#didn’t mean to leave this one neglected in the Notes app

[artiststarme]

Eddie and Steve only break up once. It’s not because of a fight or a disagreement. There’s nothing nefarious about it but it isn’t quite a mutual decision either.

They break up at Steve’s request for a night so he can properly commiserate with Robin about being single.

He felt like he can’t accurately discuss her feelings and feels badly about giving her advice that he can’t even fathom anymore, not since falling in love with Eddie. As her bestest friend and the co-owner of their shared brain cell, he decides to fully support Robin by being single with her for a night.

He plans on going to gay bars with her, hyping her up as the best single wingman he could be, and commiserating the impossible dating scene with her. That’s not quite what happens though.

Instead of having a fun night out on the town as single queers in the big city, Steve spends the night wrapped up in Robins arms under a fluffy blanket on the couch wailing about not being loved anymore and Eddie breaking up with him.

Robin very much thinks it’s real, very much hates Eddie for approximately 14 hours for breaking Steve’s heart and comforts Steve to the best of her ability. She even watches sucky rom-coms with him and listens to Tears for Fears on repeat.

They cuddle together on the small couch in their apartment, loving each other and scolding Eddie in solidarity. Robin spews words of anger towards the dumbass metalhead that decided to break her best friend’s heart so callously on a random Friday night. And for no reason as well! Blasphemous in her mind.

She stews quietly all night and much more loudly when she and Steve are awoken to Eddie bringing them coffee and waffles from their favorite cafe down the street.

When she finds out that they only broke up for the night and it was very much not real, Robin is absolutely furious and makes them take her to a Blondie concert in revenge. It’s the least they can do after stressing her out so much in just one night. Deep down though, she’s happy it wasn’t real because she can see how happy they are together, if not the stupidest people she knows.

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time

Day 27: Nice View (Exhibitionism)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Pairings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Medic fucks the reader against a window, idk how else to summarize this.

Tags: Exhibitionism, hotel, kinda soft actually

Word Count: 2k

The Masterlist

Medic claimed that he was going on this trip to the city on ‘official business.’ You both knew that was a thinly veiled code for ‘smuggling countless exotic animal parts past the prying eyes of the authorities’, but you couldn’t really complain. At least he had brought you along this time, and since you were with him, he spared no expense.

Your suite was lavish, located on the upper floor of the hotel. A massive bed, a jacuzzi-style bathtub, basically all the luxury you could ask for, and a gorgeous view of the city to top it all off. The massive window in the suite’s main bedroom offered sights of the urban environment all the way out to the horizon, where the street lights and skyscrapers began to look like stars against the night sky.

Still, you found yourself rather lonely. Medic was going out most of the time, leaving you alone in the hotel. Not that you really wanted to be involved with baboon uteruses, or hearts, or god knows what else- but it would be nice to spend some more time with him. The novelty of such a luxurious room faded when there was no one to share it with.

On your last night in the hotel, Medic had come back late, per usual. You were already in bed, only to be woken up by the sound of the ice machine and some shuffling in the bathroom. When your vision adjusted to the darkness, you caught sight of Medic, looking unusually disheveled, his shirt hanging loose and half buttoned as he prepared for bed. It was a rather attractive sight, and it was apparently enough to stir up a sense of need that you had been ignoring until now. You sat up with a soft smile, one that he returned when he noticed you weren’t asleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, liebling.” His words came out in a whisper, as if you were still half-asleep. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s alright. I wasn't very tired anyway,” you said before pulling him down onto the bed by his shirt. He let out a short gasp, clearly startled as he practically fell on top of you, right where you wanted him. You paused, but the moment you saw that familiar smirk on his face, proceeded by pressing your lips against his, growing a bit more desperate with every passing moment.

“I missed you,” you whispered between insatiable kisses.

You felt Medic’s grin before you saw it. His hands ran up your thighs and you shivered. Frantically, you began to undo the remaining buttons on his shirt, parting the fabric and running your hands over his chest. One of his wandering hands began to trace along the waistband of your loose fitting sleep pants. You gasped when he ran his hand beneath your clothes, rubbing you through your undergarments and humming in amusement.

“So wet, and we’ve only just begun. You really are pent up, aren’t you, liebling?” He continued to touch you through your underwear, feeling your arousal soak the fabric. “I have been neglecting you for far too long.”

In a kind of frenzy, you quickly stripped off your pants and underwear, giving Medic full access to you. Whimpers and gasps were easily drawn from you as he began to rub circles around your clit.

“Oh ja, liebchen, keep moaning like that.” Medic’s fingers dipped lower, entering you with ease while his thumb continued to stimulate your clit without pause. Needless to say, you certainly weren’t about to stop. “Sometimes I wish I could show everyone how good you feel beneath me, how nicely you cry out for me, so everyone can know that you're mine.”

The way he spoke those words had a possessive note to them, and you found that you couldn’t get enough of it. In fact, that little scenario he had suggested- taking you in front of an audience, making you scream for him while others bore witness- it sounded quite appealing.

Medic immediately noticed that he had piqued your interest, acknowledging your reaction with a low chuckle. “Oh, that makes you shiver, doesn’t it? The thought of being seen like this, being pleasured by me, letting everyone know exactly who you belong to?”

He kept teasing you, but you paid it little mind. Your attention had been drawn towards that ever so large window, a rather bold idea beginning to take shape. There was a touch of hesitation. You were frightened by the prospect of being seen by complete strangers, but then again, you and Medic were leaving tomorrow. You would most likely never see any of those random people on the street ever again, and even if you did, they probably wouldn’t even recognize you since your room was on such a high floor.

Why the hell not?

“Then do it,” you challenged, shifting out from under him and standing, stripping out of the rest of your clothing hastily as you made your way towards the window. You threw open the curtains, the city lights illuminating the room and accentuating your silhouette in a most flattering way.

You leaned forward, bracing your arms against the glass. Medic’s breath quickened as he looked over the curve of your back, gaze trailing ever lower. You were clearly presenting yourself just for him. The bed creaked softly as he stood up, and you watched in the faint reflection of the glass as he approached you.

His hands started at your shoulders, trailing down your body and over your sides until they rested on your hips, rubbing small circles over the tender flesh. He stopped touching you for a moment and you heard the soft sound of a zipper descending before feeling his strong grip on your waist. The only warning you got was a low groan before he entered from behind.

A flustered gasp escaped you due to the suddenness of it all. Thankfully, you were more than aroused enough to accommodate him. He thrust into you hard, pressing you against the window, and you shuddered at the feeling of the cold surface against your chest. You stared ahead at the cityscape, seeing Medic’s reflection more clearly in the glass now, watching his expression contort in pleasure.

“Gott ja, you feel so good, meine liebe.” Medic’s nails raked down your sides in one swift motion, making you cry out. He was being quite rough. You guessed he had been needing this just as much as you had, based on how desperate he was acting.

Medic usually started out slow, sometimes to let you adjust, but most often to tease you. He loved to hear you beg for him to go faster and harder. He loved to slow down the moment you were about to come, just to hear you whine. Most of all, he loved the sense of power that came with his ability to exercise such restraint, to prolong not only your pleasure but also his own.

There was none of that patience here. Medic’s movements were fervent and merciless. He really had missed you, missed the feeling of your flushed, hot skin beneath his hands and your needy moans as he rutted into you like an animal. The idea that he had witnesses, passersby who may glance up and see that he was the one making you feel this good, only made him more determined.

“I never would have taken you for the type to be so shameless, fraulein,” Medic said, bracing himself against the glass with one hand and leaning down to speak right next to your ear. “Then again, you’ll probably never have to face these people, these strangers wandering within a bustling city. I wonder if you would be so bold in front of people you’re more familiar with.”

“What do you mean?” You asked with a sharp exhale, your breath clouding on the glass in front of you. It blurred Medic’s reflection, and you weren’t able to read his expression.

“Tell me liebchen, how would you react to me taking you like this in front of the rest of my team?” He spoke with sinister glee, and it sent shivers through your entire body as you imagined what he was suggesting. “It would let them know you’re all mine. I would show them all that I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.”

Medic quickened his pace, and you felt his arm wrap around your waist and travel downward. Before you could say a word, he began rubbing firm circles around your clit. Just like that, he stole away any coherent response you may have had.

“Medic! Oh fuck, I’m going to come if you keep that up.” You gasped the few intelligible words you could get out between moans. Medic watched you tremble against the window, delighted with the reactions he had managed to draw from you.

“Then go on, meine liebe. Let everyone see you writhing in pleasure, just for me.”

That last bit of coaxing was all you needed. You buckled under his touch, tumbling into a powerful climax. Medic let out a strangled moan behind you as he also gave in, thrusting unevenly a few more times before he finished along with you.

The adrenaline that came with the rush of your orgasm was the first thing to ebb away, and with it went your remaining strength. Your legs shook beneath you, threatening to finally give out. Just as you began to slump against the window and to the floor, Medic caught you, gathering up your trembling body in his arms. You were carried to the bed and placed down gently before Medic collapsed on top of the sheets beside you, his own strength having been drained as well.

You felt as if you could practically sink into the soft mattress, curled up and satisfied in this state of post orgasmic euphoria. With a sigh, you gathered your strength enough to roll over to where Medic was laying, breathing heavily. You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall even out into a calmer pace. He recovered quicker than you. Your legs were still shaky, and you doubted you would be able to stand if you tried. That said, the idea of a bath sounded quite nice as well. Perhaps you could convince Medic to carry you again.

“Once we catch our breath, we should make use of that fancy bathtub to clean up a little,” you said, smiling as you thought about the soothing jets massaging your aching muscles as you relaxed in the warm, soapy water.

“Uhm, that might not be possible,” Medic said, eyes darting towards the bathroom nervously. You stared at him, confused and awaiting an explanation. When you were met with a few moments of stammering, realization hit you and you heaved an exasperated sigh.

“You used the jacuzzi tub to store exotic animal parts, didn’t you?”

Medic looked sheepish, yet simultaneously proud of his ingenuity. “They must be kept cold! You would be shocked at how fast organs can spoil if stored at the wrong temperature. I had been using the mini fridge, but it wasn't quite big enough for a whale liver.”

“A whale liver -” you stammered before stopping yourself, deciding not to let the absurdity of the situation interrupt your bliss. Hell, you weren’t even going to dare to ask what was being kept in the mini fridge. At least now you knew why the ice machine had been running when you first woke up. “You know what?” you said, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I’m just going to enjoy the afterglow, and try to ignore the inevitable fact that I’m going to have to help you haul that thing into our luggage tomorrow morning.”

Medic chuckled softly, pulling you into his embrace and agreeing that would be for the best. You settled into his arms with a content sigh, eyes drifting shut as you surrendered to the draw of sleep, not even worrying about how you and Medic were going to smuggle his little organ collection past the hotel checkout come sunrise.

[cyncerity]

I posted 482 times in 2022

360 posts created (75%)

122 posts reblogged (25%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@cyncerity

@baka-monarch

@pixiethesizeshifter

@dingbatnix

@oh-i-need-a-name

I tagged 456 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#cyncerity - 345 posts

#mcyt gt - 278 posts

#mcyt g/t - 274 posts

#dad’s troubles au - 92 posts

#not g/t - 67 posts

#tw vore - 57 posts

#cyn art - 51 posts

#cynshitpost - 43 posts

#g/t - 29 posts

#store shifter au - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#don’t forget how much you and this community mean to him even now cause i’m damn sure wherever he is he’s watching all this go down hskslsh

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

this took three days but i’m actually really happy with it? that never happens??

anyway, feel free to send asks for this au, i think by now we know that i’m thinking about it too much, but i hope you like these!

also click for better quality

See the full post

131 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

#4

Steddie stranger things borrower au is all I need and want in my depressing life

just for you 💖

The nickname “big boy” just became twice as flirty jokingly mocking

133 notes - Posted August 6, 2022

#3

this isn’t my usual content but i could not rest until i drew this

this is kinda a “secret world of arriety” type au (if you’ve ever read “the borrower” or “the littles” book series, think of those) but with stranger things!

idk how much i’ll do with the idea cause stranger things isn’t my main hyperfixation, but i’m in love with this idea

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156 notes - Posted August 4, 2022

#2

This was based off of an instagram meme that i think was made for women over the age of 50, but when vore inspiration strikes, you have to do something.

