logical fallacy to argue his point, which may be effective for some but overall is a detriment to his argument. Instead of attacking the argument he doesn’t like (rightfully so btw fuck rich people) he’s attacking them personally and their traits. He is just expressing annoyance at having difficultly understanding them, but he puts this out as a conclusion that public speakers shouldn’t have issues speaking in public. To some extent I agree again. Donald trump and george w bush were huge mistakes those dudes should have never been put in the positions of power they were in. They were bad public speakers, but people like joe biden and nancy pelosi are just not that great at speaking, not so much focused on the public part. Nancy pelosi was tripping over her words because she was lying out her ass, but the generalization that people who aren’t good at speaking shouldn’t be in public speaking and/or hold positions of power is entirely unhelpful. If it was just this I’d probably look over it, but I have the prior knowledge that he said the r slur (which someone pointed out that it could have been a long time ago when that was normalized but I don’t know when this happened) and a different person pointed out that he’s never apologized for it. I don’t need a public apology if the person have actively phased the word out of their vocabulary like hasan has done, but I’ve seen occasions when him saying that has been brought up and he’s been fairly dismissive of it

I don’t think hasan is a bad person and I know he’s pretty smart. Someone pointed out to me (in dms again) that hasan is more of a big picture guy. That makes sense and I do commend him for that, I just think that making the world a better place starts at home with you. I’m sure he’s nice to the people around him, but when arguing with someone it’s important that you respect them. If you don’t respect the person you’re arguing with, you shouldn’t be arguing with them because they’re just not worth your time. If you don’t respect your opponent they for sure won’t respect you. This is how I was taught to argue anyways

I’ve talked to a few people in dms and learned that hasan does have ADHD. I do as well and I think there’s for sure a conversation to be had there about ableism in adhd people. ADHD is fairly accepted to a point, it’s treated as cant sit still disease by the majority of the population while other mental illnesses are demonized heavily. ADHD and ASD have so so much in common yet Autism is heavily demonized while adhd is not. It’s easy for a lot of adhd people to fall into “I’m weird but others are more weird” because the desire to be neurotypical is strong. It makes sense, you want to be like your peers, but this can lead to a sort of entitlement that allows you to be ableist against other neurodivergent people. To be honest, I don’t know if this is what is happening to hasanabi, this is more of a general observation if anything. Honestly I could write an essay on a lot of this stuff and I may, I just feel weird sharing it because sharing stuff I’m passionate about is allowing a vulnerability that I’m still working with myself to be okay with

[lonelypond]

A Coffeeshop Christmas Carol, Ch. 5

NicoMaki, Love Live, 2.2K, 5/?

Summary: Auditions can be messy.

And We Begin

Nico needed things to go smoothly this morning. So she should have skipped the coffeeshop. But Nico also liked a little verbal skirmish to warm her up before any big project and Nozomi was always good for that. So Nico had stopped in for coffee, the bucket size, and the scone of the day, saffron ginger apricot, a rare flavor. And the usual side of harassment.

Actually, Nico thought, leaning against the refrigerator case, waiting for Nozomi to pack up her to go order, this wasn’t harassment. Nozomi’s tone lacked confidence. Nico’s big sister senses pinged. But with Nozomi, Nico had curiosity, but no sympathy.

Nozomi was holding the coffee just out of Nico’s reach, “Have your staff meetings here and I’ll supply the drinks, free.”

Nico knew she looked smug, “What do you need Nico to do?”

Nozomi seemed furtive, but then met Nico’s glance, “I just want to make sure you’re not torturing poor Maki. She sits here and tears her hair out over your script. You must have written terrible things.”

Nico noted the information, unasked for, that Maki came here with Nico’s script, and went back to her interrogation, “So it’s not Maki...Eli, you want Nico to drag Eli in here.”

Nozomi frowned, “She hasn’t come in for Cheat Day yet. And she seems so worried when I…”

“Stalk her?”

Nozomi smacked Nico’s hand, “I saw her at the library a couple of days ago. She was frowning a lot.”

“I think that’s a dancer thing.”

Nozomi acknowledged that possibility with a head tilt, “Just come here for a meeting. One meeting.”

“Nico will consider it.”

“I’ll text you the next time Maki’s here.” Nozomi jumped to a conclusion.

Nico didn’t appreciate it. “Nico needs Maki near a piano.”

“Ooohh…”

Nico’s snarl stopped Nozomi’s tease.

“My auditions.” Nico glanced at her wrist, “are in an hour. And then Nico will be working crazy hours to stage a holiday show. Nico won’t have time for coffee, conversation, or anything else.”

Nozomi put her hands together, pleading. “One meeting, Nico, that’s all I ask. I’ll owe you.”

“Maybe. And maybe don’t drool so much over Umi when we’re here.” Nico grabbed her coffee and the goodie bag and headed out the door.

###

Kasumi’s phone exploded. Her favorite song. So a friend, Kasumi grabbed the phone.

“Good morning, cutie. Kasumin is here for you.”

“Kasumi?” Shizuku’s voice sounded worried, “It’s 9:05. Why aren’t you here half an hour ahead of your appointment?”

“It can’t be 9:05. Kasumin’s alarm was set for…” no, Kasumi realized, she’d set her phone for 7 p.m. and not changed the alarm...she hadn’t worked last night so she could be fresh for the auditions and now she was going to be a bit too fresh for auditions.

“I bought you a breakfast bar. Hurry here.”

“Kasumin thought Shizuko would be happy her biggest competition…”

“It’s not a competition if you don’t make it here. I’ll ask Professor Yazawa if you can…”

“No, Shizuko, you can’t do that. I don’t want Nico to know about me sleeping late; it won’t look good. And Kasumin always looks good. Kasumin will be there in ten minutes.”

Kasumi ended the call. Shizuku frowned at her phone. Asking for more time would be the safe, sensible option, but Kasumi preferred the riskier option of rushing to save face. How impulsive. Shizuku would have to chide Kasumi after their auditions, where Shizuku would prove that careful preparation beat impulsive charm.

###

Nozomi found herself watching for blonde heads. It was annoying. There would be a perfectly charming, perfectly cute flirting opportunity in front of her and a flash of gold would catch her eye, distracting her. Could she really want to see Eli that much?

###

Done. Maki pushed back from the piano, closing her eyes as she sighed and slid the pencil through her hair, to rest next to her ear. The dance for Fezziwig’s party had been easy enough. Take an English traditional song and punch it up. She’d glanced at the script. Fezziwig had a DJ not a fiddler in Nico’s version so Maki tossed in some synth loops. No lyrics so it wouldn’t help Nico at auditions, but Nico hadn’t specified anything beyond “finish a song by breakfast” so Maki was covered. Sun was up. What time were auditions? Were they a morning thing? Would Nico be at the theatre. Maki could run in, drop off the song, and then crash for a nap at her studio. She’d have to double check her calendar and make sure there were no appointments for the rest of the morning. Maki already knew the musicians she’d be working with for A Christmas Carol, so no auditions were necessary. She’d have to get them together in the next couple of days.

Her phone pinged. Hanayo.

H: Free for lunch?

M: I’ll probably be sleeping through it.

H: Free for breakfast?

M: What’s up?

H: Your mom.

M: Ignore her.

H: She’s worried about you. So is Rin.

M: Rin is not a parent. She needs a new hobby.

H: o(-_-;*)

M: I have to drop off a song for auditions.

H: Dinner tomorrow?

M: Maybe. I have a lot of work to do.

H: Let me know.

M: Okay.

Work. It wasn’t an excuse. It was a gift. A lifeline. A blessing. Music. Music Maki, the resident composer, had to write. Music to be offered to artists. Music Maki wanted to write. Not classes she was attending to meet family expectations. Or someone else’s hospital she was on track to take over. Music was what had led her even the few steps out of the Omine induced gloom. Music had saved her, Maki having dived in to express the ENTIRE depth of what she was feeling, and discovering that music would support her, embrace her with an atmosphere that would give her life and breath even on her darkest nights, in a way that medicine never could. And then Hanayo had nudged her into applying for this new program and music was the only thing Maki HAD to talk to anyone about and there were hours, almost days, when Maki wasn’t thinking about the embarrassed, sick feeling in her stomach when she struggled to figure out which signals she’d missed, which conversations had ended too soon, which couches she should have slid a little further down. Now, whenever there was someone in the room, the piano was there too, a loyal friend and partner and a way to express all the questions that would ease her struggle while not demanding direct answers from anyone who heard. Maybe one or two listeners had been attuned enough to pick up Maki’s mood, but the conversations were always about the music, never about what had prompted the choice. So Maki could proudly claim a safe zone as she recovered life after heartbreak and medical school.

###

“Hey, Eli.” Nico knocked peremptorily on the doorframe of Eli’s studio. She was surprised to find it open. Eli was staring at herself in the mirror, one arm sweeping to the side.

“Hi Nico.” Eli completed the movement, then pirouetted to face Nico.

“Pretty. Put that in the program.”

“Working on it.” Eli grinned and grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off her face, “Don’t you have auditions?”

“In 10 minutes. Nico’s excellent support staff is signing actors in and handing out music. Everything is under control.”

“So you stopped by to say hi?” Sure Nico was friendly, but that seemed...inefficient, Eli decided that was the correct adjective.

Nico shook her head, “No time for that. We need to have a meeting and Nozomi’s bugging me to have it at the coffeeshop.” Nico stared at Eli for a long minute. “You haven’t stopped by so Nozomi wants Nico to do her a favor.” Another long pause as Nico watched Eli’s face for any reaction, “We can do it in Nico’s office instead. Or Maki’s studio. Nico’s going to spend more time in that part of campus. It’s pretty.”

Eli’s pulse rate had picked up, matching the pace of the sudden spout of internal dialogue in her brain. Nozomi asked Nico for a favor. And that favor involved Eli. Who hadn’t stopped by the coffeeshop. But maybe wanted to. And maybe Nozomi wanted her to. And maybe that was…

“Eli?”

“Okay.”

“Okay? So you’re good for the coffeeshop?” Eli nodded and Nico continued, “Great. Nico will see if Maki’s free tomorrow afternoon.”

“Great.” Eli’s voice splintered.

Nico looked exasperated, “Nozomi’s a little too nosy for Nico, but she’s a good friend.”

She must be, Eli thought, if Nico stopped by on the morning of auditions. To make sure that Eli was okay with it. Eli’s mood brightened. It had been a lonely fall, but maybe with winter, there would be more company.

“Thanks for checking though, Nico.”

Nico shrugged, “We have to watch out for each other.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Nico snorted, “But you might want to wear some puffy layers over your leotard for protection.”

###

Center stage, all eyes on her. Where Kasumin belonged. Kasumi glanced at the script in her hand. To play Scrooge? Sure, it was a cute Scrooge, and a singing Scrooge, but wouldn’t it be better to be Kasumin? Kasumi could feel herself frowning and her audience’s attention slipping. Focus. Get back into it. Take that frown and make it Scrooge’s frown. Answer Marley’s question.

"Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

And don’t think about food. Kasumi resisted her sudden urge to kick herself. Sleeping late, leaving no time for breakfast was never a winning strategy. Having Shizuku standing there reading Marley lines looking like a person who’d slept well, had time for breakfast, and enjoyed being insufferably smug about it just highlighted Kasumi’s mistakes.

But there was still the song. Nobody could out sing Kasumi. Not even Shizuko.

###

Maki froze, halfway through the door to the theatre. Two actors were on stage, one with fair hair, one with dark. And the Scrooge-Marley duet was suddenly alive, the dance, the history, the concern...everything Maki had put in the music. Not two actors onstage, but Scrooge and Marley, their relationship, only hinted at, found in every note of Maki’s score. She had made it gay. And it worked. At least with these two actors.

They stopped and Maki applauded, enthusiastically. And suddenly Nico had erupted from the front row, spinning, a glare on her face, “What the he…” She saw Maki and stopped, was that a groan Maki heard. Nico turned back to the stage, “Kasumi, Shizuku, thanks. Roles will be posted in two days.”

The two girls were whispering together onstage, openly staring at Maki. Neither of them were familiar to her, although Maki had not met all the music students but with voices like that, surely they were at least minoring in Voice.

“Nico will be right back.” And then Nico was there, dragging Maki out of the theatre, as a blonde student with a clipboard who’d been sitting next to Nico giggled.

“What are you doing here? And you can’t applaud like that. This is auditions. No one’s been cast yet.”

“But they’re perfect.”

