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nuagederose · 9 months

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As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Forty-One: Diamond Heart

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“This is fantastic.”

It was a quarter to nine in the evening, after a hearty dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes prepared by Wendy, and Christine and Alex had already eaten dinner at her apartment, and she opened the piece of Tupperware with the babka inside. Just as Valentina had recommended, Christine served it on a small plate with some whipped cream to give it a little more nuance lest the cake dried out over the course of the day. But Alex indulged in the small slice of babka that she had given him, and with each and every bite, it seemed as though he was having the biggest sense of euphoria in his life, the biggest orgasm he could have for himself.

He closed his eyes and let the tines of the fork stay in between those lush cherry lips as if he had come down on her between her legs. The smell of cinnamon was utterly intoxicating from his plate as well as inside of the Tupperware; Christine propped her head up onto her chin and watched him with intent.

“Mmm, oh, god,” he muttered at one point. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip to rid of the extra whipped cream. “God damn. Nothing beats the real thing from the hands of a Jewish grandmother.”

“Did your grandma ever make it?” she asked him.

“Once in a while,” he replied in between bites. “It's kind of a bitch to make, like there's a lot of preparation ahead of time and a lot of work that goes into it. It's like this whole affair that takes place over the course of a couple of days. The last time I actually had babka—chocolate babka, which I actually like better than cinnamon—was from my grandmother and my mother. I was twenty five. It was delicious. The challah bread part was perfect, and the chocolate melted in your mouth. Silky and lush and... sensual, even. I know, that word sounds weird in junction with my grandmother and my mother, but it's true. It warmed me up from the inside out, and I remember leaning back in my chair with my hands on either side of my plate and just letting my belly hang out over my belt. This was back when I didn't have the pot on me now: I was still really slender and trim, so imagine how good it felt. If I remember correctly, I think I actually unbuttoned my pants, too.”

She chuckled at that, and then he took another bite.

“Is it just chocolate and cinnamon?”

“Oh, no, you've got apple, and cheese—like a cheese danish—and cinnamon raisin, and I think there's also a poppy seed variation and other kinds made with different jams and pastes like almond paste. I've always wanted to try the cheese one in particular, just because of the reminiscence to cheese danishes.” He took one last bite, that time with his eyes closed. He leaned back in the chair and unbuttoned his pants, and then he ran his fingers through his hair.

“That's the good stuff right there,” he said to her in a low voice, and he put his hands behind his head.

“So cute,” she remarked as she leaned over for a little loving pat.

“That was really good meatloaf, too,” he remarked. “Your mom knows how to do it.”

“I've been trying to get it out of her since I was like... thirteen,” she confessed with a shake of her head. “She never tells me about it.”

“She should tell you,” he quipped. “You're her daughter, for god's sake. She should, at the very least, tell you.”

“Did you ever get the recipe for the babka out of your grandmother?”

“I don't bake. I can barely cook as is—forget it with baking.”

“You ought to. Do you know how sexy that would be? Being a teacher, a musician, and a baker at the same time?” He chuckled at that. “It's true, though,” Christine insisted. “Do you know how much you could turn me on by being a triple threat like that?”

“Triple threat, eh?” he echoed her with a twinkle in his eye and a raise of his eyebrow. “How would you feel if I told you I'm also a writer? Or have I told you that already?”

“I don't remember you telling me that,” she confessed.

“But I'm a writer, though,” he replied as he took his hands from behind his head and rested them on his belly. “I'm a triple threat as is.”

“So you could be a quadruple threat,” she corrected herself.

“Oh ho ho, that'd be something.” He nodded his head and gave his belly a gentle massage. “You know what I really want right now? And it's a shame because I actually didn't think about this coming over here earlier: a bottle of wine.”

“Ooh, yeah, like a nice dessert wine,” she said.

“Exactly! That's my girl.”

“Does your mom have any?” And then he stopped in his tracks. “Oh, yeah, that's right.”

“Yeah, my parents are both recovering alcoholics. In fact, the very last drink my mom had was one of those cheap box wines you get at the grocery store.”

“Ew, yuck.” He grimaced and shook his head at that. “If I drank that, I'd sober up, too.” They both laughed at that.

“My dad's last drink was gin,” she continued.

“I don't think I've ever had gin,” he confessed. “All I know is it's pungent, like you can smell it from clear across the room. I remember smelling it once and I thought, 'no way. Like beer and wine are enough, thank you.'” He fetched up a sigh and shifted his weight in the chair. “Phew. I think I overdid it.”

“You were going to town on that meatloaf and that babka,” she pointed out. “Like, you were making love to both of them.”

“Speaking of making love,” he began. Christine ran her tongue along her bottom lip at the mere suggestion of that.

“What?” she asked him with a little grin on her face.

“I'm sitting here leaning back with my pants undone and my legs wide open,” he told her with a straight face, but she could see the look in his eyes, the one laced with his venom. The glasses perched on the tip of his nose only added to it. “Don't you think it'd be an opening for you make love to me and my body.”

“Make love to you and that little belly of yours,” she followed along. He then leaned forward in the chair with his hands rested on either side of the seat: his hair floated down over his shoulders if it was made of lace. The way the light overhead hugged the shape of his body and the crown of his head to give it a golden glow.

“I want to know what you would do to me,” he confessed to her in a near whisper.

“Well, I'd kiss you all over for starters. And then I'd move my mouth down to your dick after I give you some kisses on your tummy.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Any touches there would lead me to below the belt, and I can tell you that without even thinking twice about it. Especially when I know how delicate you are there.”

Alex nudged his glasses back up his nose and then leaned back in the chair again. Christine lowered her gaze down to his pants once again, and in particular the way that the fly hung open below his waist. She could lurch forth with her hand under his shirt and then down inside of his pants within a few minutes with no questions asked.

“Tell me, Christine,” he began again. “What is happening in that heart of yours? That broken, barricaded heart of yours? Surely there has to be something other than the complete and utter unbridled raw lust that absolutely ravishes you on a regular basis.”

“I'd have to tell you through the journal assignment that we're supposed to do for you in French literature,” she quipped with a wag of her finger.

“I'm not gonna read the journals,” he assured her, “but the essay part of it. That should be equally fun, though.”

“You don't have an aide?” He shook his head. “I want an aide. But part of getting the full-time position is to... just have your eyes on it first. If you do it right, you can probably get an aide in the future. Barring if I stay in French lit.”

“How do you like it, by the way?”

“I like it a lot,” he confessed. “It's not music theory or jazz—I'd love to take either of those in the future adjacent to lit.”

“Or both.”

“Or both! Ha!”

“Then you'd be a triple threat!” she quipped, and he burst out laughing at that. Christine inched her chair closer to him, especially when she noticed his eyes drooping. It wasn't even eight o'clock in the evening, and yet he was already getting sleepy.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked her.

“Let me just touch you again,” she admitted with her hand extended over to him. “Because when I patted you, I noticed that you're actually very warm there.”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “I'm about as warm as they come. Two big helpings of the meatloaf and potatoes, and that babka... stick a fork in me, I'm toasty and warm straight out of the oven.” Christine placed her hand on the fullest part of his belly and gently rubbed him there.

“Ooh, that's good,” he gasped. “It really is like getting a hand job. A hand job but on steroids.”

She leaned down closer to him. “How do you feel?” she whispered into his ear.

“It's like all of the times you've ever kissed me,” he told her. “It always gets me hot and bothered. It gives me such a silky feeling in my stomach and makes me move a little down below.”

“Do you always think of my kisses?”

“Always. Without a doubt. It's always the way that you do it, too. It's like the way Henry Miller would always think of Nin during their affair, when he was with June—he would always think of her instead. No doubt that she had wriggled her way into his mind the way that you have with mine.”

“Did she ever stuff him to the gills as part of seducing him?”

“I don't think she did,” he confessed with a nudge of his glasses up his nose. “Although she would probably see that as interesting. She would want to know why you find the things erotic to be so... erotic.”

Christine moved her hand up to the side of his face so he could look at her in the eye.

“Would she want to know how I kiss you?” she asked him.

“I would think so,” he lowered his voice to that whispery tone again. “I think she would want to analyze every single one of your kisses.”

“Like this one?” She pressed her lips onto his, and she slipped in a little bit of tongue. She moved back to look into his face, and his chest rose and fell from the feeling.

“Definitely.”

“Or this one?” Slowly, she moved back in for a second one, and that time she let her tongue go deep into his mouth. He slid his feet under the table out of surrender to the feeling. Christine very slowly moved her lips away from his, and she let her tongue slither forth like that of a snake. A soft blush crossed his face and he left his lips slightly parted at the mere sight of her.

“Oh…” His chest heaved a bit as if he had just ran up a flight of stairs. “Oh, god. That was…” He turned his head away and ran a hand down his full belly. “…phew.”

“Really sexy?”

“Oh, god, that was…” He fanned himself with the side of his hand. “…that got me all kinds of hot.”

Christine chuckled at that.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” she offered him as she tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “Take a shower and I’ll clean up here.”

“After those kisses, I’m gonna need some cold water like you wouldn’t believe,” he quipped with a low whistle and a running of his fingers through his hair.

She offered to help him up to his feet but he assured her he had it in his control. As she put the remaining meatloaf away and rinsed out the Tupperware, she thought about him in that shower, completely naked and dripping wet. The way the water caressed his body and his hair, the softness and silken nature of his skin.

The feeling burgeoned within her but she also wanted to curl up in bed next to him, especially on such a cold wintry night. It was difficult to even concentrate on putting the meatloaf away and into the refrigerator.

She swore that it was only a few minutes when he switched off the shower. She considered surprising him with her pajamas when she could hear his footsteps in the hallway. Christine dried off her hands with her hand towel and turned around to find him there in the kitchen doorway, wearing nothing but a clean towel around his hips: the break in the towel looked to be an inch from his crotch; the hem remained below his belly button so she could see the complete roundness of his middle. She clasped a hand to her head.

“Like what you see here, my Strawberry Girl?” he asked her as he nudged his wet hair back from the side of his neck.

She stuck out her pinky finger and her thumb to imitate the shape of a phone and brought it to her ear.

“Hello, police? There’s a very big, very sexy naked man in my apartment and he is dripping wet on my kitchen floor.”

Alex busted out laughing at that, and she ran her fingers through her hair.

“I don’t know about you but I’m kind of ready for bed,” he confessed as he brought his hands to his hips. “I’m very full and clean, although it is still early. I do have my nylon guitar with me, but I don’t really know how people in the building here will react to it.”

“Do you have any books with you?” she asked him.

“Not on me, no,” he replied with one hand on his bare belly. “You do, though.” Christine tucked her hands into her back pockets and lingered closer to him.

“Indeed, I do,” she said in a low voice.

“Yeah, you’re feeling cozy, aren’t you?”

“I guess you could say I am. Just before you walked in, I thought of slipping into something more comfortable.”

“Please do,” he told her, and he never moved his hand. “I shall do the same. We can get cozy together under the covers.” Christine licked her lips and eyed his body, and then she leaned in closer to his face as if to give him a kiss. But then she hesitated, and he raised an eyebrow.

“A little teasing?” he whispered. “That’s new.”

She puckered her lips at him, and then she ducked back into the hall and eventually to her room for a clean black velvet camisole over her body. She thought of putting on pajama bottoms, but she rested a hand on her panties and smiled to herself.

Christine tousled her hair a bit before she strolled out of the room and made her way into the front room where Alex was putting on flannel pajamas and nothing else. She ran her fingers down the curvature of his back right as he spritzed a little cologne on his neck.

“Ooh, that was luscious,” he noted as he put the cap back on and stuck it back in his overnight bag in the couch. He turned towards her and gasped at the sight of her. “Cute! So very cute.”

“You look really cute, too,” she decreed as she lovingly patted his bare belly. Alex nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose and showed her a little smirk. Christine sashayed her hips as she walked back to her bedroom; Alex lingered back to lock the front door and switch off the light. She stood by her bedroom door and awaited him with one hand to her hip and the other hand up next to the door frame.

He emerged from the darkness with his thumbs tucked down inside of the waistband of his pajama bottoms as if to bring attention to his hips.

“Shall we?” she asked him.

“Let’s get in bed, my dear.”

Christine led him into the comfort of her room, to which he left the door slightly ajar. She nudged the box with the old books and things off to the side, and yet he never asked her about it. She peeked back the covers and let him climb into bed first: Alex took his spot in the edge of the mattress and pushed on the top with his hand.

“This is comfy,” he remarked, and Christine climbed over the foot of the bed to join him on the other side. She lay down with her back to the wall and he lay down next to her, flat on his back.

“My very own teddy bear for the night,” she breathed out, and he nestled down on the bed to get himself comfortable. Alex took off his glasses and lay them on the desk next to the bed, and then he rolled over onto his side to be face to face with her. Christine reached down for the blankets, and she cuddled down next to him: her bare legs brushed against the flannel of his pants such that it sent a shiver up her spine.

“Really comfy bed,” he whispered to her.

“It really is,” she agreed. “I always lay down here and I go right to sleep, even after a high intensity day—you know, those days where you think you can't go to sleep the night before.”

“Oh, yeah, those,” he said as he nestled down next to her. The blankets accentuated the full, avocado shape of his body; a lock of black hair dangled down over his face, such that he looked rather boyish and soft. She kept her arm out over the top of the comforter to feel him.

“You have really lovely hips,” she remarked. “Gorgeous hips and thighs. You're very full there.”

“Love how you describe it as 'full',” he said.

“Very big and round,” she added as she stroked the back of his thigh. She inched closer to him so her body was up against his own. While under the covers, he put his arm around her and held her close to his body. There was a part of her that wondered if the evening was still too early to lie in bed together.

“I feel like we should be doing something here,” she confessed.

“Christine, it's almost ten o'clock at night. I have a belly absolutely filled to the brim with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and cinnamon babka, the latter of which I haven't eaten since my late twenties—the last good babka much further back than that. I am so full and well-fed right now that I feel like I could roll right You know I'm up for anything as long as it makes you happy.”

“As long as it makes me happy?” she asked him as she gazed into his face.

“Yeah. This is your apartment, too. I'm a guest: it's only fair to you if you want love or not.” She pursed her lips at that, especially as she flexed her fingers on the back of his thigh, which in turn made him stick out his tongue to her.

“Can we cuddle?” she asked him.

“Oh, you know I'm always up for a nice little cuddle,” he assured her with a little smile. “Shall I turn off the light?”

“Please do…” Alex reached up and switched off the light in the desk. Once the darkness wrapped around them like a blanket in and of itself, they nestled down together in her bed. Christine tucked her arm under the covers so she could better feel his warmth.

“Oh, god, you're so warm,” she breathed. “So soft.”

“You can touch me if you want,” he whispered to her, and she moved her hand to between his legs to feel him there. Last thing she remembered, she had fallen asleep with her hand still there.

She swore that she felt his lips on her own as she lay on her back on his desk. He was teaching jazz music theory, and he was feeling hot on top of everything else. That velvet tongue between her legs as he taught her a few licks from the greats, his body next to her as Miles Davis played softly in the background behind them and she found herself down below his belt with her tongue for him. For a second, she swore that his black hair became curly, and his bright eyes darkened to that rich brown again.

For a second, she believed that she had been reunited with Chris yet again, and they had found the time in the classroom, and in front of everyone. Music theory mixed with sex education for an unlikely cocktail that only Alex could make for her.

She woke up to the feeling of her own fingers running along the soft, round part of his belly, right around his belly button. She had no idea that she had been asleep for that long as she was met with gray sunlight through the curtains over her desk.

Alex groaned from the feeling of her fingers on his bare skin; he shifted his weight there next to her as she moved her hand to below his waist, where his skin resembled the softest silk she never found.

“I’ll give you like… ten years to stop that,” he told her in a voice broken with sleep. “That feels really good.”

“You have such a sexy voice,” she confessed to him. “It’s so warm and round. Like your body.”

“Even when it’s like this?” he asked her with a slight clearing of his throat.

“Even when it’s like that,” she echoed him. He finally opened his eyes to face her, and he cracked her a smile.

“I don’t think either of us moved all night,” she suggested as she touched his chest.

“Yeah, you were not kidding in the slightest when you said this bed is comfy.”

“And… I assume with me next to you like this.”

“Oh, you bet,” he whispered to her, and then he wrinkled his nose. “Damn.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I gotta use the bathroom. Early in the morning after we had gone to bed early, yeah, definitely.” Christine still pressed her lips onto his own for a second before he climbed out of bed, and he showed her a little smirk at that. Once Alex left the room, she turned to the clock on her desk.

“Almost six o’clock, wow,” she muttered as she climbed out of bed to make the covers and get dressed. Once she had a sweater on in lieu of her big green coat, Alex strode into the room with his clothes slung over one shoulder and the waist of his pajama bottoms down below his waist to accentuate the roundness of his body.

“So cute!” she exclaimed.

“You should have seen me right before Christmas,” he said with a running of his fingers through his hair. “My pants were actually snug on me.” He then rubbed his hands together. “So, do we have anything for breakfast?”

“Not at the moment,” she replied. “It being Saturday, I usually go over to my mom’s place across the hall for breakfast and then she and I go grocery shopping. I don’t even have a coffee maker.”

“You should get one,” he advised her. “Coffee at school is good but it’ll cost you after a time. I’ll get you one.”

“Oh, no, Alex, you don’t have to do that,” she quipped with a shake of her head.

“I insist! I’m getting paid more now, so I’ll get you one. I’ll find you a colorful one, you being a colorful person and whatnot. Early birthday present.”

Christine put a hand to her chest and tilted her head to the side.

“That is so sweet,” she said in a soft voice, and she strode over to him. She gently rested a hand on his belly and raised herself on her toes to kiss his neck. “So, so sweet…”

“I assume I’m going to have to put a shirt on,” he quipped with a soft blush in his face.

“It would be so cute if you went over there with me like this, though,” she joked, and he chuckled at that.

“What would your mother think?” he asked her with a raise of his eyebrows.

“If my mom asks, you just came over for breakfast,” she told him. “And… you did!”

He chuckled again, and she gave him another kiss on the neck to catch him off guard.

“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered to him, and then she strolled out of the room to give him privacy. And yet, she could still hear him put his pants on as well as a clean shirt and his sweater. When he surfaced from her bedroom, she was already eager to find what Wendy had in store for them across the hall.

Alex helped himself to a cup of coffee and a little omelette that she made for him, while Christine took to some scrambled eggs and sourdough toast with gooseberry jam on top.

“Oh, man, that looks delicious,” he noted as Christine spread the jam on the bread.

“Be careful with it, too, Chris—that jar’s not cheap,” Wendy advised her as she rested a pan filled with cobbler between the three of them.

“Oh, my,” Alex noted.

“Hope you two saved room for more afterwards,” Wendy said as she took her seat, and she turned to Christine right as she relished in her toast. “Especially since you and I are going to be out and about all day. Some blackberry cobbler made just yesterday afternoon!”

“So, that’s why it smelled so good over on this side of the building,” she recalled with one hand over her mouth.

“Babka with whipped cream the night before and blackberry cobbler the very next day for brunch, it's like you wanna fatten me up,” he teased her.

“Oh, keep frequenting over here and we're going to make you as plump as a Christmas goose, dear Alex,” Wendy promised him with a sly smile. “Unless you want to do something for yourself to balance things out.”

“Nah, I would rather indulge in something like this than not eat anything,” he said with a shake of his head. The three of them did in fact indulge in the cobbler, and at that point, Alex looked ready to fall asleep in his chair.

“I don’t know if I can make it home,” he confessed with a hearty chuckle. “I feel like I’m about ready to roll around on the floor.”

“I can call a cab, if you’d like,” Wendy sweetly suggested. Christine eyed Alex’s hand rested on his belly again, as well as the lush shape of his body, even lusher from the night before. It was then she had another journal entry in the wings.

“I have to brush my hair, change my clothes, and check some things for school,” she told her mother.

“We’ll be right here,” Wendy assured her with a wink. Christine took one final sip of her coffee before she left the apartment and ambled across the hall to change her clothes and put on her shoes. However, she sat down at her desk, and she took the robin’s egg blue journal out of her bag, and she plunked it open to a fresh page. With her pencil in her hand, she believed that she couldn’t write anything.

But then the words flooded out of her like the streets following a torrential downpour.

I've been lying. I've been lying to you, Alex. I wish I wasn't lying to you. I've been lying to myself, too.

I hate that I've been lying to you, too, because you deserve the truth. You're a good guy and you deserve the truth and every single iota of it. I hate that I feel like I can't tell it to you because it should be obvious but alas, it isn't.

I just wish I could tell you the truth about how I feel about you, Alex. I wish I could say it to your face without feeling like a complete idiot in the process. I really do feel like an idiot every time I think about it.

I really love you. I am really, truly in love with you. It would make me so sick to see you with another woman, and it makes me sick thinking and realizing you're with her.

You are the love of my life.

I just want you for myself. I know, that's greedy and shitty and awful but I can't candy coat anything, though. I dream too much. I fantasize too much. But that’s the truth about you, though. This is what you do to me, Alex. I think of so much, of books to read, of movies that I love, of friends and people to see and things to learn but I always find my way back to you.

I don’t know, I’m not an artistic person by any means, and I’m trying hard to understand what it is that you see in me about it, but I want to draw you. I want to paint you. I want to kiss every inch your body and soul with art. I’m sorry, that’s too much. I know you won’t see this, but I’m apologizing anyway.

I love you. I want to lay next to you. I think of last night, when you and I were sharing my bed together, and I get that “silky feeling in my stomach” like what you said to me. A little pit in the belly that cascades down to between the legs and everything goes crazy inside.

You drive me crazy. You drive me wild. You make me want to cross some lines and do things I would never in my wildest dreams do. You bring the fire to the swirling, whirling whirlpool inside of me to the point it dances about and it drives me insane.

Let’s walk together on the beach in the springtime. Let’s walk and hold hands.

I can wear a bikini and you can wear your shorts with your shirt open to let your belly hang out in all its sexy glory.

Let’s walk together in the Poconos in the autumn. Let’s walk together and have some apple cinnamon toast and ginger snaps, and then have soup under the tree. Lay your head on my lap and let me stroke your hair and kiss your forehead.

I’m coming off too strong. I always do. But I have this fucking burning feeling inside of me. Burning with the torrential feeling of raging waters. Goddamn it, I WANT YOU.

Let me be yours. I am yours. In fact you said that yourself. I’m yours, and you’re mine. Fuck, I live across the hall from my mother. I know you think it’s lovely, but there’s no denying my own trembling disposition when I think of you. I’ll admit that I’m immature and that I need time, but I’ll admit that. I need to be around you more, not just while in school and definitely not the version of you that exists in my head, either.

The you that exists in my head. Oh, god, the you that exists in my head! I don’t have that many friends—I have friends just not that many—and I admit to feeling wary about talking about you to my parents: my mom doesn’t even know that you and I are a thing. I feel like the you that exists in my head is all that I’ve really got.

When I stayed the night with Valentina last night, and we had that babka, I thought of you. I knew you would like it. In fact, I love how you love to eat. I want to get you a new guitar. I want to make you a strap for it, too, like actually make a strap: find myself a book on leather work and study it so I can craft you a strap for the guitar, or for your nylon.

I want to bake you a pie, especially with Nelly being AWOL for another few weeks, a nice big pie to fill your gorgeous belly. I want you to eat.

And yet, I really love your body no matter what size you are. I would be in love with your body if you got very fat, and I would be in love with your body if you lost a hundred pounds and got skinny.

I think about the young version of you, the slim beautiful boy with the long black curls. I would date you. I would date the shit out of you. I would take a hold of you and never let you go. To have my arms around that slim, delicate waist and always kiss you. So sexy and cute at the same time.

To kiss those young lips, lips like sugar cane and saltwater taffy, lips like the ripest fruit from the tree.

I wish I was good at writing poetry. I would write poetry about you for the entire month of February just because the month calls for it.

I do pretty well for an old tin can sailor, a baker with no appetite. My head is a complete mess. I’m a mess. I’m a complete wreck and an idiot for feeling this way. I want to think of other things that yet I come back to you. I want to know more about you, the books you read, the music you love, the story that resides behind that cool demeanor lined with a shock of silver.

I don’t think I’m good enough for you, though. I’m not an architect. Would you love me if I was?

I come from the worst background possible, with alcoholic parents, grandparents who had little influence on my parents’ ways, an extended family that tried to get me away from my parents even though they weren’t abusive, our house burning down, death from a young age, an awful eating disorder that nearly killed me on more than one occasion, bullies, and losing my best friend. My internal world has somehow kept me going, even though it’s hard to put into words sometimes. I want more books. I want more art. I want to be more active and work out when the weather starts warming up.

But I cannot be an architect. I’m too dumb. I’m not refined enough. I’m a diamond in the rough and a jerk.

It's like what I said on the street that one time when you and I were fighting: I don't like her. I don't like her at all. In fact, I hate her. I'm not the kind of person who hates, either, so that alone should tell you something. I'll admit it. I'm shitty and horrible. It took me an entire dance with an eating disorder to feel this way, and I hate that I feel this way, too, but I want you for myself. I want to get you away from her. I want you to get away from her.

Maybe I'm just immature, but I can't let you go. I can't let you go knowing that you aren't happy with her. If you were happy, I would be more than happy to let you go.

“If you love something, let it go.” And if you were knowingly happy, if it was obvious to me, if I knew it in my heart that you were happy with her, I would let you go and be happy, because your happiness is my own happiness. We would be one of those couples that just goes their separate ways but they always love each other and they are always madly in love with each other, too. They'll always stare at the same sun as it rises in the morning. Their memory would always be there with each other, as my friend Chris' grandmother used to say whenever she witnessed something like that.