So, here’s this!! I may make this a series, I may not, but it may depend on if y’all even like this story or not lol

so without further ado, here’s some crimeboys noms >:)

tw: kinda implied mentions of neglect/abuse, swearing, and vore

He had to get away. Tommy couldn’t stay another day in this damn house, he felt like he was suffocating. He had to leave, somehow.

All of his things were already packed. The little he had was stored in various bags he had stolen from the attic when the thought of running away had first occurred to him. When he had first realized that he couldn’t stay in this shithole any longer.

Now to think of where. That had been his main concern. Hotels were too expensive, and god knows he didn’t have any friends who would let him stay with them.

Which left him with one option, though he was dreading it.

A few months ago, a new app had been created. A way to book “unique” temporary living arrangements with giants. It was part of some weird initiative to get humans and giants to get along better, and had fully stapled itself to the claims that some humans who lived with giants made about how being eaten could be “relaxing.”

That’s right, as awful an idea as this seemed to Tommy and almost everyone else, there was now a way to book what could qualify as the worlds weirdest airbnb within giants. Literally. Apparently some giants were completely ok with random humans using their organs as a weekend get away, because there were plenty on the app for Tommy to scroll through. And scroll he did.

He had realized a while ago that this may be the cheapest option, and had gone through the website for hours until he had found someone. Early 20s, no criminal record that he could find with a limited google search, good reviews that he could tell were mostly from humans friends that he had, but the man seemed nice enough. He ignored the paranoia that told him that this man was only cheap because he would lure Tommy to his death. That the moment he and Tommy met, it would be over, and he’d be just another missing and forgotten person. Another victim to a random giant where there’d be no proof of his death and nothing to-

No, he couldn’t afford to think like that. This had to work. And, besides, was it really worth still living if he had to be at this house any longer? As much as he hated himself for thinking it, he’d rather let this stranger be the death of him than spend another second with his abusive shit family.

Tommy had messaged him once or twice and had paid him once already just to settle the deal. He ignored the feeling of dread in his gut every time he even thought about the giant, but he couldn’t help but be nervous. After all, this man would be holding his life in him until he got his shit together enough to at least get a job. He didn’t know how long that would be, but he needed to be practically untraceable. He couldn’t risk his family finding him. He couldn’t risk being taken back home.

He sent one final text to the man about where to meet. He knew it was late, but he had warned him in advance that he was probably gonna get a text in the middle of the night, so he slowly crept out of his window and, seeing that the coast was clear, ran, not looking back.

He would never look back.

…

Tommy had arrived at the meetup spot and had been waiting for 30 minutes and, still, no sign of the giant. Ok, now that he thought about it, maybe this did seem a little suspicious. Supposing the giant was a normal ass man, getting a text saying “meet me in an abandoned Tesco parking lot” was a weird thing to receive at 2:45 in the morning. But, again, Tommy was shooting to be untraceable. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing him or his giant. Could he call this stranger “his giant?” Whatever. Tommy knew his family. He didn’t want other people to get hurt, but he couldn’t do this alone. Even if it was a stranger, he needed help.

Tommy just sat and kept thinking, thoughts spiraling into what he would do if the giant never showed up, if he actually had to do this by himself, when the ground began to shake. Tommy quickly stood up and had to strain his neck looking up to see the giant approach. And, holy shit, this fucker was tall.

Tommy had never met a giant before. Hell, almost no humans had. But from what he knew, they shouldn’t be this tall. He felt his knees begin to shake and his palms sweat as he took in the full size and image of the monster that he had hired to eat him. He had fluffy brown hair, wire rimmed glasses and a yellow sweater with a brown puffer jacket on and, weirdly enough, had a mask covering his mouth. He seemed to be hunched over, looking around for what Tommy could only assume to be him, pulling his red-brown beanie further over his head almost nervously. His eyes frantically scanned the empty lot until he found him, where he quickly made his way over as Tommy stumbled back, falling onto the ground and shaking violently from the cold and fear.

“There you are!!” the giant said, “Tommy, right? I’ve been looking all over for you! What were you thinking making this the meetup spot?!”

Tommy could barely speak. It felt like his head had been stuck in a freezer, his throat frozen and his mind muddled and cloudy, unable to form a response. “I-I..it….i- it was c- close…” he whimpered, stumbling back farther. The giant only then seemed to notice Tommy’s fear as he sighed and knelt down, trying to be more eye level as he spoke quieter. “It’s ok, kid. Fuck, you’re younger than I thought you’d be. You mean it’s close to your house, right?” Tommy nodded hesitantly and Wilbur continued. “Thought so. You probably didn’t want to haul your stuff all the way to the giant side. It’s just…i’m not technically allowed to be here.” Tommy looked up at him, confused, his breath slowing and his panic was subsiding now that the giant wasn’t towering over him and scanning the grounds for him like a fucking predator hunting it’s prey. The giant must’ve noticed his confusion, as he continued. “This isn’t a mutual territory. If i get caught here, i could get in a lot of trouble. I tried texting and calling you to tell you, given that humans don’t know a lot about the laws giants have to follow, but you weren’t responding, so i figured i’d just come and make this quick before the cops notice me.” He said. Ah, so that’s what the surgical mask was for. So the cops couldn’t recognize him. He held out a finger to Tommy, and he tried not to think about how this singular finger was taller than his whole body. “I’m Wilbur, by the way, i don’t think i ever introduced myself.” Tommy shuffled closer and grabbed the tip of the finger in an awkward attempt at a handshake. “I-I’m Tommy.”

“As nice as it is to meet you, you seem really nervous. First time?” Tommy nodded again, miraculously feeling less nervous by the second. Something about this guy, maybe his calming voice or how much more human he was than Tommy assumed he’d be, made Tommy trust him.

Or maybe it was the fact that this was the first time in a long time he had been treated with kindness. His family was barely decent to him, so this was a nice change, if an unexpected one.

“First time meeting a giant, actually.” “No offense, I can kind of tell.” Wilbur said, though there was no judgement in his voice. “Y’know, you don’t have to do this now. We could always resched-“ “No!!” Tommy shouted, interrupting the giant. “No, no, I want to, I have to, I’m out of options, please.” At that, Wilbur began to look concerned. “Tommy what do you mean ‘out of options?’ Are you ok? Do you need help?” “This is my help! Sure, maybe I’m a little bit fucking terrified, but i have nowhere else to go. I- I can’t go back, please, please, Wilby.” Tommy finished, the nickname naturally rolling off his tongue like he had known the giant his whole life. Wilbur looked at him with a vague look of concern and pity before bringing one of his giant fingers closer to Tommy’s face. Tommy didn’t even have time to react before it gently swiped across his cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t even know he had shed. “Ok, ok, i’ll help, it’s alright.” He said, giving Tommy a warm smile (he assumed; his eyes scrunched up a little near the outer edges, which seemed like a good sign he was smiling) that only slightly hid the concern still plastered on his face. And though Tommy still couldn’t see most of the aforementioned face, his eyes portrayed everything Tommy needed. Wilbur wore his heart on his sleeve; he liked that.

Tommy could have sobbed in relief as Wilbur’s words fully sunk in. He was going to get away, and the thought of finally being free was enough to drown out any more fears of what was about to happen. Wilbur then reached behind him and grabbed some of his bags, which looked ridiculously minuscule in his hand, as he brought them up to his mouth before pausing. “Do you want to go down first or do you want me to do to do these? For some people, it can be a bit nerve racking to see me swallow something first.” Tommy thought about it, then shook his head. It’s not like he wanted to see his few meager possessions disappear down the throat of a giant, especially knowing he’d have to join them, but he wasn’t gonna chicken out now. He just needed a few seconds to collect himself, and what Wilbur did with his bags in that time was none of his business.

Wilbur calmly lifted the bags back up, all of them at the same time, and slipped them under his mask. Within a few seconds, Tommy saw a vague outline slip down Wilbur’s throat, bobbing his addam’s apple a bit as they descended to where Tommy would be staying for a short while…maybe he should have gone first.

It all reminded him of a nature documentary he had seen on snakes once; he could see the outline of some poor rodent slowly trail down the snake to its final resting place.

Tommy tried not to think about that last part. After all, he’d be fine. He wasn’t prey, not to Wilbur, anyway. To his family…maybe. Not like they mattered anymore, though.

Tommy felt giddy enough at that thought that he stepped forward towards Wilbur as he watched the man press against his midsection gently, presumably to make sure Tommy’s bags had ended up in the right organ. After that confirmation, Wilbur looked back down, setting his hand palm up next to Tommy. “You ready for this, big man?” Tommy grinned at the nickname, at the way Wilbur treated him. Like a person; an equal. He grinned so hard it almost hurt. “Ready as i’ll ever be.”

Tommy felt himself be lifted and watched as Wilbur used his free hand to lift his mask just enough for Tommy to fit under and into his mouth. Tommy quickly found a perch on his lip and tried to climb in the rest of the way himself before realizing holy shit oh prime good fucking god his teeth were sharp. Wilbur made muffled cry of concern as his hand came back up under Tommy as he stumbled a bit. But, after the initial shock of the teeth being way sharper than he thought, Tommy managed to climb in the rest of the way successfully.

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182 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

the last post did so much better than expected! i’m genuinely really surprised, thanks for all the support on my short little shitty comic hsjsksl

Anyway, here’s pt. 2!!

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188 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[orangeyouuglad]

(not so) late night thoughts

...hey

so we’re here again, after a year. feels like i only come here whenever things went downhill, huh? i mean, it’s all dusty here...

anyway, hey (again)! i’m now in my 6th semester, time moves pretty quickly, right? and i’m about to have my final exams. not yet tho, but it’s coming by the end of this month.

i came here with the intention of writing my thoughts that i just wrote on my note app, but then i got distracted by my own previous posts. now that i read it, i can really see a pattern. my feelings never change, even now. they all feel similar. except the fact maybe things did get better at some point of time. notice how i didn’t show up during my fifth semester? yes, that’s the time where i got the opportunity to explore europe. i know, i couldn’t even believe it myself. it feels like a dream, even it’s not a smooth road, but it does checked off one of my bucket list. 

so anyway, i just wanna update a little bit about my life now. well, it would be a pretty long post if i tell you everything on what happened. but basically, i lack self-love. i’ve been neglecting myself so much that i started hitting rock bottom. i even sent a hate anon message to someone that i despised the most and now i feel really bad about it. even tho i only sent an abbreviation, but it still indicates deep anger and it’s a thing that you should never tell to anyone alive, be it people with mental illness or not.

it has became that bad. i don’t even know why or how it leads me to do that action. but it has been rough. me and my bf even have had a heated argument within the last one and two months, threatened to end our relationship, but we just can’t. but deep down i know at some point i’ve hurt his feelings so much, maybe even cause a scar and an emotional trauma, which now i feel bad about. like, i don’t even know who i am. i’m not this kind of person at all, but for some reason, now i am.

i can’t even blame my past. well, i can, but to me it just feels like i’m using it as an excuse for being a shitty person. i don’t feel proud in causing people to feel pain. and making others feel pain does not take out my pain as well.

from my analysis, i think it’s because of an extreme burnout exhaustion that has lead me into feeling depressed and angry and tired. i neglected myself and my surroundings. i didn’t have the energy to clean my room, my plates, my trash, and even myself. i just sorta let myself... rot. 

and from there, everything went downhill. because my room become so dirty and messy, and i don’t smell good nor look good, and i lose all confidence in myself. i couldn’t even handle looking at myself in camera without my makeup on, because i genuinely feel disgusting about myself but also feeling bad.

because i couldn’t love myself, i start to crave love from other people. and that other people is my boyfriend mostly. the thing about my boyfriend is that he already started working, literally almost everyday, leaving only one day of break on sunday, and goes back to work the next day. he worked from 8-5, but he got off to work from 6 am to catch buses. what i’m trying to say is, he’s now super busy and obviously super exhausted from all that work.