“That’s not how it works. And you haven’t seen the rest of the auditionees. You just can’t hand the parts to the first two people you hear.”

Maki frowned, thinking back, “I thought you believed in serendipity. I walk into the theatre, hear two students who are actually putting everything I wrote into my duet, what else do you…”

“A lot, Maki. You’re new to this so Nico is being…” did Nico just grind her teeth, “tolerant of your ignorance, but Scrooge has to interact with a lot of characters as well as be reliable and Nakasu rushed in late. And it’s Nico’s duet.”

Maki ignored the question of duet ownership. “Sleeping late isn’t a character flaw…”

Nico threw up a hand, inhaled deeply, and dropped her tone to serious, but a whisper, “Nico is the director, Nico is making the casting choices, Maki is directing the ensemble.” Nico pointed at Maki, speaking slowly, “Maki picks musicians.” The finger swivelled, “Nico picks actors. I don’t want your help with that. Got it?”

Maki nodded, mood deflated.

“Why are you here?”

Maki pulled the score sheets out of her pocket, “New song. 24 hour break from nagging.”

Nico skimmed the pages. “Fezziwig’s dance. Seriously? It’s all instruments. You’re cheating.”

“You didn’t specify.” Maki winked.

A long stare, Nico’s arms crossed, “Nico will be much more precise about what she wants from now on.”

Maki nodded, “No misunderstandings.”

“No misunderstandings.” Nico closed her eyes, sighing, “Please talk to someone about how plays in rehearsal work. Try Umi. Nico is too busy.”

“All right.” Maki yawned.

“You stayed up all night?”

Maki nodded.

“Dumb.” Nico spun Maki around and pushed her down the hall, “Go get some sleep. We have a meeting with Eli tomorrow afternoon. Nico will text you details later.”

“Cool.”

Maki and Nico were both surprised by the enthusiasm in Maki’s voice. Maybe her Christmas miracle had come early, Nico mused. Maki just hummed the duet happily as she walked, thinking about busy days filled with new music and no time to remember past fails.

A/N: Happy birthday, Maki. Was thinking about writing something new, but my inner Maki mostly wants this year's Christmas jam to progress. So here we go.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Thank U, Next | Poe Dameron x Reader (2/2)

Prompt: Joy

Fandom: Star Wars (Sequel Trilogy)

Words: 6049 (idk what happened)

Warning: Minor swearing? Mentions of bullying. Some chonks of dialogue here and there.

A/N: So this became longer than expected, but I wanted to make sure I wrapped up everything. I hadn’t written this much for a fic in a long time and I hope a coherent story came out of it.

-

You dropped off a container of beef stew at Finn’s house and was dragged into a long conversation by his parents on what you’ve been up to. It was always the same spiel that you told the others. You had a cozy apartment in New York, you had work published, and now you’re waiting for your big break. Half an hour before lunch, you excused yourself, giving yourself time to calm down before you reached the diner.

You were the first to arrive, picking a booth near the corner and a window. When the waiter came by, you debated whether you should order for Poe, assuming that his taste buds are the same, then thought better of it. You simply ordered two waters and said you were expecting someone else.

Poe’s truck pulled into the parking lot eight minutes later. He spotted you through the window and waved. You offered a smile, taking a deep breath to compose yourself as he made his way inside the diner.  The waiter came by just as Poe sat down. He flipped through the menu and gave his order, saying exactly what you thought he’d order. He hadn’t changed. The waiter left after you gave him your order.

“So, how are things?” Poe asked.

You shrugged. “They’re good,” you said, “You?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just good?”

“Yeah, you know. What else can I say? Nothing eventful had happened lately. Everything’s just routine at this point.”

He hummed, not buying it. “What happened to the story you wrote our senior year? I would have thought that you’d do some revisions before getting published.”

“Oh, that thing,” you said, feigning indifference as you wiped the side of your cup with a finger, “It’s… I kind of gave up on that one, you know?”

“Why? It was so good!”

You shrugged again. You wanted to believe him, but this nagging feeling in your brain, telling you that he was lying, that he doesn’t know what he’s talking, wouldn’t stop every time he complimented your story. It was like a sensory alarm that went off every time he touched a certain subject. You had hoped that you’d get over this feeling, but it was something that was more recent than your time with Poe was, and it affected you more deeply and painfully.

“Didn’t think it’d be something that I wanted to be known for. I wanted to try different writing styles and genres to find where I fit. Besides, I didn't think you’d remember that one. It was so long ago.”

“Are you kidding me? I loved that story. There were moments that made me laugh, made me cry, and it was just so relatable and interesting. I really think you should revisit that one.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Maybe it’ll help my writer’s block.”

The rest of the day was spent on eating and talking about high school. He brought up the time when someone tried to pull a prank on the soccer team by spiking their watercooler during an important game, but got caught because the cooler fell over them. Then, that time when he was performing with his band and one of his fangirls ran on stage to try and kiss him.

“There were so many people that hated me when we were together,” you said, shaking your head.

“Aw, come on. I don’t think it was that bad,” he said.

You scoffed. “Poe, I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without girls following me, sneering at me and telling me that I wasn’t good enough for you. That one day you were going to leave me for someone else once you got bored of me and that you were only with me because you felt sorry for me. Remember the time we went to Rose’s house when her parents were away and some asshole invited a bunch of people? We got separated and your fangirls decided to team up and dunk me into the pool and hold me there. If Finn, Snap, and Kare weren't there, I would have drowned.”

Poe frowned, sitting back. “I… I didn’t know that happened. (Y/n/n), why didn’t you tell me?”

You sighed, scratching your head in frustration, memories of your arguments over it resurfacing. “I did, but you dismissed it. You said that they were drunk and didn’t mean it to go that far.”

“(Y/n/n), I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t know. I just thought… I don’t know why, but I thought you were exaggerating. I should have known better. I should have known that you wouldn’t lie about these kinds of stuff.”

“Yeah… which was one of the reasons why I thought we wouldn’t have lasted long after we graduated,” you said softly. “All kinds of problems when it comes to long distance relationships.”

“We could have at least tried.”

“And if it came to the point where someone tells you that, I don’t know, that I was cheating on you, which has happened to many couples that are involved in the military, what would you have done? Or if something happened while you were away? Were you just going to brush it off, or get angry if I want to talk about it?”

“Well, we'll never know, now, will we?” he countered.

You let out a heavy sigh, gathering your things. “I’m sorry. I’m instigating again,” you said, taking out some bills to pay for the meal, “It really was nice to talk to you again, Poe, really. I think it’s best if I get going.”

Poe’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist before you could leave. “No, you’re not running away again. Please, let’s just take this conversation elsewhere, okay? I’ve got the check. Meet me by the docks?”

He pleaded with his warm brown eyes, his grip on you loosening. He grabbed your money and gave it back to you, taking out his own wallet to pay. You reluctantly let him, shoving the money back in your bag.

“Fine. The docks at eight.”

“Thank you.”

-

You stopped by the house before meeting Poe, helping your mother with some chores around the house. Your mother was acting weird, glancing at you every now and then with a weird look. You asked her what was wrong, but she simply shrugged it off.

“So, I heard that you and Poe were hanging out today,” she said casually as she washed the dishes.

“Really?” you asked incredulously.

“It’s a small town, kid,” she said with a shrug, “Besides, I like him. Good kid. Stubborn, though, wanting to follow his parents’ footsteps in the military. A bit oblivious, too. I remember you coming home upset because he got carried away when talking with his friends and he didn’t realize that there were girls flirting with him. Besides all of that, you guys were good together. Not like that guy from New York-”

“Is that what this is all about?” You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms.

Your mother turned the faucet off and wiped her hands. “Sweetie, I heard from Armitage that Ben was in town-”

“He’s telling everyone, has he? What a rat.”

She shook her head. “Millicent was in the garden again and Armitage came by to get her. It just sort of came up about Ben. Armitage was just concerned for you, that’s all.”

“If he’s so concerned, then he should have told his friend to stop being an asshole.”

“Armitage said they stopped talking after he heard about what happened between the two of you.”

You walked away, sitting at the dining table without a word. Your mother sighed, taking a seat next to you. She took your hands into her own, but you refused to look at her.

“I’m sensing that there are things that you have not told me about what happened between you and Ben. I’m not forcing you to tell me, just that I’m always here to talk, okay?” You nodded. She leaned forward, pecking your forehead, before patting your shoulders. “Right, you’re going to meet your pilot boy. Tell him I said hi, alright?”

“Okay.”

The bed of Poe’s truck was facing the docks, the tailgate open with a lamp sitting on it. Poe was taking out a cooler and a blanket when you arrived. He took out a beer bottle from the cooler and handed one to you before hopping onto the tailgate. You followed suit, grabbing the bottle opener while you stared out at the water.

“Excited for the reunion?” he asked.

“Yes and no. Probably just going to stick to my people the whole night.”

Poe nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I lost touch with a lot of people when I left. Gonna be weird to see my old friends from school.”

“And your fangirls?” you teased.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “They’re probably all married anyways.”

“They’ll probably leave their husbands’ sides to follow you. I mean, look at you. You’re still quite a catch, Poe.”

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I only want one person to catch me, though. If they want me.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be caught by… that person. They seemed to only mess things up.”

“Hey, that’s not true. A relationship isn’t just one person, (Y/n). I’ve messed some stuff up, too. Hell, I haven’t been able to maintain a long relationship for a while. People break up for one reason or another. But, sometimes, that doesn’t mean they can’t try again.”

You took a swig of your beer and leaned back, feeling his eyes following your every movement. You shifted in your spot, turning back to the water in front of you. Light from the docks and the town reflected off its inky black surface, a sliver of the moon peeking out from the clouds, illuminating everything else.

“You’re saying you wanna try ‘us’ again? Poe, you’re up in the air most of the time.”

“That’s true, but your work can be done anywhere, right? You’ve always said that you wanted to travel and it would help your writing. Maybe this time, you can come with me.”

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“Would it be crazy to say that I never stopped thinking about you?”

“It’s pretty crazy, actually.”

A long time ago, those sweet words would have heated your cheeks and made you feel giddy. Now you take each word with hesitation and skepticism, as if those sugar cubes were actually salt blocks. It’s one thing to say sweet things, it’s another to act on them.

“Besides,” you said, the bottle inches from your lips, “We’re not the same people from high school anymore.”

“Then, we’ll start over.”

You sighed. “Can we just drop it for now and enjoy the view?”

“Okay,” he relented, shifting around to get comfortable, “We can do that.”

You stayed like that until it was late. It was nice to sit in silence. It wasn’t awkward between you two, just two people enjoying the peacefulness of the night. Such a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of New York with an active nightlife.

When it was time to head home, Poe pulled you into a long hug, the heat from his body radiating off of him and shielding you from the cold breeze. You slowly raised your arms, wrapping them around him. You missed this. You missed him. So much. You wished you could stop pulling away from him, but you had scars that you weren’t ready for him to see.

-

One more day until your class reunion. You weren’t exactly jumping for joy, but it wasn’t like you were going to be alone, either. You met up with Finn and Rey at the mini golf course, taking turns while you talked. Even though you met Rey recently, it was like talking to an old friend. You would tell her about the time Finn claimed to have asthma so he’d be excused from running laps in PE and she’d tell you how they met and how they felt like they were going to die on one of their dates when the elevator stopped working.

After the last round and almost getting smacked by Rey’s bicep, the three of you went to go and get pizza. It was under new owners from the last time you’ve been there, but they kept the retro charm with the brick and mortar walls and arcade games in the corner.

“So,” Finn said, sipping his soda as he narrowed his eyes at you, “I heard you were hanging around with Dameron.”

You groaned, taking a big bite of your pizza. Finn smirked, unfazed by your glare.

“Who’s Dameron, again?” Rey asked.

“Poe. One of (Y/n)’s exes,” he said, “Pretty cool dude, too. They broke up because he wanted to go join the military.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling everyone about my love life, friend,” you said.

“Understandable,” Rey, looking at you sympathetically, “I heard it’s hard to maintain a relationship when your significant other is in the military.”

“Thank you.”

“I shipped you two so hard,” Finn continued, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well, life… you know?”

Finn nodded, raising his soda. You and Rey clinked your glasses with his and drank.

“I can tell you one thing, though, I’ve heard about our classmates, and less than half of them ended up in the same career path that they had set out to do when we graduated. Man, so much for pressuring us to pick our college major in Freshman year, right? Why couldn’t they have taught us budgeting and work ethic in different work environments?”