Chris. Chris. I mentioned his name here. I can't mention his name to you to your face because... well, that's a journal entry for another day. I know you're not going to see this journal as is, but I know that I'm going to have to tell you about Chris at some point or another.

Christine set down her pencil on the desk and leaned back in the chair. She placed her hands on either side of the journal with her face flushed and her heart pounding in her chest. It was as if she had just ran up and down the block several times: her mind could hardly keep up with the strokes from her hand. Her mind raced at the pace of a lava flow straight out of a freshly erupted volcano and everything within her flowed out like the strength of a storm surge from the biggest, baddest hurricane she could possibly imagine. The hurricane with the volcano.

She closed her eyes and let out a low whistle. She focused on her heart and her breathing to calm it all down before she walked out of there and visited Wendy for some dinner that evening.

All of that emotion, and all of those thoughts, all of them down on paper in that journal. She knew that Alex would never see the journal, but she knew that she would have it there every single time that she cracked open the journal. She knew that she would have to let her eyes graze over those same words over and over again in hopes to find a solution to the problem, but the problem persisted regardless of anything she did.

She lifted the front cover of the journal cover and closed it, especially when she knew Wendy waited for her.

The only problem now was having to funnel all of that, an utter monolith and torrent of volatile emotions, into an essay for him. She was going to have to tell him the truth, but she was also going to have to gloss it all over.

#as the seasons grey #as the seasons grey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic with art #chapter 41 #traditional art #colored pencil #drawings #alex skolnick #testament #testament band #alex skolnick trio #oc art #oc tag #artists on tumblr #badgalnirvhannahart #Spotify

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maganne-bonete · 1 year

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To where I need you

Summary: With only instructions left by her mom, Candy needs Pacifica's help to figure this out after the last time she tried making something in the kitchen

Pairing: Candy x Pacifica | Candifica

Word count: 1,266

“This way! To where I need your help.”

Candy faintly pulls her girlfriend in fake sense of struggle. Her mom already left instructions for her but she feels like too much fate was given to her to not burn the kitchen down. Her mom knows that the only thing she knows how to make other than rice was microwaved food and instant noodles. She wished that her mom could’ve just made them beforehand like the other meals on the fridge so she could just heat it in the oven. But instead, she trusted her with instructions for yachaejeon on a notepad before heading off with her dad for a seminar in Portland.

“Hang on, hang on, let me drop these off first. Besides, where’s my kiss?”

“Ah, right! Sorry.” She gave a quick kiss on the lips and even tried taking one of the boxes from her. “Oh wait, these are pretty heavy! What are in these pies?” she says with a bit of raspiness for exaggeration. They weren’t really that heavy but the weight was surprising for her who doesn’t regularly lift stacks of pies.

“Oh dear, did somebody say pies? I hope they’re Susan’s apple pies!” A voice could be heard from the hallway from the livingroom, it’s Gideon’s.

“Well, where else would it be from Gids? Paz literally works there,” Dipper called back to where Gideon was with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. He made his way to where the girls were to help them, taking the boxes that Candy took from Paz. “Anyway, you girls should get to those pancakes. Mabel meant it when she said she wouldn’t start a single episode without those and Gid’s is getting cranky from waiting. Wendy’s running out of ideas to distract him.”

“Shouldn’t he have a phone to distract himself with?” Paz sounded like she was rolling her eyes from asking that question.

“He broke his phone in the park earlier. I mean, the stunt was Wendy’s idea and he agreed to it.” Dipper shrugged.

Now making their way near the livingroom. Dipper makes a turn to the rest of their friends to give them the stacks of pies. He waves at her to make a go ahead, while the others make a passing acknowledgement of Paz’s arrival to the house.

Candy, being ahead from them, was already rummaging through the kitchen and fridge. She was following the list her mom left her. Green onions, zucchini, green chili peppers, sweet potatoes?

“Where does she keep the potatoes again?” she mutters to herself. She started shuffling aimlessly around the kitchen. Trying to figure out where is where, she started getting distracted by putting out the bowls and pans from where they were.

“Are these all of it?” she got broken from her train of thoughts by Paz who was putting on her apron. She took it with her when she stopped by the diner. Most of the stuff she uses for her job are typically either at Susan’s place or in the employees’ room at Greasy’s. She couldn’t keep that at her house ‘cause her mom might end up burning them again. Something Priscilla did around the first year of her job.

“Ah, no. I forgot the sweet potatoes. I think they’re over at the back near where the kimchi fridge is.”

“The back?”

“Yeah, where the other root vegetable things are. Or at the pantry where the she keeps the mushrooms and garlic, I’m not sure.”

“Okay then, I think the recipe’s already tripled by the looks of it.” Pacifica took the notepad that Candy was looking through from earlier. “Your mom did knew who were coming over.”

“Yeah, it seems my mom has faith in me to not to destroy this place.”

“Hey, we’re weirdos and maybe a menace to society but we don’t destroy people’s houses you know.” Paz raised an eyebrow looking up from the note, her hands playfully on her hips as if she took actual offense in that.

“Noooo, that’s not what I meant.” Candy puts the pan on the stove and starts turning on the burner. “I just really think my mom trust me too much with the kitchen, especially after what happened last February.” She puts oil on the pan before realizing that they haven’t even cut the vegetables to begin with. She looks at the greens left untouched on the counter then back at her girlfriend.

Pacifica laughs a bit before making it to her to turn the stove off. “Come on, you’re not a disaster or anything.”

“You’ve seen my failed attempt at valentine’s day.” Candy tried making her cookies earlier that year. It ended with her destroying an oven tray with a couple of chard and stone hard cookies. There were a few that were salvageable but Paz still decided to eat all of them anyway even with how bitter and difficult some were.

“Alright, alright, but I would’ve made the same thing like 4 years ago, you know,” Pacifica says as she starts taking the vegetables near to the sink. She took out a colander hanging at a rack and placed all the greens inside. She starts rinsing them thoroughly from the tap before leaving them to dry.

“I know.”

“Hey, I believe in you like you believed in me.” A part of her wants Candy to remember what it was like for them back in those days where she was still the brat who’d bully their friends. But all the same it urks her to even think about her old self. She’s better now, and that’s what she hopes she is.

“You are so dramatic,” Candy laughed. “I guess this is my character arc then.”

“Sure, sure, now help me find where your mom keeps those sweet potatoes. We’d still need to peel them.” Pacifica turns to the back door of the house to look for what they needed.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, and remember to put this on too.” Pacifica passed Candy an apron hanging by the kitchen door.

“Oh, right.”

The two spent the next hour making the actual thing. It took a while for them to finally have everything ready to hit the pan. Paz was being patient with letting Candy chop the vegetables. She insisted on doing it, wanting to have more things to do on the whole endeavor.

Their impatient friends however were constantly snooping on them on whether they were ready or not, Mabel specially. Mabel was quick to grab the first one done without thinking that it was fresh out of the pan. Paz ended up having to scold her for it and decided that everybody’s banned from the kitchen until they were all done.

When everything was settled, they finally let everybody in to have their own servings. Wendy, Dipper, and Gideon decided to have theirs with a bowl of rice while sprinkling the sauce over their bowl. Mabel and Grenda meanwhile just wanted theirs straight with stacks on their plate. Candy had the sauce put in an easy squeeze bottle to be passed around while they were watching.

They had a good time.

Candy actually enjoyed spending time with Paz that way. It could be clear why her mom decided to leave her with the whole thing instead of all the other pre-cooked stuff she left on the fridge, even with the disaster did left February. Maybe her mom sees something in Paz that’s also good for her? Or is that she just ships them? Either one. She’d be happy to tell her that it was a success with the two of them.

Another thing, if people are wondering about their age and the entire timeline of the events, Pacifica here is 17 since I hc her birthday around February. She started working at Greasy's a couple of months after the show's canon.

A/N: Thank you for reading! This was the first fic I ever published online I hope you all liked it. I typically get very conscious over my writing that I either never finish or never post them. I'm willing to change that in the future starting with this one.

But please give me feed back if there's something that needs to be changed or any criticism at all.

Meanwhile Candy's 15 turning 16 as I hc her birthday's around mid-autumn. They got together around Paz's sophomore year/Candy's freshman year around winter break and have been friends for a long time as the rest of the crew are.

Also it's actually canon that Candy's a year younger than the Pines twins. Fun fact!

So the Pines here, as a point of reference, are supposed to be 16 turning 17 by the end of the summer.

#gravity falls #pacifica northwest #candy chiu #gravity falls fanfiction #candifica #candy x pacifica #gf candy chiu #gf pacifica northwest #you could see the parts where I was struggling #honestly as someone who cooks her own food often I struggled a bit on the 'not knowing how to cook part'#and only relied on my sibling's experiences #idk please take my fic off my hands now #marge can write

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nivq87 · 6 years

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I made candied ginger and that was certainly a time hooboy

#why am I rambling #food #lmao this picture makes it not even resemble ginger #I was waiting for the ginger to get tender so I ended up boiling them for like double the time #and I was afraid I removed too much 'ginger' from the ginger #so when I went to cook them in sugar I used more of the preserved water #which meant I was stirring cooking sugar for way too long #and when it was close to done and just kinda frothy syrup like it had been I was wondering #man I wonder when it'll finally be dry enough to lay it out #then I smelled burning sugar smell and YANKED my pot off the stove #and flailed to get as much out as I could #onto my rack/tray unit #but I still had to boil more water into the pot becasue a bunch of sugar just hardened right on the side and I couldn't get it off w/o just #dissolving it again #then I took the rest of my ginger water and boiled that some more too to reduce it and get a ginger syrup #overall it was fun!#but it took me like triple the time my recipe said it should

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chubbology · 3 years

Text

The Munchies

prompt: a stoner feedee's girlfriend uses him to test out new edibles and deals with his munchies

Remmy returned home from visiting relatives on the last day of December, and he was very glad to be back. They’d fed him well and his pants were tight, but all the small talk and bad vibes had been as much of a drag as usual.

He opened the door to his apartment and breathed in a familiar, potent scent.

“Baby!” Brianna ran from the kitchen and tackled him.

“Happy almost New Year! Wanna hear my resolution? Baking and getting baked. Check it out.”

She brought him over to the counter, where she was almost done filling up three containers of what Remmy had no doubt were various edibles. He ignored the kitchen mess.

“I’m liking what I see,” Remmy laughed.

She preened and then pinched his love handle. “I bet you do."

"These aren’t your typical brownies, though," she said. "This is gourmet.” She kissed her fingertips in a muah.

The first container was full of moist shortbread, the second with a kind of apple crumble dish that looked divine. Last but not least, the third had a jumble of what like peanut butter cups.

“Try something!” Brianna gushed. She seemed to be a little floaty already. “You’re gonna be my new taste tester. I think I could really be good at this. Make some cash, too.”

So Remmy tried one of the peanut butter cups. His eyes widened, and he smiled. “Bri, these are incredible.” He ate another.

“Take it easy. Two should get you stoned. So says the recipe anyway.” Brianna rubbed his pudgy forearm as he eyed the rest in the container, biting the inside of his lip. “Hey. If you’re just hungry, I can fix that. You wanna eat?”

“I’m starving,” Remmy said. A lie, since he’d had a big lunch before driving back. But he could eat.

“Okay, I’ll get you something! Pay day was Monday. Let’s splurge. What do you want?”

McDonalds, Remmy’s mind supplied easily, in an almost salacious tone. His relatives thought they were too good for McDonalds, and now his body thrummed with the desire to just get a truckload of those greasy combos and revel in the guilt and satisfaction of eating every last unhealthy bite.

Then again. Brianna probably wasn’t okay to drive right now, he didn’t feel like getting back in the car, and the scale told him he’d hit 240 recently, “Let’s just order in.”

“Sounds good to me.”

That night, as they ignored the idiots on television bringing in the New Year, the two of them picked at the apple crumble - which tasted as brilliant as Remmy had suspected - and lounged around, enjoying their high. Brianna barely touched her Chinese takeout, and Remmy ate all of his. Then hers. Then he started grazing the kitchen for more food.

Over the course of the next week, the two of them finished off the rest of what she made, plus some more recipes that turned out delicious. Brianna got a pleasant high every time, and Remmy enjoyed the edibles, too, although his experience was slightly different. It was just—

He just—

He got hungry. Munchies but on unholy overdrive. Cranked to eleven and a half. With every high, Remmy became a little more overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food he felt compelled to pack away, savory and sweet. Takeout and fast food and quarts of ice cream. Nuts and fruits, too. Jar of peanut butter here. Tub of icing there. He’d never been very active, so it came as no surprise when his clothes began stretching over his chest and belly and thighs and ass. He popped a button getting dressed one morning and couldn’t stop thinking about it the rest of the day. He hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly, his body converting all the calories into flab. Flab that padded him out chubbier than he already was, and then more on top of that. In the mirror, he started to look big.

Brianna seemed unfazed by her boyfriend’s growing girth. She took to her baking resolution with as much gusto as she did anything that interested her, and even into March, April, and May, she was selling the edibles well and raked in money that almost made her day job obsolete. Remmy was constantly praised for being “the bestest taste tester ever” and enjoyed a steady stream of free highs to balance out the lows of spending most of his time working his IT job from home.

Working, gaming, watching old movies. Remmy already stayed sitting most of the day, but as he gained weight, gained a lot, filling out his desk chair to its limits, crumbs becoming his constant companion, he felt even less like standing up. His weight climbed to 280, 290, 300.

June, July, and August passed uneventfully, and pretty happily, too. Brianna stopped asking him what food he wanted from the grocery store and just bought him things. Bought him things she knew he’d eat when he got high, things that made his ass spread wider on the couch, his arms round out like sausages, his pudgy chest start to really droop. The scale said 320, 330, 340.

Remmy gave up trying to gain control of the new appetite Brianna’s heavenly edibles seemed to install in him irrevocably. When he craved, he ate, and he ate. And like a dam breaking, his body surged with so much excess fat he began spilling out of even his newest clothes.

He was a little ashamed, sure. But quite a few of his relatives were fat, so they couldn't talk, and it felt like sweet revenge to embarrass his irritating parents by becoming so overweight. As for everyday life, well, he just moved around from room to room slower, wore the same stretchy clothes a lot, and that was it. Remmy did mention his weight in passing sometimes to gauge Brianna’s feelings about it, but Brianna only ever giggled, called him cute, and passed him her venti sugary monstrosity of a coffee concoction, which he thoughtlessly sucked down to the dregs, ingesting a thousand-plus calories just like that. This made her eyes sparkle, huge and utterly endeared.

“Like a piggy,” she said, thumbing his fat cheek. “Always willing to eat.”

In bed, she made it clear she liked him the way he was, and was becoming. And it wasn’t long before Remmy realized he was into how big he was becoming, too.

They continued like this. Getting high together and watching movies and making out and snacking. Well, Brianna snacked. Remmy feasted. Gorged himself, to put it precisely, with Brianna’s enthusiastic help. “You look good soft,” she’d tell him, playing with belly fat that his stretchiest t-shirts couldn’t cover anymore.

Remmy would swallow another bite of a snickers and spread his huge thighs a little, with effort. “You call it soft, but I’m the one who gets tired moving from the office to the kitchen.” I’m so heavy, he wanted to say. God, I’m so heavy.

“Just move your computer to the kitchen then,” she said. “Duh.”

It was a seed planted that came to fruition a month later - when Remmy’s food cravings became unmanageable and his weight climbed past 360 - that he felt he would simply be more productive during his day job if his breaks to get food from the kitchen were shorter.

By November, whether he was high or not, Remmy was grazing all day, everyday. What Brianna got from the store became insufficient, and he started a habit of ordering take out most days. In big portions. His scale creaked at 375. When Brianna wasn’t home, he sometimes ate takeout on the scale to see if the number would rise.

On Remmy’s birthday in early December, Brianna made a fresh batch of his favorites again: the peanut butter cup edibles. After ordering pizza for delivery, she got in the shower, and Remmy scarfed down three of the big cups as soon as they cooled. Then he waited, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, belly hanging, feet hurting. He didn’t want to go to the effort of sitting on the couch and getting back up again when he could just stay in the kitchen, where he knew he’d end up anyway.

He scratched his supple underbelly. Found a pack of Twizzlers and started eating those.

Soon enough, his breathing slowed as he felt the high slowly come over him. And, as expected, his whole body immediately began to tingle for satiation. Fattening food sung to him from the pantry and fridge and freezer all at once, and it was all going to make him so huge and heavy he wouldn’t be able to stand on his own wide feet, but he wanted it anyway.

He didn’t care if he was pushing 390 now. He’d blown up, yeah. Inflated from a thick guy to obese and waddling. At this point, he was so pumped so big with blubber that he couldn’t twitch without jiggling, but so what? He was hungry. Being high made him want to consume, and so he did. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Remmy opened the fridge and took out his birthday cake, which Brianna must have stuck in there after getting home from work. He couldn’t wait to eat it properly. There was no way he could wait until after the pizza came. Besides, it was his birthday. Remmy took off the plastic lid of the round, triple chocolate cake and felt his nerves light up with anticipation. He was going to eat it all, and there was no stopping him.

He found a knife and cut himself a slice three times the size any reasonable person would take. Desperate to get the goodness into his mouth without delay, he skipped a fork and bit right into the gooey, dense cake and mouse and fudge. God, Brianna was so perfect for getting him the unhealthiest cake imaginable. She knew he didn’t care if he was ten pounds heavier tomorrow, if his fat ass ripped his sweatpants open, if he ate so much he couldn’t haul himself to bed—she knew he needed this.

He ate slice after slice, and it was mostly gone when Brianna got out of the shower, looking sexier than usual in her matching purple lingerie. She’d gotten chubbier with so much junk food in the apartment, and fat clung to her in all the right places. But her pudge was a far cry from his angry-red stretch marks and neck rolls. Hell, his moobs had grown bigger than her tits.

She found him in the kitchen, eating and holding his drooping belly, and she rubbed his back, cooing at him when he apologized.

“It’s okay. I figured you wouldn’t be able to wait all night. How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Remmy said, but all he could think about was getting his next bite. As she watched him, he tried to hold out. Tried to prove he could stop eating for two seconds. Three seconds, four - his resolve broke and he crammed the rest of a slice into his mouth and chewed, choking back a moan.

“You get the munchies so bad, don’t you?” Brianna grinned and leaned against his belly, patting and cupping his weighty breasts in the way she knew pleased him. “Let’s get you sat down. I’ll bring you what you need. Just sit and relax and watch whatever you want.” They moved to the couch and Remmy sat, the cushions wheezing, his thighs and belly quivering. Brianna tucked the remainder of the cake into his pudgy hands. “Don’t worry about a mess. It’s your birthday. And there’s more where that came from.” She winked. “I just needed to keep this cake refrigerated because it’s fancy. There’s a whole sheet cake on top of the fridge that’s cheap and huge. Covered in icing. Perfect for munchies.”

Remmy could only feel a wave of relief at this news. There would be more cake. And after that, there’d still be more junk in the cabinets. There was pizza coming. His high was just right. Brianna turned on the television to his favorite show and he settled further back into the cushions, feeling his second chin swell out and engulf his first. Everything was just right. He was lucky to have Brianna and food. So much food.

A year later, around the same time, Remmy skipped his usual trip to see his relatives for the holidays. At 520 pounds, it was simply too much effort to move.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #female feeder #male gainer #named

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princecharmingmendes · 3 years

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Heart by Heart | Chapter I | Raul Mendes

*secret agent AU*

Y/N and Raul have been friends ever since they could remember. And falling in love with your best friend can be pretty tricky and messy 99% of the times, add that to the fact they're constantly risking their lives side by side on the field since they're both secret agents, and the best team that's ever existed. Perfect recipe for disaster.

Helloo, this is the first chapter of this series and I'm super excited about it. Please read the warnings on this one, if you don't feel comfortable with the contents listed on the "warnings" section, please read something else, there are a lot of other works on my masterlist and on the "fic rec" hashtag on my blog. I plan on posting a chapter weekly, which means new chapter every Thursday (and maybe a sneak peak every monday). Please give me some feedback and I hope you guys like it as much as I did. I'll stop rambling now, byee. Happy Reading!

masterpost | next chapter

*Word Count: 3.4K+;

*Warnings: cursing, descriptions of violence, blood, injuries, hostage situation and a whole lot of teasing. Please don’t read it if any of this subjects make you uncomfortable, feel free to check my masterlist for other writings.

*Posted: July 1st, 2021.

-*-

Raul Mendes was a pain in the ass. Y/N loves him way too much for her own good, but he was a pain in the nonetheless.

He was the only person she knew who could be in a possible life-or-death situation and still make fun of her through their communicators. And sure, that made the whole thing lighter and less scary, and sure, he was the best agent she’s ever met, but damn did he get on her nerves. And Raul always knew how to get her frustrated or squirming, he enjoyed it more than he was willing to admit. Sure, they’ve been friends for a long time and she should be used to him, but it never got easier. The fact he had a killer smile, the looks of a legit greek god and had this whole tough guy exterior, but secretly had a soft spot for her did not make her case any less complicated.

Y/N and Raul knew each other ever since they’re basically born. Their parents met when they worked together at a company of secret agents, it was only a small corporation back then, and they were known as the best agents at the time. After they retired from field missions and eventually desk jobs, they became only advisers and emergency contacts. But despite that, they kept their friendship going though all the years and that’s how Y/N was introduced to the triplets. They’re always together, doing everything with each other and protecting themselves. And of course she loved Peter and Shawn with her whole heart, they’re like family to her, but Raul was different. Y/N wished it wasn’t, but there are certain things in life you can’t exactly control. Like falling in love with your best friend.

And it’s not like she stood a chance, to be honest. Regardless of his looks, he treated her like she hung the moon and stars on the sky. Sure, he was a tough guy, who rode motorcycles and wore leather jackets, and wouldn’t admit alive that he cried while watching Lion King. But he took care of her when she was upset or having a bad period, he would take her driving around town at midnight on random occasions just because he knew it would make her feel better, and would always be so mindful of everything involving her. And yeah, he teased her endlessly, but it was part of it and in reality, Y/N didn’t mind it that much.

So when they started growing older and decided to follow their parents career, it only made sense they trained their asses off and got the job together. The company their parents worked for grew a lot, a team that was originally formed by 15 agents turned into a massive business, with over 100 employees, doing various functions. Shawn was picked for a more diplomatic field, always in meetings with important people and traveling around the world. Peter became a tech engineer, developing the coolest gadgets and weapons imaginable, something out of Totally Spies! Raul was clearly a field agent, an expert on body combat and weapons, best out of the four when it came to their physical test. And Y/N was the one who guided the operations, the hacker and responsible for strategies, also for the tech part and best sniper out of the three of them.

That made her and Raul an unbeatable team and the best duo ever. Their chemistry on the field was recognized by their bosses on the first week, basically glueing them together for every future mission and it worked. For the company. But it only dug her little crush deeper on Y/N’s heart. And obviously no one knew it. She was a spy for fucks sake, she knew how to lie and she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. Raul didn’t date, working on this field made everyone’s love life a bit harder than it was already, and he never seemed interested enough in anyone with the same career to have a long lasting relationship with. That didn’t mean there where a lot of people interested, which made Y/N’s heart twist in her chest.

“Sweetheart, you still with me?” Raul’s voice came through her earpiece bringing her back to reality.

“Of course I am, you idiot, I take this job really seriously” Y/N replied rolling her eyes as if she didn’t just daydreamed a bit.

“Oh sorry, doll, didn’t mean to insult you hard working” he chuckled “but could you please check in the corridor number 6, half the team is heading down there right now”

“Sure” she quickly typed on her computer changing cameras really quickly, perks of being Peter’s best friend is that she could usually take extra stuff and the newest gadgets on the market “It’s clear and, by the way, you look pathetic with this glasses”

Raul laughed clearly amused, throwing his middle finger up in the air in the direction of the security camera he found “Oh really? Tell that to Peter, he’s the one who created them”

“Technically their still a prototype, so make sure to let him know”

Raul scoffed playfully as he climbed another set of stairs, the man and woman with him following without questioning, used to his ways of leading “Of course, I’m sure he’ll like to hear your fashion critiques to his million dollar glasses”

“I’ll write it down, now careful, you’re approaching the level where they’re at”

“Sure, mom, I’m always careful” he said in a hushed tone signaling to his teammates to keep quiet and try to find the possible security team they left to watch the hostage.

“Shut up” Y/N said trying to hold back the smile from stretching her lips, already letting the airway team know to be ready to pick them up as they approached their target.

They’re currently in the middle of a mission where they needed to recover another agent who got caught up in an ambush two weeks ago, and now they’re being kept as a hostage. Raul’s leading a team to retrieve the agent as quickly and as silently as they could, two with him and three other on the opposite side to meet halfway. All that while Y/N’s on the under construction building across the street seated among her gear, gun in hand following their every step and guiding them through the camera system and the big windows that other building had. It’s not the worst mission they’ve ever been, no apparent violence or blood bath, just a simple rescue mission, but they still felt a little jittery and always worried about each other’s lives. And through the years, they noticed that their copying mechanism to make this less stressful (at least a tiny bit) was through light banter and jokes. That somehow brought a bit of normality to their very non ordinary job.

Y/N did her best to keep them hidden while they crashed into the building as quietly as possible, trying go unnoticeable since they didn’t have enough munition or people on the tactic team. It would also prevent them from moving the target around or opening fire. And despite the fact Raul kept on trying to joke around and that she’s been doing this for at least four years, the fact that they’re working with a less experienced and fresh out of the academy crew made her a little jittery. Not that she didn’t trust Raul to command everything and boss everyone around if things got messy, she just didn’t want him to get in the middle of a crossfire again.