and since he’s now busy, i always missed him. i missed how things went with him. i miss hanging out with him and spending quality time with him. but now he can’t really do that due to his work. but i understand the situation, even though it was a pretty huge difference. like how for example he used to be able to reply me while he’s working and how now he can only update me that he’ll start working and text me back like 6 hours later. it was not an easy change for me, but now i somehow managed.

but what become really detrimental and almost destroyed our relationship was the fact that he posted a public interaction of him with his girl best friend at work. for some reason it makes me feel really furious. since i wasn’t able to love myself to function basic human activities, i desperately crave love from him. but during that vulnerable time, seeing that makes my world collapsed (as cringy as it sounds) and turns me into a whole new worst person that i myself don’t even know existed.

i was mad, like really mad. i feel like my whole mind has become all twisted. i mean i know that there’s nothing going on with them except being friends, but i was too angry to see that. deeper part of me was crying of how half of my heart is now wrenched because i thought i am not loved anymore.

now as i’m writing this, i’m starting to see the problem. even though last time i’ve talked about this to my bf, but i mainly talked about how he should understand my feelings. but now, i start to think... i’m the one who should understand my OWN feelings.

i feel like depression has really made me lose all my motivation to do anything. like, i never want to wish this pain upon anyone, but turns out i probably did to some people in my life. because i’ve been feeling miserable and unhappy, i start trying to make other people feel the same way as i do too. why? because i didn’t want to be alone. it hurts seeing yourself crumble and helpless, while also seeing someone else strive in happiness and passion in their lives. it makes you wish that it was you, who feels that way. and it’s not a pretty thing, i’m aware of that. but do you know what’s more painful? it’s how you’re unable to do anything about it during that phase when you’re fully aware that it’s an unhealthy thing to do. i desperately needed help, but i didn’t know where to go. i didn’t want to self-diagnose, but therapy is expensive. i don’t trust cheaper therapy because i feel like they wouldn’t understand the uglier parts of my story. the part when it states that i’m the villain of my own life. so, quite frankly i felt like shit and helpless.

i don’t really wanna say that i’m now already “cured”, because i’m not. i literally had a moment of realization in the morning like... i should be the one who takes care of my own feelings. i should be the one paying attention to what i need. i’m not supposed to make other people taking care of me, because i am my own person. and i shouldn’t make other people feel down from comforting me.

it is hard, but i guess i’m already aware and that’s one step ahead in order to get better. 

firstly,  i should take a complete break from social media. i’ve been trying to distract my happiness by spending too much time there, comparing myself to others and wishing that i live their life. the hyper reality of it has really consumed me alive, it makes me forget that i’m also a real human being who has my own life. my number one enemy is comparing myself to others. and it doesn’t even make me feel better about myself. so that’s that.

secondly, i have to affirm myself that it’s okay to start over. i’m aware that the scar from 2019 until pandemic happened have really played a major “role” in my life. from having my own love partner, losing my best friend, conflict with family, and getting disconnected from God. i wanna start over from things that i see the most everyday, which is technology. i wanna start deep cleanse my phone gallery and my laptop’s memories. from there, maybe things will get easier and motivates me more to do my work. hopefully a domino effect will take over into a better life for me. it’s the small things that matter the most.

thirdly, i need to check up on my feelings everyday, be it on journal, here, or on my mood tracker on my phone. whatever it is, you have to write down what happened/ your feelings during the day, what you’ve accomplished, what are you grateful of, and what can be improved. i need to keep in touch to understand own feelings and needs.

lastly, it’s okay to regain your passion again. get busy and do your hobbies. do your physical exercise and take care of your own body again. start learning how to gain back your habit of praying 5 times a day. it takes time, but i know i can do it.

well, that’s all for today. thank you so much for listening, dear self. thank you for existing. you might think your life has no purpose right now, but maybe you’ll be proven wrong in the future.

the keys are, keep focusing on yourself, don’t try to please others and don’t compare yourself to other people. because life isn’t a competition. you move at your own pace and it’s just how life works.

you’ve been a very strong girl, and i’m proud of you.

until next time. <3

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Four: You Can Hear it in the Silence

a/n: hello again!! So glad to have you back :) I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. It's been wonderful to read some of your comments and thoughts! I do have to give a special shoutout to @harrysblackcoat and @determined-overthinker for their continued support and feedback, it really means the world to me, so a huge thank you to you both!! I am tremendously grateful for all of you lovely readers and I hope you will enjoy chapter four as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, my inbox is open, so feel free to drop by and chat with me after reading! Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content

Word Count: 6.7k

read parts one, two, and three 

“You kissed him?” Maleah gasps over FaceTime, her mouth so wide, Alani fears her jaw will detach from its socket. 

She had finally decided to tell her best friend everything, excluding the Rolling Stone details, nearly two days after the last time she had seen Harry. The entire next day had been spent replaying every moment and listening to the recorded interview on her voice notes until the phone battery was completely drained. Alani’s stomach fluttered at the sound of Harry’s voice and it only made her miss him more. The part that she desperately needed her friend’s input on was what had happened immediately before she left. 

“No,” Alani clarifies, quickly. “Well, almost. Maybe—I think,”

“I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks,” Maleah starts, brows furrowed as if her brain is malfunctioning. “And you’re already swooping in on my man?”

Alani feels her cheeks warm but she pushes past it and rolls her eyes. “There is no swooping going on,”

“I don’t know. You two were caught in the rain together, sounds like swooping to me,”

“But that’s the thing,” Alani huffs. “I don’t know what it is. And I don’t know if I’m just making a big deal out of nothing,”

Maleah nods understandingly and pushes any jealousy out of her mind, the love for her best friend winning out. 

“Well, tell me exactly what happened before the kiss,”

“There was no kiss,” Alani emphasizes, thinking back to the last few minutes spent in Harry’s car. 

The sun had already set when the two of them arrived at her house, leaving little light in the already darkly tinted Range Rover. But even in the darkness, Alani could see the intensity in Harry’s eyes. Their bodies had been close enough in the confined space that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, and his vanilla scent enveloped her in an intoxicating haze. For a moment, her eyes had darted to his plush lips and she imagined what it would feel like to close the space between them. She could have sworn that he had done the same, finding his eyes wandering just below the tip of her nose when she looked up. Before anything could happen, however, she found herself reaching for the door handle and stepping into the crisp night sky. 

“But did you want him to kiss you?” Maleah questions. 

Alani waits a beat, but she doesn’t have to think about the answer. “Yes,”

“Well there you go!” her friend responds enthusiastically. “Problem solved,”

“Problem not solved,” Alani corrects. “What about the fact that he’s, like, famous? I mean what happens when he has to go back to L.A. or London or whatever?”

“Woah, woah, woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,”

Alani anxiously nibbles on the skin of her lower lip, not stopping even when she tastes blood. “But it’s true—” 

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to think about it right now,” Maleah assures her. “What if you just let things happen and… enjoy it for what it is?”

Alani doesn’t miss the double meaning in the last part. “Mi, you and I both know that I’ve never been one to just enjoy it for what it is,”

“I know this, and I love you,” Maleah starts slowly. “But as your best friend—and I say this with nothing but love—you need to get laid, for real,”

Alani groans, slumping further into her mattress. “But what if that’s all he wants? I just don’t think I’m ready for that,”

“And that’s perfectly fine,” her friend coos. “But from what you’ve told me so far, it doesn’t sound like that’s all he’s after,”

Alani considers this for a moment before Maleah continues. 

“Look, let’s start with something simple: do you like him? I mean, do you like spending time with him and just generally being around him?”

“Yes,”

“Then start there,” Maleah suggests. “You can enjoy someone’s company without making it romantic, it’s just friendship. Don’t put pressure on something that you’re not ready for, or something that might not even be there,”

Alani feels a small weight lifted off her shoulders and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, no you’re right I shouldn’t psych myself out over something that didn’t even happen. I mean, for all I know he has a girlfriend,”

She waits a beat before a new concern enters her mind. “Wait, does he have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,” 

“Well even if he does, it doesn’t matter,” Alani reaffirms. “Because we’re just friends,”

“When are you gonna see him again?” her friend asks. 

Alani stomach drops. In all her concentration of the past, she hadn’t even considered what will happen when she has to face him again. “I don’t know,”

“Who initiated the last hang out?”

“He did,” Alani admits, thinking back to the hours he had spent reading in the café until her shift was over. 

Maleah hums. “Well then it looks like the ball’s in your court,”

Alani is quiet for a moment, which her friend takes as her cue to offer some more reassurance. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you, Nani, but it’s gonna be okay. Promise, ” 

Alani sighs, kneeling to look out the window next to her bed. 

“No, Mi, it’s okay. I really appreciate you just being there, it means a lot,”

“Of course, babes. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

The call ends and Alani continues watching the palm trees sway in the wind. Will do—the very same last words that she had spoken to Harry that night. Her mind wanders back to the moment right before she had opened the door to escape and plays out an alternative scenario. What would have happened if she had leaned just an inch closer? 

********

Harry pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb. Will do, he repeats in his mind— two words that he never knew could carry so much weight. 

“I said ‘I think Manchester United is shit,’” Nick Grimshaw says loudly, shrugging at Mitch and Jeff Bhasker when his plan doesn’t work. “I dunno, that should’ve gotten him,”

“Oh hey, Alani,” Mitch speaks into his phone loud enough for Harry to hear. This piques the singer’s attention immediately, his heart racing. “Yeah he’s right here,” 

“What the fuck?” Harry questions, zeroing in on Mitch. 

“Who’s Alani?” Nick teases with eyebrows raised into his hairline. 

Harry springs from his seat and corners Mitch, who holds his phone above his head. “Gimme the phone!”

“Hello,” Nick interrupts, watching the struggle continue. “Feeling neglected here, who’s Alani?”

The guitarist ducks and sprints to the opposite wall, Harry chasing close behind. They hop from couch to couch and swerve around fragile equipment while Mitch snickers and guards his phone close. Harry had no idea why Alani was calling and why she hadn’t reached out to him directly, but he’s dying to hear her voice again and is growing increasingly frustrated with his friend’s antics. 

“Mitchell, stop fuckin’ around!”

“I’m sorry,” he relents, holding out the phone with an amused laugh. “It wasn’t her, wrong number,”

Harry huffs and returns to his seat disappointedly, a guitar resting in his lap. Nick, who had only been able to drop in for the weekend due to his busy schedule at the BBC, narrows his eyes at both boys before speaking up again. 

“Once again, no one has answered my question.”

“She’s just a girl he’s been hanging out with,” Jeff explains nonchalantly. “He wants to have her babies.”

“Don’t,” Harry warns. 

Despite already having his fun, Mitch can’t resist adding on. “It’s none of our business… but I’ve heard a summer wedding is in the works.”

“I’m gonna go drink now,” Harry announces, standing. “And none of you fuckers are invited.”

He wanders down the hallway and into the kitchen, immediately reaching for the tequila. Is it too early for margaritas? he wonders before deciding that he wants a second opinion.  No new texts are displayed on his phone screen, much to his disappointment, but he decides to open the messages app anyway. He carefully types in Alani’s name and writes, then re-writes, the text several times before pressing send. As soon as the tag reads “delivered”, his body is filled with apprehension, but there’s no turning back. 

Harry: Is 10 a.m. too early for margaritas?

There’s a minute of silence, then two, and Harry turns his phone face down onto the counter to reach for the ingredients. It dings just as he opens the bottle of tequila and he immediately lunges for it. 

Alani: Never. Morning margs were invented for a reason. 

Relief. He quickly types out a risky response. 

Harry: Any chance I can convince you to join me?

He stares at the screen, willing the “delivered” to turn into a “read,” but it doesn’t budge. His lips ghost over the rim of the tequila bottle before he bites the bullet and takes a sip. 

Alani: Working :( sorry. Another time maybe. 

Defeat. He knows that “another time maybe” is a polite “never.” Another swig of tequila down the hatch. 

Harry: Yeah, no worries. 