You hummed. “Maybe you should be a teacher, Finn.”

“See?” Rey said excitedly, pointing at her fiance, “That’s what I’ve been telling him!”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve been concentrating on more fitness. Maybe be a PT? Rey’s the one getting her doctorates, so when I go to her high school reunion, I can be the trophy husband to a successful doctor.”

“Aw, Finnie.” Rey leaned her head on his shoulder.

You sighed, drinking your soda as if it was alcohol. The price you pay for hanging out with your friends who are a couple, becoming the third wheel. You looked down at your tray of pizza. Maybe you could try and finish it all by yourself. Sometimes when they’re wrapped up in each other, it’ll take a while for them to snap out of it, which means you might be there for a while.

-

You couldn’t sleep that night, knowing that Ben was going to be there. So far, you hadn’t ran into him, which was saying a lot because you ran into a lot of old classmates and teachers the past few days. Unless he was actively avoiding you.

Your mother found you sitting at the kitchen table slouching over two chocolate pudding cups. She wordlessly got her own cup and sat next to you, waiting. You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Where to begin?

“The reason why I haven’t written my book is… because I had been writing scripts for Ben,” you said, staring down at your spoon, “Scripts that Ben had taken and put under his name, and his name alone. I didn’t know until I went to visit him on one of his sets that he had done that. He said that he took my idea and changed some of the major points of the story, so he technically wrote it. Then, I went to the film festival with him and saw that it was almost exactly the same script that I wrote. I foolishly did it again and again, believing him when he said that he’ll have me more involved in his movies and… he didn’t.”

You shook your head, opening another pudding cup. Your mother waited patiently, nodding for you to continue.

“When I confronted him about it, he confessed that he made some deal with an indie film studio and that it would be more profitable and more exposure for him to take the credit. After all, I only write simple little stories that even a high schooler could write,” you added the last bit bitterly, “I’m scraping by while doubting my life choices of doing something I love instead doing something where I won’t gamble whether I’d earn enough money to pay for food and rent. Meanwhile, Ben’s having a field day winning awards for his directing and screenwriting at film festivals, not that he ever lived uncomfortably, being the mayor’s son and all.

“I just,” you sighed in frustration, your eyes beginning to sting as the exhaustion and anger took over you, “I’ve been told so many times how I’m not good enough, how writing won’t pay the bills, how writing doesn’t even take any skills or effort. I’ve been talked down to because of my choices, as if I was stupid or lazy. I’ve been trying to use spite to get me through this, reminding myself that this is what I’ve always wanted to do, no matter how many times the publishers tell me to change my stories into another cliche, but it’s tiring. It’s not enough. And I was stubborn to try and stick to my guns instead of compromising, because that would mean that everyone was right and that whole thing with Ben… I thought I could finally be with someone without giving up my dreams, but being with him made me question whether they should just stay as dreams and not a reality.”

“Oh, sweetie,” your mother said softly, pulling you in as you furiously wiped the tears that just kept falling.

“I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t know if I want to write anymore. I tried and… nothing seemed to stick. Nothing felt right.”

“And you think if you were to take a job in, I don’t know, accounting, would you be happy? Even if it paid your bills and helped you buy that nice apartment?”

“No, of course not, but at least it’s something. It’s not like anyone is impressed with a writer unless they’re New York Times’ bestseller and become a movie franchise. It’s so frustrating. I want to do what I love, but I want to live comfortably while doing it.”

“And you will,” your mother assured you, rubbing your back soothingly, “I can feel that you’re close, so close to making it. You just have to keep pressing on. You’ll get there and it wouldn’t be to prove people wrong or show Ben up, it’ll be for you. Go back and find that drive you had when you began writing, everything else will follow. You are talented, (Y/n), and you have people that love you and care for you. If things are meant to be, if you feel it in your heart that it’s right, then it will work out.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“There better be a dedication for me at the front of the book.”

You both laughed. “Yeah, it might take a whole page.”

-

Talking with your mother helped ease your nerves a bit and Finn and Rey had texted you, offering to carpool with them. You accepted, being reassured once again that they’ll have your back.

You dressed casual, not expecting anything too fancy for the reunion. On your way towards campus, Finn began to play music that was popular from your time at school and you discovered that Rey had an amazing voice.

“You think that they’ll make a slideshow?” Finn asked.

“God, I hope not,” you groaned, “I looked terrible.”

“No, you didn’t! You dated two of the hottest guys in school, me and Dameron,” he said confidently.

“Nice compliment while tooting your own horn there, friend.”

“Hey, and also, you can tell that looks don’t matter to you ‘cause you had a crush on Hux, too.”

“Hey, I thought he was cute. Don’t judge me.”

“Oh, is he the ginger one that we saw the other day walking his cat?” Rey asked. Finn nodded. “I… I can kind of see it. Yeah.”

“You don’t sound convincing. Anyways! You guys were talking about visiting New York sometime this year?”

There was a new gym on your old high school campus, topped with solar panels and an air condition unit. The parking lot was gradually filling up, a trickle of a line leading into the new gym, the front double doors wide open with streamers and balloons in the school’s colors bordering them.

Finn pulled up next to a familiar truck, making you roll your eyes. He flashed you a cheeky grin before climbing out, rushing around to hold Rey’s door open. You stared at the campus, at the newly painted walls, cleaner drinking water fountains, neatly trimmed grass, and the large banner that ran across the front of the main office welcoming your alumni class. You could see your younger self hanging out by the old gym with your friends, or waiting outside of the bandroom for Poe, or setting up a booth for your school club.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Poe asked from behind you.

“You have to stop doing that,” you scolded him, smacking his arm.

He winced, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “At least you’re slowly treating me like how you used to.”

“Hey, Dameron!” Finn called out, tackling him into a hug.

Poe grunted before hugging him back. “Hey, you act like we haven’t drank together earlier this week. This must be Rey, right?”

Rey smiled, coming over to give him a more gentle hug. “Nice to meet you, Poe. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said.

While the two of them conversed about flying vehicles, you pulled Finn on the side, looking around cautiously. “I forgot to tell you before we came here…,” you started in a hushed tone, “So, there’s this thing with Ben-”

“Ben Solo?”

“Yes, him, I want to pretty much avoid him if possible and I need your help with that.”

Finn frowned in concern, cracking his knuckles. “Did he hurt you?”

“He never hit me,” you said quickly, “Just… it just really affected me mentally and emotionally, you know? I just don’t want to deal with that right now.”

“When did this happen?”

“We ran into each other in New York at a book signing. We caught up with each other, got coffee, then we started dating, so… that was a while ago, though.”

Finn nodded, patting your shoulder. “Don’t worry. We got your back, remember? Does Poe know?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so.”

“Great, ‘cause him and Solo had some beef in high school.”

“Of course he does. Poe thinks he’s some kind of resistance leader or something.”

All four of you made your way towards the gym, signing in and writing out your name tags. Finn looped his arm with Rey and dragged her towards the punch bowl, leaving you trailing behind with Poe. He slowly offered his arm for you to take. You stared at it for a while as he nudged you with it. You thought back to what your mother had told you. You had people that love and care about you. Despite what happened between you two, despite the years apart, Poe Dameron still cared. Even if you weren’t able to move your relationship forward to more than friends, he would at least still be in your life.

You wrapped your arms around his bicep, the corner of Poe’s lips turning up as you did so, and the two of you made your way over to where Finn was talking to one of your former teachers, Lando Calrissian. He turned and broke into a wide smile as he greeted the two of you.

Throughout the day, the four of you made your rounds with the teachers and your fellow classmates. Just as you predicted, some of the women that had a crush on Poe briefly left their husbands’ side to greet him and linger around, finding any form of small talk as an excuse to stick around.

“I heard the two of you broke up after graduation,” one of them said, “Did you two get back together?”

“Not yet,” Poe answered before you could say anything, “Still tryna win (Y/n) over again. Worth it, though, right?” He bumped his forehead onto your head in an act of displaying affection.

She forced a smile on her face. “Aw, that’s so sweet,” she said before walking away.

“I should have bet money on that happening,” you muttered.

“Man, did you see her face?” Poe chuckled, turning to face you, “Besides, betting only works if I wanted to oppose you on that, and I’m tired of doing that with you. I was serious, though. I really want us to try again, but if you don’t want to, then fine. If you want to just stay friends, good. One word from you shall silence me forever, (Y/n), I’m serious.”

“Slow down, there, Mister Darcy,” you said, “It’s not even the end of the night yet.”

Your little group grew with the added Janna, Rose, Armitage, Snap, Kare, Jessika, and more came by to talk. Living in New York, you didn’t have much friends. A few writing buddies, a few college classmates, a neighbor, the nice couple that ran the restaurant downstairs, and your editor. Coming here, that uneasy feeling that you had, you realized, was vulnerability. It wasn’t something you’d normally do living in New York, even around friends. But, with these people, the ones that you grew up with, it was easy to let your guard down and enjoy the moment.

You were having fun and you were glad that you decided to come. Though as time went on, you felt your throat tighten and your eyes stinging. It was starting again. You excused yourself, walking out of the gym for some air. Poe watched you leave, concern written all over his face. Rose nudged him, assuring that you were fine and needed air.

You sat down on one of the benches overlooking the basketball and tennis courts. Leaning back, you inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly. Whenever you felt overwhelming happiness, dread was always there waiting to ruin it. You couldn’t even remember when it started, but you became better at dealing with it.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

You froze, not wanting to turn to face the source of that voice. Out of all times that he would try to approach you, he chose the time where you were alone away from everyone else. You sensed him sit down next to you. For a while, you sat in silence. It was a different silence than with Poe. With Poe, it was comforting and relaxing, with no words needed to be said. By the end of it, you would feel refreshed like you had come out of meditation. With Ben, it was like sitting with an energy vampire, and by the end of it, you felt tired and drained.

“I didn’t think you’d come, either,” you said, your voice breaking the silence. You tried to raise your chin, preparing for battle.

Ben sighed, shifting around. You heard crumpling, then something nudging your hand. You looked down and saw a thick manila envelope. You dared to look up at him for the first time in a year. He looked tired.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“It’s… I’m sorry that I took your work, took everything that you could have used as evidence to prove that they’re your work,” he said, looking down, “I’ve gathered all of them and put it in your envelope so you could submit it for copyright. If you want to take legal actions, I’ll happily allow it.”

Allow it. Sure. As if he was giving me permission. He’s probably patting his back for this one good deal he’s doing. You took the envelope, feeling the weight of it, picturing all the scripts that you had written in the past. Writing came easy to you back then. Then you remembered all the lies he had told you. When you were no longer willing to do what he wanted, you were no longer useful. There was this heavy feeling in your chest, something wanting to come out unless you’ll explode. The sad thing was that he wasn’t always like this, and it was probably why you foolishly kept overlooking or denying his bad behavior.

“We could have worked together,” you said, “And you had to go and pull that shit?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” It was hard to tell if he was being genuine. You could no longer trust your instincts when it came to him.

“You would dare criticize my writing when you couldn’t even write anything for yourself? And you just know that I would believe all of it, and you still kept at it. Do you know how hard it was to write anything after what you put me through? Being told my writing is not complex or sophisticated enough, being told that my own scripts aren’t even my own, watching you keep those awards for screenwriting while no one else would want to even look at my work? Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Ben Solo.”

Ben inhaled sharply. “Then, what the hell do you want me to do, huh? All your stuff is there. Go and copyright it, sue me for plagiarism, and I’ll pay you the fees.”

“Fees that you could easily pay off,” you said, standing up, “But when I do speak to my lawyer, I’ll see what else I can do to you.”

“Yeah, would you be happy then?”

You glared down at him. “After all of that, I’ll finally be free of you, so maybe I will be,” you said, then added in a low voice, “It’s a shame, though. I thought we worked well together, but sharing wasn’t exactly your thing. You hurt me, Ben. I don’t think we could even be friends after this.”

“Right, like how your close friends with Armitage, Finn, and Poe, right? Just friends?” Ben snapped.

You shook your head at him. “You are utterly ridiculous, Solo. Just be glad I hadn’t told your mom about what you did.”

You let out another slow exhale as you walked away, your work in hand, and a heavy weight left behind. It wasn’t completely over, but the burden of it hanging over your shoulders was gone. All that was left was tying loose ends. Then after, you can start again.