He had the terrible habit of playing the hero in the most inconvenient times, like when they were little and a guy twice his size, with three friends mocked her pigtails. He didn’t stand a chance, but he went after them anyway. They ended up having to run as fast as they could so they wouldn’t end up with a black eye or something. And that was nothing compared to the stupid shit he could do on field. And Y/N couldn’t be more pissed whenever he came home with more bruises then he should just to play Superman or something. Sure, that was admirable and the fact that he put everyone on his team on his top priority was definitely something fantastic for a captain, but not for Y/N’s heart.

And for that reason, she was always extra careful, but when he had a newbie joining him on the field, Y/N tripled the attention to avoid putting the kid in danger, and, consequently her best friend.

Raul was quick to take down two man on their level without raising much alarm, grabbing their munition, dragging the unconscious bodies away from where they’d be easily seen and moving forward to another set of stairs. He was a very skillful agent, with great physical development and worked great under pressure, with quick thinking and a natural leader. So it didn’t shock her when he was able to do that as if it was the most natural thing in the planet. While Raul was more of a passionate person, Y/N was more rational, was analyzing every possibility and coming up with creative solution, she was also really cold on work (she just had one exception) and was a quick thinker, great person to rely on. It’s almost as if the complimented each other and that’s why it worked. That’s why when she tells him to shoot, he does without thinking, or to jump, he wouldn’t blink before doing it head first.

And that’s why they’re able to reach the hostage without much trouble.

“Told you to chill out, I knew we could make it” he murmured through their coms and she giggled, shaking her head incredulously.

“You should watch the entrances while your teammates take care of the hostage”

“That’s why I have you, sweetheart” he said with his infamous smirk stretching his annoyingly pink lips.

Y/N shook her head when she felt her face warming up a bit, stupid boy “Well, actually I’m pretty busy calling for our ride, so watch your own back this time, you’re a big boy, I’m sure you can do it”

Raul scoffed but did as she say either way “fine, are we clear?”

“On your floor yes, climb three more levels and meet me on this side of the street, don’t stall champ, they’re going to notice there’s something wrong with the cameras and their man who aren’t responding, so be quick”

Raul chuckled as he helped balance the hostage on Roman’s arms and signaling them to climb the stairs again “Yes, ma’am, anything to keep you from frowning and scolding my ass”

Y/N rolled her eyes smiling, sighing in relief that half of their mission was done and it went as smoothly as it could have been “Great, now get your ass out of there now, Raul”

The tactic team started moving to the floor they’d have access to jump, and everything was going too smoothly to be true, not even a minor inconvenience. And that was not normal, at all. That’s when Y/N started getting worried.

Everything was great until Seth, from loosing a lot of blood and being severely dehydrated, started loosing his conscious, making Roman’s job a lot more complicated and making everyone move slower. And while that was happening, Y/N saw when one of the guys saw his partners laying limply on the corner of a hallway and finally the pieces clicked. Luckily she was able to caught it quickly enough to be able to mess up their coms, so instead of a dozen men, they’d have to deal with two. She was also quick to let Raul know, so he jumped into action, telling everyone to rush and grabbing Seth’s right side, basically carrying him alongside Roman up the stairwell.

But as they’re almost reaching the door, Raul heard footsteps rather close, rushing Roman up the rest of the way, warning he’d be right behind him, that he was only to be a bit far back so he could hold whoever was coming.

He ran downstairs, quickly blocking the door to the staircase with a fire extinguisher, running all the way upstairs to reach his teammates and jump to go home. But as he had just reached the door, his colleagues waiting for him with their gear (and also his) ready to cross to the other building, he felt the barrel of a gun touching the back of his head. Raul raised his hands in surrender, his teammates staring at him with horror in their eyes as they aimed their guns to whoever was behind him, but he knew they couldn’t do much before he got shot. He also knew they’re too young, apart from Roman and Cara, who were both holding Seth up, they weren’t experienced enough to do something like that. But before the person could pull the trigger, they grunted in pain and Raul felt the barrel slipping away.

He turned around to watch the guy on his back in the floor, clutching to his left ribs, a little pool of blood already forming underneath him and gun long forgotten. Raul looked around to see if it was anyone from this guy’s side or anyone on the stairs, only to be met with silence and a single security camera with the green dot on, meaning Y/N was still in their system. He shook his head in disbelief, dragging the whining man outside of the room, quacking his gun down the stairs and managing to lock the door so they could escape safely.

“Still with me, baby?” Y/N’s voice teased mimicking the way he said it earlier.

Raul shook his head with a smirk on his lips, before moving to where his teammates stood still a bit shocked with all that happened in front of them “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you, sweetheart”

“Alright boys, the helicopters are coming for us, meet you all on the roof in three” Y/N said through the coms for the whole team, quickly shifting to a line only the captain, Raul, could hear “and if you dare be late just to make a big entrance or another dramatic scheme you can think about, I swear to God I’ll leave you behind”

“You wouldn’t dare”

“Try me” Y/N sing sang picking up her stuff and quickly shoving them down in her backpack, gathering the rest in her hands before turning around to climb to the rooftop.

As she climbed the last set of stairs, Y/N saw their helicopters approaching as the seven agents she was waiting for used a special gun to shoot a line to her building, before locking them in place before zip-lining their way to meet her. She helped Seth, the agent that was kept hostage climb up the little wall since he was in a pretty bad shape, throwing his arm across her shoulders and basically dragging him to where they thrown the stair to climb up to the helicopter with the medical team waiting for him. Cara and Roman climbed first since they’re going to report what they saw and assist Seth as best as they could. Roman grabbed him and the rope stair, shouting to pull them up so he could be taken care of.

Raul was the last one to arrive, as always staying behind to insure everyone got there safely and no one would try to kill them or anything. He graciously climbed the all as if it was nothing, pulling the gun from the string and cutting it so no one could follow them up there that quickly. Raul told everyone to climb onto the helicopter and they’re quick to follow his order, only one person stubbornly waiting for him, as always. He held back the relieved smile from stretching across his features, noticing how warm and relaxed he felt only by seeing Y/N standing besides the hope ladder. She looked worried, a frown on her beautiful face and Raul wanted to smooth his fingers over it as if it would ease all of her troubles away.

She nodded as soon as he was close enough, Raul being quick to pick up the heavy backpack she was carrying and leaving the rest to her “Are you okay?”

“What? Of course, Why do you ask?” he knew why she was asking, hell, his heartbeat was still a bit too fast to be normal, and yeah, partially was because he was standing in front of Y/N, but on the other hand he almost got killed. She only arched her brow at him and he sighed in defeat “Of course I am, doll, you know me, I’m always okay”

“That’s what’s scares me the most” she said with a sad chuckle and started climbing the rope ladder to the helicopter and Raul was quick to follow behind.

“Dude, that was insane, I can’t believe you didn’t miss or accidentally shot Raul from across the street!” the youngest guy from the mission shouted as soon as they reached them on the vehicle, Raul closing the door behind them.

Y/N only giggled in response “yeah, a bit crazy, isn’t it?”

“That’s because she’s the best, Tommy, but she won’t believe it” Raul said as he sat on one of the vacant seats, waiting for her to join him.

“Oh shut it” she said unable to stop the smile from forming.

They kept on talking about the mission for a while, Tommy and the other two kids who recently joined still high from the adrenaline, but Y/N couldn’t be more worn out and Raul was quick to catch it. He leaned closer to her and she automatically laid her head on his shoulder, a movement that was almost mechanic to both of them. He gently grabbed her hand that was placed on her knee and interlaced their fingers together, letting her play with his hand to pass the time.

Y/N sighed and mumbled after a while, when most of the kids were too distracted to pay attention “Are you really okay? Don’t say that you’re always fine, I mean it”

Raul had mastered the art of the poker face. He could easily be having the worst time of his life, but he would never let it showcase always with a quick sarcastic remark and an easy smirk on his lips, ready to flirt with anyone to distract them from the real problem. Raul was not the best when dealing with feelings and emotions, always thought it was easier to push them away, but Y/N saw right through him. She always did, ever since they were little. After that, he never tried to hide it again from her, always being as honest as he could with her about how he was, and obviously it didn’t always work, but she understood and respected it. It’s not like he needed to say anything for her to know.

But at the same time, she didn’t know that he would always be fine, as long as she was safe and right next to him, the rest didn’t matter.

“I promise you I’m fine, you saved my beautiful ass and we’re going home, I’d say we’re fantastic” he said after a while, pressing a long kiss to the back of their laced hands.

That seemed to be enough to convince Y/N, since she huffed through her nose and let out a tiny giggle, before leaning closer to him and Raul took it as a sign to drape his arm over her shoulder pulling her closer to his chest “your beautiful ass is really annoying, you know that, right?”

“Oh, I do, but you love it anyway” he said with a giggle, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, as she just showed him her middle finger, making him laugh even more.

Yeah, he was definitely fine. For now.

-*-

*Please reblog or like this post if you liked it so I’ll know.

*I’m sorry if there are any spelling mistakes.

*Please do not repost this without giving me the credit, this is a completely original piece and I do not give permission to copy this!

*Hope you guys enjoyed it!

*xoxo

-🌙

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jeonjeonggukenergy · 4 years

Text

Anti-Hero

summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.

pairing ~ jungkook x reader

genre ~ fluff, smut - college!au

wordcount ~ 8.5k

warnings ~ 18+ only! smut, explicit discussion of kinks/sexual preferences (yay healthy communication), dom/sub undertones during both discussion and sex (dom Jungkook, sub reader), mentions of daddy kink and degradation but both are a no, marking, biting, hair pulling, spanking, they both have a srs pain kink lmao, brief oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie

a/n ~ SO excited to finally have this chapter out for yall! it’s a huge one and i’ve been working on it for quite a while, this includes the first full smut scene for this fic and i would love to know how yall like it or any other feedback. i really enjoyed writing the character development in this chapter too! they’re so cute and whipped for each other already hhhhhh. thank you so much for loving this story so far, i’m really looking forward to writing the rest. hope you enjoy! ❣️

previous: chapter 1 | chapter 2 ~ next: chapter 4 (coming soon!)

~ read on ao3 ~

CHAPTER 3 ~ particular, perfect

You concluded your walk home by ditching your shoes at the door, swinging your bag off your shoulders to the floor, and plopping down onto the couch immediately. Pulling all three nearby blankets over yourself, you realized you still weren't quite comfortable. You looked around for a second, puzzled, until an absentminded clutch of your boobs reminded you why. Triumphantly, you reached into a sleeve to untangle your bra and chucked it across the room with a deep stretch of relief. Okay, time to overthink again.

Jungkook? What the fuck?

Wait. A bag of chips on the kitchen counter caught your eye before you could descend any further into panic. The perfect emotional crutch. You clutched it to your chest like a safeguard against your own internal monologue, anxiously shoving handful after handful into your mouth. After about thirty minutes spent motionless on the couch with one hand shoved in the chip bag and the other distractedly scrolling through Twitter, your eyes suddenly widened and your hand froze, dropping your next bite of chips back into the bag. Fuck. You had just eaten nearly an entire family-size bag of chips before what could end up being your first fuck in over a year. Well, maybe this was part of why you hadn't gotten fucked in over a year. No, don't go there. You shoved down your own insecurity, knowing you'd just been too busy for a relationship and honestly, probably still were. But that wasn't going to stop you today.

You shook the chip dust off of your hands and got up to head to the shower, turning up your trashiest throwback playlist of getting-ready bops and resolving to at least shave your legs. Going in with no expectations was probably the best strategy here, but it never hurt to be prepared.

Having cleaned his apartment in record time, Jungkook was now at the gym. After triple-checking that his roommate Jin would be in rehearsal until 10pm at the earliest, he quickly scanned all the common spaces and his bedroom and realized he didn't actually have that much work to do besides politely closing the door to Jin's still-decent-but-somewhat-messier room. To be honest, Jungkook had mainly bought himself the time after class so he could shave just in case. But then he figured if he had to shower, he might as well hit the gym first. So here he was, burning off an unprecedented amount of nervous energy. Settling comfortably into the leg curl machine, he turned his music up and started on a low weight to put in reps until his thighs burned and his head felt pleasantly empty.

After completing his normal leg day rotation and dutifully stretching, Jungkook prepared to head home. He walked out of the gym feeling more energized and centered, barely even flinching when he switched his AirPods off to say bye to the nice girl at the front desk and the action accidentally blasted "Whistle" by Flo Rida from his phone speaker for the whole lobby to hear. As he walked back into his apartment, the kitchen clock let him know it was only 4:30. He had plenty of time. Jungkook hopped straight into the shower, shampooing his hair, shaving everywhere he normally did, and savoring several extra moments to relax his muscles under the hot stream of water. Finally, he toweled off to wrap up in the black t-shirt and cozy matching sweatpants he'd carefully stacked on the counter. Offhandedly singing to himself in the steamy mirror, he checked the time on his phone, deciding he might as well go ahead and text you before he got nervous again and did something stupid. Like chickening out completely.

hey its jk! im ready when u are :) my apt is 344 glencoe rd #1521 (yes its on the 15th floor sry D: )

His charming old-school smileys lit up your phone while you still had a leg perched on the bathtub's edge.

"Fuck!" you reacted. The hiss resounded, thanks to the too-good acoustics of your cramped bathroom. Your razor clattering to the floor, you paused your max-volume 2000s music to check the message, and then the time. Only 5! That wasn't dinnertime yet. Plugging his address into Google Maps, though, you realized it was a 15- to 20-minute drive from yours on the opposite end of campus. Even if you got ready at light-speed, you would get there closer to 5:30. Which was a bit more reasonable. He was being reasonable! You should be ready by now!

You leaned over to pick up your razor and cursed again as the water stream grazed the blouse you'd left on out of laziness. You'd showered this morning, so there was no need to repeat that with your shave, but now you'd have to change outfits completely. Feeling like an idiot, naked from the waist down but now all the way wet, you peeled the shirt over your head slowly to preserve your good hair day and glanced down at the dilemma you'd been facing. The patch of hair between your legs stared back at you like the final boss of stupid societal beauty standards. You'd only shaved down there once, as an anniversary present for your first boyfriend the summer before college, and it had been a fun, smooth novelty for about two hours and then itchy, red, gross-looking, and miserable for about three weeks. Also, it had kind of made you feel like a little girl, which creeped you out when you thought about why guys would prefer it. You'd been debating whether to try it again for the past fifteen minutes, because if there was ever a right time, this was probably it. But now you didn't have time, if you were going to be respectful and not keep Jungkook waiting. Well, this was the real you. He could take it or leave it.

Slathering a quick coat of lotion over your freshly shaved legs, you prepared to get dressed in a soft pastel sweatshirt and a flattering pair of workout shorts. Wait, should you wear lingerie? Was that too try-hard? You didn't really even need to wear underwear with these lined shorts, which could be a cool-girl move, you supposed. You settled on a cute white sports bra to go with the shorts, not wanting to deal with a real bra and hoping it still appealed to Jungkook's casual, athletic style. You checked yourself in the mirror briefly before grabbing your bag, confirming you looked chill enough but still felt like your best color-coordinated self. Heading out, you shoved a tin of chrysanthemum green tea in your water bottle pocket. Why not?

You whizzed over to Jungkook's apartment, yelling along to "Sex With Me" by Rihanna from your throwback playlist to hype you up in the car. When you knocked on his door after a nerve-wrackingly long elevator ride, Jungkook welcomed you with a "C'mon in!" amidst a mouthful of shrimp chips.

"It's not really dinnertime yet," (yeah, no kidding, you thought) "I went ahead and worked out but it's still kind of early, so I figured we could just have a snack and do the homework first."

"Sounds good," you affirmed. "I'm not really that hungry," (read: there's no way I can eat chips AGAIN right now, I'm going to bloat so badly) "but I brought tea so I can go ahead and make that if you want some too!"

"Oh cool, thanks!" Jungkook accepted. "Are you sure you're not hungry though?"

You almost gave into his sweet pout, but managed to convince him, and soon you both sat at the table with laptops open and twin cups of tea. You had a blast working together for the first time, acting out your "conversation" for the discussion board and pretending to respond spontaneously to each other's points like you hadn't already excitedly rambled back and forth through them in real life. You hit "send" five minutes apart, your idea to not seem too suspicious, and kept raving over Rear Window in between. As the sun lowered outside his living room window, you moved on to making the ramen.

After three offers to help Jungkook, all of which he denied, you simply made another steep of the tea, leaving a mug on the counter for him. Standing at the bar counter sipping yours, you enjoyed all the tiny, cute noises he made while chopping green onions and sprinkling extra garlic in the seasoning, like an anime character who came with his own sound effects. You could tell he made these recipe additions every time, because bulk quantities of the same simple ingredients lined the counters of his cozy kitchen. When he beat two eggs and dropped them into the pot, though, he couldn't seem to find a lid, and eventually settled on trapping the steam with a plate. You both waited on the egg for a silent moment, your foot bouncing under the bar while Jungkook restlessly acquired a slight wiggle. As he took a sip of his tea, a strand of hair fell over his eyes, and he yeeted it out of his face. Your inner language nerd cringed, but there really was no more apt word to describe the action.

You offhandedly said you liked his hair long, and he replied with a smile, "Maybe I'll have to keep it then."

"Do you like it too?" you wondered.

"Honestly no, it's kind of inconvenient."

"Oh, then why would you keep it?" you immediately asked back.

"Well..." he dragged out. "You like it? Maybe I should keep it if it looks better this way."

Your eyes crinkled appreciatively at his thoughtfulness, but then you backtracked. "Wait, no, it's okay! If you don't like it, don't feel like you have to keep it just because of something I said. You can do whatever you want."

"Hm, yeah." A demure smile tugged up the corner of his mouth as he lifted the plate from the ramen pot.

You watched him drag a chopstick through the floating, now-cooked egg to tear it into ribbons, then divide the noodles between two generously-sized bowls. He carefully wiped down the drips of broth from each bowl before sprinkling in his fresh toppings, then walked with you to the table.

Serving you with a pleased smile and a slight nod, he announced, "Dinner!"

"Wow," you mused playfully. "So gourmet."

"I'm really particular about my ramen," he admitted. "I have it down to a perfect routine at this point."

You took your first slurp of his particular, perfect ramen. "Well, it's really good. I'm impressed. And thanks for making me dinner, you didn't have to do all that."

"Oh, come on, it's instant ramen," he laughed. "Nothing special. And you brought the tea, so thanks. And thanks for coming over. And doing the homework with me. And...yeah." Rambling again. Why did he seem so...nervous? You were nervous. He couldn't be nervous. What reason did he have to be? But the twitch of his mouth under his wide eyes, his slightly reddened ears, his hand skittering over his neck—fuck—to ruffle his hair...every action turned another page of his open book. It felt infuriatingly unfair that genetics had assigned someone so sweet and shy and unsure of himself to that fucking body.

While you both ate and talked, you kept catching glimpses of any small flashes of skin you could find, as his long sleeves fell to expose his forearms and the wide neckline of his boxy black shirt gaped around his collarbones. What was wrong with you? Even if this did eventually turn into a dick appointment, the boy still had literally all of his clothes on. You tried to refocus on finishing your noodles, while your brain screamed at itself in shame that you could get this turned on by the sight of someone covered from neck to ankle.

Jungkook ate surprisingly slowly, probably because he kept pausing to excitedly explain his favorite things about the Cowboy Bebop episode you were about to watch together. You smiled into your tea through every out-of-context fun fact and "wait, sorry, that might have been a spoiler!"

Finally, he reached the bottom of his bowl and insisted on both taking your dishes to the sink and leaving them for him to clean later. "You sure you want to start on episode 2? Not 1?"

"Yeah, I remember well enough and your summary helped a lot too!"

"Okay, if you're positive!" he double-checked, grabbing the remote.

Gingerly lowering yourselves to the couch in sync, you avoided looking at each other as you both tried to calculate a comfortable distance between you. His hand looked ready to either hold yours or lower to your thigh, but he retracted at the last second, smoothing it over his own leg anxiously and still clearly itching to make a move. You shuffled closer to him until your thighs barely touched, and he shifted to slink an arm around you, letting your head rest on his well-muscled shoulder. After pressing “play”, he began wiggling slightly again, subconsciously grooving to the old-newspaper-style intro. Spike Spiegel appeared on the screen, his broad shoulders squared into a slouch as he listlessly watched TV. Jungkook kicked one leg over another and stretched his arms out symmetrically to echo the pose. Raising an eyebrow, he waited until you acknowledged him with a faux grimace and a hand to your ear, imitating the old man in a lab who’d just called up Spike for a new mission. You both burst into laughter and settled back into your former arrangement, Jungkook holding you imperceptibly tighter. Though you tried to stay staring straight ahead, wanting to genuinely appreciate the anime, you kept catching his doe eyes in the corner of your sight as you both giggled and gasped your way through the episode.

After avoiding eye contact too many times, you finally tilted your head for a cute sideways view of his face. He leaned toward you too, shyly closing the gap to touch his warm lips to your nose, then lower. You responded immediately, rolling your body with his so your chests met as he pulled you up into a full, deeper kiss. The longer you explored each other's mouths, the more Jungkook punctuated your movements with whimpers. He seemed hesitant to let his hands roam away from your face and neck, but his high, breathy moans made it clear that he was just as into this as you. Your hands had naturally found his taut waist, and at some point you started to bring them back up to his face too—but as your short nails grazed his chest, a particularly sensual, voice-cracking moan interrupted you. You drew back in slight surprise, blinking your eyes open to scan from his face to his body.

He followed your gaze, both slowly settling on the massive tent in his pants. You froze. Your breath grew heavier, confronted with evidence of his physical attraction to you, if nothing else. After regaining his composure, he laid a useless hand over his lap in a delicate attempt to distract you and brought his other hand up to tap your face lightly.

"Is this okay?"

His eyes glittered with equal parts hunger and concern.

"Yes!" you nodded, too quickly, too eagerly. "Yes, this is totally okay. Sorry if I'm being weird, I just...it's been a while." You cringed internally at your own words, but couldn't seem to avoid putting your foot further in your mouth. "I haven't really, like, hooked up like this before—like, I've had sex, but never really outside of a relationship. But don't worry, I get this is more your thing, and I'm totally down if you are. I just don't really know what I'm doing, and you clearly do."

Jungkook blinked at your admission, then his face twisted into something curious, inscrutable. Would he decide you weren't worth the potential for drama? His lips flattened out to a tight line, then pursed to speak, and you looked down at your lap, hoping he wasn't as embarrassed of you as you now were of yourself.

"Well, I've never had sex sober."

Your eyes flashed back up to his. A complex half-smirk offset the furrow in his brow as he exhaled in nervous relief. "So, I don't actually know what I'm doing here either."

You tried to delay your response as you processed the implications. "You mean..." You tilted your head for better eye contact, hoping to convey empathy but not pity while you silently contemplated how to proceed. "Never?"

"Yeah, I've always shown up to parties and the hookups just...happened. Nothing I didn't want, nothing bad like that, but always spontaneous. So I guess we're kind of meeting in the middle, because I've never really had to plan ahead for a situation like this and, uh, figure out what I want. Beyond, yknow, wanting to get laid in the moment, of course." Jungkook laughed off the end of his explanation, but the smile never quite hit his eyes.

"Well, okay, let's pause right there." You sighed. Something in his words didn't sit right with you. "What do you want? I want you to be sure about this, of course, but more than that, even—what do you like?"

"I..." he chuckled, sheepish, shaking his hair over his face again. "What, you want me to just tell you? Like, what I'm into?"

"Yeah," you shrugged, trying to project more confidence than you felt in hopes of encouraging him to keep opening up. "I want you to be able to communicate, I want you to be comfortable. And I want to know what you like, so I can make it as good for you as possible."

With your hands still laid flat on his chest, you felt his heart rate jump a tiny bit, and took the liberty of digging your nails in just slightly deeper. His breath caught him, and then he caught himself. "I don't know, I just want what you want."

Jungkook struggled to appear nonchalant as you rolled your eyes with an "Oh, come on," challenging his avoidance. Every instinct was telling him yes. He could hear his mind screaming at him to be intentional for once and let you take him, if not farther, then deeper than ever before. But he still hesitated, because being intentional in this case required him to be real. He had always been a fairly private person, but something about you made him feel so comfortable so fast that it counterintuitively made him more nervous. Of course Jungkook knew you weren't all innocent at this point, but the risk remained that you wouldn't really be down for everything he secretly wanted to explore. Even worse, though he didn't truly think you would, you could easily turn around and spin anything he revealed into yet another graphic rumor. Especially since you had no skin in the game yourself. He glanced down at your fingers, tensed into his chest, and narrowed his eyes.

"Why don't you tell me what you like first? And then I can tell you where we overlap," he grinned competitively. Your eyes widened as he tossed the challenge back your way. Not backing down, you flattened your hands and steeled yourself to settle the stakes.

"Fine—but only if you promise not to just go along with whatever I say. I'll let you know anything that's a hard no for me, but otherwise I want to hear at least one thing that's not on my list. I really do want what you want, that's how I am too, okay? So..." you paused to slide your fingertips over his collar and drag it down with a light scratch, now directly on his skin. You smiled with your eyes, enjoying the way he naturally responded with a hitch of his breath again. "Surely you can think of something specific."

He nodded quickly, before he could convince himself to back out. "Yeah. Promise."