Alani sets her phone down on her nightstand and brings the duvet up to her chin. She hopes with every muscle in her body that Harry doesn’t show up to the restaurant, though if he’s planning on drinking, perhaps she’s safe. Maybe I should do the same. She wonders, thinking about the rosé her mom keeps in the cupboard for special occasions. Surely heartache must be a good enough reason to crack it open. Regardless, Alani doesn’t think she has the stomach to keep it down at the present. 

********

Harry pushes the remaining peas around on his plate with the prongs of his fork. His chin rests in the heel of his hand. 

“And then I said ‘what’s the difference?’” his manager remarks, sending the rest of the group into a fit of wild laughter. 

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Mitch comments through a chuckle. 

The laughter slowly dies down and their eyes all wander to Harry who hasn’t budged for the past twenty-five minutes. They exchange worried glances, and Jeff begins to wonder if  his initial advice for Harry to go out with Alani was a mistake. 

“Hey, H,” he begins gently. “You feelin’ alright?”

Harry looks up from his plate and musters his best fake smile. “Yeah, jus’ tired,”

It was partially true; the crew had spent their entire afternoon at Honoli’i Beach practicing their surfing, though it was mostly unsuccessful for Harry—his life seemed to be a series of wipe-outs these days. 

“I’m gonna go watch a Rom-Com in my room,” he announces, standing with his plate. “Probably doze off.”

The group exchanges “good nights” before Harry saunters down the hall to his room. Settling into the bed, he flicks through the movie selection and clicks on one that he knows by heart. He contemplates texting Alani again, scrolling through their brief conversation from three days ago. Against his better judgment, he types out another message and presses send. 

Harry: Opinion on The Notebook?

He waits, attention briefly occupied by Rachel McAdams until the phone dings. 

Alani: A classic, though not as good as Dirty Dancing if I’m being honest. 

The corners of his mouth curl and he immediately types out another response. 

Harry: You have a problem with The Goss?

Alani snorts, planting her spoon into the pint of strawberry ice cream to reply. 

Alani: First, I have many gripes about you referring to Ryan Gosling as “The Goss”. Second, I was actually rooting for Lon Hammond, but maybe that’s just because I’m partial to James Marsden. And third, the scene where Baby and Johnny are dancing alone in his room. That’s all I have to say. 

Harry hums, hanging on every word. 

Harry: Confession: I’ve never actually seen Dirty Dancing…

Alani: We need to change that immediately. 

His heart pounds. So she didn’t plan on ghosting him forever. 

Harry: So Lon Hammond, that’s your type? 

Alani doesn’t know why she finds it unsettling that Harry steers the conversation away from any possible talk of them hanging out again. She reminds herself that she had been the one to decline his invitation for margaritas and shovels another scoop of ice cream into her mouth. 

Alani: Kind, supportive, successful, handsome? Yeah, I’d say so. Not to mention he forgave Allie for cheating. 

Harry: But Noah built her a house. Her dream house, I might add. 

Alani: I’m not discrediting Noah, I love a grand romantic gesture as much as the next person. Just think Lon deserved better. 

Harry grins, entirely ignoring the movie at this point. Grand romantic gestures, he notes, good to know. 

Harry: And what about the fact that Noah wrote it all down and reads their literal love story to her every time she forgets?

Alani: Maybe he deserves some rights for that. 

Alani taps the spoon against her lower lip and thinks about Cecily’s words. Just let things happen. She desperately wants to, but she doesn’t know how. The thought of getting too close only to let it all slip through her fingers is too overwhelming, so she starts with something simple: do you like spending time with him? Alani doesn’t think she could enjoy anything more. Her mind wanders back to the passenger seat of Harry’s car and the image of his wrist draped over the steering wheel, lower lip captured between his fingers. She had noted this tick early on and found it endlessly endearing. Save for the awkward fifteen minutes of their very first interview, their conversations all seemed to come so easily. Alani enjoys his quick wit and the way he speaks slowly, as if carefully weighing each word. She likes that even though the entire reason for their relationship is for her to learn all that she possibly can about him, he makes an equal effort to get to know her. Alani compares Harry’s sincere reaction to hearing that she was a journalist to David’s snarky remark. Harry had believed in her from the get-go—he had trusted her. He makes her feel seen and known. Isn’t that what it means to be loved? To be known? His words echo in her mind. 

Harry: How’s the article going?

Alani’s stomach drops. Fuck. In all her contemplation over the almost kiss, she had forgotten the truth behind her motives. She had lied. Harry had trusted her, and she had lied. Not yet, she thinks, I haven’t lied yet. It would only be a lie if she submits the article to Rolling Stone. Her throat tightens. But I’m so close. She thinks about telling him, but quickly shuts the thought down when she considers that she still doesn’t have enough material and can’t afford to risk it now. This is her chance, there’s no doubt about it. Why else would the universe have planted a world famous rockstar right at her feet just when she had decided to give up for good? Alani had to at least try, she owed it to herself, and she reasons that if Harry really cares about her, he will understand. He would have to. 

Alani: It’s going. 

Harry: Can I get a sneak peek anytime soon?

Alani: Soon. Good night, Harry. 

She sends the last text and sets her phone face down next to her. If she was going to do this, she had to do it right—even if it meant putting some space between the two of them. She owed that much to Harry. 

He sinks further into the mattress, not understanding what he had said or done wrong, but he grants Alani her space, anyway.  

Harry: Good night Alani. 

********

“You’re listening to KWPX The Wave and that was the latest single from Ariana Grande,”

Alani stops fiddling with the radio and sits back with a defeated huff. She had been in a rut with her own music lately and after spending nearly fifteen minutes in her driveway shuffling through songs, she decided to turn on the radio and leave it up to fate.

“Next up is a song from everyone’s favorite ex-boyband: One Direction,”

Goddamnit, Alani groans. She had forgotten what a bitch fate could be. 

“Now, I have to say, DeeDee,” the radio DJ starts. “I was personally heartbroken to hear the news, and I know my daughters were too,”

“Oh definitely,” DeeDee replies. “And I can’t help but wonder what this means for all of them. I mean, what do you think they’re up to these days?”

The first DJ gives a snide chuckle before he continues. “Probably doing what every twenty-something year old millionaire does: booze, cruise, and schmooze—the pretty girls, especially,”

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes at his insinuation. She had begun to resent all of the gossip and speculation surrounding Harry’s whereabouts, especially after learning how much privacy meant to him. Moreover, she hated the twinge of jealousy that coursed through her veins at the thought of him with another girl. Alani supposes that it wasn’t entirely out of the question since they were far from romantically involved. While he had occupied her mind over the past few weeks, she knew that it was highly unlikely that he paid her the same attention. The thought still brings bile to her mouth. 

“Well whatever they’re up to, one thing seems to be pretty clear,” DeeDee speaks up again. “All eyes will be on Harry Styles. I mean, he’s really the one to watch in all of this, isn’t he?”

“I think you’re right. I’m curious to see what he’s got in store. Maybe he’ll join Justin Timberlake and Nick Jonas with the ex-boyband buzz cut. But without further ado, here’s Drag Me Down.”

Alani knows that she’ll have to talk to Harry eventually; over the past week and a half, she had dodged every invitation to hang out, left cut and dry responses to all of his texts, and even ducked into the restaurant’s walk-in fridge when he unexpectedly showed up one afternoon. While the temptation to indulge his friendly advances was high, professional boundaries needed to be established. She had already begun working on the article with material from the two previous interviews—and it wasn’t half bad—but there was still so much of the story to fill in. If Alani was going to make it all worthwhile, she had to keep digging and do it fast; she couldn’t afford to let her personal feelings get in the way.  

Her car sputters slightly as she heads south on Mamalahoa Highway and the radio fades in and out. Alani checks all of her gauges—she had made sure that the gas tank was full before leaving—and doesn’t see anything unusual. A few miles later, it jerks again before coming to a complete stop. 

“Fuck,” she cries, pounding her palms against the steering wheel. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Alani waits a moment before turning the key again, but the engine refuses to start. She whips her phone out of the cupholder and scrolls through her contact list. 

Pua—no license.

Maleah—out of town. 

Dad—also out of town, catering a wedding in Oahu. 

Mom—probably scrubbed in on a major, life-saving surgery. 

She continues scrolling until her finger lands on a name that makes her heart race and sink at the same time. 

Harry Styles—no. 

There’s no way she can justify calling him, not after giving him the cold shoulder all week. If texting back and forth was unprofessional, then asking to be rescued off the side of the road surely crossed several boundaries. Alani scans her surroundings, shielding her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun. There isn’t a car or person in sight for miles—what other choice does she have? With shaking fingers, she dials the number and presses the phone to her ear. Harry answers after the third ring. 

“Hello?” he responds loudly over the sound of cymbals crashing and laughter in the background. 

“Hi,” Alani greets, raising her voice to be heard. “It’s Alani,”

She hears shuffling on the other end and then Harry’s voice, softer this time. 

“Oh hey. How are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

Harry senses that something is off, but he’s glad to hear from Alani, nevertheless. His friends continue their antics in the studio, despite his silent gestures to knock it off, so he heads outside. 

“Uh, yeah I’m fine. S’good to hear from you,” he offers shyly. 

Alani’s chest tightens. 

“Ditto,” she replies. “Hey listen, um, I’m kind of in a bit of trouble I—” 

She hesitates. What the hell am I doing? 

“I need your help,”

Harry’s heart sinks, immediately filled with worry. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. “It’s my car,”

“Where are you?”

“The highway, southbound. Just past exit 243, I think,”

“I’m on my way,”

“Thank you,” Alani offers gently. “Really, thank you.”

A soft smile spreads across Harry’s lips. “Anytime.”

He arrives in a pink Cadillac fifteen minutes later, pulling over behind Alani. She doesn’t recognize the car and  her confusion only deepens when a man with short-cropped hair emerges. As he approaches, a wave of recognition and relief washes over her. 

“Harry?”

“Hey,” he greets, walking up to the driver’s side. “Need a lift?”

Alani’s mouth hangs open ever so slightly, scanning his new appearance. He looks like a completely different person than the one she remembers, and he has the faintest trace of stubble above his lip and jaw. 

“You cut your hair,”

“I did,” he confirms. 

“It’s so short,”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Alani offers with a light laugh, feeling flustered under his gaze. “I mean it looks great, really suits you. Not that it matters what I think, it’s your hair,”

But it did matter. Everything she did, or didn’t do, said, and didn’t say— it all mattered to him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. And it mattered more than she would ever know. 

“So Stevie quit on you?”

Alani sighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong, honestly. All of the gauges look fine and I filled the tank this morning,”

Harry asks her to pop the hood and makes his way to the front of the Bronco. He looks around, not seeing any smoke or trace of other issues, though his knowledge of cars isn’t as comprehensive as he’d like in this situation. 

Alani joins him, doing her own scan over the inside of the hood despite the fact that she has no idea what to look for. Her eyes wander to Harry’s strong hands as they prod the various bells and whistles, and she notices the way his tanned skin glistens under the sun. The cross pendant nestled behind his white t-shirt escapes when he leans over, swinging like a mesmerizing pendulum. 

“I called a tow truck,” he says standing with his hands on his hips. “Should be here soon,”

“I’ll pay you back,” Alani offers quickly, her throat dry. 

Harry waves her concern away with a hand and places the hood back. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay,”

“I really owe you one,” she says appreciatively. 

He leans against the car with his arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Have lunch with me and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.”

The tow truck arrives ten minutes later and the driver gathers all of Alani’s information, letting her know which mechanic the car will be taken to and when she can pick it up. She sighs watching Stevie pull away down the road and imagines the dent it’ll make in her savings. Harry nudges her gently, motioning for her to get in his car. 

“New ride?” she questions, running her fingers over the cotton candy paint. 

“It belongs to the owner of the studio,” he explains. “All of the cars do except the Rover, she’s a rental. But Jeff took her out to get us lunch,”

“I’m so sorry for interrupting your plans,” Alani apologizes. And for kind of ghosting you, she thinks. 

Harry shakes his head, shifting the gear between them. “Nah, you didn’t interrupt, we were just messing around. But I am curious to know what brought you all the way out here on a Tuesday afternoon. Skipping town?”