In the gym, they had already set up the small stage with chairs scattered about. Poe sat on stage with a guitar in hand. He shifted on the stool that was clearly too small for him, tuning the guitar as he looked around. You found an empty seat between Rey and Rose at the front and sat down. Poe smiled as you met his eyes and he began to play.

At the end of the night, you and the girls decided to hang out for the rest of the week before you and Rey had to fly back home. You exchanged numbers and looked up movies playing. A few of you had different choices of movies, but Rose suggested that they should time it so we could watch all of them. After parting with the others, Poe jogged up to you.

“Hey,” he said, “I really enjoyed the past few days. It was nice to hang out again. I’m, uh, I actually have to leave tomorrow night. One of the pilots got sick, so… I was wondering, ‘cause I know you’re spending time with the girls and I don’t want to take too much of your time, but if you could see me off? Even if just for a few minutes.”

You sighed, looking down at your shoes, then back at Rose and Rey who had paused their conversation to give you a thumbs up. You shook your head and turned back to Poe. He waited patiently with pleading eyes, chipping away at your remaining walls.

“Okay. Just text me what time and I’ll try to be there before you go,” you said, taking out your phone.

You handed your phone over and watched as Poe excitedly inputted his number before texting himself. “Okay, all set,” he said.

“This doesn’t mean anything more than it has to be,” you reminded him.

“I know. We’ll take it one step at a time. Restart.”

“Thank you, Poe,” you said softly, stepping forward and catching him by surprise as you pulled him into a hug.

Poe returned the hug, engulfing you fully. “Don’t mention it, (Y/n/n). I’m one call away if you need me.”

-

The next day, you drive to the airport an hour before Poe heads off to his gate. As a pilot, he could pass the gruelling standard TSA checks and flash his ID, but he waited for you in his pilot uniform. Jessika had given you all a ride and offered to drive you to the airport. They girls had gone to Starbucks while you made your way over to his airlines.

He spotted you, giving you a long salute, which you returned, then grabbed his luggage, making his way towards the escalators up. He turned around one last time and waved. Raising your hand to wave back, you couldn’t help but see his military uniform instead of his pilot uniform, thinking what if you had at least been there when he was first shipped off. When he was out of sight, you turned and slowly made your way towards the others.

Coming back to your hometown, you didn’t expect much to happen. You expected nostalgia, of course, like looking at an old doll house you used to play with. The bittersweet feeling in your stomach as you flipped through photo albums with your mother, as you drive by your old hang out spots, and seeing your classmates for the first time in ten years. You expected to feel distant from them. These were all familiar things, but you were not the same person that left this town, and neither is everyone else.

You didn’t expect to be pulled into a warm embrace, to be fully welcomed back, to be seen and treated as yourself as you are now and not expected to be yourself from ten years ago. You didn’t expect this much confrontation, of the past coming back and making you face them head on to set things straight. You didn’t expect to feel lighter and stronger and more confident, acknowledging everything that you had gone through and their effects on you, that they were things that you were capable of overcoming.

On your last day in your hometown, until next time, you had a teary goodbye with your friends and your mother. You promised to be in more touch with them this time and that they were free to visit you in New York any time.

Taking your window seat and settling in, you took out your journal and flipped through all the scribbles of ideas you had done. You turned to a blank page and began to write. You ignored any grammatical mistakes you made and kept going, knowing that once your flow is going, you had to go with it or get stuck. The only thing that stopped you was a familiar voice.

“Good morning, passengers, and thank you for choosing our airlines-” Poe announced.

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. After talking to your mother about what you were going to do once you got back to New York, you decided that you weren’t going to worry about things too far in the future. You were going to focus on the present and set up long and short time goals. You could still work on that novel, but you could also put together anthologies for a start. Maybe go back into script writing. Maybe even revisit that story you wrote in high school.

It’s just like what Poe said, life was funny. You plan something, you end up doing something else, but if it was meant to be, you somehow end up where you had always wanted to go from the start.

And you feel that it’s finally happening for you.

[dreamcatcherfication]

The Queens of London Part 2 - Rolling in the Deep End

Part two of my “Queens of London” series. The more I write this, the more I feel like I’m writing a Spy AU. That’s not what I intended, but I guess it could work out. Anyway, I’m trying to get at least one fic out everyday for the time being. I feel like I have enough time and y’all deserve some content. (I can’t promise good content, but I try).

Writing Masterpost

Please send in prompts and asks, I’m happy to write for everyone (trust me, I’ve got plenty of time). Word Count: 2042

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts

Summary: When Katherine Howard received a strange invitation from a group of women known as “The Queens”, she had no idea what to think. The last thing she expected was to be thrown into the center of a dangerous conspiracy against some douchebag named Henry. But by now Kat’s learned that she really has no idea what to expect anymore.

Part 1 

The entire table sat in silence, the majority of the women staring at Kat. The teen had her eyes pointed downwards, too terrified to make eye contact with anyone else. The realization that she was in way over her head was sudden and jarring, and it made her sick to her stomach. Should have just stuck with the ramen, she kept chanting in her head. “So,” Boleyn awkwardly piped up. “You got anything for us Brandon?”

Kat felt immediately wrong when Anne called her that, so she spoke up, “Actually, you can just call me Kat,” before she could think of anything else. The queens looked a little taken aback by her young voice but they said nothing.

It was Cleves who nodded and explained, “Well you probably should know why we wanted you here tonight. We’re actually a little surprised you actually showed up, especially with how you never show your face in public. We had no idea you looked so,” she stumbled around for the right word, “young.”

Okay, that explains a lot, Kat thought. If none of them know what Katherine Brandon looks like, then they don’t know that I’m not her. That’s lucky. It was Aragon who spoke up next. Her voice was stern but her eyes didn’t hold any of the anger Kat was so used to seeing in adults. “You read the letter, so you must know what Henry’s been doing.”

Trying to keep a stutter out of her voice, Kat said, “Please remind me.”

The women all seemed vaguely confused, but they obliged. “Henry Tudor, one of the most well known politicians in London today,” Catherine Parr started. It struck Kat in that moment, of course it would be someone like Henry Tudor they were talking about, not some backstreet gang member Henry she’d been expecting. “He’s been screwing us all over with his puppeteering -”

“Ooh cool simile,” Anne said as she tilted her head towards Cathy.

“That’s not a simile,” Cathy deadpanned. She continued, “But Henry has been practically controlling the entirety of Parliament. He’s unlawfully put restrictions on Aragon’s company, he’s been making it absolute hell for Jane to do her charity work, and so much more. Not to mention his dabbling in the Black Market and the assassinations we suspect him of taking part in. We tend to stay away from all that, but I know the Black Market’s your specialty Kat. And we all have our personal beef with him.”

Nodding along, Kat hid her surprise at the mention to the Black Market. She was supposed to have connections to the Black Market? Oh, she was a lot deeper in than she thought. “That’s why we’re going to take him down.”

“What?” The word slipped out of Kat’s mouth before she could close it.

“He’s done some horrible things,” Jane spoke firmly, “and that’s unforgivable. He’s got everyone under his thumb. Unless we can get cold hard evidence to convict him, he’s always going to win. That’s why all of us need to work together. So Kat, are you in?”

Later, Kat would ask herself What was I meant to do? when Jane gave her that hopeful smile. She had always looked up to the woman, reading about her in free newspapers. To have her directly asking for help, Kat almost instantaneously said, “Of course!” The enthusiasm was a direct contrast to her actual nervousness, and the change was enough to offset the other women.

“Right,” spoke the woman with the slick ponytail. She shot a glance at Boleyn but the other woman only shrugged. “Well we’ve been devising a plan for a while, but it’s taken this long to assemble the whole team. Now that we’ve got you, Kat, we can finally get started.”

“Yes, I think it would be best if you went with Jane and Joan so they can give you a rundown of our previous meetings while the rest of us discuss our future plans,” Aragon stated offhandedly, giving a pointed glance to the millionaire. Jane stood up, followed by Joan and stuck out for Kat to take. Hesitantly, Kat slipped her hand into the woman’s grip and allowed herself to be led out of the room. As Joan closed the door behind them, Kat could almost feel the eyes of the seven remaining women on her back.

After the three girls left the room, the remaining seven were quiet. No one knew what to say after the awkward introduction they shared with Katherine Brandon. “Okay, it can’t just be who thinks she’s way too young, right?” Anne broke the silence, looking expectantly at the others.

Maggie nodded in agreement, elbowing Bessie in the side to get her to nod along. “Well looks can be deceiving,” Bessie shrugged and went back to tapping her fingers on the table.

Someone clicked their tongue, and everyone turned their attention to Anna. The designer was looking down at the table with a concentrated look on her face. “I can’t help but feel a little off about all this. Brandon’s supposed to be one of the most ruthless competitors in the Black Market, but Kat looks like she couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“It doesn’t matter how she looks, right now we have to trust her,” Cathy cut in. “If we’re going to take down Henry, we need everyone we can get. And that includes Kat.” Slowly, everyone mumbled out varying forms of agreement.

Maria shifted in her seat. “We’re going to have Jane watch her, aren’t we?”

“You make it sound like we’re stalking her,” Maggie retorted.

“But Maria is right,” Aragon sighed. “We need her, like Cathy said, but we can’t leave her alone. Not until she proves herself. Anytime she’s around one of us, we’ll have Jane there.”

“But we can’t stalk her?” Anne asked, toeing the line between disappointment and understanding.

“No, we won’t cross that line.”

There was a silent consensus amongst the group as they all settled back into their seats. They had faith that Jane and Joan would be able to get a good reading on Kat. After all, Jane was wonderful at getting someone’s true personality to shine, and Joan was perfect for analyzing that personality. It was what made them such a good duo.

The light squeeze of her hand reminded Kat who she was with. “Jane Seymour,” she couldn’t help but mutter in awe.

Jane had a nice smile, one she wasn’t afraid to flash in Kat’s direction. “Based on what the other queens told you during the meeting, I’m sure you already have a pretty good idea of what’s going on here.” Kat swallowed thickly and nodded, not taking her eyes off Jane. She was sure Joan was standing behind her, likely watching her every move, but Kat was transfixed. For so long, she had fantasized Jane Seymour looking up from her phone on early morning walks and smiling at her as she sang. And now, here she was, having a conversation with the woman. 

“Right, then let’s get into the specifics of it,” came Joan’s voice from behind Kat. The teen whipped around to face Joan, but the lady had already started circling Kat to stand next to Jane. They were an interesting duo in Kat’s eyes. The kind, charitable millionaire and the protective… assistant? Sister? Kat didn’t know how the two of them were related, and she made a mental note to look it up the next time she had a chance.

It was Jane who continued the conversation then. “We’re going to go undercover -”

“Like a spy?” Kat asked.

“Like a spy,” Jane replied giddily, “and get the evidence we need to get Henry sentenced to jail. He’s got this party in a few days time that we’re going to go to. We’ve been invited -”

“Under the pretense of keeping up appearances of course,” Joan cut in.

“To his party, and we’re going to use it as a cover to break into his secret rooms. There we’ll hopefully be able to find documents linking him to all his illegal activities. The drug deals, assassinations, anything that’ll get him arrested.”

Kat frowned and stared at the floor. “Then why do you need me?”

Joan smiled, the grin carrying the same energy as Jane’s. “You’re the most important part Brandon.” It didn’t escape her notice the way Kat cringed at the name. “No one knows your face. You’ll be able to disappear without anyone noticing to grab our evidence.”

Gulping, Kat tried to keep herself calm as she realized how much worse everything was getting for her. “Okay. Then what’s everyone else doing?”

“Joan and the other ladies,” Jane paused, then added, “Maria, Bessie, and Maggie,” for clarification. “They run the operation from here. They plan, tell us the latest updates, they’re our backup squad.” Kat nodded along, making mental notes to the best of her ability. “Aragon is a big name, everybody knows who she is, so she serves as our distraction. Get all the attention on herself, nobody notices you sneaking around. Anne does basically the same thing, except she also gets information from the partygoers. With how silly she asks, you’d be surprised how cunning she can be. Anna provides the looks for everyone so that we can blend in. It’s a high class party with rich, influential people, we need to look the part. And Cathy, ever the journalist, snoops around. She takes note of every little thing she sees and hears in case it could possibly come in handy. I’ve seen her carry four blank notebooks at a time in order to record everything.”

It was a lot of information Jane had willingly shared with Kat, and the teen did her best to take it all in. She repeated it in her mind in order not to forget what she had learned. “What about you?”