"Okay," you confirmed, slightly nervous but determined to go through with this, for Jungkook's sake if anything. Seeing his body come alive with each new twist of the situation was building your curiosity, not to mention turning you on beyond belief. You could barely stand the warmth of his skin under your hands, so you drew them back to fold in your lap as you began. "So. Uh. To start. I've never really laid it all out like this either. I really like neck kisses? Like, a lot." Equally unused to this kind of directness, you wrung your hands together nervously, but sucked up the boldness to keep elaborating. "That's definitely, like, a big thing that turns me on...and then getting marked up and everything is really hot to me too. Like you can honestly go really rough with me on that, bite me even. I don't know if this is weird but even though it's annoying to cover up, I love taking off the makeup at the end of the day and seeing all the bruises on myself. Knowing I was walking around all day with that as my little secret." You swallowed shyly before continuing, but Jungkook interrupted the brief silence immediately with a hushed "Fuck."

You turned to face him fully and he didn't even move to meet your stare, eyeing the space above your sweatshirt's wide neckline like he was ready to devour you. Emboldened, your smile grew.

"So...yeah. I like being bitten, marked up. Mostly, uh," you rubbed a slightly trembling hand over your shoulder, "I'm just really into pain in general. Obviously not the bad 'I'm too dry and you're jackhammering me' kind of pain, or like, anal. Anal is a hard no. But things like biting, or hair pulling, or overstimulation. Or, like—I don't really know how to explain this, but...getting held too hard? That deep pain like when you get a massage when you're sore and it hurts but it's good, yknow?"

Jungkook looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, breathing shallow and rapid. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, just in time for you to whisper in conclusion:

"I love that feeling."

You suddenly looked away, reticent. A thick silence swelled between you, until he composed himself enough to punctuate it. "Okay. Yeah. Pain. So like, BDSM?"

"I mean, kind of? Sure? I don't have much experience with that and I don't really need the whole power dynamic aspect; I just like the, uh, physical pain. I wouldn't be opposed to trying further, but one thing I do know is I really don't like being degraded. And I'm not into the whole daddy kink thing either. I'm just not gonna call you that, sorry," you laughed, and fortunately he giggled too. "But I know that's not, like, necessary to the rest of BDSM, and the part about giving up control is still...interesting, for sure."

"Wait," Jungkook cocked his head, making a mental note of your last sentence before he went back to the previous one. "What do you mean, being degraded?"

You half-chuckled, half-cringed, never having needed to explain something like this, especially to a guy you hopefully were about to fuck. Cheers to better communication, you supposed.

"You know, how some people when they do dirty talk are like 'yeah, you little slut, you're such a whore.' I don't like being called any of that. Like it's fine that other people like it, there's nothing wrong with that, it's just really uncomfortable for me."

His brows knit together as you explained, and he shook his head so fast it almost looked cartoonish, like a little kid refusing vegetables. "Yeah, no. Don't worry, not really my thing either."

You sighed in relief. "That's nice. I feel like it's, like, weirdly common with guys. Maybe just the kind of thing people learn from porn."

"But you still like it rough, huh? Did you learn that...from porn?" he half-joked, trying to overcome both his shyness and his gritted-teeth arousal.

"No, I don’t like porn. Most of it’s really unethical. I learned from experience," you sassed back. "I don't have a whole lot, but enough to know what I like."

"Well. Hm." He worked his tongue over his teeth, poking one cheek out over his tensed jaw. You couldn't get enough of watching him grow fascinated by your every revelation, and you were preparing to keep pressing further when he beat you to it, posing a question. "Is there anything you haven't tried before, but really want to?"

Your face heated up instantly, tasting your own medicine. You looked back to your hands, breaking his intense eye contact to give yourself the courage to be even more uncomfortably honest. "I...I...um." Your first attempt at disclosing your fantasy came out as a squeak. Swallowing, you set your shoulders and tried again, selfishly reminding yourself Jungkook seemed so eager to please that this was 99% likely to get you exactly what you wanted. "I've always been, uh, really into the idea of, um, getting spanked. I've been, uh, too nervous to ever bring it up, before now obviously, but it's definitely one of the biggest kinks I've always wanted to try. Maybe being tied up too, I think I'd like it if I tried but I haven't thought about that as much. But, yeah...spanking, definitely."

"Fuuuuuuuuck."

A lengthened version of Jungkook's earlier under-breath exclamation made you peer up at him. Your thighs already pressed together from the tension of admitting something totally new, you found yourself needing even more friction just from the sight of Jungkook with his head thrown back on the couch, a veiny hand threaded in his hair to pull the long waves back from his forehead. The full reveal of his sharp eyebrows brought a whole new level of intensity to Jungkook's already beautifully carved features. He glanced over at you, then squeezed his eyes shut with a terse exhale. You couldn't place why, but you felt a deep attraction to the way he expertly restrained himself from acting on the lust written over his face—not under your control, but his own.

"Oh, fuck. What the fuck. How the fuck would you fucking know," he swore more in a single burst than he cumulatively had ever in your presence.

"What?" you toyed, heart rate still high but relaxed enough to enjoy agitating him. "Something ring a bell?"

Jungkook shuddered out a long breath, hand ruffling his hair as his other forearm still tried desperately to subdue his boner.

"Everything," he hissed, more willing to elaborate now that you had done the same, and especially now that he could tell you really did enjoy him being more assertive. "Shit. I...I want...I know you said not to just say this but I really do want everything you want. I can't wait to mark you up. I can't wait to hold you down and bruise your neck. I want it all, I want to make you hurt so good. And then—" Breathless. He looked almost embarrassed. "Then you had to go and somehow guess basically my biggest fucking kink, I can't fucking believe you." Both hands had come up to seize his long locks as he held himself back physically, while finally letting his guard down mentally to declare everything he intended to do to you. Letting out a short laugh, he finally met your eyes. "I wanna spank your ass bright red. Fuck. This is crazy. You're perfect."

Your core throbbed at every bold word. Leaning in close to him, you let your lips approach Jungkook's beautifully sculpted jawline as he panted, his chin tossed up to fully expose his neck. You stopped just short of his skin, in awe of how much you'd been able to work him up and still so tempted to take it to the next level. "Fuck," you echoed. "This is so hot," you murmured almost to yourself. Your eyes closing along with his, you dealt the final blow. "I love that we have so much in common. But come on, you promised. One thing that's not on my list."

Jungkook whined. You could tell he needed to touch you so badly, and no one was stopping him but himself. He had no way of knowing that if he cut the whole discussion and just took you, you wouldn't even try to resist at this point. Staring at his trembling mouth from below, you quickly averted your eyes when he opened his, pretending you hadn't been looking. He inhaled a short hiss, and then spoke.

"Okay..." He paused after just the first word, blowing air through the tiny "o" of his mouth as his eyes bugged slightly from nervousness. He couldn't resist a challenge, though, and his urge to please you overwhelmed his reluctance to peel back one more layer. "So, the pain thing. I think we, uh, feel the same about me giving and you receiving. But...I'm really into it for myself too. I don't know if you'd be comfortable with it, I know you maybe want me to be more dominant and I think I like that more too in general, but you can be as rough with me as you want back. I'd love that." Eyes still open but fluttering, Jungkook's tone grew breathier, heady as he confessed. You almost giggled at how bashfully he worded his desire to dominate you, to rough each other up, but the contrast was so hot you couldn't help sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, eager for him to continue. His voice lowered. "I love being scratched, marked, bitten...hit me, push me back, any kind of pain or any way you can hurt me, I want it." He shivered, but his voice firmed up even further. "I want it so bad."

You fought to stay motionless beside him, unable to even process how much more his honesty had turned you on. You felt helpless in your desire for him, your craving to give him everything he wanted and more. He noticed your charged stillness and shifted toward you, removing a hand from his hair to finally reach for your face. Threading his fingers through your hair instinctively like he had with his own, he tilted your head back to access your neck. Jungkook finally felt confident enough to tease you back as he skimmed his lips over your pulse point, tugging your skin between his teeth for a gentle first taste and grinning when you moaned. Seeing someone so satisfied, for reasons better than just his body or their pride, brought the most incredible rush of blood to his head. And his other head.

"And I get why you want it too," he finished with a whisper in your ear. "So trust me when I say I really, really want to give it to you."

In an instant, your hands yanked his hair down to bring his face up to yours, mouths crashing together. Feverish, restless, you kissed him, hastily attempting to straddle his thick thighs before he threw his body over yours and pinned you to the back of the couch. His hands wandered, intrepid, from your waist to a quick squeeze of your breasts before he spiraled you into his strong arms. Pressing your chest flush with his as your mouths meshed, he ground his hips into you shamelessly, enjoying the way you struggled beneath him to align your core with his rock-hard dick.

"Your room?" You rushed out the words.

Jungkook laughed a little, his tone half whine and half dare. "So we're done talking?"

"Come on," you pleaded back. He finally relented, pulling you up with him and dragging you across the living room and through his door, lips not leaving yours for a second. You backed him into the bed with your arms against his strong chest, and once he was sitting perched on the edge, you laid yourself horizontally over his thighs.

"What are you doing?" he murmured, curling a hand over the dip of your waist to hold you gently.

You angled your head back to make unsteady eye contact with him, flipping your shorts down boldly. His free hand automatically reached to slowly conform to the shape of your ass, so eager to touch you but tentative as he grazed your curves.

"Giving you exactly what you want."

"Fuck. Really? You're sure about this?" Jungkook held careful eye contact as you brought your arms back up, crossing your wrists over your head delicately. You nodded slightly and did your best to meet his gaze with confident invitation, convincing him how much you trusted and wanted him.

He smoothed his warm hand over your ass one more time, then brought it up and watched your thighs tighten at the loss of his touch. Breathing in, still a little shakily, he brought his hand down on your right cheek with a loud but mild smack. A grunt of satisfaction involuntarily left him when he saw your face flinch down into the sheets, subduing a small noise of surprise. He returned his hand to caress the light redness he'd left, checking in with you again. "Is this okay? Let me know if I should stop."

You replied with your face still tucked between your arms, muffled by the bed. "More than okay. Please don't stop."

He spanked you again, moving to your left cheek. This time you felt his dick twitch under you and couldn't help grinding down on him a little bit. "Is that as hard as you can go?" you taunted in low tones, brave enough to egg him on but not quite enough to meet his eyes again.

Jungkook's thighs and core tensed under you, and he squeezed his fingertips tighter, digging into the skin of your ass. "Not at all," he said simply.

Deep breath. A few seconds passed, and his hand came down, harshly. You cried out in shock, the timing unexpected and the sting far sharper, and he gave your other cheek a fourth hard smack before you could even process the third one. "Harder?" he tested. "Tell me."

Another spank. "Mmmf."

"You like this, huh?"

"Yes, I told you," you whimpered back, half-teasing even though you were in no position to do so. Immediately, he cut you off with a stinging hit across both cheeks, and you moaned.

"You really do," he breathed lowly. "Fuck yeah. Take it then."

He spanked you again, and again, then paused, tugging down your shorts all the way to your ankles to expose the crease right above your thighs. Rubbing your already sore bottom, Jungkook cupped the underside of its curve in his big, firm hand. Already anticipating your whine, he drew back his touch and hummed in harmony with you. He continued landing satisfyingly hard smacks, alternating to cover your ass evenly. His dick strained through his pants more and more each time you trembled under his touch. Never hitting you hard enough to do serious damage, he still clearly enjoyed his thorough reddening of your ass, and occasionally took a moment just to caress your skin as it warmed from the spanking. The pain lit your senses up from head to toe. Face burning with deep arousal, you mentally thanked yourself for going out of your comfort zone and unprecedentedly admitting your kinks before even venturing into your first time together. Amidst the thrilling sting of his hand meeting your soft curves, Jungkook eventually noticed your thighs clenching together, craving friction but not really wanting relief from the pleasurable burn.

"You're wet," he marveled, sliding two warm fingers up and down your slit.

"Mhm," you mumbled back as you tilted your hips into his hand. He gave you a light slap right on the folds between your legs, eliciting another soft moan.

"So good for me," Jungkook said softly, pulling you up into his lap by your waist. "You look so pretty like this. I wanna see all of you." He tugged your sweatshirt over your head, followed by your sports bra, thankful that it stretched over your head easily. Suddenly grinning, he wound up and shot it across the room like a rubber band, and you smacked his arm, giggling.

"What was that? You cheeseball," you teased, and he blinked, chuckling lightly back. It occurred to him that he'd never laughed, or made someone laugh, during sex before.

"It was so stretchy! Don't make fun of me," he blushed.

"You're so cute," you said, fingers sliding under his t-shirt hem.

"Cute?" His eyebrows rose in mock disbelief, and he reached around to land another hit to your still-red asscheek.

"Hot," you amended. Raising his shirt and finally getting a full glimpse of his enviable abs, you groaned. "You're extremely hot, and also really cute, and it's kind of ridiculous and I don't really know how to handle all of it at once."

His face scrunching up into a smile at the praise, he fell back onto the bed with his arms behind his head. "You are too, you know. Really cute, of course. But really hot too." As you discarded his shirt and moved on to easing his sweatpants down his hips, you held in a gasp as his erection sprung up from the waistband. He was big, thick, and painfully hard, his tip glistening warm with precum and a lone vein running prominently up his smooth shaft. Although you wouldn't be corroborating them, you had to admit to yourself that all the rumors were true. You instinctively curled a hand around it, barely covering half his length, and he winced at your slightest touch. Pulling off with a single slow stroke, you slid his sweatpants and briefs all the way to the floor and then stood, looking up from his legs to his blown-out eyes to take in the glorious sight of his fully naked body.

"You shave," you said, surprised by the clean skin under his arms and between his legs.

"Yeah," he demurred, self-conscious for some reason. He lowered his arms to fold them over his torso, somehow defining his biceps even more. "I'm on the dance team, and it's nice to feel all smooth for practice and stuff. I don't know, I just like it."

"Oh, that's cool! No worries, I like it too. And you don't mind that..." You looked down at yourself, still just standing naked in front of him. "...I don't? Like, down there at least."

"No, you do you!" he said quickly. With a shy smile, he admitted, "I actually kind of like it on you. I do this for me, anyway, not for anyone else," he playfully noted. Slowly, he was sitting up to take hold of your waist and lower you down to the bed with him. Pausing to kiss the sweet spot under your jaw, he continued. "So don't feel like you have to do anything, or not do anything, either."

Jungkook couldn't quite explain the nature of how his attraction to you had developed. Seeing how open and honest you were with him made it easy for him to be honest with you too, and just to feel comfortable being himself. He admired the way he could still tell you sometimes got nervous like him, but it didn’t stop you from getting real or going bolder. Unable to fully express it in words, he just hoped to ensure you felt as comfortable and respected around him as he did around you. He already knew that he wanted this to be more than just a one-time thing, and while he still hesitated to assume that you felt the same, he intended to leave no doubt by the end of the night.

You moaned as he nipped at the skin of your neck. It was so easy to get swept back up in Jungkook. You could barely handle the friction of his dick rutting against your wet folds from below, craving him inside you. "Ughhh. Wait, one more thing. I'm on the pill, are you clean?"

"Yes," he gasped, barely removing his mouth from your jaw. "Are you?"

"Yeah, so we don't need a condom. If that's cool with you!"

"Yeah! But, you're ready?" He seemed surprised.

"Aren't you?" you whined, beyond holding back. He felt so unbearably hard that his coherence and willpower kind of surprised you too. "Please, I want you so bad."

To your surprise, he lowered his head to the crest of your legs, dotting wet kisses down your torso. Keeping his big brown eyes on you, he teased your entrance with a finger and echoed your immediate groan at the welcome stretch.

"You really are ready," he remarked, awed at the ease with which your wetness sucked the digit in. Frankly, you were in awe as well. It had taken your ex-boyfriend months to figure out how to get you this worked up. Jungkook either had even more experience than you'd heard from the grapevine, or he was a natural. Or maybe you were just really, ridiculously, primally attracted to him. He went on to curve his finger in you and lick a messy swipe up your folds, sucking hard once he reached your sensitive clit. You cried out at the delicious burst of stimulation and he rose up to catch your lips with his.

"I had to do that, just once," he grinned breathlessly. "But—"

"Let me suck you off," you interjected, unbelievably fucking turned on and dying to please him.

"No," he gasped with far more fervency than you'd think anyone could refuse a blowjob. "Please, I was about to say—" he choked out a high-pitched moan as you ran a single finger up his shaft in anticipation, sinking the nails of your other hand into his thigh. "—I think I'm gonna explode if I don't get inside you right this second."

So he did have a breaking point. "Fuck," you muttered, bringing your legs around his to tuck your heels under his tight ass as he lined up. He eased his tip in, keeping heavy eyes on you the whole time, and you could feel the hot, thick tension in his thighs as he struggled to hold himself back from just thrusting into your heat. Slowly, he drew closer into you until he bottomed out with a low moan. You whined at the perfect slight pain of the stretch, and Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut, gripping you by your waist. Watching the veins in his forearms stand out as he drove almost all the way out and back into you, you rocked your hips carefully against his with each smooth stroke, getting used to his fullness. When his balls met your ass again, he shuddered a bit and opened his eyes into yours.

You answered his question before he could even ask it. "Jungkook—you feel so good. You can go faster, it's okay."

A smile hit his eyes before his mouth, and he kissed you once, pressing his chest to yours and intertwining your tongues eagerly. You bit his bottom lip as he slowly drew away, tugging it between your teeth to pull a sweet little whimper from his throat. Grinning, he leaned back in to touch his forehead to yours and simultaneously slid a subtle hand under your ass to curve your hips up with his. The slight leftover sensitivity of your skin amplified his light touch, and Jungkook seemed to realize this, curling his fingers to tease you with the tips of his nails. Instinctively, you ducked to bite his neck, not even registering your move to pass the pain back to him until he choked out a beautifully half-restrained moan and snapped his hips into yours. Gasping, you encouraged him to lose himself in you, dragging your lips up to latch around his earlobe. He hissed and thrust into you sharply again, meeting the time of your movements as you swirled your tongue between each of his hoop earrings. Soon he was pounding you rhythmically, finally letting you feel the full force of his strength but keeping remarkable control over both his body and yours. Both of you had gone silent except for your heavy breaths, lost in the moment, but the flexed shivers of his thighs and twitches of his fingers in your hair told you all you needed to know. Suddenly yanking your strands to pull you back from the additional bruise you'd sucked beneath his ear, he earned a new set of scratches on his back as your hands dragged down the muscular expanse in reply. Jungkook switched places with you to draw dark clouds from your skin, a storm brewing under your jaw. Your face fell into pure bliss, eyes shut and immersed in the barrage of sensation from his hands, mouth, and big dick filling you. Already feeling the familiar tension that preceded an orgasm building through your whole body, you chased him closer to his climax too, grinding back roughly into every thrust and raking your hands over every part of his firm body you could reach.

You had really been fooling yourself when you thought you could try something casual for once. You wanted more of Jungkook, all of Jungkook, nothing but Jungkook ever again. Knowing he'd never even gone back to the same hookup twice sank slight anxiety into your stomach, a kind of future nostalgia for this moment you already feared losing. You knew you weren't anything special compared to the catalogue of gorgeous girls he'd had his turn with, but a deviant voice whispered from the back of your mind that you could be, because it was clear none had bothered to learn him like this. You'd still try your desperate best not to want too much from him, but you resolved to do whatever you could to make him crave more.

Rolling your hips in a smooth circle against him, you clenched around his dick and your hands tightened their fierce hold on his tiny waist. You felt his abs tense within your grasp as he tried not to stutter into you.

"Fuck. No." His voice cracked, but held an undertone of ferocity. "You come first." Jungkook rushed a hand to your clit, adding pressure in small, deft motions with a fingertip as he kept fucking you deep. You sank your teeth into his shoulder in response, drawing your hands up his back to clutch him closer to you, and Jungkook cried out. You left your mouth on his golden skin to stifle your moans as he sped up his fingers, and he tried to let you stay there but eventually couldn't help pulling you off him to see your face. Eyes narrowed and eyebrows turning up sharp at the ends, he watched you like a hawk to track the exact moment when he pushed you over the edge. Your face crumpled and you felt your whole body burn under his gaze as you came, squeezing around him in waves of pleasure while he fucked you through your high, unrelenting. Drinking up the bliss obvious on your features, Jungkook's eyes never left yours and his expression grew more and more fucked out. You marveled at how even as you lost control and energy to fuck him back, your body freezing in orgasm seemed to turn him on further. One last pulse of the tension leaving your core made his dick throb inside you, and you impulsively broke your eye contact to lean in and bite down slow but hard on his neck again. He gasped.

"You're amazing." Murmuring into his skin, you kissed the bite marks gently. Jungkook whimpered at the sweet contradiction and lurched into your hips even harder. You recovered to move with him, squeezing him deeper into you every time he bottomed out, and as his breathless moans escalated in pitch, his whole body shivered with each stroke. Pressing wet, heavy kisses all over his neck, you felt his jaw flutter while his lips hung open. His considerable strength spent, Jungkook shuddered one last hard thrust into you and finally let go, coating your walls from within. His hips lightly rocked against yours as he stayed deep inside you, still hard and savoring the euphoric release he'd held back for so long. You felt so incredibly warm and comfortable around his sensitive dick, relaxed but still holding him tight, and he couldn't help holding you up for a languid kiss before pulling out of you smoothly.

He briefly looked into your eyes, and you saw stars. The sun had continued to set outside, and it peeked between the blinds of his window to wrap you both in a warm, slivered glow. Staring down at his hands on your body, Jungkook took a deep breath and collapsed to your side, holding you close. You settled into him, cupping a hand over his head on your chest. With your fingers laced through his sweaty hair, you stroked his temple with your thumb, worrying for a second whether the gesture seemed too intimate but forgetting your fear when he snuggled up into your touch. You felt the need to say something, to figure out what the fuck was next after this, but stayed silent, not wanting to disturb the comforting weight of his frame. Heartbeat still racing, Jungkook stretched out to breathe a long sigh. As he sank back into you, you stretched under him too, letting his solid, warm body drape over you like a blanket. This couldn't be farther from what you'd expected with him, but you weren't about to make it stop. Surely, eventually, he would.

A minute passed. And then five. And then, before either of you could talk yourselves out of it, you were asleep, intertwined.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #college!jungkook #college au!jungkook #bts college au #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #my writing #fic: anti-hero #anti-hero #anti hero

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lins-fandom-hub · 3 years

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"Is everyone ready?"

Cedric turned to the entire group setting up the greenhouse for a joyous occasion, courtesy of Clara for telling him beforehand. Cato, Dimitri, Roman, and Bill were all in the midst of decorating the cake on site with sliced fruits and berries, Roman setting homemade chocolate chip cookies on the edge of the giant silver platter the triple-tiered chocolate cake was set on. Katriona was watching Dawn and Hillary putting up strings of colourful lights, once in a while contributing to the process by blowing balloons and levitating them to the ceiling with the Levitation Charm. Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, and Alicia were also present, setting up the giant stack of gifts in another corner of the room.

"Fred, what did I tell you about putting Stink Pellets in the gift wrapping?" Sarahi inquired, pulling out an entire pouch of the prank from Dimitri and Skylar and Roman's gifts.

Fred's ears turned red. "Hey, I thought it was funny."

"No, it's not! No one wants to have their birthday go up in stink!" Dawn protested. "Has anyone seen the streamers?"

"They clash with the lights, don't they? I took them away," Clara responded, tying off a ribbon in the flower crown for the birthday girl. "The lights should be enough."

"No, you can't have a cookie yet, Skylar!" Dimitri hissed as he saw his sister trying to take one of the cookies off the platter. "Wait till the birthday girl arrives!"

Skylar sighed at her brother--how did she get caught? She simply shrugged and put the cookie back, tucking it in the stack.

"This should be good," Cedric said with a nod as the last of the balloons floated to the ceiling. "Remember, Professor Sprout will lead Em into the greenhouses. The code word is 'wiggentree'. Only then will you surprise her--not before! We don't want to spoil it too early!"

The older students nodded solemnly.

Angelina quickly poked her head out of the greenhouse in time now to see Professor Sprout walking towards them, and she waved her hand. "Assume positions, everyone!"

Immediately, everyone went to find someplace to hide. Clara, Cato, and Skylar ended up crouching by Fred, George, and Hillary, while Sarahi, Katriona, Dimitri and Roman ended up smushing elbows with the other first years. Angelina and Cedric ran back to the others just in time--Professor Sprout had lead Em into the Greenhouse now. One could see the tip of her old patched hat to recognize her anywhere.

"Now, what's the occasion here?" Professor Sprout questioned now, feigning surprise. "I thought I brought you in here to help me tend to a few sick Wiggentrees."

"Wiggentrees? But--"

"SURPRISE!"

Everyone jumped from behind the tables, big smiles on their faces and confetti raining down on Clara's cue. Instantly, Em turned to her friends and some of her sister's friends too, her jaw dropped in awe.

"Wait, you guys did all this?" she said. "All for me on my birthday?"

"Hey, you deserve it!" Katriona reassured her with a huge grin. "Besides, it's not everyday you get to celebrate a birthday at Hogwarts."

"And what better way to celebrate it than with friends and family?" Professor Sprout added with a smile. "I must admit, you all did a wonderful job with the decorations. Mr. Diggory and Miss Lin did a wonderful job with leading the charge."

"We hope you like the cake too," Cato said then. "It took us a while to find a good recipe for the occasion." He gave Bill a nod, and Bill simply beamed back--this might not have been Molly Weasley's homemade fudge, but hopefully it was close enough.

"Cake, and presents, and all this...thank you," little Em finally managed to say. "Thank you all."

"You're welcome, Em. Happy birthday," Clara finally said, giving her sister a big hug.