Alani giggles at the way he says “Tuesday,” but responds despite the curious look he flashes her. “Day off. I was gonna go to the beach,”

“Bummer,” Harry offers, thanking every deity that he can name. “We could still go,”

“Your friends won’t be mad?”

“They’ll be fine,”

Alani nods, her eyes studying the orange checkers on her trousers.

“What’re you hungry for?” Harry speaks up. 

She thinks for a moment and is reminded of her original plans. “I could go for some sushi,”

“Know any good places?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Alani’s curious gaze falls to the glove box before her, immediately wondering what’s inside. “Do you think the owner will be mad if I open this?”

Harry glances down at what she’s pointing to and shakes his head. “Knock yourself out,”

Alani pulls down the hatch and reaches inside; her fingers make contact with what feels like a pair of glasses. When her hand re-emerges with a pair that are pink and heart-shaped, she smiles. 

“They have good taste,” she comments, putting them on. 

Harry looks over and flashes a wide grin, the dimple that Alani has become so fond of emerging. 

“Look good on you,”

“Try them on,” Alani suggests, handing them over. 

He obliges and pushes his own pair up to make room for the other lenses. 

“What d’you think?”

“I think you should keep them,” she says. “They suit you.”

And they really do; they compliment his face well and hint to the fun, easygoing parts of his personality that Alani has recently discovered. 

She directs him to her favorite sushi spot near Bayfront Park, which is buzzing per usual. After they’ve been seated on the patio outside, Harry tucks the heart-shaped sunglasses into his t-shirt and contemplates addressing the elephant in the room: the ghosting. He doesn’t want to spook her, though,  so he decides to pose the question lightly, but Alani speaks before he has the chance. 

“So what’s with the haircut?”

Harry blinks, clearing his throat before he responds. “You hate it,”

“No!” She defends. “I like it, really, it looks great,”

“You wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t absolutely hate it,” he teases in mock offense. 

Alani rolls her eyes, a playful smile spreading across her face. “It just seems like a huge step and I’m curious, that’s all,”

He considers this, deciding to stop giving her a hard time, and responds. “Well if you must know, it’s for an audition,”

“For?”

“A movie,”

“A movie?” Alani’s eyes grow wide. “You’re gonna be in a movie?”

“Maybe,” he clarifies. “Dunno yet,”

“Wow,”

Harry leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What have you been up to? Any life changing decisions?”

Alani shrugs. “Same old. Work, my summer class,”

“And how’s your family?” he asks, which catches her off guard. 

“Good. My sister’s… a moody teenager. My dad is catering a big wedding in Oahu right now. Mom’s saving lives like the badass woman she is,”

Harry laughs lightly at her comment and Alani tries to store the soundbite in the back of her mind for safe keeping.

“What about yours?” she questions. 

“Fine, yeah. Mum’s good, so’s Gemma. Talk to them at least once a week just to check in,”

He pauses to take a sip of his water before continuing. “Ever since I was about...ten, maybe, ‘ve had this feeling like—protect mum at all costs. But she’s strong, has the greatest heart,”

Alani finds it sweet that Harry speaks so highly of Anne. Her own mom had always told her that a lot can be said about the character of a man by the way he treats his mother. 

“I’m sure she misses having you around,” Alani comments, thinking of her own close relationship with her mom. “I don’t know if I could let my child leave home as early as you did,”

Harry brushes the tip of his nose with a knuckle and nods. “Was kinda hard at first, but she’s always been really supportive.”

“I bet she’s really proud.”

He offers a shy smile in response, scanning the scenery around them. 

“I’m sure your family’s proud of you too.”

Alani and Harry continue their light conversation through the entire meal, sharing stories about their families and childhood. She finds herself wishing that  she could have met a teenaged Harry, pre-fame and general world domination. He enjoys her anecdotes, soaking up every detail that he possibly can as if his life depends on it. The two of them go back and forth well after the meal is finished, only pausing when the waitress stops to check on them. 

“Maybe we should go,” Alani suggests, checking her phone for the time. “I always hate when customers stay for hours,”

“Just like I did the first time at the café?” he asks, putting his signature on the bill. 

Alani feels her cheeks warm and she quickly back pedals. “No! I mean—well, yeah, kinda—”

“And the truth comes out!”

“I was just annoyed because my sister kept bugging me to fill up your water. She was afraid you were gonna, like, get dehydrated and die or something.”

“Tell her I appreciate the concern.”

Alani laughs lightly, feeling a bit of relief when the breeze soothes her burning cheeks. The two of them make their way back into the restaurant and out the main entrance, padding down the boardwalk side by side. Harry never knows what to do with his hands, usually opting to stuff them into his pockets as he hurries down a busy street,  but he desperately wishes to occupy them a different way. His pinky involuntarily brushes the back of Alani’s hand, but he pulls away quickly to avoid freaking her out. She wishes he hadn’t. 

“What were you gonna do at the beach?” he asks to break the ice. 

She thinks for a moment, watching the different couples huddled together on the beach. “Relax, get some air. Do a little reading,”

“What’re you reading?”

“Currently this book about Laurel Canyon in California and some of the musicians who lived there during the 60s. You might like it,”

Harry’s brow raises. “Think so?”

“Yeah, it’s got Joni, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Mamas and the Papas, all those guys. They talk about their experiences of coming to terms with rapidly growing fame, the reality of the peace and love movement, the collaborative process. Seems like something you might find interesting—relatable, even,”

"I’ll check it out,” Harry promises with a nod. 

Alani smiles gently and refocuses her attention on the horizon. “So what were you gonna do today?”

“Not much,” Think about you. “But speaking of books and stuff, I‘ve been meaning to ask. When you become, you know, the next Pulitzer Prize winner, do I get to be your plus one?”

She scoffs, squinting under the bright sun to look up at him. “I don’t know, I have to make it first,”

“And what does ‘making it’ mean to you?” Harry had been trying to re-define success, himself, and was curious to hear Alani’s thoughts on the subject.

She ponders the question for a minute, adjusting the straps of her orange tank-top to occupy her anxious fingers. “Move to New York, work for some big publication, something like that,”

“New York?” he asks, slightly taken aback. “And leave all this behind?”

“I think I’d like the change,” Alani reasons. “I love it here more than anything, but I think I’ve gotta make my own way, my own decisions. My grandma used to say that you ‘gotta swim before you drown because the ocean’s too vast and too interesting to get stuck treading water in the same place,’”

Harry nods, understandingly. “Wise woman,”

“Carolina,” Alani says, using the Spanish pronunciation that sounds like music to Harry’s ears. “That was her name, I was named after her,”

“Middle name?”

“Yeah,” she clarifies. “I’m half Mexican on my mom’s side,”

He hums. “Ever been?”

“To Mexico?” Alani asks, proceeding when he nods. “Yeah. Once when I was like, five, we went to Xcaret for my aunt’s wedding,”

“It’s beautiful there,” Harry notes. 

“What’s your favorite place that you’ve been to?” Alani questions, imagining all the stamps that must be in Harry’s passport. 

He thinks for a moment, a hum buzzing low in his throat as he sifts through his memory. “Probably Italy,”

“Lucky,” Alani muses, picturing the Gothic cathedrals that she longs to visit. 

“You’d like it there.” Harry says, truly believing it. A part of him felt that she belonged in every beautiful place he could think of. 

The two of them walk in silence for a few moments, each taking time to scope out the view around them. Alani sees a couple leaned against a staircase railing, looking deep in conversation, though probably not a pleasant one. 

“You think they’re breaking up?” Alani asks gently, nodding her head in their direction. “Or just having the talk?”

Harry scans the scenery before his eyes land on the pair that she's referring to. “Ah yes, the talk. Ye olde chat,”

“What do you think you’d be if you weren’t a musician?” She poses suddenly. He laughs to himself at the way Alani jumps from topic to topic and reasons that her mind must always be going a mile a minute. 

“A virgin,” Harry jokes, hoping that it’ll land. When she lets out a sudden, bright laugh, he looks over in relief. 

“God, you are so…” Alani trails off, shaking her head.

 He waits to see if she’ll finish the statement, but he doesn’t think she will. Truthfully, she doesn’t know what to say. The more Alani learns about Harry, the more he seems to surprise her. One minute he can be serious and thoughtful. The next, a ray of sunshine—aloof and carefree. She finds herself anticipating his every move, every word, and loving each minute that he allows her to. It makes her head spin at times, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They journey down to the shore and discard their shoes in favor of feeling the cool sand beneath their toes. Alani tells Harry about the sea glass collection she had as a child, and he makes a mental note to scan the ground for any pieces she might like. She asks him if the beaches are nice in England, to which he responds a hard “no” compared to the ones in Hawaii or California. A couple of children splash in the shallow water nearby, and Alani doesn’t miss the fond look in Harry’s eye as he watches. Eventually, they wander back up to the main boardwalk when they spot a group of people  happily sipping milkshakes. Harry noticed her eyes following them, practically drooling, so he suggested it before she had to. 

“Want some?” Alani asks, her mouth full of strawberry. 

Harry gladly accepts, taking a sip from the straw that she holds out to him. He hums, letting the taste sit on his tongue before he offers  his own cup full of vanilla. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before leaning over for a taste. The flavor is sweet and comforting to her, despite popular opinion that it’s boring. Alani swipes her tongue across her lower lip and thinks for a moment that this is what his mouth must taste like. She wishes she could verify this thought. 

“I’m really glad you got the strawberry,” he notes, stirring his drink with the straw. “I was having a serious crisis over what to get,”

“When in doubt, always go with the pink one,” Alani says, tapping her temple, and suddenly Harry remembers that the contents of her bag were all various shades of bubble gum and dusty rose. 

“It’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” he offers, taking another sip of his milkshake. 

“Paul Simonon?” she questions with narrowed eyes, instantly recognizing his reference to a quote from The Clash’s bassist.  

“Nothing gets past you.”

********

The clouds above start to resemble puffs of cotton candy, signaling that the day will soon draw to a close much to both Harry and Alani’s dismay. They lounge in the pink Cadillac, which is parked in an area that overlooks the entire beach, and take turns picking out the one lie amongst two truths about one another; it was a game that Harry had proposed. 

“Is it,” Alani starts, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “The four nipples?”

Harry makes a buzzer sound effect through his own laughter, temple resting against his fist as his arm drapes over the seat. 

“Wrong-o, sorry,”

“What?!” she exclaims, eyes wide. “You’re messing with me,”

“Am not,” he defends proudly. 

Alani lets out a surprised chuckle, fighting the urge to let her eyes wander below his neck. “I don’t believe you,”

“I’d prove it,” he shrugs. “But then I’d have to flash you,”

“Guess we’ll never know, then,” 

Their laughter settles down and the only sound between them is the crashing of waves in the distance. Harry lets his eyes trail down the slope of Alani’s nose to her cupid’s bow—dangerous territory. Little does he know, Alani does the same, noting the fact that his lips are heart-shaped and the perfect shade of strawberry. How sickeningly charming, she thinks. Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and there’s something hidden behind the sea-glass that she can’t quite read. The air becomes charged and the two of them are like magnets, drawn inexplicably towards one another. Alani inches closer, her heart pounding so violently in her chest, she’s afraid that he can hear it. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears prevents this, however, as he leans in too. The space between them gets smaller, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, when the high pitched ringing of Alani’s phone sends her jolting backward. Harry curses every deity that he can name. 

“Hello?” she responds, turning her back to him. She listens for a minute, a soft “mhmm” escaping every few seconds. “Okay, yes, I’ll be there. Thank you,” 

Alani dreads having to turn back to Harry and face the consequences of whatever lines were almost crossed. She chooses to simply ignore it all together, as if no time had passed between his shocking personal revelation and the ringing of her phone. 

“Stevie’s ready.” she says weakly. 

Harry swallows down his frustration and offers a polite smile. “Let’s go get her.”