“Isn’t that one obvious?” Jane laughed lightly, “I’m the one with the invitations. Henry doesn’t like the other queens, but he won’t make a scene if I invite them all. He’s too prideful to tell me I can’t bring them.”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows and leaned forward, inspecting Kat. “It is quite lucky that you’re so small, you’ll slip right by.” Kat figured it wasn’t meant to be offensive, but she was suddenly self conscious about her size compared to all the other queens. How am I supposed to compete? She thought, when they’re all fully grown women and I’m an anxious, growth stunted teenager?

The two women didn’t seem to notice (or if they did, they made no comment) her internal turmoil. Jane patted Kat on the back and led her towards the door. Joan held the door open and gave a small, but genuine smile. “The meeting’s over already?” Kat asked in confusion. She felt as if she’d just arrived.

“These things tend to be pretty quick. Besides, we only called a meeting to get you informed. We’ll meet back here at the same time tomorrow night so you can get to know everyone and we can prepare for the party,” Jane explained. 

Stepping out the door, Kat turned around to face Jane and Joan who were both still inside the building. “I won’t tell anyone about this, I promise. And I’ll be back tomorrow.” After learning how much their plan hinged on her, Kat felt she had the duty to at least try and help them. For some reason, she had gotten the note to meet them, and if they were going to take down a crooked politician who apparently has a lot of beef with them… Kat was going to do her best to help. If that meant becoming some modern version of a spy, then so be it. (Secretly, Kat liked the idea of getting to be her own version of James Bond. She’d have to come up with a cool intro, like his.)

With one last glance, the two women inside the building shut the door and left Kat to make her way home in the dark night. Once the door was shut, Jane turned to Joan. “Did you get the same feeling I got?”

“And so much more,” Joan nodded. “We need to tell the others. They’re gonna want to know about this.”

[eeveedel]

god i never realized how much i love chubby 1d. possible prompts: harry or louis trying on an outfit they were really excited about but it doesnt fit. chubby louis trying on lingerie for buff muscly harry. liam niall and zayn accidentally taking it too far with the 'letting yourself go' comments towards harry: cue harry being very quiet, and having louis remind him how much he means to him. i have about 100 more prompts but ill leave it at this

I love all these prompts and I’m def working on all of them, but I thought I would write a lil twist on the last one you sent, bc I love hurt/comfort. hope you enjoy another installment from the thick alpha verse xx

--

Louis felt his stomach warm as soon as he heard the front door open, and his cheeks colored when he heard Harry call “Omega!” from the front hall.

 Harry came into the kitchen a few minutes later, still covered in a thin sheen of sweat from his workout. Still, Louis didn’t protest when he pressed his sweaty body to Louis’s side and gave him a greeting kiss. He never did.

 “Hi, babe,” Louis smiled and kissed Harry on the cheek in turn, “I’m gonna have dinner ready in half an hour, sound good?”

 “Sure,” Harry said, “What are we having?”

 “It’s burger night,” Louis said, “I have some potato wedges in the oven already but I’m putting the patties on soon.”

 “Oh,” Harry nodded, “Do we still have black bean burgers?”

 “We have some in the freezer, yeah, do you want those instead?”  

 “Yes, please,” Harry smiled and kissed the top of Louis’s head, “Gonna take a shower.”

 “Sounds good, I’ll have a beer for you when you come down.”

 “Just water tonight is good, babe,” Harry said, and then offered Louis a smile and slipped upstairs.

Louis frowned. Harry usually only had water at the end of the day when he was hung over. And he almost always had a beer after a work out. But after a moment Louis just shrugged and went to the freezer, getting out the black bean burgers to cook up alongside the beef patties.

 Harry came down soon enough, and Louis brought him a glass of water and then went back to cooking. Eventually everything was ready and he called Harry into the dining room as he pulled all the food out. Harry took his usual seat at the dining room table, and Louis set a plate with two veggie burgers and a tall pile of potatoes in front of Harry and kissed the top of his head.

 “Thank you, love,” Harry murmured, and then looked at his plate for a long moment before he picked up one of the sandwiches.

 Harry ate the first burger pretty quickly, but then just poked at the other one, barely giving it one bite before setting it down. He ate a few of the potatoes but barely made a dent in the pile before he just sipped at his water.

 “Are you okay?” Louis asked. Usually Harry would be completely done with dinner and asking Louis if he could have another burger. He was always hungrier after gym days, especially.

 Harry just glanced up and gave Louis a small smile.

 “M’fine.”

 “Harry,” Louis said firmly, “Don’t lie to your omega.”

 Harry gave him a long look, and then sighed and covered his eyes.

 “I just had a hard day at the gym, that’s all.”

 “Oh, love, are you sore?” Louis said, already moving to get up, “I can get you something for that, I – “

 “No, no, I’m okay,” Harry said, a weak smile coming on his face before it dropped again, “I just – “

 He rolled his eyes and sighed hard.

 “There were these fucking guys in the weight room, and, um…”

 He licked his lips and shrugged.

 “They just said some shit to me, that’s all.”

 Louis leaned forward, his eyes already narrowing.

 “What kind of shit?” he asked, his body already tensing to be angry.

 “Uh,” Harry hesitated again before he dropped his eyes, “They just interrupted me, and I guess they hadn’t seen me there before or whatever, and assumed I needed help – “

 “Why the fuck would you need help when you can deadlift 400 pounds?” Louis asked flatly, and Harry gave him a wry smile.

 “Anyways, uh, then they told me I should probably focus on cardio instead, because that’s better for weight loss,” Harry said. He made a weak snorting noise in his throat, but it was pained. “And I told them I wasn’t really looking to lose weight, and – why, that’s when one of them laughed.”

 Louis stood up from his chair, his hands pressed to the table.

 “They. Laughed. At you,” he said slowly, punctuating each word.

 “Louis, baby, I need you to promise me you’re going to keep your homicide record clean,” Harry said.

 “No promises,” Louis said quickly.

 Harry laughed, but then he deflated again and looked at his lap.

 “I don’t care, is the fucking thing. I like the way I look, and I don’t care when fucking Liam or Niall talk about my weight, I just – “ Harry rubbed his eyes and then rested his cheek against his fist.

 “I’m so fucking sick of people thinking they can tell me how to live my life just because I’m fat.”

 Louis just looked at him for a long moment, and then came over to Harry’s chair and settled himself into Harry’s lap. Harry groaned weakly as Louis settled and wrapped his arms around his alpha’s neck.

 “Baby,” he sighed, “Baby, baby, baby.”

 He kissed Harry’s forehead, and then his cheeks, before he finally pressed his mouth to Harry’s lips. Harry sighed against his mouth and then kissed him in turn, his hands grabbing Louis’s waist.

 “No one has the fucking right to say anything to you about you look, what you do, anything, if you didn’t ask,” Louis said firmly when he had paused in kissing Harry.

 “I know,” Harry sighed.

 “No, no, listen to me, I have a lot more bitching to do,” Louis insisted, gripping Harry’s cheeks. Harry chuckled and then nodded for Louis to continue.

 “You are a perfect alpha,” Louis said, “You are smart, and hilarious, and charming, and you are the sweetest, most patient person I have ever known.”

 He pressed his hands forward, squishing Harry’s cheeks and making his lips pucker.

 “Omega, I cant breathe,” he managed to say.

 “Sh. Yes you can. Listen to me,” Louis said, “You’re so incredibly sexy and you are the only man I ever dated that can make me cum more than three times in one night, so keep that in mind.”

 “You have told me all this before,” Harry said between his squished cheeks.

 “And I still mean it,” Louis said. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, finally releasing his Harry’s face so he could set his hands on his shoulders instead, “Just…God, I really love you. And I hate that people think they can make you feel like shit just because you exist.”

 Harry breathed hard into the hollow of Louis’s throat and squeezed the omega’s hips.

 “Thank you,” he said softly.

 “Of course.”

 “I just – “ Harry shook his head, “Having this body gets so fucking exhausting sometimes, and it’s literally only because of other people.”

 He lifted his head a bit, and Louis pulled away to look into Harry’s eyes.

 “I mean, except for you, obviously,” Harry said, “You’re only one of the only reasons I feel okay like this.”

 Louis pressed his lips together, and then pushed forward, kissing Harry hard.

 “You deserve to know how beautiful you are,” he said firmly once he pulled away, “Always.”

 Harry gave him a smile, shaking his head.

 “God, how did I get so lucky to find you?”

 “I’m lucky,” Louis insisted, “I get a lovely, big alpha. That’s all I could ever want.”

 He settled his chin on the top of Harry’s head, and his alpha nosed at his neck for a bit while Louis closed his eyes and soaked in Harry’s scent and the feeling of his body under Louis’s.

 He really did wonder how he got so lucky with Harry, was the thing. Someone so lovely and sweet and patient that went through too much and was still so kind on the other end. Any time Louis could remind him of that, he would.

 Eventually, he climbed off of Harry, giving him a peck on the cheek.

 “Are you still hungry?”

 “Yeah, I’m really hungry,” Harry admitted.

 “Okay, I’ll heat up your plate for you,” Louis said, “Can I get you anything else?”

 “A beer?” Harry asked hopefully, “And, um, maybe a beef burger later?”

 “You got it,” Louis smiled, and kissed the top of Harry’s head again, “Anything for my favorite boy.”

[wistfulcynic]

Osaka-shi Serenade 2 / 4

IN WHICH there is Christmas dinner and intense bonding, drunken shenanigans, and smut!

SUMMARY: When Emma Swan’s high school sweetheart betrays her she runs away, as far as she can get… all the way to Japan. She tells herself it’s not running, it’s an adventure, but when she meets a handsome Englishman as broken as she is, will she be brave enough to embark on a new adventure with him?

A//N: THANK YOU ALL for the lovely response to this story! As I said it’s a very personal one, and slower and sweeter than the kinds of things I usually write. I loved living in Japan and writing this has been a trip down memory lane that I’ve very much enjoyed. I’m so pleased you’re enjoying it too!

RATING: M (for this chapter!!)

On AO3

TAGGING: @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @searchingwardrobes @shireness-says @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke and of course @katie-dub and THANKING @distant-rose and @thisonesatellite for being brilliant betas. 

(please let me know if you would like a tag!!)

PART2:

Christmas was, of course, not a holiday celebrated in Japan. 

Of course it wasn’t, thought Emma, as she got ready for work on the 25th of December, five weeks after she’d moved to Osaka. Japan was a primarily Buddhist and Shinto country, and also, as Belle had explained to them in their last team meeting, the New Year was huge, and they would have a full week off for that. Emma understood.

But still, going to work on Christmas felt weird. 

She’d already Skyped with Ingrid and Ruby and wished them Merry Christmas. There was snow in Storybrooke and her adoptive mom had carried the laptop outside to show her the snowman she and Leo had built, and all the presents under the tree, and even though Emma knew it was really just another day on the calendar, although she’d already lived through missing Thanksgiving, although Christmas carols played everywhere in Osaka all. the. time. since she’d arrived, she still couldn’t help feeling sad. 

Adventure, she reminded herself as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Trying new things. There would be other Christmases.  

The expat pubs in Osaka, of which there were very, very many, seemed to understand her melancholy, or at least found a way to profit off it. Every one of them offered “Christmas dinner:” a choice of roast turkey or beef with potatoes and vegetables, smothered in gravy and accompanied by a pint of Guinness. 

“I like a good roast dinner as much as anyone,” remarked Killian as they stood in a hugely crowded pub, looking for a seat and observing as those already seated ate their food, “But that is not a good roast dinner.” 

“It suits me, mate,” said Will. “I intend to get pissed tonight, all I need is somethin’ to cushion the alcohol.” 

“Well, I’m going to find a less… popular place to celebrate the Yuletide,” said Killian. “If anyone would care to join me?”

“I will.” Emma didn’t like the look of the roast meats or the thin gravy, plus it was too loud in the pub and far too hot. She felt claustrophobic and very un-Christmassy.

“And me.” Anna had been subdued all day, for the past few days actually, and the prospect of a Christmas dinner had cheered her almost back to her usual self. But now she looked down again. “Let’s get out of here.” 

The three of them headed out into the streets, still busy and bustling though it was nearly midnight, and decided to walk towards Shinsaibashi. 

“There must be someplace there that’s nicer than that bloody pub,” said Killian. “I don’t know why we go to that place so often, if I wanted a piss-up in a run-down local I’d’ve fucking stayed at home.” 

Everyone was grumpy tonight, thought Emma. They could all use some Christmas spirit. 