---

I AM 2 DAYS LATE ON THIS. I KNOW. And this is super rushed and I feel so bad and I am super sorry! But it's here, at least it's here. And yes, what better way to celebrate a birthday than with loved ones all around?

MCs/OCs mentioned:

Cato Reese (@catohphm )

Dimitri Di Angelo, Skylar Di Angelo, Roman Rokudo (@demon-twins-and-co )

Katriona Cassiopeia (@kc-needs-coffee )

Sarahi Silvers (@dat-silvers-girl )

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hogwarts #hphm em lin #hphm clara lin #hphm bill weasley #hphm fred weasley #hphm george weasley #hphm cedric diggory #happy birthday little em #etched engraved everlasting #this is super late but haha #better late than never amirite

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

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Flashback Friday || Morgan & Luis

TIMING: Distant past, in the days of yee-haw

LOCATION: The Magick Cauldron, Houston, Texas

PARTIES: @ontheluis & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Luis wanders into a magic shop looking for some herbs, Morgan spies an opportunity, and the cards know more than either of them reckon.

CONTAINS: Mellow yee-haw vibes

“Welcome, traveler, to the Magick Cauldron! Browse at your pleasure and inquire if you have any questions!” Morgan had given the scripted greeting so many times, it came out of her in full customer service cheer every time the shop door opened. She didn’t even look up from the book she had open under the cash register anymore, but flipped another page and let the customers let her know if there was something worth talking about by shouting ‘lady!’ or coming into her peripheral view.

The Magick Cauldron was the only occult shop still standing West Houston after the Y2K stress fads had died away and the first bout of shiny, corporate development had found its way into Montrose and bulldozed a crystal shop, a Greek deli, and one of the few ladies-only gay bars in favor of a mixed use building that so far only housed a nail salon and a Jamba Juice. Ralf, the fine proprietor of the Cauldron as he called himself, said that this space was protected. As the door chimed open again and Morgan made her welcome speech, bright and shiny as the plastic plate armor hanging in the kid’s section, she wondered if he was right. She never seemed to serve more than a dozen or so customers during her shifts, but the lights stayed on, day after sweltering day. If Ralf was right, it might just be the one piece of real magic in the place, not that she could say that to anyone’s face.

The warped outline of a boy rippled over the glass counter and Morgan blinked up from her book. “Is there something I can help you with, weary traveler?” She asked wryly.

“Sorry ma’am,” Luis assured, “didn’t mean to bring the stray in here,”

Evening had fallen outside, heat from the blistering still wafting off the pavement. Telephone poles and streetlights were thin black columns that stood stark against the blazing orange and wane blues of sunset.

“Go on, git!”

At the Magick Cauldron’s threshold was an enormous black dog. Even while quietly sitting on its haunches the shaggy canine was easily as tall as the teenage boy snapped at it. Pupiless red eyes regarded Luis impassively, only an ear twitch showing that the dog wasn’t just a statue.

When the black dog gave no indication of actually entering the store nor stopping its scrutiny of Luis, the young man cut his losses and regarded the woman at the counter again.

“Here,” Luis reached into a pocket of his jeans and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it on the counter. The names of herbs and powders were written in someone else’s prime neat handwriting. “I uh don’t know what any of this is…,” he confessed.

Morgan took the paper carefully between her fingers, trying not to let her discomfort at how damp and sweaty it was show too much. It didn’t take much to figure out she was looking at an herbalist mixture for anxiety and sleeplessness. She looked up and the boy, and down to the list again. “We’ve got everything you need over here,” she said. She lead the boy over to the bulk aisle where the dried herbs and bottled oils were kept and alphabetized. “Did you want these bagged separate or together? Or--you probably don’t know how these work huh? We’ll do separate, so you can use any excess as you wish. But fair warning, we have a purchase minimum of one ounce for each item.” She put a small paper bag on the shelf in the middle of the display and started shovelling the herbs in. As she worked, she glanded sidelong at the kid and the dog that had decided to become instantly fond of him. Someone cared about them, to throw together this recipe, and he looked embarrassed enough for a kid his age to seem like he needed help. Would it be wrong to squeeze a few more dollars out of him if it so happened to brighten his day or give him some direction? Sure, he was scruffy, but not so much as to be desperate. He could afford a few extra bucks, right?

“Hey, you okay there?” Morgan asked him. “You seem a little lost. I’m getting some ‘needs direction’ vibes from you.” She gestured vaguely. “If you’re looking for Niko Niko’s, it’s just further down the street. You’re not supposed to leave your car here while you go over there, but I won’t tell. And if you need something a little less literal, I might be able to help you with that.” She nodded toward the oracle room at the back of the shop, with its hand painted sign hanging crooked from a nail and entryway draped with lavender beads. “I do have sliding scale rates, if it helps you make up your mind.”

The great black dog continued to watch Luis in silent stillness, the Barghest’s posture poised as if waiting for something.

“No offense ma’am but I don’t believe in…,” the teenager half-turned but caught sight of the enormous stray waiting for him in the darkening sunset. Those pupiless red eyes immediately filled Luis with a nameless dread. Cold sweat stained the back of his T-shirt as Luis’ skin went clammy despite the Texan heat. Luis couldn’t process why some random big-ass dog would wig him out so much. He wasn’t even afraid of it biting him or even the dog itself.

So why was his heart pounding in his temples?

“Yeah uh..s-seperate would be great,” Luis reaffirmed to Morgan needlessly. The labels on the tinctures and herbal selections blurred in his vision as Luis tried to get a handle on his thoughts. “Direction like, oh you mean to the interstate,” Luis replied in a misinterpretation of Morgan’s broader meaning. “I’m alright thanks, yeah merging on that triple hairpin by Foster is a pain in the ass but it's chill.”

Luis looked over to the oracle room with the dubiety of someone for whom the occult was just a vague ‘other’ mentioned at Mass or when abuela suggested a Sonora Market cure for whatever new cold was going around. He seemed about to decline again until the creeping skin-crawl of Barghest’s glare boring into his back made Luis amenable to any distraction.

“Yeah uh sure,” he said, taking a step towards the beaded shroud. “I’ll give it a shot.”

Morgan followed the boy’s eyes to the dog. He was looking pretty well fed for a stray, and his eyes--red, alert, sharp with an uncommon intelligence--made her shiver. Definitely supernatural. She didn’t know, how, or what, but it didn’t look good. “And I mean--” How to put this in just the right way? Or at least the more convincing way? “I mean your spirit, your chakras. Believe in your connection to the universe or not, but are you really going to say to my face that you know how you’re going to make your life worthwhile to yourself? That you know how to reach your greatest good?” No one did. Heck, she was a devout wiccan most days out of the year and even she didn’t know what her highest, greatest good looked like. “And if you’ve got the cash, I’ll throw in a cleansing, something to make--” she gestured at him vaguely, “Whatever negative heavy energy this is that’s stuck to you. Seriously, do you ever feel tired out of nowhere?” It was summer and the sun was exhausting; everyone got tired out of nowhere.

Maybe she was laying it on a little thick, but Morgan was tired of ordering off the dollar menu for dinner and she felt like she was taking her life into her own hands when she conjured money from school pens and laundry lint cotton. This kid’s money might get her a pot pie that didn’t come from the freezer, or enough tacos to last her a week, or maybe she’d blow it all on seafood, or a dress that hadn’t been worn by someone else. “I’ll ring you up first, and then we’ll see about getting the rest of you squared away.” Morgan did, and when that part of the transaction was over, she lead him into the oracle room.

In truth, the oracle room was an old storage closet with the door taken out. Morgan breezed through them and went to the antique flea market find armoire, where all the necessary items were kept. Morgan took out a small tray of tarot decks and took the one she liked best, a well loved Raider-Waite with stars on the backs and gold-gilt edges. “I’ll shuffle them myself, but you should tell me when to cut and start again and when to stop. When I’m done, you’ll spread them. You’re the one who needs to connect with the deck, after all.”

Rafael Martininez had given his son that smirking half-smile while Malia had given Luis the pale blue eyes watching Morgan shuffle cards. Sweaty light brown hair clung to his forehead beneath the Dallas Burn hat, stray strands dangling back his eyes. The lanky teenager sat awkwardly across from the cartomancer, doubting not only her veracity but that a term like destiny could even apply to someone like him.

Like many children who’re so profoundly blessed to grow up in a home of unconditional love, Luis had no idea that Rafael and Malia given him a protection rarer than talismans, weirds, or wards. Rafael had come to this country for a better life, and Malia had wanted a home that was safer then the hell she’d left. Together they’d given both dreams to their children, so Luis and his siblings would never have to go through what they had.

The freckled face that lifted to Morgan’s was innocent of hate, abuse, or fear of abandonment. Even in following a strange woman into a shrouded back room, it’d never occurred to Luis to worry about anything more sinister than carnival charlantry.

“So uh...like this ma’am,” Luis asked as he placed some cards face down on the table.

It was this very innocence in Louis that dulled the edge off Morgan’s guilt. It was wrong (if wrong was a real concept) to spoil something pure, but if she was really the worst thing that was going to happen to this kid in his teenage years, he was pretty darn lucky. At least he was getting some introspection out of the deal. Could he have gotten a tarot deck from the discount bookstore two blocks over for a quarter of what she was going to charge him, or thought everything out on his own for free? Yes. But he was also some bushy tailed high school kid; could happen wasn’t the same thing as would happen.

She’d had more instructions to give, some arbitrary waving of hands and maybe some visualization in what one of her co-workers called her ‘yoga voice’, but Louis, in his eagerness, had taken more than the requisite three cards she had planned on, wich just meant she had a ready-made excuse for the forty dollars she was going to take from him. “My, my, aren’t we eager?” She said. “What’s interesting to me already is that you have intuitively drawn out one of the more complex and energy taxing card spreads. Imperfectly, but--” She straightened them out at random until they made more of a geometric pattern. “See? I barely did anything at all. These cards must really like you. I don’t normally do something this involved, but it looks like there’s something here that wants to come out, and I’m not in the business of stifling anyone’s growth or energy.”

Morgan flipped the first card over to reveal The Fool and managed to keep her laughter light and soft. “Well, even if I hadn’t been doing this for so long, this is you, where you are right now. Don’t take the title personally, these are antiquated terms. He’s just young, and at the start of a great journey, not even begun, just on the precipice. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and the sun, see? It’s shining on him to show that the universe is aligned with his desires. The world wants you to support you, wants to see you succeed.”

The second card. The Tower. Morgan’s eyes widened. Not really vibing with the story she’d been telling, but maybe the one after… Eight of Cups. Morgan flipped over the last ones. Death and The Moon. “Hmm...Fascinating...” Morgan said, stalling for a way to spin this. “The thing about the major arcana is the magnitude of forces. Forces like destiny and fate and the collective consciousness. These forces are bigger than a ten minute fight with your friends or what you want to do after graduation, these are ‘beyond your control’. And you have four. The universe really does have plans for you, that’s kind of exciting, right?” She smiled, hoping to get some confirmation from him, or at least some more of his trust. “What does your intuition tell you about this journey, honey?”

Morgan’s performative coaxing elicited a dubious look, but the striking illustrations of the Tarot drew Luis’ attention regardless. The fool was poised with one foot over the cliff, smiling blissfully as the sun warmed his back. The tower’s blackened crenellations tumbled down the cliffside as the once indomitable edifice was battered into ruins by a storm. A haggard traveler slumped down in relief on a river bank as eight golden chalice stood resplendent over the churning rapids. Death rode on its pale horse, a scythe clutched in one skeletal hand while offering an exquisitely detailed rose. The Moon slept in the sky above a verdant shore. Wolves howled in its light while pelagic creatures breached on the lunar tide.

“Woah that art on these is something else,” admitted Luis as he squinted at the intricate illuminations, clearly sensitive to aesthetics but not the higher esoteric meaning.

Unfortunately intuition is only as good as the experiences which inform it and Luis Martinez had been sheltered from the world’s cruelty. It was a blessing to be sure, but it also made Luis unable to imagine that evil doesn’t need consent to claim you.

“My intuition is uh,” floundered the young man who had about as much affinity for divination as the average block of cedar. “The ranch’ll catch on fire, maybe a relative will die, but we’ll find like eight things that’ll make it better before the next full moon,” Luis posited.

Morgan’s stomach rumbled as the boy ogled the artwork on the cards. She was tempted to commend the kid on his ‘uncanny insight’ into the realm of the divine and take her money and run down the street for a hot stack of tacos. But the kid was so bright eyed and easily awed. She felt like she owed him at least some of her knowledge, even if she thought the tarot was psychological self-talk at best.

“Fortunately for your relatives, nothing here is quite that literal,” she said, laughing warmly. “But this journey you’re on, both within and without, is going to be perilous.” Perilous to the point of being seriously dangerous and traumatic, if this really was his subconscious sensing something on the horizon. But that wasn’t something she was going to say to his face. She wanted money without having to lie to her mother about where it came from later. “Even though your desires are upheld by the earth and stars, there will come a time when it feels as though you’ve been cast out and lost everything. But the key to staying your course is to…” What was a precious uplift-y way to spin this? “Hold fast to your sense of self. Remember the core of who you are and what you want. Because, if you do, then you will survive the upheavals, and you will be able to choose wisely what to keep, what to leave behind, and end up so strong, it’ll feel like you’ve been resurrected and leveled up into a new, better, cooler version of yourself!” She had no idea how to make sense of the moon card in a positive five star customer service rating sort of way, so she moved it underneath the spread, smiling like this had been her master plan all along.

“This card with the moon and the wolves isn’t your endgame, it’s an indicator of the vehicle, the thing that encompases the whole. All this massive change ahead of you isn’t necessarily going to be visible to everyone. It comes from within, sometimes hidden, like how you can only see the stars when it’s dark out and most of the world is asleep, and wolves howl when the world is in shadows. It’s like that. And it’s going to be amazing.”

Morgan checked her watch and slumped back in her chair as if she were exhausted. Not a hard thing to do when it was this hot out. “So, that’s gonna be forty dollars for the energy and the insight. Technically, with how many cards you pulled, it should be a little more, but I can tell you’re taking a risk on something new here and I want to honor that. But we can keep going if you have any more questions!”

“Vehicle huh...not sure dad’s gonna let me spraypaint moons and wolves on the truck,” Luis mused, perhaps taking the ‘vehicle’ thing a bit too literally or not wanting to think too hard about the possibility of his life changing.

Luis looked over the intricately illustrated cards, eyebrows wrinkling as he tried to parse through the profound chicanery Morgan had spouted. A bite of the lower lip hinted that Luis had never really encountered those who could appear to say everything while stating nothing particularly specific.

“Well shiiiii..,” the teenager breathed before glancing up at Morgan and catching himself with a small hssk of inhalation, as if some inner parental voice had scolded him about cursing in front of a lady. “That was pretty cool,” he amended, clearly at a loss before everything he’d been told, too polite to claim he didn’t believe any of it, but also too much a child of modernity to heed the weird feeling in his gut that recognized something...hit different...about this chance prophecy.

Luis grinned bashfully and unknowingly let fate’s final warning pass him by.

“Forty bucks huh, I’ll havta explain that somehow,” the young man noted with the mild consternation of someone blessed enough to just worry about a family member who’d be more peeved about gas money going to “fortuneteller” then the actual cash itself.

The bills slid across the table after some awkward wallet-riffling. “Thank you ma’am.”

Morgan snatched up the bills and shoved them down her shirt before the kid could change his mind. Whatever ominous feelings his subconscious were trying to air out was no concern for her. She had too many problems of her own to bother with anyone else’s. “It takes a long time to read the cards,” she drawled smugly. “And lots of energy, to open oneself and reach beyond the veil.” She waved her fingers as if to say tootles, and went back to fanning herself until he was gone.

She helped a lady find some yarrow and made up a policy about consultation fees to get another $10 in her pocket. She was using her agency to bridge the gap between minimum shop girl wage and living wage, working her will to get the right kind of energy flowing her way. Mostly, the energy of not-starving and not invoking the ire of darkness from using alchemy to get ahead. It didn’t line up with the rest of what she understood, neutral magic forces should be lining up to help her right her cosmic access and be less chronically miserable, but that was a problem to untangle another day.

At the end of her shift, Morgan shuffled the cards once again and lined them up on the cleansing plate the shopkeeper wanted the used decks put on. By chance, or so she told herself, she picked up the topmost card to see what was there for her. But it was just the death card, and Morgan knew the last thing that was gonna happen to her life was a hard reset. She stuck it back in the middle of the deck and slipped away into the long shadows that marked the summer evening.

#flashback friday #wr luis #wr chatzy #wr luis chatzy

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bitofbookishness · 3 years

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Thanks @studylikegeller for these great questions!

I'm quite behind on this (◕︵◕), so I'll be answering some of the general questions from May to August.(ᵔᴥᵔ)

MAY

What are the 3 books that make you really happy?

That's a hard one to answer! I guess the Harry Potter books, Rosamunde Pilcher's Winter Solstice, and Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility.

What is your favorite short story?

I've definitely read a lot that I've liked, but I couldn't say I have a favourite. Mostly because the length doesn't really do it for me.

Do you read biographies? Do you have a favorite?

Oh yes, I love to read biographies, particularly of authors and their books. I think among my favourites would be Humphrey Carpenter's The Inklings, and Claudia Roth Pierpont's Passionate Minds.

JUNE

Have you ever read a banned book? Which one?

Oh yes, lots.

Do you prefer physical books or ebooks?

Physical books. Ebooks don't really get a look in with me. Hard to find at op shops and secondhand book sales, you know!

What book(s) did you read in one sitting?

Most of the Harry Potter books the first time I read each one, and some re-reads, or they were near to one sitting. My favourite experiences were: GoF when I recieved it for Christmas from one sibling, and a Harry Potter tin full of butter biscuits from another sibling. I sat in my room all Boxing Day reading and eating those biscuits. Still have that copy of GoF, and still have that tin! Another time was visiting my parents to help with weeding my mother's huge gardens, but it rained so much and was so cold, that I sat in front of the wood heater all day reading GoF again. And another time, I was so absorbed in PoA that I took it with me to walk the dog through the countryside, and sat on a grassy hill to read for a while while she dozed beside me. Last month, reading HBP and DH again got me through a lot of pain recovering from jaw surgery that I just had.

Are you a poet/writer yourself?

Sorta, kinda. I like to write a bit every now and then, but sustaining work is always my weakness.

AUGUST

How do you organize your bookshelf?

Higgeldy piggeldy. And it's bookshelves, not a bookshelf, and there are also triple-stacked cubbies in the tv unit, a thoroughly stuffed shelf in the quite big linen closet, and several plastic crates in storage in the garden shed. Oh yes, and lots of extra recipe books in the harder to reach parts of the pantry. And a stack of gardening books and Dutch books piled up behind the kitchen counter. I've tried being more orderly, and find it just as hard to find books. And then woe to me if I buy more books and have to fit them in to a tightly packed system!

Do you like reading romances? Do you have a favorite?

Sometimes. I don't like them steamy though. I like ones that explore character more than being coathangers for sexual situations. I'm just a prude like that! I'd say my favourites are Dash and Lily's Book of Dares, and Winter Solstice. I want to add, that I find it very refreshing when stories are written without the need to add romance in.

What is the one book you think one should at least read once in life?

Too subjective! That said, The Bible, especially for Westerners. And for Christians, it should be the whole thing, lots of times! And I also must point out, that one doesn't have to take it literally just because some people do! And yes, it's self-contradictory; you would be too if you'd been written over hundreds of years!¯\(°_o)/¯

Thanks for reading!

,___, [O.o] /)__) -“–”-

#2021readingchallenge #2021bookclub #actually read a lot 2021 #books #reading

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

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One Foot In (2/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K this chapter that I don’t remember writing AN: Hello, lovely internet! You are lovely and have said some very nice things about this mess of words, so I really cannot thank you enough for that. Today we’ve got banter on banter, triple berry pie, and some plans for the future. Of which there can now be one, because Killian Jones was dead and he isn’t anymore.

@shireness-says @optomisticgirl @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488, @greymeetsblue, @jennjenn615, @heavenlyjoycastle, @klynn-stormz, @superchocovian, @onepunintendid, @jonesfandomfanatic, @lfh1226-linda

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-two days and, approximately, thirteen hours old when she is forced to stave off a panic attack in the viewing room of Storybrooke’s lone funeral home.

It feels as if all the oxygen has been forcibly yanked out of the room, spots appearing in front of her eyes and vision swimming. The tandem seems a little bit like overkill, but Emma knows she doesn’t really have a leg to stand on this particular situation because, in this particular situation, the man standing a few inches away from her is supposed to be dead.

In that coffin a few more inches away from her.

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles, running a ragged hand over her face and she can only imagine what her face looks like. Probably a little crazed. And blotchy. She always gets blotchy when she’s stressed out.

She’s started coming up with a new pie recipe in her head.

And Killian won’t stop staring at her.

That’s fair. Really, all things considered, that’s more than fair because there hasn’t been much of an explanation yet, but there wasn’t really time and— “Oh my God,” Emma repeats, and that time Killian arches an eyebrow. He takes a cautious step towards her, like he’s approaching a dangerous animal they found in the woods and the metaphor checks out.

She takes another step back – only to crash directly into a chair. It would really suck if she broke several different bones in addition to breaking the most basic laws of the universe.

Emma exhales.

That is a mistake. She can’t seem to stop doing that.

“Swan,” he says slowly, as if he’s nervous she’s going to explode and it doesn’t really feel like that. It feels like every one of her bodily systems is shutting down one by one and Emma wishes her eyes could focus on something.

She looks at Killian.

That is another mistake. Like. The biggest mistake. He’s definitely better looking as an adult.

“Emma,” Killian says, ducking his head to get into his eye line and, honestly, that just seems unfair. She can’t remember the last time he called her Emma. It must be, at least, twenty-two years and that number sounds ridiculous in her head, but it’s been so long and so much has happened and he’s supposed to be dead.

She couldn’t let him be dead.

“Emma. Swan, I’m not entirely sure what we’re supposed to do next, but you’re doing that thing with your jaw and it’s giving me pause.”

She blinks – and clenches her jaw. “I’m not doing anything with my jaw.” “Please, I may only be recently alive. Realive? Reborn? Oh God, no, that’s worse, isn’t it?” Emma’s laugh is strangled and awkward, but she’s ninety-six percent positive he’s doing it to make her feel better and that seems fairly par for the course. If only a little unfair because he was, in fact, dead three minute before.

“I don’t think reborn makes much sense really,” she mumbles. “And realive is just...you’re not a zombie or anything.” “No human brains involved, then?” “No. I mean...no, no human brains.” “That pause also gave me pause.” “I really doubt you’re going to have a sudden desire to eat human anything, so long as you weren’t a cannibal to begin with.” His answering laugh is like coming up for air after several decades of being stuck under a particularly aggressive current. It’s exactly the way Emma remembers it, and if she’s being honest with herself she never really tried to forget it. It’s bright, like its own source of light and happiness and both of those things seem to shift across his face in slow motion until they reach his eyes and everything is blue and normal and directed straight at Emma.

She takes a deep breath.

“Were you a cannibal to begin with?” she asks. Mistake number sixty-seven, at least, makes Killian laugh again.

He shakes his head. “Not as such, no. Although I’d probably kill somebody for a hamburger.” “That’s aggressive.” “I’d imagine dying would do that to you.” Emma groans, not entirely out of frustration, but mostly because he keeps throwing around that word like it’s not the cause of the clench in her jaw. Her jaw is starting to ache. “No zombie tendencies,” she says, rehashing old and unnecessary points in a misplaced attempt to regain some control of the situation. It certainly doesn’t work when Killian runs his hand through his hair. “And I...well, we can probably get you food at some point.” “That so?” “I mean...I’d imagine you’d like to eat eventually.” “I feel like you’re asking me out on a date, Swan.”

The flush she feels in her cheeks at those particular words in that particular order do not make any sense considering the situation, but Emma has lost complete control of both the situation and her own bodily functions, so whatever.

Licking her lips, she ignores the way Killian’s eyes dart towards her mouth. It is genuinely unfair how long his hair is. She keeps losing her train of thought.

“I’m mostly just trying to figure out how to get you out of here,” she says. “I don’t…” Emma glances around, not sure what she’s looking for exactly and it is a genuine miracle of the universe that Ruby has not knocked on this door yet.

The miracle ends rather abruptly.

“Emma,” Ruby hisses, voice barely audible over what sounds like several different limbs colliding with the door.

Killian freezes, eyes wide when his head snaps towards Emma. She’s going to do permanent damage to her jaw.

She does something ridiculous with her hands – an attempt to keep him quiet without actually telling him to keep quiet – and her heart stutters when she notices him pull his lips back behind his teeth to stop from laughing. Strictly speaking, she probably shouldn’t be counting that as some kind of personal victory, but it’s been that kind of day and Emma is more than willing to blame either the cut of his suit or that one piece of hair behind his left ear or, the most likely culprit, how he keeps trying to rock into her space like he can’t actually stop himself from moving towards her.

Killian winks at her.

It’s absurd.

Her pulse does not care.

It kind of feels like she’s suffocating. It’s not entirely unpleasant. Except for what she assumes is stress-related acid reflux in the back of her throat. Because that feeling is certainly not guilt or regret or the several dozen things she should have told Killian Jones before he died.

Ruby is definitely throwing her entire body at the door. “Emma,” she says. “Either you’re doing something entirely unacceptable in that room or you’ve been in there for way too long!” Emma closes her eyes at that, her whole body drooping forward with the force of her sigh and she can’t even bring herself to look at Killian. He also kind of sounds like he’s suffocating. On his own laughter.

The universe is toying with Emma. There’s no other explanation.