The mechanic shop is twenty minutes from the beach; Harry and Alani spend the entire ride in silence. Neither of them address the almost kiss despite the fact that it hangs over their heads like a raincloud of uncertain emotion. She occupies her gaze with the scenery whizzing past while he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Alani mourns the fact that their little bubble had been popped so soon, but she figures that it’s for the best. Don’t get attached, she reminds herself. Easier said than done. Harry also wallows in the aftermath of the interruption, wishing he had acted sooner. When they finally arrive at the shop, the mechanic reveals that the cause of her car troubles was a simple dead battery. Harry offers to foot the bill, but Alani refuses, deciding that she shouldn’t accept any more favors from him in order to restore the boundary. 

“So I guess this is where we part ways,” Alani says gently, toying with her keys. 

Harry scans his brain for something—anything—a single excuse to see her again, and soon. He doesn’t think he can take another week and a half of icy silence and he has a suspicion that she can’t either. After all, she had leaned in, too—hadn’t she?

“There’s this thing,” he blurts out. “A sort of jam sesh at the studio tomorrow night. There’s gonna be booze, otherwise I’d tell you to bring your sister. But I’d love for you to come, and I think it might be good for—the article, or something,”

Alani weighs the pros and cons in her mind, one of which he had already mentioned: a chance to listen to what he’s working on. It seemed professional and innocent enough, not to mention the fact that there’d be other people around to keep them in check. Once she decides it’s safe, she nods. 

“Okay, sure,”

“I can pick you up,” Harry offers. 

Alani shakes her head gently and offers a shy smile. “No, that's okay. Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there.”

They exchange good-byes and Alani thanks him for coming to her rescue, to which he offers a modest shrug. Harry speeds down the highway and back to the house, but three words linger in the silence. 

I’ll be there.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Never Too Late 2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (later in series)

This is dark!Steve Rogers and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re turning forty and life seems to be forging ahead on its one way track, that is until you meet Steve Rogers.

Note: Things are... going. But I’m doing my best.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

It was about time you started doing something. Past due, you’d say. Your body was screaming for it. You were no longer the college grad who could sit and eat potato chips to her heart’s desire. Or the thirtysomething in denial of the looming 4-0. No you had stepped upon the threshold and you felt and saw the changes which came with another decade.

And yet, the simple act was daunting. Your old beat up sneakers squeaked as you descended the stairs of your building to the street. You wore a pair of thin track pants you’d bought years ago on the unspent whim of a New Years’ resolution. Your sports bra was new and uncomfortable; the tank top a bit too tight for your liking. 

You did your best to stretch outside. You kicked your foot up against the brick and lunged a few times forward and back. Your muscles were stiff from inactivity; from years of neglect; from time. You hopped in place as worked up to your departure. 

You began at a slow jog. You reached the first corner out of breath.

You were old. Accept it.

You continued and wove your way to the park where few others paced themselves around the fountain and winding paths where happy owners walked their happier pets. Another breather as you gasped. The sweat gathered under the cotton shirt and created a humid tent in the pants. 

You gripped your hips and stared ahead. Keep going. You pushed off your heels and bent your arms as you fought your way through the tension in your chest, the burn in your lungs, the ache in your knees. One day at a time, it would get easier. You hoped.

You wondered how you’d manage to fit in your new regime on workdays. A morning run would mean even earlier days; likely shorter nights. You’d have to make it work. You didn’t have another ten years to wait around; if you did, it might be too late to change.

You were tired. Of the years passing like second. Of the tedium. Of nothing happening. Of failed hopes. Of pointless relationships and temporary stability. You weren’t where you wanted to be and you’d likely never get there but there were other desires in life. Other achievements to be made.

Your mother could resent you for your singleness; your lack of familial bliss. She could not begrudge you entirely. Not if you bettered yourself. Not if you turned it around and tried. Not if you set aside your passivity for proaction. Because it was your life, not hers.

When you got back to your building, you were ready to collapse. The old elevator was still out of order. It’s old grated doors marked with an X of tape and a handwritten sign. You dragged yourself up the stairs and stumbled inside. You downed a glass of water and splayed over your single armchair. Your heart slowed as you flipped on the television and checked off day one in your newly downloaded app.

👟

Day two. Exhausted and still sore, you made yourself go. You had an hour before you had to be back to shower and ready for work. The day seemed even longer ahead of you. Eight hours at a desk in pain, dealing with the frustrated public. It was worse than you could imagine. Your night was spent with an ice pack and half-dazed.

Day three, four, five. A tic in your phone which barely felt worth it. Six almost saw you giving up as you ambled around work with splints in your calves. Seven, another day off, but you still had work to do. You pulled on your freshly washed track pants and a loose tee. The last days of summer approached but the heat had yet to relent. 

You took your usual route to the park. You stopped at the entrance and stretched a second time. You found it was helping. The pain was duller, the aches less spread out. You set off and found your step. A week and you could already see the ounce of improvement. Well, inside more than out.

You measured your breaths as you neared the curve shrouded in trees; leaves still lush and aromatic. Soon enough, they’d darken and drop. Time was like footsteps. Each one forward took you further from where you were and yet you could feel like you were standing still or come to a startling stop that left you hurtling into the void.

Like then. Your worn treads slid over the ground as you collided with the unexpected runner coming your way. Your eyes had been above him, staring at the rounded tree tops and their sprawling branches. On the early morning hues that cast the sentinels in a placid mural.

You stumbled back, your hands reaching back to catch yourself but you never met the ground. Two thick hands caught your upper arms and steadied you. You looked up, both surprised and not by the face staring back at you. Both familiar and not. After so long in the city, the last two weeks had seen as many run-ins with Steve Rogers. More, now.

“You,” He smiled as he slowly released you, his fingers tickled your arms. 

“You.” You echoed dully. 

“Small world,” He chuckled.

“New York isn’t that small,” You said. “You must think I’m some weirdo.”

“Or maybe I’m the weirdo?” He ventured. “Didn’t peg you as a runner.”

“Wow, thanks,” You scoffed. “And I’m not. Well, wasn’t. New hobby.”

“New?” He raised a brow.

“One week,” You shrugged. “Not much and I’m sure once it’s cold, I’ll go back to my sloth,” You said. “Uh, sorry about… wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Not at all. Neither was I.” He smiled. 

“Well, I, uh…” You looked past him, “Have a lot to go.”

“Can I join you?” He asked. You squinted at his eagerness. 

“Weren’t you going…” You pointed over your shoulder.

“I just do circles,” He said. “Doesn’t really matter which direction.”

“I’m not very fast.”

“It’s not a race.”

“Alright,” You threw your hands up, just wanting to get it over with. “But if you feel like leaving me behind, don’t think it’ll bother me.”

“Come on,” He turned so he faced the same direction. “It’s always easier with company.”

You exhaled and righted yourself before you fell back into a jog. He kept pace beside you. You could smell his sweat. You tried to keep your breathing quiet.

“I used to run with my pal Sam but… he joined a gym.” He said. “So, new hobby?”

“Hobby is putting it… nicely,” You huffed. “More like trying to make up for my own laziness.”

“It’s never too late to make a change,” He preened. “You got any other hobbies? Maybe something you enjoy more?”

You glanced at him. Your chest hurt but you didn’t want to slow down.

“Cross-stitching? Tetris?” You offered. “Nothing special. Just… life.”

“How’s work?” He asked.

You were silent as you kept running. You listened to the sound of your foot falls as your breath came faster.

“I--” You came to a stop and turned to him as you touched your side. “Forgive me for being a bit--confused but--” You gulped. “Don’t you have friends? Super friends?”

“Co-workers,” He said and his hands went to his hips. “Oh, maybe you already have enough friends then.”

“Look, I’m forty, I work the same job I had sixteen years ago, I live in a box, and I’m falling apart,” You shook your head. “Not many people are trying to be my friend. All my friends have families; obligations.”

“Well, it sounds like we have a lot in common,” He grinned. “So we should be great friends.”

You frowned. His optimism was irksome. His refusal to be rebuffed more so.

“Friends?” You repeated darkly.

“Maybe just running buddies?” He suggested. “I do get a bit lonely out here with just the chipmunks.”

“Steve.” You uttered.

“And I think you need someone to keep you on the right path, hmm? I’ve been told I’m a great motivator. Bit of a hard ass but I’ve got a talent and I use it.”

You considered him. He was right. An app wasn’t going to keep you going forever. Already, you were tempted to drag the little icon to the bin. Already you were tempted to sleep in. Already you were succumbing to failure. 

“You sure?” You asked.

“What time do you usually run?”

“Well, weekdays, I head out at six, back home at seven, then off to work,” You explained. “Weekends I get an extra hour of sleep.”

“Alright,” He turned and set off. You followed. “I can’t promise every day. Lots of work out of town but weekends at least.”

“You really don’t--”

“Maybe if you start saying yes, you’ll find what you’ve been looking for,” He intoned. 

You grumbled and pressed your lips together. He was right. You hated that he was. Something about this man both intrigued and disturbed you. He was kind but with a hint of pushiness. You just couldn’t decide if his insistence was merely clueless or something more deliberate.

👟

Another week and the mornings were easier, though the days continued to drag. Steve met you again on Monday and Tuesday but Wednesday he was gone. You didn’t mind so much but he returned on Saturday. He waited for you at the park entrance, a wrapped box in his hand. You were curious but not nosy.

You slowed as he greeted you.

“Hey,” He smiled. “I didn’t realise until after I’d gone that I had no way to tell you I’d be away.”

“It’s fine.” You assured him. “Think I managed just fine on my own.”

“Work,” He said. “But a quick mission so I can’t complain.”

“I saw you on the news,” You looked towards the fountain that stood further inside the park. “I figured.”

“Still, I think maybe… I’d like a more direct line.” He pulled out his phone as he kept the box under his arm.

“Are you asking for my number?”

“In case anything happens,” He said. “I mean, we’re not strangers.

“Sure, but…” You wetted your dry lip with your tongue. “Okay. Um, I don’t have my phone on me but I can give you my number.”

“Great, I’ll text you.” He unlocked his cell and carefully keyed in your details as you recited them. He replaced the phone in the strap around his bicep. “There. Your very own on-call hero.”

“Right,” You nodded slowly.

“Oh, and…” He grabbed the box from beneath his elbow. “Happy belated birthday.”

“What? Uh, I can’t. You already--”

“A cake? Really. Everyone should have a cake on their birthday.” He held out the gift. “And presents too.”

You looked at the small square box. You chewed your lip and shifted your weight on your feet.

“It’s really nothing special.” He urged. “If you’re wondering, July fourth,” He pointed to himself. “So you’re in the clear.”

“Steve--”

“I already got it and… it’s not really my colour,” He shoved it closer. “Please.”

You slowly took it as you gave a quiet thank you. You carefully slipped a finger in the crease of red wrapping paper and tore it open. A dusty pink smart watch shone back at you. You blinked and looked up at him.

“The guy at the store said you sync it with your phone and it can count your steps and all that. Send you reminders.” He rubbed his neck. “I thought it would be useful. Especially when I’m away.”

You tilted your head at him then looked back to the clear plastic window of the box. It was expensive, you could tell. 

“It’s… a lot.” You said. 

“It’s a gift. It’s not about the price tag,” He shrugged. “Come on. Try it on.”

You scratched your hairline and muttered. You went over to a bench and sat as you worked at opening the box. You took out the watch and admired its round face. He offered to do it up for you and you turned your wrist over. He secured it and you held up your hand as you looked it over.

“You like it?” He asked. “They had gold but I liked the pink.”

“Nice color,” You affirmed. “I guess… I guess I can use it.” You lowered your arm and hid the watched with your other hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. It’s what friends do,” He stood and gathered the packaging. “You don’t need all this, do you?”

“No,” You stood. “Thanks.”

He tossed it in a bin surrounded by hedges and you neared.

“Well, should we get going?” He asked.

“Yeah. Maybe an extra lap today?” You said. “Push myself a little.”

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 3: Caught

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 3. Set in a Modern AU, follows up on Day 2 'Alone'. All alone in the middle of a forest covered by snow, Hiccup makes his escape during a trip. But what has lead up to this?