“We could always go to KFC,” she attempted to joke. “A student told me today that’s a Japanese Christmas tradition. A bucket of KFC and a strawberry cake.” 

“No,” said Killian firmly. “I want a decent meal. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.” 

“So have I,” Anna agreed. 

They pushed forward through the thickening crowds, but when they reached the entrance to the covered part of Shinsaibashi-suji, where the lights were so bright it almost rivalled daytime and where shops, restaurants, pachinko parlours, and karaoke bars were all jumbled together in a bright mess of noise and energy, Anna held back. 

“I don’t know if I’m really feeling this,” she said. 

“What’s wrong?” Emma asked her. “You seem down.” 

“Yeah, I just— I don’t want a lot of noise. Can we maybe try someplace else? What about down here?”

They turned down a quieter side street, still bright and bustling but far less crowded. After a few minutes Anna stopped. 

“How about this place?” she asked, indicating a red-fronted building with a dark-painted wooden door and a sign outside proclaiming it Osaka’s best steakhouse in almost correct English. 

“Charley Brown’s?” said Emma, reading the sign. “Yeah, okay. Fine with me.” 

Killian opened the door and they went in, indicated with hand gestures to the smiling and bowing hostess that they wanted a table for three, then followed her up the stairs to a small candlelit table in a quiet corner of the spacious room. 

“This is nice,” said Emma, determinedly cheerful. 

“Aye, it really is,” agreed Killian. His earlier mood seemed to have lifted, but Anna was still frowning. 

She hovered next to the table as Emma and Killian sat down. “I don’t think I can do this,” she said. 

“Do what?” said Emma, trying not to be annoyed. “I wish you’d tell us what’s wrong.”

“It’s— it’s Kristoff,” she said, looking sideways at Killian. “My ex. I— he— I talked to him last night and I’m just— I’m not feeling great.”  

“Do you want to talk about it?” offered Emma.

“No. Thanks. I think I just want to be alone.” She tried to smile, though the strain in her face was evident. “You guys stay though, please. Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Okay. See you.” Emma watched her go, then turned to Killian. “What was that about?”

He scratched behind his ear. “I think she’s just having some troubles with people from home,” he said. “She and her ex ended in a weird place.” 

Emma could tell that wasn’t the whole story but she wasn’t going to try to pry someone else’s secrets from Killian. He and Anna were close and had been friends before she’d met either of them, and it really wasn’t her business. 

Yet Anna’s departure left her and Killian alone together in an atmosphere that was undeniably and inescapably romantic. Their table was small and felt secluded in its little corner, lit with tea lights in decorative holders and by the soft glow of the shaded wall sconces above them. It was intimate and elegant, and the nicest restaurant Emma had ever been in. 

“Well,” said Killian brightly. “What looks good?”

The menu was extensive and a bit confusing, but Emma’s attention was caught by a small card tucked between the salt and pepper shakers on the table, advertising a Christmas meal that looked delicious, far better than what the pub had been offering. Five courses plus wine for 4,000 yen. It was expensive, but it was also Christmas, and Emma felt like she’d earned it. 

“I think I might just try this,” she said. 

Killian picked up the card and nodded. “Sounds great,” he agreed. “I’ll do the same.” 

The waiter appeared and they gave their order, and once he had taken it and bowed himself away, silence fell between Killian and Emma, alone with each other for the first time and for the first time feeling awkward. 

Emma was determined not to be. 

“So are you ever going to tell me the story of your notebook?” she asked him, a hint of challenge in her tone. 

“Do I look like Nicholas Sparks?” quipped Killian, and she chuckled politely but she knew deflection when she saw it, and she was not about to let it slide. 

“I have no idea,” she retorted, “But I suspect your notebook would be a heck of a lot more interesting than his.” 

“Not a Sparks fan then Swan?”

“Stop trying to change the subject.” 

Killian sighed, and rubbed behind his ear again. Emma made a mental note to play poker with him someday; with a tell that obvious he’d be an easy mark. 

“Well if you must know I was taking notes because… because I’m thinking I might write a book. Someday. And when I have ideas I think could possibly go in it, I write them down.” His ears had gone pink, and the tops of his cheeks. Emma could not have been more charmed. 

“Why would you feel like you needed to hide that?” she asked. “I think it’s amazing.” 

He shrugged. “It’s just theoretical at this point, I haven’t actually written anything. But I used to write short stories when I was younger and my brother always said—” he broke off. 

“What did he say?” she prompted.

“He said I had a gift.” Killian replied in a low voice. 

“Sounds like a good brother.” 

“He was.” 

“Was? What happened?” The words were out before she could think better of them, and she tensed, hoping she hadn’t pushed too far.

“He died.”  

She remembered what he’d said during their first meeting, on the subway. “Was that the funeral you wore the tie to?” she asked.  “The tie you threw away?”

He nodded, looking down at his hands where they rested on the table. “Yes.” 

“I’m so sorry, Killian.” 

“It was a long time ago.” He looked away again. 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.” She knew this, of course. Firsthand.

“No.” 

She also knew how important it was to talk about things that hurt. “Will you tell me about him?”

Killian looked up at her and she sensed apprehension but also relief, that he actually badly wanted to talk about this with someone who would understand. That he was hoping she would understand.

He had no idea just how much she did understand. 

“Liam was my hero. That might sound foolish—” 

“It doesn’t.” 

“—but he was. He was eight years older than me but he always used to let me tag along with him and his friends. I didn’t realise what a big deal that was until I got older myself. In the summer he would take me to the library and help me find books to read and then sometimes we would get the train to Weymouth and go to the beach. He made me play rugby even though I do not have the build for it because he thought it would make me tougher than football would, and when our father went into drunken rages he would take the brunt of it to protect me.” 

These last words came out all in a rush and his expression was almost defiant, expecting pity or judgement. 

She offered neither, just took his hand and squeezed it hard. 

“How did he die?” she asked. “If you don’t mind telling me.” 

“I don’t like to talk about it, but… I think I’d like for you to know.” He took a deep breath and his fingers tightened on hers. “It was a car accident. Just a stupid, pointless accident, only I was driving. I was seventeen and practicing for my driving test, and I turned onto a busy road and some arsehole wasn’t watching where he was going and plowed into the passenger side, and killed my brother. Instantly. Just like that and he was gone. The police said there was nothing I did wrong, but I can’t help feeling like—” 

“Like you should have been able to do something to prevent it.” 

Relief flashed in his eyes, and gratitude. “Yeah.” 

“I get it. My parents died in a car accident too.”

Relief turned to empathy. “Oh, love.” 

“Yeah. I was twelve, and my brother Leo was two. So we have that in common too, that big gap between siblings. My dad was killed instantly, like your brother, but my mom died pulling me and Leo out of the wreckage.” She paused, blinking tears back, breathing deeply, pushing down the panic this memory still incited, even after more than a decade. “She pulled me out first, I was easier to reach, then told me to wait while she went back for Leo. She got him free but she had internal bleeding and strained herself too much.”

Her voice broke, and Killian held her hand even tighter. “Fucking hell,” he whispered. 

“Yeah.” She swallowed hard, focused on her breathing. “It was pretty awful. My mom— she put Leo in my arms and then she collapsed and never got up again, and I— I have spent the past eleven years thinking if only I had stayed with her maybe I could have saved them both.” Her confession came in a rush, as his had done. 

“Or maybe you’d have been killed too.” Killian’s voice was hoarse. “You were a child, Emma, there is nothing you could have done. 

“Maybe. As it was all I had was a few bruises and Leo barely a scratch.” 

“But that’s good, love. You had your brother, and he had you. I’m sure knowing that would have made your parents happy.” 

It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her about the accident, much less someone who had lost his own brother so cruelly. Emma felt the tears she’d been fighting back spill over, and wiped her eyes with an embarrassed laugh. 

“So that’s why you don’t like wearing ties,” she tried to joke. “At least that mystery is solved.” 

“Aye. My father made me wear one to the funeral and cuffed me on the side of the head when I protested, said I was being disrespectful to Liam’s memory.” Fury flashed in his eyes, barely leashed, offering a glimpse of how terrifying he would be if he ever let it loose. Showing that his memories were as fresh as hers were. “Like he hadn’t spent Liam’s entire fucking life being disrespectful, like it’s so respectful to take out your drunken bitterness on your own bloody child.”

“So what did you do?”

“I put on the tie and I went to the funeral. Then when my brother was in the ground I burned the tie, and the suit, punched my father in his fucking face and left. I haven’t seen him since.” 

Emma could imagine him, young and lost and drowning in pain and fury. She wanted to hug him, but instead she gently rubbed her thumb across his fingers. “Where did you go?”

“I’ve always loved the sea so I went down to Weymouth, where I used to go to the beach with Liam. I went to the harbour there and found myself a job as a labourer on a fishing boat, backbreaking work but I was lucky to get it. I worked there for just over a year, until I had enough money saved to pay for university. What about you? What happened after your parents passed?”

“It was pretty confusing for a while. We stayed with my friend Ruby and her grandmother since my parents didn’t have any close family to take us in, but then the state wanted to put us into the foster system. They said they’d keep us together, but I didn’t trust them, so when the social worker came to talk to us I wouldn’t let her in. I held the door shut and then I kicked and scratched and bit her, and eventually she gave up and left. She was furious. She shouted at me that Leo could be adopted into a nice family and if I was good they’d take me too. She said I was going to ruin his life, but I knew my parents would have wanted him to grow up with his own family. Even if that was only me.” She gave a self-deprecating shrug. 

“Eventually my mother’s distant cousin, Ingrid, heard about what happened. She came and found us and took custody of us. Three years later she adopted us. She even moved to the little town where we lived so that we wouldn’t have to be separated from our friends and familiar surroundings.” She sniffed as tears prickled behind her eyes again. “I don’t know what we’d have done without her.”

Killian smiled, though he looked teary himself. “So a happy ending, then, of a sort.” 

“As happy as it could be I suppose. Leo’s thirteen now and he’s a normal, happy kid. He loves Ingrid and doesn’t remember our parents, which—” she paused and took a deep breath before speaking, words she had never uttered to another person, words she had barely even managed to think. But she’d already told him so much, what was one more painful revelation? She could analyse her seemingly irresistible urge to spill all her secrets to him sometime later. “—I almost envy him for that,” she whispered. “I miss them so much. Even after all this time. I cry every day on the anniversary of their deaths.” 

Killian’s hand shifted in hers, and she felt the soft brush of his thumb across her knuckles. “I cry on the anniversary of Liam’s,” he said, in a voice that held sadness and pain and profound empathy. He understood, of course. She’d known he would. 

The waiter arrived with their first courses, shattering the intimate mood, and abruptly they were self-conscious, pulling their hands apart and smiling with forced cheerfulness as plates were set before them. Emma could still feel the imprint of Killian’s fingers in hers as she picked up her fork. 

“This looks good!” she said brightly. 

“Aye. Far better than that slop from the pub.” 

They ate in silence for a minute and Emma, desperate for the ease of understanding between them not to grow strained searched for some topic of conversation less heavy than dead families. 

“So why did you—” she began.

“What brings you to—” started Killian, and they laughed. 

“I was just going to ask why you came to Japan,” said Emma. 

“Funny, that’s what I was going to ask you.” 

She grinned at him. “You first.” 

“Well it’s not that interesting a story, really. After uni I took an awful boring job, in public relations. I’ve no idea why I even took it, my degree is in Modern Languages, but they needed someone who spoke French so they offered it to me. The salary was better than any other offers I’d had and they said they were a ‘cool young’ firm and I wouldn’t have to wear a suit, so I thought why the fuck not for a year or two. But then before I knew it, it was five years later and I was bloody miserable. I hated every morning I had to wake up and go to work, but I stayed in the job because I didn’t really have any idea what else I even wanted to do. Then one day out of nowhere I ran into Graham in London. We’d been at uni together and hadn’t seen each other since, so we went for a drink to catch up and he told me he was there for an interview to teach in Japan. He made it sound like an amazing opportunity, said I should come too since they were still recruiting, and I had always wanted to go to Asia so I said I’d give it some thought. And then the next day my boss told me they were cutting the staff and offered me voluntary redundancy and I said hell yes, took the money, and before I was even out the door was on the phone with Graham for the details of that job.” 

“Wow, it’s lucky you ran into him.” 

“Indeed. We weren’t ever that close and I hadn’t spoken to him in years. It was just a weird coincidence that we happened to be in the same place at the same time. What?” he asked, seeing her face. 