“Also,” Ruby continues, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of response to her monologue. “The director is starting to get suspicious and I think he’s got places to go with that coffin. Like graveyard things and they’ve got to move and we’ve got to get out of here before someone realizes what we’re—”

Emma curses, drawing a wide-eyed look out of Killian because he remembers her as a nine-year-old kid with mud on her knees and a questionable obsession with winning bike races. She ignores the flash of disappointment she feels at that, moving across the room as quickly as she can and barely opening the door before she slides back into the hallway.

Ruby gapes at her.

“What the hell have you been doing in there?” she demands, stepping on the toe of Emma’s boot like that’s some kind of reprimand.

“Not any of the things you so were discreetly suggesting.” “Ok, I didn’t really think you were desecrating the body—” “—Jeez, Rubes. That’s...that’s a human being.” “I’m not questioning that. What I am questioning is what took so long and whether or not I can go home and pay off my credit card statements for several new pairs of Manolo Blahniks.” “That’s not practical at all for field work, you know that right?” “Not all of us are tied to our job,” Ruby says pointedly, and there is not enough oxygen in the entire world for Emma to sigh as loudly as she wants to. “But speaking of jobs...any pertinent information on this one?” Emma does her best not to use any of her tells. She does, really. She doesn’t move her feet, doesn’t reach up to grab the ends of a ponytail that seems to have just given up at some point. And she certainly doesn't allow her eye to twitch.

None of it seems to matter.

Because Ruby blinks and lifts her eyebrows, judgments and questions all but radiating off her and it’s a losing battle Emma probably shouldn’t have ever started. Emma is, for all intents and purposes, the world’s worst liar.

It’s not usually a problem. She doesn’t talk to enough people for it to become a problem. That, however, was before a not-dead Killian Jones was on the other side of the door behind her and her partner could read her almost as well as that same not-dead Killian Jones and he shouldn’t be able to read her that well.

Still. Or always. Or whatever.

Emma lets out a ragged breath, a pitiful attempt at a smile on her face. “Nothing,” she lies, and Ruby’s eyebrows practically disappear into her hair. “He uh...didn’t know anything.” “He didn’t know anything?” “Nope.” “Nope?” “Are we just going to repeat each other for the rest of time or, like, until one of us dies?” “Well, we’re in the right place for it, aren’t we?” Ruby asks, the sarcasm dripping off the words and landing on Emma’s feet until it soaks through her boots and leaves her socks damp in the most uncomfortable way. At least metaphorically.

Emma scowls. “Hysterical. I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Rubes. The guy didn’t know anything about anything.” “The guy?” “You are repeating me again.” “Why are you calling him that? Two hours ago you were offended that I referred to him as a body and now—” “—Well, that’s just rude, that’s why,” Emma interrupts, ignoring the look on Ruby’s face. “I mean...he’s a person and we should, you know, respect the dead.” Ruby tilts her head, smile turning incredulous. “Yuh huh.”

Emma groans, letting her head fall back, which is definitely mistake, like, eighty-four at this point because it’s a very solid door and the pain feels as if it’s lingering at the base of her skull and growing, moving down her neck and into her shoulders until every inch of her feels heavy and impossible and decidedly wrong.

She’s done something wrong.

She is wrong.

“Ok,” Ruby nods, a sudden and jarring acceptance that Emma doesn’t entirely trust. “You say the guy doesn’t know anything about how he died, then he doesn’t know anything about how he died. Because I believe you. Partner.”

“That is heavy handed,” Emma accuses, but all she gets is a shrug.

“No, no, my dear Emma. That is a fact. I believe you and I trust you. And I know that this is...a touchy subject for you. I won’t pry because—” “—You won’t pry?” “No,” Ruby says, a note of finality in her voice. “I won’t. At least not now. Because you're doing that ridiculous thing with your jaw and toying with your fingers and if your eye twitches any more, it’s actually going to fall on the floor.” “That rhymed too.” “That was also unintentional. My point still stands.”

Emma sighs, a breath of frustration and confusion and that same guilt she hasn’t been able to shake for the better part of the last two decades. She can’t hear anything through the door behind her.

She hopes he sat in a chair or something.

It’d be weird if he sat in the coffin.

“And the point is?” Ruby doesn’t quite haul off and punch her, but the fist that collides with Emma’s shoulder is certainly more than a tap. “Oh my God,” Emma grumbles. “What the hell was that?” “That was the visual representation of my annoyance with you today. This was good money and now we’ve got to do actual investigating to figure it out.” “Isn’t that your job?” “Not recently,” Ruby groans. “I hate working in the field. My shoes are totally inappropriate for it.”

“This is what I was saying.” Ruby makes a noise in the back of her throat – almost a growl and it sounds a little predatory, but Emma can’t back up any farther. She’s already a little worried she inadvertently concussed herself before. “Ok, tell me something, and I expect God's honest truth because we are somewhere God is watching.” “This is not a church.” “Shut up, the truth, Em, you got it?” Emma nods slowly, nerves churning in the pit of her stomach and she can dimly make out the funeral director hovering at the other end of the hall. They’ve probably disrupted his entire schedule. “Was Killian Jones as dreamy as an adult as you thought he was when you were nine?” In the grand scheme of questions Ruby could have demanded answers to, that is probably the last thing Emma expects. It shouldn’t be, because this is Ruby and the day appears to be going a very specific kind of way, but the question still catches her off guard and, if asked, she will blame both of those things for the next few words that fall out of her mouth.

“Yeah, he was,” Emma mumbles, and Ruby makes a noise that’s somewhere between generic triumph and a pretty spot on impression of some kind of barnyard animal. “Oh my—Ruby, Ruby, shut up, shut up.”

Emma pushes on Ruby’s shoulder when she sags forward, laughter shaking its way through her body. It doesn’t really do much. “That funeral director is staring at us,” Emma whispers. “And you are not helping the situation at all.” “And what situation would that be? Exactly?” Those questions sound far more charged than the one about Killian’s overall state of dreaminess, especially when they’re combined with that knowing look and particular quirk of lips and the floor creaks when the funeral director moves towards them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says, not sounding sorry at all and Emma suppresses a shudder at the tone of his voice. He gives her the creeps. “But I will have to ask you two to leave. The deceased has to be moved.” “Moved?” Emma echoes.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s...well, he’s dead, ma’am.” “I’m aware.” Ruby throws her a warning glare, but Emma’s stubborn and, well...stubborn. She pushes away from the door, crossing her arms and waiting for an explanation to a question she hasn’t actually asked. The funeral director is a total creep.

Something is wrong.

She knows it.

She just can’t figure out what.

“The cemetery, ma’am,” he says. “We need to move the body to the cemetery so it can be, well...buried. As the deceased’s family requested.” “Do they actually have to request that?” Ruby asks, an entirely out of place question while Emma is fighting off another panic attack and she hadn’t really considered that. She hears something shift in the room behind her.

The funeral director’s eyes dart up, staring over Emma’s shoulder as if he can see a ghost there. “Did you hear that?” “Nope,” Emma says, another incredibly bad lie. “Nothing. There’s...nothing in there, but, you know, dead bodies. One. There’s one dead body in there.” Ruby mumbles a very creative string of curses under her breath.

“Right,” the funeral director says, drawing the word out in complete and obvious disbelief. “Well, the deceased's family is here and they’re looking to get this show on the road, so to speak.” “I really doubt they said that,” Emma mutters. Ruby’s next curse does not sound like it’s in English.

“True. But I still need you two out of here. Now.” He says it with something Emma assumes he believes is authority, turning on his heels before she can begin to formulate an inappropriately snarky response. Ruby kicks her.

“Ow,” Emma gasps. “What the hell was that for?” “You’re asking me that? What the hell were you on about just now? This is...we’ve got a connect here and it’s easier to get information before we get to the morgue—”

“—You love going to the morgue, don’t even try to lie to me like that. You get to flirt and use that face thing and—” “—I do not have a face thing.” “You do too,” Emma argues. “You have several face things and one face thing in particular for Victor because it always works and he ignores how awful it is that we show up whenever a new dead body does.” “He gets paid!” “Yell that a little louder, please.” Ruby growls again, all annoyance and frustration and balled up fists lifted in the air. “God, I hate when you’re right. Why are you getting all high and mighty about Killian Jones?” “I’m not.” “Emma.” “I’m not! I’m...listen, I lived here for some very formative years of my life and Killian Jones was…” “Very formative?” Ruby prompts.

Emma shrugs. “More or less. Listen, he didn’t know anything about what happened. He...I mean he’s missing his hand and that’s got to be some kind of clue right?” “Are we looking for clues now?” “Ruby, you are a private investigator. With a growing shoe collection that is going to put you in debtors prison.” “Please, they don’t have debtors prison anymore. The IRS would just come for me.” “And you want to explain all those cash-only payments that are suspiciously off the book?”

Ruby’s eyes narrow until they’re barely more than slivers on her face and Emma grins like she’s not in the middle of a complete and utter disaster. “God I hate when you’re right,” she says again. “Alright. We’ll see if we can figure something out.”

It takes her a few steps to realize Emma isn’t following her towards the front door, nearly tripping over her own feet when she spins back around. “Why are you standing there still?” “I, uh...I think I may go to the service,” Emma says evasively. She’s genuinely the worst liar in every known universe. “You know, just to pay my respects.” “Didn’t you do that when you undeaded him?” “That doesn’t even make any sense. He was dead and then he wasn’t dead and—” “Now he’s dead again?” “Who do you think I am, Ruby?” Ruby shrugs, lower lip jutted out and Emma can practically hear the gears moving in her head. “I’m starting to wonder if I actually know. You’re really sure he didn’t know who killed him?” “I am not trying to keep the reward for myself.” “I didn’t say that.” “You didn’t have to.”

Ruby clicks her tongue, digging her heels into the carpet. There’s a hint of blush on her cheeks. Emma appreciates that. “Yeah, that was kind of a dick move, huh?” she mutters. “I know you wouldn't do that. Seriously.” “Good. Listen, you don’t...there’s a bus station a couple blocks away from here.” “You’re not even going to drive me home?” Emma shrugs. “It’s probably a long service.” “It is incredible how bad you are at lying.” Ruby stares at her, like she’s looking for the truth lingering between Emma’s eyebrows or the tilt of her mouth, but she sighs when she, presumably, doesn’t find anything. “Fine,” she says. “I will take the bus home. If I die I fully expect you to bring me back to life, understood?”

Emma doesn’t actually stumble backwards, but it’s a pretty close thing. She bites her lower lip hard enough that she draws blood, the tang of it flooding her mouth and doing a pretty piss poor job of keeping her grounded.

It feels as if her head has separated itself from the rest of her body and is just floating above her, drifting into the atmosphere where there is a distinct lack of oxygen.

Digging her nails into her palms is another misplaced attempt at control through pain that she wishes her subconscious would stop relying on. It just ends with her hissing in a breath of unfulfilling air and Ruby’s eyebrows shifting again and—

“That’s not a funny joke,” Emma grumbles.

“It wasn’t a joke. It was an instruction. I don’t care about the rules. That’s that. As they say.” “They?” “The eponymous they who decree what happens in the universe. Does this bus come often?”

“I haven’t lived here in a very long time.” “You’re no help at all,” Ruby sighs, but she does reach out and give Emma’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. It’s at least an attempt at a comforting squeeze. It would probably feel better if Emma were getting the necessary oxygen to her brain to retain its higher functions. “Ok, I’m leaving now. You’ll probably continue being...a giant weirdo. I’ll see you downstairs tomorrow morning with anything I can find.”

Emma nods, not entirely trusting herself to talk as she fumbles for the door handle behind her. Ruby casts one more curious glance around the hallway, probably looking for more clues or signs that Emma has messed with the tremulous balance of the universe, but there’s nothing and Killian doesn’t sound like he’s knocked anything else over.

“Ok, cool,” Ruby says, not sounding ok or cool.

Emma counts to ten in her head – and then counts to twenty for good measure, the metal of the doorknob cool in her grip. Breathing is still a very particular challenge, but Killian isn’t dead and Emma refuses to acknowledge the idea of cemeteries and burials and she’s flying by the seat of several metaphorical pants.

She opens the door.

He’s leaning back against the goddamn coffin. Smiling. At her.

“So,” Killian says conversationally, arching an eyebrow. “That seemed to go well. I’d imagine there are some things going on here that you’re not telling me.” “There wasn’t really time.” He hums, mouth twisted into something that looks a little patronizing and kind of flirty. Emma doesn’t know how to deal with either one of those things. “Because of those seconds you mentioned before.” “Yeah, exactly that. Listen, Killian we don’t really have—” “Time,” he cuts in. “Yeah, I’ve got that. Did that guy out there say my uncles were here?” “What?” “I’d imagine that’s the family he was talking about. Since that’s the only family I’ve got.” “What?” “Swan, you can’t just keep squawking the same question at me, we’ll only end up going in circles.” “Squawking?” Emma repeats, and she definitely does exactly that. Her voice even cracks. It’s absurd. That may just be Killian’s smile.

Her smile. Definitely her smile.

“Just like that,” he says, moving away from the coffin. It wobbles precariously on its perch and Emma thanks several gods she doesn’t entirely believe in that it hasn’t fallen over at some point. “So I’ll ask again. Are my uncles here?” “I don’t know. But, um...the guy was talking about family and, well, they want to bury you.” “That generally happens when one dies.” “You’re taking this all very easily,” Emma says, not sure why she’s pointing it out when she’s certain any other reaction would only prove more problematic than the problems they’re already dealing with.

“Well, you look a little frazzled. It seemed rude to add my own emotions to the mix.”

She scoffs – disbelieving and entirely believing because the Killian Jones she always knew would do exactly that, in any situation, even twenty years later with a coffin involved. “I’m so sorry,” Emma whispers, the apology working its way out of her without her explicit permission.

Killian blinks, mouth opening with a soft pop. “That’s what you said before. Right before you left. You apologized. I didn’t understand it then either.” “You remember that?” “I remember quite a bit, Swan.” “Yeah, me too, actually.” She feels like she’s admitting to something much bigger – possibly even bigger than the apology and it might be why she couldn't will her lips to go any farther a few minutes before. He couldn’t be dead. It didn’t make sense.

None of this makes sense.

“So,” Killian continues, another step into Emma’s space. There are far too many chairs in this room. “You keep doing that too. Moving. Is the dead thing freaking you out?” Emma shakes her head. “No, that’s it.”

“Then…”

“I need you to stop trying to move so close to me.” “Ah, so it’s me, then? That’s...admittedly disappointing.” The butterflies in the pit of Emma’s stomach appear suddenly and rather violently, threatening to fly up her throat and out of her mouth and she’s suddenly filled with so much energy that it’s impossible not to tap her fingers against the side of her thigh. Killian presses his tongue into the corner of his mouth. “Oh my God, stop that,” Emma mutters absent-mindedly, and they both blink when they realize what she’s said. “It’s...that’s distracting.” “Am I distracting you, Swan?” “From trying to figure out how we’re going to get you out of here? Yes.” “Ah, yeah, I’d imagine just walking out the door would probably cause that creepy sounding funeral director to have several different medical issues, huh?” “You thought he was creepy?” Killian makes a face. “He sounded creepy didn’t he? I mean, admittedly that may just be because he kept calling me the deceased and it’s kind of messing with my psyche, but…” “Is your psyche being messed with?” Emma asks, and that time she’s the one who steps forward, instinct and long-dormant magnets and whatever the butterflies are still doing. She’s going to have fingernail-shaped crevices in her palm for the rest of her life.

“Seems inevitable.” “Ah, that sucks.” “It’s not your fault, Swan.”

Emma makes a contradictory noise in the back of her throat, tugging her lips behind her teeth. And Killian grins at her. It seems unfair. For him and her and some kind of collective them.

She considers that for a moment – a collective unit with collective pronouns and some kind of team of non-death related emotions and for that half a moment Emma allows herself to believe it’s even a possibility, she feels herself smiling as well, a certainty and something that almost resembles calm and she wants it so much she’s surprised to find she’s not actually shaking with it. She couldn’t let him be dead.

“We need to get you out of here,” Emma announces.

“Any ideas how to do that?” She shakes her head, tugging the elastic out of her hair and all but yanking the strands over her shoulder and she’s fairly certain she doesn’t imagine the way Killian’s eyes widen slightly at that. “You alright?” she asks, and he nods brusquely. “I mean you know…” “I know what you meant, Swan. I’ll let you know if I’m drifting towards any perilous cliffs of emotional breakdown.” He chuckles at his own joke, flashing a grin her direction when he starts pacing the room as if a hidden door or secret compartment will suddenly appear. “The creepy funeral director said they were going to the cemetery, right?” “I’d imagine that’s where they usually put the bodies, yes.” “Was that a joke?” “It might be a defense mechanism.” “Yeah, I understand that,” Killian nods. “Eventually you’re going to have to tell me about those rules that were being discussed before.” Emma doesn’t exactly freeze. She definitely tenses, though, every one of her muscles objecting at the abrupt position she’s forced them into. “What?” she breathes, and Killian laughs again.

“C’mon, now, Swan, it’s Storybrooke. Everything here is several hundred years old and probably a historic artifact. Shoddy craftsmanship in this building. Also, unless you’ve learned how to tap dance in the last twenty years, you’re doing a very good job of avoiding being in several feet of me. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” “Smart guy.” “Perceptive,” he corrects. “So, what do you say, eventually you’ll tell me about the rules of this little arrangement we seem to find ourselves in?” “Is that what we’re going to refer to it as?” “Eh, might as well. What did you call it? A defense mechanism? Seems to be the same kind of thing almost.” “Or drifting dangerously close to that breakdown precipice.” Killian shakes his head, moving quicker than Emma expects and he’s only a few inches away from her. She swears she can feel the heat rolling off him. Like the world is trying to prove a point. “No precipice, love,” he promises, but Emma barely hears him over the rushing in her ears and the thundering sound of her own pulse and he’s never called her that before.

He doesn’t seem to realize he’s done it.

“I’d really rather not be buried alive though,” Killian continues. “Now that I am alive again.” Emma rolls her eyes. “Stop that.”

That grin should be illegal. Or deadly. God.

He salutes at her. That’s even worse than the smile.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” “You know Nemo used to be in the Navy?” “I did not.” “Oh, yeah, very proper, very structured and then he met Shakespeare when he was on leave one day and everything changed.” “That so?” “Absolutely,” Killian says, moving towards the only window in the room and the glass creaks when he slides it open. “Nemo was in port, didn’t feel like drinking his guts out, or so he likes to say when he tells the story, and he decided to do something refined. By taking in a vaudeville show, of course.” “Of course. How high up are we?” “Not high. We should probably close that coffin, don’t you think?” “It was closed when I got in here,” Emma says, doing her best to close it as quietly as possible and it still sounds far too loud. Killian is half hanging out the window.

The whole thing is inching dangerously close to farce.

“Then I can’t imagine they’ll double check on it when we both leave,” Killian says. “Anyway, where was I?” “Vaudeville. True love conquering all.” “I don't think I got that far, Swan. You’re ruining the flow of the story.” She hums, some more misplaced sarcasm and possible flirting and Killian groans when he slings his legs over the windowsill. “Anyway,” he continues. “Nemo went to the show, took one look at Shakespeare and realized that maybe it was worth putting down some roots for a little while, that the appeal of the sea wasn’t wonderful and glorious—” “—He used those exact words?” “He did. Do you want to jump out the window after me, Swan?” “I don’t see any other choice. Although I’m not sure how we’ll get it back down.” Killian waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Maybe they forgot they opened it in the first place. It gets stuffy in rooms like this anyway.” “That’s leaving quite a lot to chance, don’t you think?” “I do not think. C’mon on now, where’s my slightly adventurous, ready to take on the world Swan?”

Emma straightens slightly – the words moving into the spaces between her ribs and wrapping around her heart. They grip tightly, almost on the wrong side of painful, but it’s also kind of warm and a bit familiar and Killian keeps looking at her like he’s simply been waiting for her to come back. To him. And them.

Collectively.

“She grew up,” Emma says, and Killian clicks his tongue in reproach.

“Ah, you don’t want to do that, love. It’s not nearly as fun.” “What happened to Nemo?” “True love conquered all, naturally. He and Shakespeare started talking and there were some drinks involved, probably a few questionably funny nautical jokes—Nemo loves those, you know. And then they decided that was it for them. They were it. Nemo left the force and started following Shakespeare around and they were entertaining and then, well...you know the rest.”

Emma nods, because she does know the rest and it would probably be weird if she apologized again. She opens her mouth anyway, not sure what she’ll say, but there are footsteps coming down the hall and voices joining the footsteps and she hisses go before she can consider saying anything else.

Killian winks again. And jumps out the goddamn window.

Emma nearly dislocates several different joints when she follows, but she does and, somehow, manages to yank the window, mostly, down in the process – a move she’s certain she’d never be able to duplicate.

“That was impressive, Swan,” Killian says, brushing a few stray pieces of grass off his pants. “Should we dramatically escape now?” Emma mumbles something that may be oh my God under her breath, but she doesn’t actually disagree and he resolutely refuses to sit in the backseat of her car as they drive out of Storybrooke.

“So, let me get this straight, you touch people, they’re not dead and then you touch them again and they’re—“

“—Dead forever, yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

Killian tilts his head, and Emma resists the very real urge to run into her kitchen, hide in her freezer and never come out. She assumes that would be slightly immature.

It’s hours and several slices of pie later, Killian’s slightly stunned laugh that you opened a pie restaurant, Swan echoing in between her ears still, and, as promised, she’s started to explain some of the rules.

Some of them.

Not all of them.

Not one of them. Specifically.

She’s circled right back around to immature.

But touching her childhood sweetheart twenty minutes before he was slated to be buried and then keeping him alive, despite the so-called rules of the universe, seems a little immature. All things considered. So, maybe, she’s just on some kind of roll at this point.

She genuinely cannot cope with that one piece of hair falling across his face.

Or whatever it appears he’s doing with his eyebrows.

He did not know how to do that when he was nine.

“So I’d imagine kissing you really is entirely out of the question.”

Emma nearly falls over. “Excuse me?”

“Relax, Swan,” Killian mutters, leaning dangerously far over the counter and he grins when she clicks her tongue in reproach. “It was a joke.”

“You were dead six hours ago, how could you possibly be in the mood for jokes?”

He shrugs, an air of nonchalance that feels decidedly forced. “How did you figure out you could do this?”

The fear that slinks down Emma’s spine isn’t exactly cold, which, really, is kind of strange, but until that moment she hadn’t realized an emotion could have a temperature. It’s not cold, but it’s kind of…prickly, as if it’s desperate to remind her of what’s going on and what she’d done and how she absolutely cannot possibly tell Killian about any of it.

She pushes a plate of pie towards him. Triple berry. Which, if memory serves, is his favorite. The grin turns into something closer to a smirk.

“Eat,” she says.

“You keep trying to feed me, you know. This is not the cheeseburger I requested earlier. Isn’t there something about last meals?”

“This is not your last meal. Also I do not have any cheeseburgers here. This is a pie restaurant.”

“Does that do good business?” “Are you worried about my bottom line?” He shakes his head, “Not in that sense.”

“Killian!”

His eyes widen at the sound of his own name, and it’s not the first time she’s said it, but it kind of feels that way and they were definitely flirting and Emma is far too preoccupied with how close their fingers are to be worried about anything happening to his face. She jerks her hand back to her side, breath catching in her throat and this was a mistake.

Ruby is going to kill her.

The hiding in the kitchen plan is starting to get even more appealing.

“You’re still not very good at avoiding the subject,” Killian murmurs, glancing up at her from underneath his eyelashes. “Alright, we’ll try a different approach. How’d you know I was dead?”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you not hear the question or…you haven’t been back in Storybrooke for awhile.”

“Twenty years, in fact.” He hums, leaning forward again to grab a fork. Emma cannot fathom how he knows where she keeps her forks. That sentence sounds ridiculous even in her head.

“Long time,” Killian muses. “And you what? Wanted to pay your respects? Did you actually see Nemo or Shakespeare?” “I was doing a very good job of avoiding them.” “Were you now?” “You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are,” Emma mutters. Killian needs to stop doing whatever he’s doing with his mouth.

“Why didn’t you ever come back?” “What?”

“You keep repeating yourself, Swan. It’s a very straightforward question.” “No, it’s not.” Killian makes a vaguely interested noise – which is, actually, kind of nice because Emma knows he’s more than interested and definitely holding back and he’s still far too good at reading her. It’s disconcerting. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal, Swan,” he says. “You don’t have to answer the questions you think are more than complicated and neither do I. But we don’t actually lie to each other. I...I’m not sure I can cope with you lying to me, love.” His voice stumbles a bit on the last few words, a hint of emotion and another endearment Emma is positive he doesn’t realize he keeps drifting to. He glances at her again, the look almost brimming with every single emotion she hadn’t understood when she was nine, but still kind of feels when she’s twenty-nine.

Emma huffs, a sigh and a pointed eye roll as Killian sticks a fork into his slice of pie. “I, uh…know these things. About death. And dead people.”

“You know these things? Are you also some kind of soothsayer?”

“Ok, c’mon, that’s not even—“

“—Funny?” Killian challenges, and Emma cannot glare hard enough when he does something else with his mouth. “I think it’s absolutely hysterical given the situation. Also, this pie is delicious.”

Her emotions have a slightly different temperature-based reaction at that – flushed and warm and something that feels distinctly like more butterflies in the pit of her stomach. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she mumbles, and Killian’s eyes do that thing, that thing she’d remembered even after years and more than a decade apart and she couldn’t let him be dead. He couldn’t be dead.