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo, Ryker

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 4 376

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Escape in the Snow”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: From this point on, it's going to be confusing as events will not be told in order just because of the order of the prompts. At least from Day 3 through 7. I've never done anything like this before either, so this was an interesting project to work on.

Anyway constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Grimborn Empire is a company that focuses mostly on export and import. They have centers where trucks load and unload their wares and they have ships and containers to bring those wares to other countries overseas. There are many, many employees working under the Grimborn name.

But the headquarters, so to speak, is a tall building that stands in the city of New New Berk and that is where Viggo works.

His office is on the top floor and overlooking the city. Though quite sparse, the interior is as fancy as one would imagine and screams CEO. At the desk Viggo usually sits, his back facing the large, thick windows that make up the wall behind him.

At the moment, however, he's facing one and stands there as a slow afternoon passes. Hands clasped behind him, he watches the traffic down below.

With no work needing to be done, he's waiting for a meeting that is supposed to start in another hour or so. He has a particular disdain for waiting and doing nothing, he's just wasting precious time that could be spent on something useful.

If it wasn't so short, he would've used it alright. He would've gone by the house and see how his little pet project is doing, but alas!

So instead he has to think smaller and ponder if he should tell his assistant to grab him a coffee. He would go down to the local coffee shop he used to frequent, but the one barista he liked in that establishment is no longer working there. So he doesn't see the point in going himself.

Turning away from the view, Viggo decides that's what he's going to do. He approaches his desk with the intention to press a button on his phone to call his assistant in. She should come stumbling in seconds later like a hen without her head, rightfully in a hurry if she wants to keep her job.

But it's as he leans forward, index finger hovering over the little button of doom that she so dreads to have him use, that something on his computer screen draws his attention.

An alert? Of what? And how long has that been there?

It's a little black popup on the bottom right and it's barely noticeable. It certainly hasn't drawn his attention.

With urgency does he pull his expensive leather desk chair back. Viggo takes a seat and rolls back in, taking the mouse and clicking on it.

It appears to him that someone is on his home computer. That in itself wouldn't necessarily send an alert to his device at work, but when someone enters a certain password to gain access to a place they aren't supposed to be in, well, then Viggo likes to know who.

There is no one in the office but him, so he feels safe enough to open up an app and a different window pops up. This one allows him to see who's using his home computer. It takes him a little while to find the right one, but he finds it.

When he sees it's Hiccup, he's somehow not surprised.

A deep scowl appears on his face and Viggo growls. This isn't the first time he's caught Hiccup breaking a rule behind his back, but this is one of the worst he could've broken. That boy never learns.

How long has he been searching through his stuff? He wishes that alert came with a timestamp or something to help him see it. He isn't a tech genius, that's for sure. And does Hiccup even know what he's looking at?

He looks much too focussed, eyes quickly moving across the screen with the speed you'd expect from someone with his brain. Viggo would've been enamored if he wasn't so alarmed.

But then he's torn out of his thoughts as he sees Hiccup visibly react to something he must've found. His reaction is terrible as he visibly reels from something Viggo cannot see.

He doesn't know what it is that Hiccup's found, the feed has no sound either, but Viggo can see him quickly unravel on screen and it's a joy to see.

The quick jerk of the chair backward, the disbelief, the tears in his eyes, the telltale shaking of his shoulders as he begins to sob, following by his hand covering his mouth and then his face he folds in on himself.

It's all on-screen and that means Viggo can see him sink further and further in his breakdown.

All he does is hum thoughtfully.

"I have to say, Hiccup, whatever you must be looking at, I think you deserve it."

However, this does present him with a big problem. Hiccup isn't a fool and Viggo won't be able to tell what he's found, what he's been looking at. He doesn't have a good view of how well Hiccup is with electronics either, though that he's made it this far is certainly telling.

This is troubling. And worse is, he'll have to tell Ryker and he'll be expected to make his final decision about the boy. Because it's been much too long already and Hiccup still hasn't learned his place.

Viggo sighs in agitation and leans back in his chair, gaze still on the screen.

"Well, well, well, you've been especially troublesome, my Dear Hiccup. But now you've really forced my hand."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"A trip?" Hiccup cautiously asks, looking up at Viggo from his seat at the table.

There's a brochure that's been shoved into his hands. It looks like it's somewhere far away from where they live now, far away from civilization as a whole. It's of a place in the mountains, somewhere snowy. Clearly the perfect place to go when someone has a stump for a leg.

With how isolated it is, he'll still be stuck with just Viggo and Ryker. They might be counting on his leg to keep him inside and that Hiccup will know better than to wander through the woods in the freezing cold.

"Yes, a trip. It's the 20th, that means the holidays are fast approaching and I desire a break from work." Viggo tells him and Hiccup almost dares to raise an eyebrow.

Viggo? A break from work? Yeah, when pigs fly.

This just makes this whole sudden trip all the more suspicious, however. Here's the thing, this brochure isn't promoting some lodge or a resort or anything one would go to for a holiday getaway. It's one made of a fishing town by the name of Newport, using its beautiful sights as a way to lure people in.

This isn't the kind of place most people would go to when they think "vacation" and certainly not Viggo Grimborn. So what is the true purpose of this?

Maybe he should ask something first.

"So what'll happen to me?" Hiccup asks, assuming that he won't be left behind to starve.

He could order takeout, though. Make a quick getaway with the pizza courier, but that's the kind of stuff that will only happen in comedy movies. He wishes he can watch one again someday.

Hiccup wants to chuckle, but he chokes his amusement.

"You'll come along, of course. I realize you haven't been outside much," At that Hiccup can't help but give Viggo a glare. It's one that says 'you mean not at all?' But when he returns it just as strong in warning, Hiccup has to do his part and avert his gaze.

His jaw is still blue from the other day and his hand still painful and blistered from the boiling water that ended up spilling in that confrontation.

"What I was trying to tell you is that we both need new surroundings and this way I can spend more time with you." Viggo continues and Hiccup feels like what he's spouting is bull. Ryker is rolling his eyes in the background so loudly they can almost hear it.

Whenever Viggo is home, Hiccup is either one of two things; Completely neglected or clung to constantly, like he has a needy child that won't leave him alone. There is no in-between and it was particularly bad in the beginning three months of his stay.

"What happens to..." Hiccup hesitates, trying to find the right word to use. "The family cat?"

He hopes his choice of words will bring the cat in question some favor. The cat is a two-month-old kitten, one Viggo bought him as a gift when she was a month old.

Well, as a gift and as leverage.

"She'll go someplace where they can take care of her, don't worry," Viggo answers before he downs his drink. If he didn't know any better, Hiccup wouldn't have worried when he told him not to.

Hiccup looks back down at the brochure, brows knitting together in worry.

There is not one part of this that isn't suspicious and he fears what he may find on this "trip".

No, wait. Maybe this isn't as bad as he thinks.

"I... look forward to it." Hiccup tells him without a smile or anything that could possibly be mistaken for enthusiasm. He couldn't fake it even if he tried.

Viggo is displeased with this, but at least he doesn't see this as an excuse to 'discipline' him.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning. Get started on dinner and pack after." He orders him and leaves, walking away from the table.

Hiccup watches him go before his eyes move to the text on the brochure.

This trip might not be such a bad thing. Because even though he'll be spending even more time with his abusers, leaving the premise means the invisible fences keeping him in will be down. The plan he's been working on to get help from the outside is going to be ruined, but maybe that's not so bad. Maybe it's not even necessary and he can finally see an opportunity to escape.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you're as rich as Viggo Grimborn, chances are that you don't take any of the conventional means of travel.

Why take a public flight if you can use your personal boat to make the trip there? And unlike with a car, you don't need to stop at a restroom for gas, food, drinks, or a restroom.

And since the brothers are aware of his mother's dragon sanctuary and his affinity for dragons, the last thing they want is to energize him by putting him on a plane and bringing him the closest to flying that he's been since they picked him off the street that faithful night.

The joke's on them, however. The breeze blowing along the shore is enough to give him that high.

That's the thing with keeping someone like him confined to the house. The smallest gust of wind will invigorate him, the feeling the Grimborn Brothers wanted to suppress most.

Hiccup is leaning over the side of the boat, knees on some leather seats, trying to catch as much of the wind as he can. It combing through his hair feels like heaven to him and it's like it's telling him that it's missed him.

Viggo scowls deeply at the display.

"You know, if you want him to stop enjoying himself so much, you should tell him why we're really here," Ryker advises his younger brother from the steering wheel.

Viggo would tell him to keep his eye on where they're headed, but instead, he looks thoughtful.

They've already left, Hiccup can do no harm here. What's the worst he can do? Throw himself overboard and make things easier for them?

Besides, he doesn't have the heart to hurt someone, the cat has proven how soft he is. While packing, Viggo had to resort to smacking him just to quieten his endless questions about the place they were sending her to while they were away.

Frighteningly enough, a yet unbroken spirit caused Hiccup to glare back at him, Viggo remembers the look well. If it could kill, he'd be dead.

After everything that's been done to him, that will to fight that he's been carefully ripping out of him piece by piece is still there. The boy bounces back quickly, a concerning thing.

But cracks have formed, cracks that made him not lash back out after that smack.

They're almost there, they've almost broken him. That's why this getaway is so important.

So Viggo approaches.

"Henry." Hiccup is torn out of his thoughts of his Bud by a name that isn't his and he tenses up immensely.

It's a cover name because unusual names like his tend to be more memorable than one as simple and common as that.

For as much trouble as his birth name has given him growing up, he prefers it greatly over whatever name Viggo has given him.

Plus, he knows it's just another method. He's changed his clothing, his eating habits, everything down to what brand he brushes his teeth and washes his hair with. So what is a name change?

"... Yes?" Still Hiccup responds, not feeling like getting hit again. The bruise on his jaw is still far from fading and there are many more beneath his clothes. His ribs hurt when he breathes too deeply. Just bruised, most likely.

But he must've not responded in the correct tone, with the correct face, or maybe he just took too long. Because he's smacked on the back of his head for whatever he's done this time. He'd flinched before it came and anger is what remains. All he knows is anger and fear and shame.

He can't remember what joy feels like.

All those negative emotions swirl inside and he has to swallow them, lest he be hurt worse and mysteriously break his wrist again. He flexes his hand on memory.

Look a certain way, sound a certain way, move a certain way, do this, do that, what Viggo wants is an obedient robot. A robot with very specific qualities and functions.

"Sit down." Viggo orders him and Hiccup listens, taking his knees off the seat and sitting down. He smooths his expression as best as he can while the older man comes down next to him.

He wants to take his hand, intertwine their fingers, but Hiccup draws his hand back. Viggo insists, taking hold and squeezing tight enough to hurt.

If he had a wish for pain, he would've squeezed back. He knows it's a game he sometimes used to do with Astrid.

And Snotlout, but that was more arm wrestling, he loves doing those. Hiccup is usually victorious in those and Snotlout is usually left with the bad taste of defeat.

Once in a while, however, he'd let him win. It always felt so good to see him smile, hear him holler in joy, watch him throw his fists in the air. That was always followed up by gloating and the flexing of his muscles, which consistently almost made Hiccup regret letting him win.

Gods, he almost forgot he used to do that. Sometimes he almost forgets he had friends at all.

Sometimes it feels good not to remember what you used to have.

"Henry!" Viggo calls him out his pleasant memories, the occasional reprieve, and tightens his grip some more.

It hurts because he's holding his left hand, which is the one covered in bandages. He can feel the burning pressure in those blisters grow.

So Hiccup quickly figures this isn't something he can win and submits quickly, loosening his hold and looking down.

In return, Viggo's hold on his hand lightens, too.

"So, Henry, you've been troublesome."

"Have I?" It's a genuine question, but it must've come out too sarcastic for Viggo's taste. A third strike and he'll be looking at another punishment.

The only reason he's so lenient now is that someone might catch them.

When he first arrived, a mere painful squeeze wasn't all it took to shut him up.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe there was a bit of a Viking in him, too. Was, because he's very aware of how obedient he's been. He barely meets Viggo's eyes as of late, certainly not when he doesn't have permission. He hates that he can't.

"You've been troublesome." He repeats and watches for a reaction.