“Nothing, really, it’s just I’m kinda here by weird coincidence too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I— I wanted to get away. From my life, and from my ex.” She glanced up at him, hoping he wouldn’t ask for details. She really didn’t want to talk about Neal, not with Killian. But he just nodded for her to continue. “So I just randomly googled ‘jobs in other countries’ and this came up. I’d never even considered going to Japan or even leaving the US, but it was like once the idea got into my head I couldn’t get rid of it. I felt like I had to go. Ruby thought I was nuts.” She laughed. “Maybe I was. But also, like, the interviews were being held in Boston, which is a three hour drive and a longer train ride and I wouldn’t normally have ben able to manage it, but the day they wanted to interview me I happened to have plans to be in Boston anyway, with Ruby actually. It was just all so easy, like it just fell into place. I don’t normally believe in signs, but that sure as hell felt like one.”

Killian shook his head, an odd, small smile on his face. 

“What?” she asked him. 

“I was just thinking of all the little things that had to come together in order for us to meet,” he said. “The odds against it were staggering.” 

“And yet here we are,” she said softly, matching his smile with her own. 

“Here we are,” he agreed. 

—

They left the restaurant feeling content, full of wine and good food and the excitement humming softly beneath their skin at this hazy, undefined, unspoken-but-still-very-real thing that was blossoming between them, the attraction and the understanding and the sense of kinship that was unlike anything either had experienced before. Killian held the door for her and then when they fell into step his hand brushed against hers and Emma thought the spark might actually set her on fire. She edged closer and let her knuckles brush his in a way that was unmistakably deliberate, then his fingertips were tracing across her palm and— 

“Oi, Jones! Emma!” 

Will’s voice rang out from across the street and Killian and Emma all but leapt apart. 

She didn’t know why, Emma thought crossly. They hadn’t been doing anything, yet the nothing they’d been doing was new and fragile and intensely personal, and she imagined Killian didn’t want their friends interfering in it any more than she did. 

She glanced at him and he shot her a wry grin, and they crossed the street to join the group. Will was with Graham and Smee and all three were very much the worse for alcohol. 

“We are goin’,” said Will, with the painstaking enunciation of the very intoxicated, “to sing karaoke. An’ you two,” he poked Killian’s chest with his finger. “Are comin’ along.”

“Mate—” began Killian, glancing again at Emma. 

“Come on!” Will grabbed Killian’s arm and took a step forward, stumbling over the curb into the street and almost sending both himself and Killian flying headfirst into the gutter. 

Killian steadied them both. “I’m not sure you’re in any state for karaoke, mate,” he said. “Maybe we should all just go home.” 

“The night is young!” declared Will. 

“It’s almost four a.m.” 

“And we don’t ‘ave to be at work until three p.m.!” 

Killian looked imploringly at Smee and Graham. 

“Killian’s right, Scarlet,” said Graham. “You’re plastered and the rest of us are knackered, let’s get a taxi and go home. We’ll do karaoke another time.” 

“Fine if you lot don’t wanna sing. But I am not goin’ home yet,” retorted Will, pulling his arm away from Killian and stalking off, as best he could stalk when he could barely keep his own feet under him. They watched him stagger for a minute, and finally Graham sighed. 

“I’ll go after him,” he said. “Get him home safe. You guys don’t have to wait.” 

“You sure?” said Smee. “I can go with—” 

“No, you get a taxi with Emma and Killian, you all live in the same direction so it makes sense.” 

Emma and Killian exchanged looks. It did make sense, but Smee lived at the same subway stop as Killian, which meant…

“Okay.” Smee grinned at Emma. “I’ll be h— happy to escort you home, my lady.” She felt Killian tense up beside her, and when she glanced at him his jaw was clenched tight. He caught her eye and shrugged. What could they do? Ditch Smee because they wanted to be alone in the taxi, maybe go back to one or the other’s apartment together? 

Was that what they wanted? 

It was definitely what Emma wanted, and she thought Killian did too, but they could hardly discuss that here. 

Graham said goodbye and hurried after Will, chasing him deeper into the noise and crowds of Shinsaibashi, while Emma, Killian, and Smee turned in the other direction and headed for the taxi ranks on the quieter street of Midosuji. 

“Imazato chikatetsu eki, kudasai,” said Emma to the driver as she got into the taxi between Smee and Killian. Her stop was closest.  

“Imazato, hai!” he replied, and swerved the taxi in a sharp u-turn out into the street, tilting Emma almost into Killian’s lap. She braced herself against him and his hand came to rest on her knee, and when the taxi evened out along the wide avenue he didn’t move it. 

Emma shifted, as subtly as she could, leaning into Killian’s side and pressing her leg against his. She could tell he was looking at her but she didn’t turn her head, didn’t dare risk seeing his face. He moved his fingers against her knee, almost imperceptibly, and when she merely pressed her leg harder against his he slid his hand slowly up her thigh, just to the middle of it. Casually, she let her hand come to rest next to his, looping their little fingers together. She heard him exhale slowly, as if trying to control his breathing, and he shifted himself, pressing his body all along the length of hers and twining their fingers more tightly together. Emma glanced over at Smee, but he was leaning his head against the window, oblivious. 

All too soon they arrived at Imazato. Killian got out of the taxi to let Emma out. As she brushed past him he caught her waist and gave it a light squeeze. She looked up at his eyes, so blue in the bright lights from the subway station, brimming with emotions that made her heart race. Another time, his eyes said, and she nodded. 

Emma ran across the street to her building and up the stairs two at a time, all five flights of them. She was feeling exhilarated and jumpy and humming with energy. She flung open the apartment door and kicked off her shoes, almost dancing into the living room. 

“Do you mind,” said Aurora’s voice from the sofa. “We are watching a movie.” 

“Oh.” Emma turned to see Aurora and Mulan sprawled out with a laptop on the table in front of them, sharing a set of headphones. “Sorry. I thought you guys would be at work.” 

“We did a half day today,” said Mulan. 

“We finished about an hour ago,” added Aurora. “You’re back really late.” 

“Oh, I just went out to dinner with a friend. For Christmas. Um, Merry Christmas, by the way.” 

“About that,” said Aurora. “Just so you know, next week we’re having a party. For the New Year. With some friends from our shift. Just so you can make your own plans.” 

Mulan shot her an apologetic look, but Emma just shrugged. She was used to Aurora’s passive aggression by now. “That’s fine,” she said. “I’m, um, gonna go to bed now. See you guys later.” She could hear Aurora whispering as she slid her bedroom’s thin doors shut but she tuned it out. 

Her mind and heart were still racing as she got into her pajamas and flopped down on her futon. Just one more week, she thought, four more days of work and then they had nine days off for the New Year. Nine days of vacation, surely, surely she and Killian could find some time to be alone with each other again. 

She closed her eyes with a smile and fell asleep thinking about him. 

— 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 — 🇯🇵 

The following week passed much as the ones before it had. She saw Killian at work and he still flirted and shared his lunch with her and outwardly everything was almost the same. And yet… whenever the group was together they made sure to stand next to each other, closer than they would have stood before. They sat closer too, at lunch, and shared little private smiles, and now and then when she was laughing or talking animatedly she looked up to catch him watching her with an intensity that made her heart pound.

After their shift on December 29th the group headed out, back to Shinsaibashi to a new bar Will wanted to try. 

“I hear they make some fuckin’ killer drinks, mates,” he said. “There’s this blue shite, right, that has five different shots of liquor.” 

“Five, really?” said Graham. “You’d be dead.” 

“Nah, mate, not after one. It’d take at least three to end me,” chortled Will. 

He held the door open for them with a flourish, and rubbed his hands together as it closed behind him. The room was brightly lit, done in shades of electric blue and glaring white and the bar was made of glass and decorated to look like a fish tank. Emma frowned at it, watching carefully until she was certain that the realistic-looking fish were not actually swimming. 

“I think they’re just… part of the glass?” said Anna. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Weird.” 

The bar’s glass top was scattered with laminated menus, featuring pictures of vibrantly hued drinks. 

“That’s it!” crowed Will, pointing at a drink the same blue shade as the neon sign above the bar. “That’s the one. I’ll ‘ave one a those, kudasai.” He pointed at the menu and the bartender nodded. 

“Make it six,” said Will, holding up his left hand with the five fingers splayed wide and his right index finger held vertically across its palm. “My treat, mates.” 

“Roku, hai,” acknowledged the bartender. 

The bar was staffed by three terrifyingly efficient men, and their drinks arrived quickly. Emma took a sip of hers and grimaced. It was good, but it was strong. 

“What the hell is in this?” she demanded. 

“Not sure,” said Will. “I think one is absinthe.” 

“Isn’t that illegal?” queried Anna.

“Maybe not in Japan,” suggested Graham. 

“Absinthe is green,” Killian informed them, holding his drink up to the light. “Famously so. I don’t think there’s anything green in here, this is likely the bluest substance known to man.” 

They all laughed and kept sipping, and the more they sipped the louder their laughter grew until the blue beverages were all consumed and Will was asking the bartender for more. 

“I don’ think I could drink more,” said Emma, leaning heavily against Killian as the room spun gently around her, not even caring about the sharp look Anna shot her as she clutched the sleeve of his suit jacket. She liked Anna, very much, and whenever they were alone the other woman was friendliness itself but as far as very-pleasantly-buzzed Emma was concerned, she needed either to say she wanted Killian or not say it, but all these little wordless glares whenever Emma was close to him were starting to get tiresome. 

Especially as Emma had every intention of getting much closer to him before the night was done. 

Will was arguing with the bartender who refused to make them more blue drinks, offering them every other colour on the menu, and Graham was trying to intervene. Smee was watching them with his habitual slightly vague expression and Anna was pretending to watch while actually keeping her eyes on Emma as she laid her head on Killian’s shoulder and his arm snuck around her waist. 

“All right, Swan?” he murmured. 

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I feel good.” 

It was one of the nicest buzzes she’d ever had, in fact. She felt light and loose and carefree, but not confused or out of control. Like she was floating on a marshmallow or rolling on a cloud of cotton candy. 

She giggled, which was not like her, nor was the whimsy. But maybe both were what she needed tonight, she thought. 

Will clapped his hands triumphantly as he won his argument with the bartender, who agreed to make them one more blue drink. 

“Have at it, lads,” Will said, offering the drink around the group. Emma took a large swig then passed it to Killian, who did the same. She swayed as the added alcohol hit her, and now the cotton candy was in her brain, clouding her thoughts and sweetening them. She tugged on the lapels of Killian’s jacket. 

“Let’s go somewhere,” she said, hoping the words didn’t sound as slurred as they did in her head. 

He looked down at her, his eyes glassy but intensely focused. 

“Where?” he asked.  

“Somewhere. Anywhere. Just— take me somewhere.” 

His eyes widened as he caught her meaning, then dropped to her lips and he swallowed hard. She swayed towards him but the room was far too bright and too full of their friends for what they both wanted. 

He cleared his throat. “Are you sure, love?” he asked. “We’ve had a lot to drink—” 

“I’m sure.” 

He nodded, eyes still on her lips. “Yours?”

Emma struggled to think. Did Mulan and Aurora still work tonight, or— but it really didn’t matter because she wasn’t about to bring Killian to her place if there was any chance of Aurora being present. “No, my roommates are home,” she said.  

“Is that a problem?”

“We have shoji doors, they are literally made of paper.” 

“Ah. Well mine has normal doors but my flatmate is having a party.” 

Emma wanted to snarl in frustration. How did other people do this when there was no privacy in this country?

Then she remembered how, from the whispers of other teachers and the blasé tales of her students. 

“What about a love hotel?”

Killian’s eyes finally left her lips and he stared at her. “Really?”

“Oh, come on, like you haven’t wondered what they were like,” she teased. 

“I have definitely wondered, but—” 

“There’s one just down the street isn’t there?” 

“Emma, let’s think about this.” 

“I don’t want to think.” She clutched his lapels again, pressing her body as close to his as it could get, close enough that their breaths mingled, that she could feel the catch in his against her cheek. So close that half an inch was all that stood between them and the kiss they had both been craving for a week. For longer. 

Well, that half inch and four very rowdy drunken English teachers and a glaringly bright Japanese bar. 

“I just want to be alone with you,” whispered Emma. “Just you and me somewhere with a door that locks and where no one cares what we do.” She released him abruptly and stepped back, towards the door, grabbing his hand from around her waist and giving it a tug. “I don’t care if it’s tacky, that’ll be part of the fun. C’mon. I’ll pay.” 