Those words just don’t make sense in that order.

“Avoiding,” Killian says, pausing between every syllable. “How’d you know I was dead?”

“Stop saying it like that!”

Emma doesn’t mean to snap. She doesn’t. She’s actually desperate to maintain some semblance of control because everything feels like it’s spiraling very quickly and Ruby is genuinely going to murder her.

And then make it look like an accident.

And somehow collect the reward.

There’s no one to offer up a reward for figuring out how Emma died.

God, she’s even depressing in metaphor.

“Swan,” Killian presses when she doesn’t say anything else. She pulls her gaze back up, despite every inclination not to, and it is probably another mistake, but that’s kind of been her MO all day and he’s staring at her exactly like she’d always remembered.

He can’t actually touch her – they’re both almost painfully aware of it, but he’d always been creative and Emma lets out a shaky laugh when he stabs the side of her hand with the tongs of his fork.

“The truth, love, let’s have it.”

She swallows before she answers, because it feels as if all those emotions, with their varying temperatures, have settled in the back of her throat and he’d never called her love when they were ten, but he had called her Swan and that was the first thing he said when he saw her.

Emma hadn’t been Swan in a very long time. She likes it far more than she’s willing to admit.

And she’s just about to tell him, really, she’s got every intention, but the TV sitting in the corner of the kitchen is on and it must be close to ten o’clock because the news has started playing and right there, leading the broadcast, is Killian Jones, found dead, authorities willing to pay for more information. Emma feels his stare even with her eyes squeezed closed. Which they are. Suddenly. And tightly.

The last thing she expects him to do is laugh, and he doesn’t quite do that, it’s more a disbelieving scoff, but it’s also not yelling and Emma figures that’s a win.

“So, what?” Killian asks, poking Emma again when she refuses to open her eyes. “You touch murder victims and—“

“—Ask them who killed them? Yes.”

“And this is a business of yours?”

Emma shakes her head. “This is the business,” she says, waving her hand around the empty restaurant. “The other thing is a…hobby.”

“You must bring in a considerable income for your hobby.”

“I have a partner.”

Killian does laugh at that and Emma tells him the rest – how Ruby saw her and it was an accident, but it works and the money is good and justice is being served or something. His eyebrows twist several times throughout the explanation, lips pressed tightly together at one point so he doesn’t smile too wide.

And, really, Emma would like to believe she still knows Killian well enough to guess what he’s going to say after she’s detailed every last thing, but it’s been a very long time and he’s got that one piece of hair that seems determined to torment her now and the reward for information about his death was incredibly large. Questionably large. Almost too large, really.

“Is that the voice I heard before?” Killian asks, and Emma nods. She’s started mixing something at some point. She doesn’t actually remember when she decided to do that, but it seems to have just happened and Killian appears almost amused by it.

“Yeah. She wasn’t entirely pleased you didn’t know who killed you. It means she’ll have to do actual PI work and that messes with her fashion choices.” “I’m not sure I understand the order of the words in that sentence.” “I wouldn’t expect you to.” “And you normally...touch these people again? After you figure out who killed them.” Emma nods, but it’s cautious and she feels like she’s stepped onto incredibly thin ice. She mixes harder. “Yeah, always.” “Was I the straw that broke the camel’s back?” “No, no, I just...I couldn’t.” “I should probably be thanking you for that, huh?” “Not necessary.” “It seems incredibly shitty that I can’t even hold your hand,” Killian muses, almost like he’s saying it to himself and Emma hears her jaw crack before she actually feels it drop. He shrugs. “I’m just saying. That was...that was kind of our thing, wasn’t it? I know it was a long time ago, but—” “—No,” Emma says, far too loud to be anything except enthusiastic and just a hint desperate. “That was definitely our thing. You know they said they found your body at the bottom of the hill.” “Our hill?” Emma startles at another joint pronoun – and it doesn’t really even make sense because they didn’t own that hill, but her mind doesn’t care. It latches on to ours and linked hands and how much she wants from Killian Jones.

Still. Or always. Whatever.

“So,” he says, grabbing the rest of the pie tray as soon as her mouth is closed and not even bothering to cut another slice. “You think your partner would go for 30-30-40? I feel like I should get more, since I did die for it and everything.”

Emma blinks. “What?”

“Let’s find out who killed me, Swan.”

She’s not entirely surprised by it. Honestly. Emma kind of, almost, sort of expected him to say it, but she blinks again anyway, nerves chipping away at every corner of her brain and her life and the seemingly unstable structure of it all.

Emma has spent the last few years of adulthood doing her best to compartmentalize everything. She’s got work and the side work and Ruby’s never even been in her apartment. There are no photos of Ingrid there. There’s nothing even resembling sentiment.

Except for the photo booth print out she’s got in a drawer next to her bed, a souvenir of the one time she and Killian went to the fair and he won her a stuffed animal that she definitely lost somewhere between houses ten and eleven.

Maybe she is a little sentimental.

“Thoughts?” Killian prompts when Emma stays, presumably, frustratingly silent. “Feelings? Immediate reactions other than whatever it is you and your jaw are doing. That can’t be good for your molars, Swan.” “My molars specifically?” “I’d imagine it’s detrimental to most of your teeth, but your molars probably play the biggest role. There’s lots of clenching going on in that jaw of yours.” “You are not a dentist.” Killian drags the fork through the last few pie crumbs, resting both his elbows on the counter. “That’s an accurate observation. I am, however, someone well acquainted with orthodontia and a particularly torturous summer that included a copious amount of headgear.” “That was a lot of adjectives.” “Felt appropriate. And to be fair, it did make my teeth...better.” Emma laughs. She wishes she wouldn’t. No, that’s wrong. She shouldn’t wish to laugh less. It’s just weird to laugh this much.

That’s depressing.

“Were your teeth in need of being better?” she asks, and they’re both doing a fairly admirable job of avoiding the situation.

“If you ask either one of my uncles, they will tell you that it was a form of controlling me—”

“—Controlling you?” “And my incredibly dreamy face.”

“I didn’t say that.” “Eh. I believe you agreed rather quickly with the disembodied voice on the other side of the door regarding my overall dreaminess. Is that why you kept me alive?” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. And Killian scowls almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth, understanding washing over his face. He grits his teeth. His admittedly very straight teeth. “Punch me in the face when I say shit like that,” he mumbles, almost falling off the stool he’s perched on when he realizes what he’s said.

Again.

“That’s not why I kept you alive,” Emma whispers, but it feels like a promise and sounds like a guarantee and she’s got no structure at all any more. She’s got...a mess, really, is what she’s got. “Although it is admittedly a perk.”

She’s a little proud of herself for very clearly catching him off guard.

His eyes widen and his breath catches audibly and the sound of the fork clattering back onto the counter in between them is gratifyingly loud.

It’s a good look, honestly.

“Yeah?” Killian asks, a little breathlessly and, surprisingly, cautious, and Emma nods slowly as if she hadn’t been in love with him when he was nine. And he hadn’t grown up into whatever was sitting on the other side of her restaurant counter.

Staring at her – still.

“Yeah,” Emma guarantees. “We’re not doing this, though.” “Doing what? Exactly?”

“Not that.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Yeah, tell that to your face.” “You seem very intent on discussing my face, Swan.” She hisses in a breath, frustrated at how quickly these metaphorical tables appear to have turned. Killian’s eyebrows do something she’d been previously convinced was biologically impossible. “I’d like to punch you in the face.” “But you can’t do that,” Killian points out. “And forgive me for rehashing old points, love, but you were the one investigating my murder were you not?” “We don’t know that’s what it was.” Killian eyes her, and for half a second it looks just like Liam and just like those memories Emma has been so desperate to forget, but she’s still got those pictures and there wasn’t really much choice in keeping him alive.

“Swan,” he says. It sounds like Liam too, all adult and twenty years in audible form and Emma grips the counter until her knuckles crack as soon as he holds up his left arm. “We said we weren’t going to lie, love.” “Are you ok?” The words fall out of her before she’s really considered them, the question not big enough and far too big all at the same time – because, upon closer examination, the blunt end of his arm isn’t really all that blunt, like someone took care of him or tried to fix it and she can’t imagine what must be going through his mind.

Emma is waiting for the fallout. Always.

It can’t just be ok. She’s far too wrong for that.

“That’s a rather loaded question, don’t you think?” “Yeah,” Emma agrees. “But we’ve kind of been bantering and it’s been—” “—Very easy to do that, actually. That’s been kind of nice. It was...I missed you quite a bit, Swan.” Emma blinks, and presses her lips together, afraid of what she’ll say if she doesn’t and even more terrified of what she might not say – this promise of being honest with each other appears to have blown up in her face far quicker than she expected it to.

“Did you?” she asks, not much more than a squeak and after all the relative ease of conversation, they’ve suddenly stumbled and broken a few bones. Metaphorically. Killian’s lost his hand. Literally.

Killian jerks his head, a quick and nervous nod that would have stunned his ten-year-old self. “You never came home.” “It wasn’t really my home.” “That’s not true.” Emma’s jaw aches. “You didn’t really answer my question, you know.” “About being ok?” She must nod, because her hair brushes over her ear, but Emma feels as if all of her muscles have frozen in place and they can’t possibly eat more pie. Killian sighs, head falling forward when he tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck. “Eh,” he groans. “I am...doing my best not to drift towards that precipice and wondering if my uncles are ok and what the hell I’ve gotten into and, uh...every single thing that’s happened to you between getting in that car and showing up at my funeral.” “I promise it’s not that interesting.” “Ah, I don’t know about that. You know I always thought you could do something incredible, but now you’ve gone and proven that you’re real, literal magic, Swan. It’s messing with my head a little bit.” “I’ve been doing this for a very long time and it’s constantly messing with my head.” His laugh lacks a distinct amount of humor, but his smile is genuine when he glances back up at her and Emma knows they can’t stay in the restaurant. The thought of where they’ll go makes those butterflies rise up again.

“You look exhausted,” Killian says, waving a finger through the air. He ignores Emma’s soft cry of protest when he gets too close. “I don’t have an actual death wish, Swan. You have to relax.” “That’s not really my thing.” “A work in progress.” “Aren’t you tired?” she challenges.

“Feel as if I could sleep like the dead.” “You aren’t dead.” She says it with almost too much conviction, like she’s trying to convince herself as well as Killian and anyone else who realizes that he is, in fact, not dead. It’s a determination Emma isn’t sure she’s felt in years, but it feels kind of good – warm and confident, like coming home to a home she’d forgotten she’d ever had. She assumes there are fuzzy blankets involved too.

“I know I’m not,” Killian whispers. “Thank you for that.” More conviction. More emotions. More—”You want to come upstairs?” “You live upstairs?” “I’m nothing if not efficient.” Killian chuckles, finger still in his hair as he gets off the stool. “Lead the way, Swan.” She hasn’t really had time to organize her space – and it feels a little bit like opening herself up, but Emma hasn’t actually found she’s nervous around Killian for any of the reasons she’s supposed to be nervous and she kind of wants him to be there. She absolutely, positively missed him too.

He glances around the living room, taking in sparse decorations and the curtains that came with the apartment when Emma moved in. There are a few pillows on the couch – they came with the couch too – and plates in the sink, coffee still in the pot because she’d been running late to meet Ruby that morning.

Killian’s lips twitch when he notices the small collection of scarves hanging on a rack by her front door, the same kind of rack Ingrid had in their house because Ingrid wore scarves eight months out of the year and—

“I like it,” he says with a smile and Emma’s skin feels as if it bursts into flame.

“You can take the bed if you want. I’m...the couch is fine until we figure out what we’re going to do later.” “Solve a murder?” “Killian.” “I can sleep on the couch, Swan. This is your apartment.” “Yeah, but—” Killian shakes his head. “If you make some kind of dead joke, I’ll start investigating my own murder without you and it won’t be nearly as fun.” “Seems like you’re punishing yourself. And we’re not investigating your murder. That is...tempting fate.” “Yeah, well, fate seems to have reached out and punched me squarely in the jaw first, don’t you think?” Emma huffs, but she’s familiar with this particular brand of stubborn and it really does feel as if she could fall asleep standing up. “Plus, uh...what if we both just stayed out here? For...old time’s sake?” “Old time’s sake?” “And how much I don’t really want to be by myself.” He says it so softly, Emma wonders if she didn’t just imagine it, but he doesn’t blink when he gazes at her and they used to do it all the time when they were little – alternating living rooms and coming up with increasingly impressive blanket forts with designs Liam drew by hand. Killian always fell asleep before her.

“Yeah, ok,” Emma breathes. “I’ll get us some more blankets.” It doesn’t take long for them to find themselves back in the living room – teeth brushed and blankets moved and Killian wearing clothing that’s far too big for Emma and far too small for him and it probably would have been funny if she didn’t feel as if her lungs were being twisted.

They lay several feet apart from each other on the floor, pillows tucked under heads and arms tucked under pillows and it’s familiar and not and Emma wonders if time doesn’t actually stop for a moment.

She hopes so.

She wants this to linger. Forever.

“Good night, Swan,” Killian says. He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to hold her hand like he would have all those years ago, but it sounds the same and it feels the same and, that time, Emma falls asleep first.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #one foot in #i legit did not remember these chapters being so long #anyway here's like 9k of flirting

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noona-clock · 4 years

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I Never Knew - Part 5

Genre: WWII!AU

Pairing: Brian (Day6) x You (Female!Reader)

Warning: Mentions of war and alcohol

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Epilogue | Words: 3,366

*gif courtesy of @cramelot

“What are you talking about?” your father chuckled, keeping his tone light and innocent. “Aren’t I always pleasant?”

“Well, yes, Daddy. But you know what I mean.”

“I most certainly do not!” he retorted.

You let out a short breath before pursing your lips at him. “Don’t intimidate him. He’s not coming over as a soldier or as your subordinate. He’s coming over as my date. As my... boyfriend.”

Even though you and Brian hadn’t officially talked about it, you sort of felt like it was an unspoken truth between you two. At any rate, it sure felt like he was your boyfriend. And it felt natural to call him that.

“Cupcake, you know I won’t -- but the fact he’s coming as your date should make me want to intimidate him more. You realize that, right?”

“Daddy!”

“I won’t!”

You opened your mouth to issue another retort, but the sound of the doorbell chiming cut you off before you had the chance.

Your eyebrows shot halfway up your forehead, and you shot your father a look before turning and scurrying down the hallway.

When you arrived at the front door, you took a moment to compose yourself. You took a deep breath, smoothed your hands over your hair, and ran your tongue over your teeth to make sure there was no lipstick on them.

And then you reached out to open the door.

Obviously, the first thing you were expecting to see was Brian. So, when the first thing you saw was a bouquet of flowers, you jerked back just a little bit in surprise.

“Oh!” you chirped, a smile curving your lips.

Brian lowered the flowers, his ridiculously handsome face peeking out from over the petals. “Hi,” he greeted, his eyes squinting attractively as he beamed at you.

“Hi,” you replied with a delighted chuckle. “My father isn’t particularly a flower kind of person.”

“Shucks,” Brian murmured, though it was obvious he was trying not to smirk. “I was trying to decide between this and a bottle of beer. Guess I chose wrong.”

You couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping your lips, and then you held your hands out to retrieve the bouquet. “I will gladly accept them if that’s all right with you.”

“Be my guest,” he replied before handing the flowers over to you. “You know, there aren’t very many green flowers, so I just got the most colorful ones I could find. I didn’t ask what your favorite flower is last night otherwise I would have gotten you those.”

“These are perfect,” you assured him. You stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him as you pressed your nose into the bouquet. They smelled divine... or maybe that was just Brian.

You murmured an invitation for Brian to follow you down the hallway, and you tried to focus on the flowers as you walked so you wouldn’t get too nervous about reaching your father.

The second you set foot in the kitchen, though, your heart started beating triple-time.

“Daddy,” you said after taking a somewhat shaky breath. You stopped walking and let Brian come to stand beside you before you continued. “This is Brian. Brian, this is my father, though I’m sure you already know him.”

“I do, indeed,” Brian chuckled. He reached his hand out, and your father took it without hesitation, gripping it in a firm handshake. “Nice to officially meet you, Sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” your father replied. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about you, young man.”

And you now realized you shouldn’t have been worried about your dad saying anything intimidating. You should’ve been worried about him saying something embarrassing.

“I can say the same for you, Sir,” Brian replied. “And if you’re half as a good a parent as you are a General, it’s no wonder Y/N turned out so well.”

...Apparently, you should’ve been worried about Brian saying something embarrassing, too?!

I guess there was no question about how well he and your father would get along.

“I’ll just put these in some water,” you said softly, squeezing past your father and heading to the cupboard where the vase was.

Your father invited Brian to sit down at the table, and as you took out the vase and began to fill it with water from the sink, you heard Brian remark about how wonderful the food looked and smelled.

You’d spent almost all afternoon preparing one of the only recipes you were confident in -- pot roast. It was your father’s favorite, so you’d cooked it too many times to mess it up.

“Oh, Y/N is a wonderful cook,” your father told Brian. “She knows her way around a kitchen.”

“Daddy! I do not!” you scoffed as you carefully placed the flowers into the vase.

“You always make excellent pot roast!” he retorted.

“And that’s about it. You know Mom didn’t pass down her cooking skills to me.”

“I’m not a bad cook,” Brian chimed in. “I could give you some lessons sometime -- if you want.”

“Really?” your father asked. “That would be wonderful!”

“Daddy!” you scoffed yet again. “You just said I’m a wonderful cook, and now you’re accepting cooking lessons on my behalf?”

You wanted the lessons, absolutely. But your father’s betrayal was more important right now.

“Well! I was trying to talk you up. Make sure that Brian here knows you have other good qualities and you’re not just a pretty face.”

“Father!”

“If I may be so bold --” Brian interrupted with a laugh. “I definitely already know she’s not just a pretty face. She’s determined and independent and kind-hearted, just to name a few.”

Both you and your father stared at Brian for a few seconds; you were too surprised and flattered to muster up any words, so your father was the first one to break the silence.

He stuck his hand out again, shaking Brian’s hand and saying, very gleefully, “Welcome to the family, Son.”

Oh my god.

“Dad -- what!” you stammered.

You had never before been so embarrassed in your entire life, and right now, you truly wished the kitchen floor would just open and swallow you whole.

“What?!” your father cried with an extremely innocent expression. “If he can see that about you in just a few days, he’s obviously a keeper! Remember that one fellow... Oh... what was his name?”

“His name is not important,” you answered immediately, quickly making your way to the table and picking up the serving knife and spoon. “Who’s hungry?!”

“I could definitely eat,” Brian replied, holding back a chuckle. You caught his eye as you cut off a piece of roast, and he sent you a sly wink as your father busied himself by putting his napkin over his lap.

You mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to him, and he simply shook his head the tiniest bit.

Once you had cut off and served some of the pot roast to both Brian and your father, you sat down and filled your own plate.

Thankfully, you found no reason to interject with an embarrassed ‘Daddy!’ during the entire meal. He had gotten it all out of his system in that first ten minutes or so, apparently, and was his normal self from then on.

Well, actually, he wasn’t quite his normal self. He hadn’t met too many of your boyfriends before, and the ones he had met, he’d taken on his General persona almost right away rather than his Father persona.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was your dad. He was listening to Brian -- not just hearing him, but actually listening. He was laughing and joking with him. Brian was being his incredibly charming self, and your father was falling for it.

Once everyone’s plates were clean, your father stood from his chair and clapped Brian on the back. “Do you like beer, Son?”

“I don’t hate it,” Brian replied with a little smirk.

“Cupcake, do you mind getting started on cleaning up? Brian and I are going out to the front porch for a drink.”

Oh, dear.

You hadn’t been nervous all throughout dinner, but now your father was taking Brian outside. And you wouldn’t be there to interject or stop him from saying something embarrassing.

But you couldn’t very well object to it, could you?

“Sure, Daddy,” you replied a bit hesitantly.

Your father leaned over to drop a kiss on the top of your head and said, “Don’t worry. We won’t be too long. You cooked, so I won’t make you do all the cleaning.”

You simply nodded, picking up the casserole dish with the leftover pot roast and heading over into the kitchen to put it in the fridge. While you were there, you took out two bottles of beer and handed them to your father.

As he and Brian left the kitchen, your eyes didn’t leave them for one second. Even as they disappeared, you stared at the hallway entry, hearing your dad’s low murmur and the soft thud of their footsteps on the rug.

Only when you heard the front door open and close did you finally blink yourself out of your slight trance, turning back to the fridge to put the pot roast away.

You didn’t realize you were taking your time cleaning the dishes until the front door opened again, and you’d only finished two dishes. And you didn’t realize you were lost in thought until you nearly jumped when your father stepped up next to you at the sink.

“I’ll take over from here, Cupcake,” he murmured.

“Oh -- thank you.” You handed him the sponge, and then glanced over your shoulder toward the hallway. “Is Br --”

“He’s outside. Go on.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you stood on your toes to kiss your father’s cheek. “I’ll be right back, I just want to say good-bye.”

“No, no,” your father insisted. “Go out somewhere. Have fun. Hey, I know -- get some dessert.”

He set the sponge down in the sink and reached into his back pocket, sliding out his wallet. Your brow furrowed as he opened it and took out a twenty-dollar bill.

“Here, my treat,” he told you as he held out the money toward you.

Your jaw nearly dropped. “Daddy -- twenty dollars?” you gaped.

“Go on,” he repeated, practically taking your hand and forcing the bill into your palm. “Midnight. Preferably before then, but definitely Midnight.”

...So, let me get this straight.

Your father had just met your boyfriend a couple of hours ago. For the first time. He had just had a beer with him on the front porch. And now... he was giving you twenty dollars to go get some dessert with him? Him being your boyfriend. Alone. And you didn’t have to be home until midnight.

“Yes, I’m serious,” your father chuckled, and your head jerked back at his sudden interruption. “Go.”

Without letting yourself hesitate even more, you quickly grabbed your purse from the counter, slipping the dollar bill inside and scurrying toward the front door.

“Thank you, Daddy!” you called out halfway down the hall. “I love you!”

“I love you, too,” he replied, and you could so plainly hear the smile in his voice.

A smile of your own graced your lips as you opened the front door, and when you saw Brian leaning against one of the porch columns, you practically threw yourself at him with glee.

“Whoa, hey,” he laughed, catching you easily. “What’s all the hubbub?”

You pulled away from him slightly, keeping your arms around his neck and wanting to stay in his embrace for just a moment longer. “My dad suggested -- no, he insisted we go out for some dessert. His treat. And he doesn’t expect me home until Midnight.”

Brian’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Really?”

You nodded eagerly, your smile so wide you couldn’t even move your lips to say something in return.

“Well, then,” Brian said, a smile of his own now curving his mouth. “How do you feel about milkshakes?”

“I love them,” you answered before leaning in and pressing a quick, giggly kiss against his lips.

“All right, then,” he murmured, returning your kiss. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You were just about to pull away from him to head out toward the sidewalk, but before you could, Brian bent down and scooped you up into his arms. He began to carry you down the walkway, and you tightened your arms around his neck, squealing and laughing with delight.

“What are you doing?!” you giggled. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“I know you can,” Brian answered matter-of-factly. “But why should you? You wear heels all the time, those can’t be comfortable to walk in.”

“Brian!”

“Y/N!” he repeated in exactly the same tone as you just had.

“You’re not really going to carry me all the way to the diner, are you?!” you cried in-between your laughs.

Brian stopped walking, his brows raising as he turned his head to look at you. “You don’t want me to?” he asked innocently.

“No!” you grinned. “I want to hold your hand.”

“But I like holding you.”

That was hard to argue with, but you stood your ground, simply giving him the same look you gave your father when you wanted to get your way.

Brian finally broke out into a smile. “All right,” he chuckled. He bent down, setting you back on the ground and quickly kissing your cheek before taking your hand.

And now that all the fun was over, you could ask the question to which you were dying to know the answer.

“So, what did you and Daddy talk about?”

Brian immediately smirked, letting out a breathless laugh through his nose. “If he wanted you to know, wouldn’t he have invited you?”

You tugged at his arm, rolling your eyes playfully. “Just tell me!”

“He...” Brian exhaled softly, and your smile fell just a little. “He talked about your mom.”

Your brow furrowed gently. “He did?” you asked, almost in a whisper.

Brian hummed, tipping his head in a nod. “Talked about how special she was -- in general, but also to him. And how, now that she’s gone, you’re all he has left of her. You’re all he has. You mean the world to him, you know.”

You had to swallow down a small lump of emotion in your throat before you could answer him, and when you did, a very wistful smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, I know,” you said quietly. “He means the world to me, too.”

“I had to promise him I was going to treat you like the precious human being you are.”

Your smile turned bashful then, your cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. “Oh, dear,” you murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“No -- don’t be sorry, not even a little bit,” Brian insisted as he squeezed your hand. “I understand completely where he’s coming from. I didn’t promise him anything I didn’t really mean.”

He stopped walking then, pulling you to stand in front of him so he could take both of your hands in his. His eyes pierced into yours, the brown shade of his irises somehow more intense as he gazed down at you.

“However long we have together, I’m going to make the most of it. Like I told you at the hospital earlier, I want to spend as much time with you as I can. And I’m going to make it count.”

Even though Brian’s expression and tone were utterly serious, you couldn’t stop a very giddy grin from forming. You rocked back on your heels before lifting onto your toes and pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

“Me, too,” you whispered. “I’m going to make it count, too.”

And for the next four weeks, you could confidently say that you did just that. You and Brian spent time together every single day; sometimes it was hours, sometimes only minutes, but your connection still seemed to grow stronger every time.

Brian took you out to the diner at least twice a week -- you had tried most of the items on the menu by now, and the waitresses all knew the two of you by name.

Cat and Wonpil even joined you a few times. He had worked up the nerve to ask her out that afternoon he’d been discharged from the hospital, and while their relationship wasn’t progressing as quickly as yours and Brian’s, they were still one of the cutest couples you’d ever seen. It made your heart flutter to see Wonpil limping around the base on his crutches, Cat opening doors for him and luring him to walk faster with promises of kisses.

You spent a lot of time at the hospital with Cat, too, so you heard just about everything that went on between them -- and Cat heard everything about you and Brian, in turn. She was quickly becoming the best friend you’d ever had, and you’d now lost track of how many times you’d made your father promise to stay here for as long as possible. Now that you’d found Brian and Cat, you never wanted to leave.

Actually, you’d thought that exact thing more than once when you’d been in Brian’s company.

Whenever the two of you saw a movie together, you’d thought ‘I never want this movie to end.’

Whenever you sat together on a blanket by a nearby pond, lying down and looking up at the stars, you’d thought ‘I never want this night to end.’

Whenever Brian held you in his arms, you’d thought ‘I never want this embrace to end.’

And when he kissed you...

Well, you get the gist.

It really didn’t matter what you did with him, though. Eating at the diner, seeing a movie, having a picnic by the pond, strolling down the sidewalk, sharing a milkshake, cuddling on the couch... you never wanted any of it to end.

You knew it was going to, of course, you just didn’t know when.

...Until you did.

You were upstairs getting ready in front of your vanity, as you did most nights since you went out with Brian most nights. As you ran your brush through your hair, you heard the front door open, and your father’s heavy footsteps enter the house.

You waited for him to call out to you, alerting you to the fact he had just gotten home.

Cupcake!

You could hear it in your head. He was going to say it any second now.

...Any second now.

Any... second...

Your father appeared in your doorway, and you jumped a little at his unexpected and sudden presence.

“Daddy,” you greeted with a breathless chuckle. “Welcome home. What are you --”

“There’s... something I need to tell you.”

Oh, no. Those were the exact words he always used before telling you it was time to move. And he’d said them in the exact same tone.

You stood from your chair, your brow furrowing instantly, and your heart dropping down to your stomach.

“What is it?” you asked nervously.

Your father opened his mouth to reply, but then he just let out a sigh instead. He gestured toward your bed and ushered you over there.

Once you’d perched on the edge of the mattress, he sat down next to you, gripping his knees until his knuckles were almost white.

“Daddy, what is it? You’re scaring me,” you admitted, your voice audibly shaky.

Your father let go of one of his knees and reached out to take your hand. He squeezed it, his grip firm and sending your heart and stomach into a tizzy. You were just about to ask him one more time what was going on, but he spoke before you had the chance.

“We’re shipping out in three days,” he told you. “I got the call this afternoon.”

Your breath instantly caught in your lungs. and you desperately wanted to ask him if he meant ‘shipping out’ as in... shipping out.

But, of course, he did. What else could he mean?

Your father was leaving.

Brian was leaving.

In three days.

Part 6

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detectivedreameater · 3 years

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Margarita Monday || Camille and Marley

TIMING: Mid October PARTIES: @carrionxcamille and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Camille comes over to Marley’s for margaritas but ends up sharing a little more than drinks. CONTENT: Alcohol

Relaxing just...wasn’t something Marley really did. Ever. Sure, she took time off and had nights off, but just doing something to do it for, well, fun? Was strange. Having another woman over and not having intentions to sleep with her was also very strange for Marley. But, here she was, setting out ingredients to teach someone how to make margaritas the right way, just to...do it. No ulterior motive, no reason other than to just be normal. Readjusting herself, Marley set out the ingredients-- Dragones tequila, triple sec, cognac, lime juice, and a little bit of simple syrup. Oh, and ice. Marley had had to go to the store and actually buy a bag of ice, considering the only fridge she had was a small drink fridge, and it didn’t make ice. Was that weird or suspicious? Did she care? If this Camille was anything other than what she said she was, Marley could easily get away or fear gaze her. She was in no trouble here. Still, she jumped a little when there was a knock on the door. She looked over, straightened herself out, then went over. “Welcome to Casa Del Marley,” she said in a cheesy tone, even if she did know proper Spanish. “It’s Margarita Monday today, so please come in and make yourself at home.”

Right, this was good. Meeting people, getting out of the house, making connections. Camille was making progress, and it sure was better than spending another tuesday night parked in front of the tv barely focusing on trashy reality shows. She needed more friends, and margaritas certainly seemed like a good way to curb any first meeting awkwardness, even if it was a little college to get drunk on a weekday. Whatever, it’s not like running the park was hard. This would be good for her. This wasn’t her threadbare allyship with Regan, and she couldn’t rely solely on Cece for company either. The greeting at the door made her laugh a little as she stepped in, toeing her boots off by the door, “thanks for having me, I needed an excuse to get out the house.” And an excuse to have a drink a little stronger than a glass of wine, honestly. “You earn points already for the alliteration.” She grins, “teach me your ways, margarita master.”

Marley moved around to the kitchen quickly once Camille was inside, trying not to let the strange feeling in her stomach take too much hold on her. “Yeah, sure,” she said, setting out two glasses and the mixer. “Anything to have an excuse to make margaritas, honestly.” She gave an awkward smile. “Not that I need one, but, you know.” She cleared her throat, gesturing to the ingredients she’d laid out. “Well, first of all, you need the right ingredients. None of that cheap shit, okay?” she pointed at the tequila. “This is the best kind, hands down. People might try and tell you Cuervo or Patron is good enough, but they’re wrong,” she tapped on it, “plus, my girlfriend would gut me if I said anything otherwise.”

It was a long time since Camille had tried to make friends, honestly. With Jace the way he had been she didn’t want people around at the house and eventually being lonely was just easier than trying to make yet another excuse for why the girls couldn’t meet her husband or see her home. But Marley had offered to have her over, she wanted the company too. Of course, Camille couldn’t really afford high shelf tequila right now, but they’d- unsurprisingly- had a well stocked liquor cabinet at home, and she did one day plan to have a set up like it again. “Right.” She nods sagely, laughing a little, “honestly I can’t drink Cuervo anymore anyway, it just tastes too much like terrible college decisions.” She grins, “does your girlfriend work for the company or is she just a big believer in high shelf tequila?”

“As it should,” Marley said, scrunching her nose. “Cuervo is for college frat kids who want to get drunk fast. You need a nice fine tequila to truly appreciate the art of the margarita.” She cleared her throat, trying to move past the awkward feeling in her throat, even if she’d said the word first. “She’s a lady of fine taste, what can I say?” grinned before sweeping her hand to the next ingredient. “Now, some people might also try and tell you that you can use sweet and sour mix. It’s cheap, it’s faster-- blah, blah. But they’re wrong. You gotta do it yourself if you want the best flavor. I use lime juice, salt and simple syrup. 2 parts lime juice, half part syrup. Pinch of salt,” she explained, finding talking about alcohol was much easier than talking about Anita being her girlfriend and what she liked. “Lastly, my special secret ingredients,” she moved down the line again, “triple sec and cognac. Add to taste, of course, but I usually do a shot of each. Really brings out the other flavors. You can add a little orange juice as a spritz sometimes, too, if you’re feeling citrusy. But, yeah--” she nodded to herself as if to congratulate herself on a job well done. “That’s all there is to it. So, shall we try and make some?”

College frat kids who want to get drunk fast? Camille almost winces. That had sure been Jace. Perhaps this whole thing really was her own fault, in a roundabout way. How had she not seen the signs of it when they were younger? Sure everyone liked to get messed up at parties when they were kids, but Jace was always looking for another party to get messed up at. She’d thought- stupidly- it was the social aspect. Jace was a jovial guy, he loved to be around people, that was why he loved parties. Maybe even back then he’d loved drinking more. Uh oh, yeah, she was not going to admit it to Marley but Cam had definitely made a few sweet and sour mix margaritas in her time. It was easier. But then she hadn’t been sure how easy the real method was too-- and honestly it didn’t sound like rocket science. She liked listening to people talk about a passion of theirs, and Marley clearly had this down to a T, so seeing her in her comfort zone made Camille a little more relaxed too, and they weren’t even drinking yet. “So you go pretty sour then? That’s good. I make cosmos sometimes and I always add more lime juice than recipes say too, I just like them sour.” She nods, “doesn’t sound like I’d be able to fuck it up too badly,” Cam grins and picks up one of the glasses, “assuming you start with tequila?”

“Oh yeah,” Marley said, nodding, “the more sour, the better. What can I say? I’m a sour woman.” She stacked two glasses on the counter in front of them and motioned to the ingredients. “It really is hard to fuck up a margarita, it’s more about getting the right proportions so that you can enjoy all the flavors at once. And, of course, making sure you have good tequila,” tapped the bottle again, “yeah, sure. Start with that, I’ll uh-- supervise,” she said stepping back and letting Camille approach. This was still...strange and knew for her, but she was learning that it was nothing to be awkward about. Maybe this was just how normal people interacted. Maybe if she kept trying, she’d actually get used to it one day. She gave a smirk. “Go on, then,” she motioned, “don’t fuck it up.”

Camille laughed a little- actually, she’d been called a sourpuss once, by an older guy at a club trying to grind on her. The memory amused her to this day. Maybe they were both a little sour, but she didn’t think that was a bad thing. “I’m the same with wine, I never like it overly sweet.” She says, stepping up to the counter to start by pouring some tequila in one of the glasses- hey, she was still young enough at heart to know roughly how to pour out a shot. “I’ve known people to use triple sec before, but I’ve never come across cognac. Hey, I’ll trust the master though.” Cam shrugs, adding in plenty of lime juice and salt before pouring some syrup into a measure and adding that too. “I will admit to hating it when people put stuff on the rim of a glass though, salt or sugar or whatever. I’ve never gotten that.” She was sure that too was something about flavor, but the grains just irritated her mouth. Camille knew she liked triple sec, so after a full shot of that she measured out a little less cognac- she’d never been a huge fan- and added that too. “Looks like I managed to avoid total disaster… Or I didn’t make a mess at least.” Obsessively watching bartenders in college to make sure they didn’t mess with her drink had paid off, it seemed. She raised the glass, “cheers.” And took a sip. “Wow. Okay, you’re right. I’m adding cognac to every margarita I make from now on. Damn, that’s good. I don’t even like brandy.”

Marley watched Camille fill up her drink, talking herself through the process. “Cognac just gives it a little extra bite, you know?” she shrugged, “I’m not a big fan of the alcohol on its own, but the slightest touch really does spruce up the most basic cocktail.” Mostly, she didn’t like it because it wasn’t an alcohol she could consume copious amounts of in a small amount of time in order to get drunker quicker. But she didn’t need to say that outloud. “Ah, see! You’re amazing at it already,” she said, leaning back against the counter. From around the corner of the kitchen table came JD, sniffing the air and the new scent in the house. Marley observed him for a moment, before realizing that his horns really weren't anything that normal people would expect on a hare. Or, really even, expect a hare. She went forward to shoo him away, but he scampered under the table and around into the kitchen, right up to Camille. “Uhh, he’s got-- a mutation,” she said, staring wide eyed.

It was all going well and everything was very normal, which Camille was pretty pleased about because since waking up in town she kept getting hit across the face with weirdness. Killer mimes and vampire neighbors and an eyeball where the goddamn sun should be. It was nice to kick back with a new friend and have a drink, and talk about normal things like cognac. She’d been into cocktail making for a while when she was younger, but then Jace’s problem had gotten worse and keeping high percentage alcohol in the house just… Didn’t seem smart. She took another sip and tried not to think about that. “Well it helps to have a good teacher.” Camille laughed, only the slightest of a bitter edge to the sound, “I would know, I used to be a- ah!”

Camille startled when the creature scurried up to her, pressing her body back into the kitchen counter. “Holy hell.” It was, in essence, a big weird looking rabbit. Which would probably not have garnered much of a reaction if it were not for the horns. Horns! Every day something new and totally out of left field. Is it the weirdest thing she’s seen? Well… There were eyeballs coming out of her taps at one point, that was probably weirder. But this-- Camille didn’t quite see how a mutation could give a rabbit horns. Which meant this was the supernatural kind of weird, which meant Marley knew about the supernatural kind of weird. “...Right.” She takes another sip of her drink and sighs, weighing the pros and cons. Camille could pretend to believe her, but there would be an awkward air over the rest of the night. She had enough secrets already. “Y’know, you don’t have to… I- look, here’s the thing, I’m not an expert. Like, I don’t know a lot about it all but I do know that there’s stuff in this town that is…” She waves a hand vaguely in the air, trying to find a good word for it. “Let me put it this way, when I lived in the motel my neighbors were vampires. So, don’t bullshit me. That’s not a normal rabbit.”

Marley watched Camille closely, as she started down at JD. She could see the cogs turning in her head. Most people who wanted to remain ignorant would wave this away and be happy to accept the “mutation” explanation-- but when Camille didn’t, Marley felt herself slowly warming up to the idea that maybe she wasn’t half bad. She came over around the counter and picked up the large hare, hoisting him onto one arm and holding him so his legs dangled below her arm. He sniffed the air, wriggled once, then settled in. “You’re neighbors were vampires? Gross,” she muttered, scrunching her nose, “vampires are so broody and angsty. Oh, my life is so tragic,’ she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead, “I’m doomed to eternal life and I must feed on the blood of innocents! Or...whatever.” She remembered the last vampire she’d known, and how much his disposition to drink blood tortured him. Vampires, for all their monstrosity, could be so human sometimes. “Glad you got out of there, then,” she replied, feeling the awkwardness hang in the air a bit. She cleared her throat. “He uh--” glanced down at JD, “--he’s a Jackalope. Supernatural hare, basically. But I swear he’s nice! Usually.”

Camille wasn’t going to wander around the whole town with her eyes closed. She was in White Crest because she’d died. If she wanted answers about what the hell had happened to her and didn’t want those answers to totally freak her out it would probably be a good idea to embrace everything else weird and wacky going on in town. It was just so… Exhausting. Nothing was normal. She couldn’t even make a new friend and drink margaritas without some not rabbit thing becoming part of the evening. Maybe she just had to get used to it.

It was almost comical the way Marley handled the thing, and how quickly it settled into her arms like it’d been there a dozen times before. It probably had, she seemed to be keeping it like a domestic pet. That was almost… Sweet. And her vampire impression did make Cam laugh. “They were broody!” She agreed, “those walls were thin, I could hear them complaining. Didn’t stop the parade of pretty young girls always going in and out of their room though, so they can’t have felt too put out.” Once she’d found out what they were Cam had started watching for those girls- some of them went back again and again, but what mattered to her was making sure they walked back out. She nods, “yeah. Cece really did me a favor.” Oh how much she had come to rely on the kindness of strangers as of late, it was new. “He doesn’t seem not nice. He just startled me. I’m still getting used to all this stuff, and I don’t really feel like getting into why I’m here in the first place but it.. Yeah, it’s part of my life now, so.” Camille shrugs, staring at the jackalope… She’d heard of them, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they might really exist in this new world. “He’s almost cute. Does he have a name?”

“All vampires are,” Marley said with a little roll of her eyes. “They’re pretty dramatic.“ At least, all the vampire she’d met were like that-- she felt like it almost came with the territory, just like how most mara liked the strange and horrific. Most of them even shared Marley’s love for insects, because unlike most mammals, they didn’t run away scared. “Oh, you know Cece? Like Cece Bishop, Cece? I work with her sometimes.” And somehow knowing Camille knew Cece made Marley all the more relieved. At least she didn’t have to skirt around things anymore. “He’s very nice, usually. Just spooks easy, which is funny, considering--” she paused, frowned, “he’s pretty scary looking.” Marley rustled her arms, cinching her brows. “Almost cute? He’s extremely cute, actually. I mean, lookit his face!” she exclaimed, holding him up. JD responded by thumping his legs against her and leaping out of her arms and over to the couch. “Well...I think he’s cute,” she muttered, looking back over at Camille. “His name’s JD. Short for Jack Daniels.” A pause. “I swear I’m not an alcoholic, though.”

Sometimes Camille worried she was taking all of this too well. But then she remembered her first few months here, the icy cold that had settled over her the second she realized she was supposed to be dead, sitting in that motel room and staring at the wall for god knew how many days without being able to move. Trying to accept it all had practically rendered her catatonic, and she was still struggling, but Camille was no idiot. Even with all the additions the world was still the world and she was still a living thing that needed to make money and survive and carry on.

“I haven’t actually met any vampires, so I couldn’t speak for all of them.” Cam shrugs, and then her eyes widen, “at least… I don’t think I have. I suppose that’s rather the point.” Wow, maybe she had met vampires. Marley could be one for all she knew. It was probably rude to ask. “Yeah, it’s her I live with. We met out at Dell’s Tavern one night and when she found out I was staying at that creepy motel she insisted I stay with her.” She nods, “right, it makes sense that you’d know her too.” The morgue and the police department probably worked closely. They’d probably done that in Boston, when she’d died. Camille chuckled a little at the contradictions, how Marley thought something could look scary and cute at the same time. Though she managed not to flinch when it- JD- was brought closer to her face. He had regular rabbit eyes, all big and innocent and shiny. She did jump when the beast moved suddenly though, clutching one hand to her heart and laughing despite herself. “He can leap like a rabbit, huh? Is he- do you just keep him, like, as a pet?” Cam smiled, “I like JD. When I was in college my roommate had a hamster and we called it Khalua.”

“Count yourself lucky, then,” Marley said with a small chuckle. “Oh, trust me-- you’d know.” It was a strange thing, to find someone so...okay with all this weirdness. Even Erin had been a little freaked out by everything at first, but maybe Camille had just skipped past it all already. Or she just hadn’t seen the freak out and was getting the after effects. She shrugged. “Yeah, Cece’s like that.” She didn’t know Cece all that well, but from what she could gather, the woman liked to feel useful and help others. And was a bit nosey. “He’s a hare, actually. Common mistake. Hares are bigger than rabbits.” She scratched her chin. “I mean, yes? He’s pretty harmless. He mostly just follows me around and chews on things. Animals don’t normally like me, so it’s kinda nice to have one around that, you know, does.” A chuckle. “Khalua, ha. That’s a good name. I’m gonna steal that if I ever get another pet. I was considering getting another tarantula, they’re pretty low maintenance.” She gave a short pause, before prodding her next question. “So...how do you know about all this stuff?”

“Oh, would I? Well that’s… Reassuring, I suppose.” The only thing that’d tipped Camille off about her neighbors at the motel was how loudly they talked about it. Perhaps they’d been trying to scare her. Honestly at the time they’d been the least of her worries, and she’d even briefly wondered if any attempts to kill her would actually work. Jury was still kind of out on that one, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t going to ask anyone to try it and find out.

Camille nodded, “right, a hare.” The difference wasn’t enough to bother her, but she’d try and remember it. “Ah, I hear most animals are a little bit destructive like that.” She chuckled, it was one of the things that had stopped her from getting a dog with Jace, being too precious about her house. “He was a real hit whenever we had dorm parties, that’s for sure. Even the dean thought he was too cute to tell us off.” The idea of a spider as a pet was… Really not Camille’s cup of tea, but if Marley already had a weird supernatural hare it probably wouldn’t seem so odd to her.

Right. How did she know about all this? Marley was a cop, it probably wasn’t smart to tell her too much about how she didn’t have a legal identity and there was a man in prison for her murder. But… Well, Marley was a cop with a jackalope, and wouldn’t it be a good idea to have as many useful people helping her figure this out as possible? If Marley had a strong enough link to the supernatural stuff, maybe she’d have some information no one else did yet. “Well…” Camille sipped her drink, tapping her fingers against the side of the glass. “How do you know about this stuff?”

.Marley ruffled her nose. “Hey, I asked you first,” she pointed out, frowning. It was strange to not feel affronted by the question, however, and she had to take a minute to pause and decide if that really was one she wanted to answer. A few months ago it would have been a solid and definite no, but now that things had changed in Marley’s life, she wasn’t sure anymore. She waffled on it for a moment, confused by her own indecision. “I’m a cop in White Crest,” she finally answered with a shrug, “how could I not know about this stuff? I know most of the precinct will like to make you believe everyone around there has their head in the sand, but you can’t judge us all because of that.” Even if Marley did. She knew most of the other cops didn’t believe in any of this shit. “I also sort of grew up with this kinda stuff.”

She leaned back against the counter again. “Okay, so now that I played my cards, are you gonna tell me yours?” she asked, nodding at her. “You seem pretty normal, so what could’ve happened to you to clue you in to all this shit?”

Camille lounged back against the counter, tapping her nails against the almost empty glass in her hand and waiting. Whatever Marley had to say she was willing to bet the other woman had been around this kind of stuff a lot longer than she had. The reasoning of being a cop was sound enough, she was willing to bet they all saw some weird stuff. But Regan worked in the morgue and had wings and still managed to be disbelieving of the whole thing. Growing up around it, though, that made Camille relax just a little.

She set the glass down to pull back the sleeve of her shirt and show the sigil on the back of her hand. “I died a while ago.” Camille said, trying to sound more nonchalant about the whole thing then she felt. “Woke up in White Crest earlier this year. With this thing-” She tapped a finger against the mark- “which I did not have in my first life. A lady told me it means I was resurrected and the mark keeps my soul in my body, or something.” Camille tugged her sleeve back down. “So I am pretty normal. Or I was, but it’s kind of hard to deny all this stuff when you know there’s an autopsy report with your name on it.” She shrugged, twisting her hands together, “I figure for now this town is the best place for me, while I’m still trying to get it together.”

Had Marley been drinking something, she would have spit out her drink. Instead, it came up as a cough that felt as if it stuttered and stuck in her throat, and she turned to look at Camille with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, did you say you died? And then-- came back?” That wasn’t really all that uncommon, but Marley had been sure Camille wasn’t a zombie or a vampire-- her tastebuds were too on par. But then she showed Marley the marking on her hand and it clicked-- someone had brought her back to life using necromancy. Marley didn’t know much about it, only that only very powerful spellcasters could do it, and that it was some sort of taboo-- Peter had informed her of this, and reminded her that they were not vessels of death while doing so-- and that Bea had likely also been resurrected. She’d told Marley she’d died after Marley had pestered her about not calling back.

“Yeah, well, I guess that’s fair,” she answered, scratching the back of her neck. “Normal is-- relative, I guess. Even though you’re, well, you know…” she motioned towards her, “you can still live a normal life.”

Marley’s reaction was… Almost comical. Especially in comparison to others. Nell had been matter of fact, Regan in denial. Marley was much closer to what Camille had expected of people. The tequila probably helped, but she actually didn’t feel all that exhausted by talking about it for once, which was a nice change. Perhaps because she hadn’t gotten into the details of her ex husband and the whole ordeal that had brought about her death. She didn’t want too, it wasn’t like she owed Marley anything. Part of normal was moving on. “It’s kind of a lot to process.” She said, nodding. “So I’m trying to take it easy. Just… Getting out into the world again, y’know? Steady job, making new friends.” Camille shrugged, “not perfect but better than nothing.”

She smiled,“actually, it makes me feel much safer knowing we actually have cops who understand exactly what is going on in this town, even if you can’t convince the entire squad.” She laughed softly, moving to set her glass down by the sink and pick up her bag. “It’s getting late. I shouldn’t keep you up all night. But we should hang out again, now that I know I don’t have to watch what I say with you.”

For a dead woman, Camille was pretty casual. Marley didn’t know what that experience was like, but she could understand wanting to make a normal life for yourself. “You really should quit the Cryptid Corner,” she said after a moment, but it was with a sly grin and not a judging one. “I heard that place is haunted.” Marley gave a sheepish shrug. “Well, glad I can help out, then. I’ll certainly do my best to keep this place clean, but White Crest is certainly a...dangerous place. Don’t um-- do anything to get yourself killed again, alright?” She started heading over towards the door with Camille. She wanted to quip about how the night was her time, but she kept her mouth shut for now. She’d already given away too much, and even if Camille had been more forthcoming with all this than she’d originally thought, she still felt exposed in some way. Even though Camille had spilled her entire story, Marley kept hers much closer to her chest. “Uh-- yeah,” she said, confused for a moment. People didn’t often ask to hang out with her again, let alone as just friends. Was this really how the world worked? She furrowed her brow. “Yeah, let’s do this again. Maybe with snacks next time, too.” That’s what people offered, right? She brushed the thought away. “And uh-- thanks for trusting me enough to tell me. You don’t have to worry, either. Your secret’s safe with me.” And if Camille turned on her somehow, it would make for some good blackmail. Not that she wanted that to happen. But old habits die hard.

Camille snorted out a laugh and shook her head, “the closest thing that place has ever gotten to haunted was the one time we had a possessed toilet. A nightmare to deal with but we’ve had nothing since. It’s too lame to haunt.” She nods, “yeah… Yeah I know this place can be a bit wild. Hell, when I woke up here people were being attacked by mimes, so.” It was almost scary how quickly she’d gotten used to it all, but maybe waking up dead could numb you to experiences like that a bit. “Trust me, I don’t have any plans to put myself in harm's way.”

It was true, she certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. She’d even stopped walking around the forest at night, so things were looking up. Another friend who knew her secret, someone else to trust. Camille was sick of being lonely, see, she’d decided this life was going to have friends. “Right. I appreciate it. Enjoy the rest of your night, I’ll see ya.” She gave a cheery little wave before heading out the door, to return to her own home feeling a little more optimistic than the day before.

#chatzy #chatzy: camille #wickedswriting #margarita monday #camille

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