“You absolutely will not,” said Killian, and she knew she had him. He glanced around them and seeing no one was looking wrapped his arm around her waist again and steered her to the door. “Let’s go.” 

They stumbled out into the bustling night, just drunk enough to make the flashing neon seem softly romantic. Killian held her close against his side, his arm firm around her waist, and she slid her hand into the back pocket of his trousers. A wild giggle rose in her throat as she realised they must look like the sort of couple people shouted at to get a room. 

And that was exactly what they were going to do. 

The lobby of the love hotel was surprisingly elegant, with soft lighting and dark-wood panelling along the clean lines and sharp angles of the room. A smiling woman stood behind a large wooden desk in the far corner. She said something in rapid Japanese and Emma struggled to pick out any of the words she knew. 

Killian replied, also in Japanese. 

What the fuck, thought Emma, gaping at him, wondering if she were drunker than she’d thought. 

He shot her a slightly sheepish look as the woman began to tap on her computer. “I’ve been taking lessons,” he said. 

So had Emma, but she wasn’t anywhere near that good. 

Though her body was still thrumming with excitement she began to feel a bit awkward as Killian and the still-smiling woman arranged their room. There was only one reason people went to love hotels, the clue was quite literally in the name, and despite the fact that this was the woman’s job it felt weird to think that she knew what Emma and Killian were there to do. 

Killian caught the look on her face and squeezed her hand. “You can back out any time, love,” he said. “No hard feelings.��� 

She shook her head, and returned his squeeze. “No. I want to do this.” 

He smiled and the look in his eyes made her belly quiver. 

The smiling woman handed Killian a key and a pamphlet and pointed them in the direction of the elevator with an elegant hand wave and a series of bows. 

“Come on, then, Swan,” he said, flipping through the pamphlet. “We’re on the twelfth floor.” 

“There are twelve floors to this place?”

“More, even, I think.”

They got in the elevator, which was as dimly lit as the lobby. The darkness made it easier to slide close to him again and press her cheek against his chest as he kissed her hair. 

She supposed that was the point. 

After the tasteful elegance of the hotel’s entrance and elevator, the sight of their room had them stopping dead in the doorway, gaping in shock. This, thought Emma. This is what I was expecting. The commitment to the theme was impressive. 

The room was large, with gently curving walls and tall, blacked-out windows, but what really drew the eye were the hearts. Heart shaped pillows of varying sizes and hues of pink and red cluttered the heart-shaped bed with its heart shaped headboard, over which hung a heart-shaped mirror framed in sparkly red hearts. The walls were striped with lines of fuchsia hearts and in the corner sat a small table, square but lacquered in black with bright red hearts and accompanied by two matching chairs, with heart-shaped backs. 

Emma tried to swallow her hysterical giggles but then she caught Killian’s eye. He was biting the inside of his cheek and when she widened her eyes at him they both burst into laughter. 

“This is brilliant,” said Killian, after they had caught their breath again. “It’s everything I hoped it would be.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking,” she agreed, and they both knew they weren’t just talking about the room. 

Their laughter had dissipated the awkwardness leaving only the insistent pull of sexual tension, and when Emma hooked her fingers under the waistband of his trousers and pulled him closer she could feel the pounding of his heart and the heat of his gaze burning into her as she slid her hand into his hair. 

“I’m feeling more sober now,” she whispered. 

“Is that bad?”

“Exactly the opposite. I want to remember this.” 

“So do I.” 

She pulled his mouth down to hers and stood on her toes to meet it halfway as his arms wrapped tightly around her. Their lips met softly at first and then harder, and Emma’s head began to spin again as she opened her mouth and his tongue stroked hers, soft and wet and warm and tasting faintly of alcohol. He kissed her firmly and with obvious skill but let her take the lead, responding to her cues and adapting to her pace, and for the first time ever she felt like kissing was something being done with her rather than to her, and for Emma this was a revelation. 

Soon she was breathless and barely able to stay standing on her shaky legs. She leaned against Killian, wrapping her arms around his neck as he lifted her just off her feet and walked them over to the bed, lowering her gently onto the pile of heart pillows and following her down without breaking their kiss. He unbuttoned her shirt slowly, letting his fingertips trail along each newly revealed inch of skin until every last button was undone and she practically ripped the shirt away, desperate for more of his hands on her.   

They pulled apart just long enough for her to yank off her bra and toss it away and for him to remove his own shirt, heedless of its buttons, and when they came back together she moaned at the rough sensation of his chest hair against her nipples. It felt amazing, his skin against hers felt amazing, and the hard press of his cock between her legs made her heart race and her fingers tremble in anticipation. She bucked her hips against him and he groaned into her mouth. 

He tugged at the waistband of her trousers. “Get these off,” he growled, as with his other hand he began to undo his belt. Emma shimmied out of her pants and underwear, too eager to feel all of him against her to be anything like self-conscious. When they were both naked he paused, taking her in, then reached out a trembling hand to trace the contours of her breast and waist and hip with the tips of his fingers. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I can’t believe—” 

“What?” she whispered back. 

“I can’t believe I’m here with you. This is like a dream.” 

She knew exactly how he felt. 

“You’re beautiful too,” she said, trailing her own fingertips over his chest and down his abs, stopping just shy of his cock. He caught his breath, the blue of his eyes almost lost to black, but managed a smirk. 

“Devilishly handsome, I think you’ll find, Swan.” 

She laughed. “That too.” 

He pulled her back into his arms, running his hand down her back to press her as close as he could, curving it around her ass to pull her hips into his. She gasped, rocking against the hard swell of cock, desperate to feel it inside her, when she was struck by a terrible thought. “Wait,” she panted, pushing against his shoulders. “Do you have a condom?”

Killian pulled back, panting himself. “No. But the love hotel provides.” He leaned across her and pressed a button on the side of the headboard. A small drawer popped open, from which he withdrew a strip of six condoms, smirking at her as he brandished them.

“Ambitious,” remarked Emma. 

“Aye, perhaps, but I do love a challenge.” 

He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “How did you know those were there?”

“It’s in the brochure.” 

“When did you—” she began, but he cut her off with his mouth on hers and his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh, making her gasp against his lips. 

“Hush, now, love, remember we have six condoms to use before two o’clock this afternoon, we need to stay focused.” 

Her chuckle became a strangled moan as his fingers stroked through her slick flesh, finding her clit with impressive speed and accuracy. He pressed it lightly with his thumb and then began to rub gentle circles around it. 

“Oh my God,” she gasped, half expecting him to reply with some quip about how just Killian would do, but he was too intent on watching her reactions to his touch. She could almost see him cataloguing what she liked, thinking vaguely that she should feel uncomfortable being the centre of such focused attention, but then he increased the pressure of his thumb and slipped a finger inside her and she forgot to think at all. 

She arched her back, pressing her core against his hand and her head back against the pillows as her hands clutched at them. She wanted to watch him as he watched her; the intensity of his focus and determination to please her turned her on as much as anything about him did, but her eyes refused to stay open, fluttering closed as the heady sensations built and intensified and then her orgasm burst over her and she actually screamed. 

Killian continued to stroke her until she opened her eyes then withdrew his hand, resting it on her hip as he propped his head on the other one, watching her with an expression that managed to be both soft and smug. 

“You,” she panted, “are looking awfully pleased with yourself.”

His smirk deepened. “Well, darling, I did just make you scream.”

She gave his shoulder a sharp shove, toppling him onto his back and quickly swinging her leg over to straddle him. “Let’s see who screams next,” she said. 

He cupped her breast, thumbnail flicking across her nipple and she tried to stifle her gasp, without success. He licked his lower lip, slowly. “You’re on, love,” he growled.  

Damn it, thought Emma, she was fully turned on again, ready to go. 

“Where’s the damn condoms?” she snarled, snatching them from his hand when he held them up. Ripping the first one from its packet she quickly rolled it down his length, following it with her body as he pulled her close to take her nipple in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” she moaned as twin bolts of pleasure shot through her from her breast and her core. “Fuck.” 

“That’s the idea,” murmured Killian against her skin. He gave her ass a light slap. “Get on with it, then. I thought you were going to make me scream.” 

Emma resisted the urge to smack him, instead lifting her hips and slamming them down, taking him deep, triumphant when he groaned and the hand on her ass gripped her hard. She braced her hands on either side of his head and concentrated on finding a rhythm, taking him as deep as she could and watching him as closely as he had her, trying to memorise what he liked best. 

There seemed to be nothing he didn’t like, and soon he was thrusting up to meet her, fingers digging bruises into her flesh as she leaned on one hand and dragged her fingernails down his chest. When she flicked his nipple as he had done hers, he made a noise she’d never heard before and flipped them over, lifting her knee up to to her chest and plunging back into her deeper than before. 

Emma no longer cared about the noises she herself was making; she was lost to everything but him, to the delicious friction of his cock inside her and his chest hair against her nipples, the softness of his lips on her neck. She’d had no idea sex could feel like this, like she was coming apart but also more whole than she’d ever been, her body incandescent with sensations that were almost more than she could bear. When she came it caught her by surprise, bursting from her core and flooding her with pleasure to the very tips of her fingers and toes. She gripped Killian’s forearm, nails digging into his skin as she clenched around him and he moaned her name as he came.

He collapsed and tried to roll away but she held on, wanting his weight on her for a few moments longer. He let his head fall against her neck and she could feel his breath ruffling the fine hairs on her nape as she sank her fingers into his own hair, damp with sweat, and as her senses slowly returned she tried not to worry about how not awkward this whole thing felt. 

Even with Neal she’d always been awkward after sex, and she’d known him for years before sleeping with him. The whole business of being naked with someone once the urge to fuck had gone made her feel far too vulnerable, to say nothing of the messy cleanup and the general damp stickiness of it all. She generally escaped as quickly as she could and went to take a shower. 

But with Killian not only didn’t she want to run she actually wanted to cuddle. His hand was moving up and down her hip in a touch more soothing than sensual, in time with her fingers sifting through his silky hair and it was… nice. Comfortable and sweet and lovely and she had no idea why this didn’t scare her. 

Eventually he turned his head and nuzzled her cheek, kissing it lightly before pulling out of her, careful not to lose the condom. He went to dispose of it and she stretched luxuriantly, ogling his ass as he went. 

“I could really use a shower,” she remarked. 

“There’s a tub in here,” Killian called from the bathroom. “A big one.” 

He poked his head out of the doorway, his expression at once challenging and shyly hopeful. “We could both fit,” he said. 

What the hell, thought Emma. She’d already blown up all her old rules and boundaries with him, and she wasn’t about to run off until they’d had at least one more round, so why not take a bath together? She pictured him flushed and damp and looking at her in that way he had that made her feel cherished. 

“Is it heart shaped?” she joked. 

He laughed. “No. A missed opportunity there, really.” 

“Oh well. Let’s use it anyway.” 

His face lit up before disappearing back around the doorframe, and a moment later she heard the sound of water running. 

“There are some bubbles though,” he called out. “In a heart shaped bottle.” 

“Good enough,” laughed Emma. “Put ‘em in!”

She rolled off the bed and sauntered into the bathroom. Maybe it was the residual effect of the blue drink, maybe the fact that she was still buzzing from the best sex of her life, or maybe it was just the way Killian looked at her, but Emma was feeling bold and sexy, and when she appeared in the bathroom doorway and his eyes darkened as they travelled slowly down her naked form that feeling only intensified. 

“You’re stunning,” he said. 

She grinned. “So are you. Are we gonna do this again?”

“I know by ‘this’ you mean ‘trade compliments,’ but I’m going to ignore that and say hell yes we are but let’s have a bath first.” 

“Good call,” she said, and stepped into the warm water. The bubbles smelled like roses and she sighed in bliss, and when Killian got in behind her and pulled her against him she snuggled into him with a sigh of a different sort, feeling happier than she could remember being since that dark, tragic night when she was twelve years old. 

NOTES: For anyone unfamiliar with love hotels, they are basically just hotels that are designed to be places for people to go to have sex. They are not specifically for prostitution, though they can be used that way, but more for couples who just need some privacy in a very densely populated country with thin walls. In many traditional Japanese homes the sleeping space and the living space is the same space, and people just roll up their futons and put them in closets during the day, plus extended families often live together, so you can imagine it's hard even for married couples to find any space to be alone. They're not all heart-themed, but many have other themes like anime or S&M, and increasingly they are getting rid of the themes entirely. 

You can read more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love_hotel