There isn't one, Hiccup's gaze is still downcast and that pleases him.

What he can't tell is the way his brows have furrowed. Is it anger again? Pain? Perhaps it's a mix of both. Let's just throw another pinch of shame in there as well.

"We've tried many things to make you fall in line," By trying to abuse the disobedience out of him, but Hiccup can't say that. "But you remain too stubborn. That is why we're going on this trip. This is meant as a way to finally persuade you."

"And you thought a nice trip up the mountains after everything you two have done would miraculously make me fall head over heels in love with you?" Hiccup mutters quietly under his breath, hoping he isn't heard too much.

"I'm warning you, Henry, this is your last chance." There is that name for the third time, but all Hiccup can focus on is the choice of wording.

His eyes are widened with alarm.

"Wait, what do you mean by 'last chance'? Last chance before what?" He asks. Nothing is ever just an accident with this man, that has to be on purpose and Hiccup wants to know why.

There's a beat of silence before Viggo answers, apparently wanting Hiccup to wallow in it.

"I know you've been messing with my computer. You believed I wouldn't find out, but the cameras on my property aren't just on the outside." Viggo explains and Hiccup stares at him with growing realization, caught redhanded.

"The bookcase you pick books from without permission, the bathroom while you shower, the living room where you watch your documentaries and tasteless movies, there are hidden cameras all over the house. Including on my personal computer." He continues to add and panic is about to erupt with Hiccup.

So he's been keeping watch on him from work all this time? But Viggo never punished him for breaking the rules when he wasn't home.

No leaving the house, which he never could anyway. No unauthorized snacking or drinking, not that there is anything to snack on in that house. He knows about Ryker's personal stash, but he's only stolen from there once and that wasn't without consequences. No entertainment and finish your chores, not even the books belonging to his keeper or the tv were allowed to be touched.

Those are only the rules he can count at the top of his head and Hiccup broke so many more then those. Sometimes the second Viggo left. So if there really are cameras all over the house keeping watch over him, why did he never show any knowledge of his childish rulebreaking?

His panic makes him forego the role of obedient little love.

"No, that's a lie! There are no cameras, you're just trying to get under my skin!" Hiccup shoots up, tearing his hand back. It hurts, but he cares little.

"Don't raise your voice at me, Henr-"

"Oh, stop it with that stupid name! It's Hiccup! I'm not letting you get-" While it is Hiccup who first cuts Viggo off, the latter is swift to return the favor.

He rises and backhands him with one seamless motion. Both for speaking out of turn and raising his voice. The ring on his finger cuts into his cheek.

Hiccup comes to glare at him, now silent as he holds it. He wants so badly to hit back, but knows that he can't.

He did try it once.

Once.

He sits back down and slumps forward in defeat.

"Did you honestly believe I would allow you to roam freely in my home without eyes and ears on you at all times?" The ears part is a lie, but Hiccup doesn't need to know that. Besides, Viggo feels satisfied with that look of alarm appearing on his face.

"Henry, I chose you because you were smart. Is that a lie? If it isn't, can you figure out the rest?" He asks and then leaves in a foul mood.

But yes, Hiccup can and he does.

He's telling the truth. And Viggo wouldn't be telling him all of this, disclosing the fact that he's been secretly watching him through hidden eyes all over his home, without reason him. Clearly, he's been keeping that fact to himself to reveal later when it would be of some significance and today is apparently that day.

This is Hiccup's "last chance" to fall in line. The sudden disclosure of secrets, the unexpected trip to somewhere cold and remote, putting his cat in a regular shelter for 'safekeeping' instead of one of those fancy hotels Viggo definitely has the money for...

His last chance...

If Hiccup doesn't fully submit to Viggo by the end of this trip instead of only half-submitting when he has no other choice, they're going to...

His hand falls limp to his lap, overcome with shock.

The fear has always been there. He's seen them on the news, missing persons that ended up found, but in a grave instead of alive.

If he doesn't become what they've taken him to be, they're going to kill him.

From his position at the steering wheel, having watched it all go down, Ryker smirks in delight.

"He's figured it out."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's not like Hiccup is surprised to learn that his situation could end this way.

When he was first abducted, woken up in a bare dimly lit room, he'd once wondered if he was the first one or if there'd been others before him. People who'd mysteriously gone missing, went through the same stuff he has, and were never found. Not alive, at least.

But to think that, that day has already arrived...

No, he shouldn't be surprised. The very fact that plenty of people have had less, much less, time than he was given, people who were taken from the streets only to end up dead the very next day, makes Hiccup feel very lucky.

But should he still worry about his fate? He's finally made his escape and he's far away from the cabin now.

They arrived not even two days ago and settled into what was supposed to be home for the next two weeks. Funny, Hiccup hasn't been home for months.

His careful planning has been all for naught. In the end, he had to work on pure impulse to get him out of trouble.

He shouldn't be proud of it and he probably won't be. There was a reason for all that planning, all that waiting and enduring. He's sure he'll regret it later, whether he manages to get away from Viggo or not.

Hiccup supposes that matters little now. He's out here, wandering through a forest covered in a layer of snow that's at least a foot thick. He's not dressed properly for the cold, wearing just a hoodie and jeans, and he's not in perfect condition either. On top of the bruises and the hand, he's gotten injured in those two days.

His upper back burns and it's been burning since their first evening in the mountains. The horrible memory attached to it wants to break free and be a hindrance in his escape. Trudging through the snow and trembling awfully, he tries not to let it.

Besides his head is pounding. He doesn't know why that is as he doesn't know exactly what happened, what knocked him out. He just knows that he blacked out and woke up with an aching head.

An aching head, a burning back, and a foot in agony. He'd dropped something on it in the confrontation that lead to his escape. Now he's using a shovel to help him limp through the trees, a shovel of which the spade has blood on it.

A lot has happened in two days. A lot. There's something he has done that he can never atone for.

His last chance has passed.

It's dark out, too, making this trip through the woods ten times harder than it already is. It's pure agony to use his broken foot, but he has no other choice but to since his left his a fake.

He can feel the pain radiating up his leg through his ankle. He's had to stop several times just to take a breather, the used air from his lungs leaving in white puffs. But each time, his will to escape triumphs over his pain and he continues to drag his way forward. Bit by bit, step by step, giving up is not an option.

And yet, there's the threat of panic erupting and stopping him. Having a stubborn will is good and all, but it's useless if he doesn't get out of here.

Sure, he got away from Viggo, but he has no idea where he's going now. His hope is to find a road or the town they docked at, but he could be heading deeper into the forest for all he knows.

If he is, then what? Will he never see his friends again? Will his parents be able to move on, will they ever have closure? Will Toothless ever be up in the air again?

Hiccup's arduous limping comes to a halt and he slowly turns to look behind him. It's only because of how strongly pure white snow contrasts against the blue-ish black of the night that he can see the trail he's left behind. If Viggo is searching for him, it won't be hard to find him.

He's shivering, clinging to the shovel that's a clumsy crutch at best, and looks at the way ahead of him. He doesn't feel hopeful, he doesn't know what exactly he feels. Nothing besides pain and a possibly very foolish drive forwards.

Whether the cold lulls him into a false sleep during his endless wandering or Viggo puts an end to his life himself, this forest will be his grave if he doesn't find his way out.

For better or for worse, it's a big enough reason to keep on pushing through the pain and keep going onwards.

[decoydeku]

Tell Me the Truth

pairing: eijiro kirishima x reader [domestic au!]

prompt: n/a

wc: 1.2k

warnings: none

synopsis: all curled up and ready for bed, you have a few last minute messages to send - not realizing that within the sheets Kirishima holds a weight on his heart.

a/n: finished a drabble with a really abrupt ending o.O hope you enjoy!

“Stop itttt!” She whined, smiling as she gently pushed me away. “I have to send this text, okay? It’s for work and I’ve been meaning to reply to her.” Her fingers danced along her digital keyboard; hair draped on one shoulder as she bit her lip in concentration. Her back rested against the headboard, dressed for bed, yet she certainly wasn’t acting like it.

I pouted, resting my hands on her thighs, and sitting my chin over my palms. “But you have tomorrow for that!” I protest, pressing a soft kiss to her thigh. “It’s lateee, come on~” I tug on her arm again, trying to pull her into my arms. “Let’s cuddleeee!”

“Eijiro!” She scolds, holding her phone away from my reach, knowing that I’d snatch it away from her, given the chance. “Don’t you dare, I told you, I have to finish this…” Her fingers instead go to run through my hair, planting a kiss on my arm before she pries me off.

I sigh exasperatedly, slithering down under the covers. Oh, but don’t think I’d given up that easily… Smirking, I quietly waited where I was to lose the suspicion of a surprise attack; the only sound in the room the obnoxious noise of the keyboard clicks. She was a fast typer.

“You know,” Y/n pipes up, gaze still focused on her screen. “Kaylee can be a real wretch sometimes. It wouldn’t hurt her to try and do this reporting herself.” She groans, running a hand through her hair. “I mean, this isn’t even my work to do! I’m not even getting paid for this!”

“Mhm,” I agree, gazing up at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world; just to clarify, she is. I couldn’t help but admire the beauty in each and every one of her features, or not notice her little mannerisms that made her so distinct from everyone else. She was my girl, and every day I kicked myself to make sure I’m wasn’t dreaming. “Stupid…Kayla…”

She spared me a glance, before doing a double-take. “Hey!” Her face scrunched up, giving my expression a once over. “Firstly, her name is Kaylee–”

“Tomato, tomato.”

“—and secondly, stop giving me that look!”

I oh-so-innocently- gave her doe eyes. “What look?” I repeated in faux surprise, trying to suppress the knowing smile that threatened to spread across my lips. “All I’m doing is admiring my beautiful, intelligent—”

She playfully slapped my head, “I know what you’re doing and I’m not falling for it.” Turning away, she devoted her attention back to her text message.  “Telling me how pretty and whatever just so you can get me in your arms.”

I chuckle, grabbing onto her arm again and attempting to pull her down. “Is it working?” I coax – and I can guess as much as her resistance to my touch is significantly less. “Will you let me hold you, baby?”

Red tints her cheeks, and she hides her face from view. “S-Stop it Eijiro, I’m warning you…” Her typing speed slowly decreases, now avoiding my face like the plague. Yup, it’s working.

My lips curl, and I continue to lull her. “Won’t you let me hold you in my arms?” I drop to a husk whisper. “Kiss you all over and tell you how much you mean to me?” My hand slides up the back of her shirt, drawing circles along her spine. “Kayla can wait another night, can’t she?”

She sighed in defeat, shaking her head at me. “You’re right,” She closes the app, sliding her phone onto her bedside table. “Kaylee can wait…” Y/n chuckles at how big my beam has grown at her words, letting herself join me in slithering under the covers.

I engulf her in my warmth, wrapping my arms around her and nuzzling into the crook of her shoulder. “Knew it would work,” I mumbled, starting my plethora of butterfly kisses along her soft, caramel skin.

She giggles, leaning into my touch as her hands find my locks. “Hey, it tickles!” Soon enough, she shies away from my advances. “If you’re gonna make me laugh, I won’t fall asleep!”

A simper plays on my lips, “Maybe that’s the plan…” I work my way up to her lips – saving the best for last – and kiss her delicately. I sigh softly, reaching to brush her fringe from her face. “I miss you, princess.”

Reaching over me, she cups the side of my face. “I’m right here, aren’t I?” She nuzzles me, planting an innocent kiss on the end of my nose. “I’m not going anywhere…”

“But you know what I mean,” I reply, hand sliding down to tug her waist closer. “You just…You always seem so busy I…” My gaze drops, shaking my head as I shy from her touch. “Never mind…y’know what I’m just-”

She places her hand on the side of my neck. “Eijiro,” Her voice is sharp, yet comforting in the same sense. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.” Hand smoothing over my fringe, her stare bores lovingly into me. “What’s wrong?”

I wet my lips, wracking my brain to find the right way to bring it up. I didn’t want to offend her, nor did I want to make her feel guilty…I just wanted her to understand.

Unsure of how to start, I rest my head on her shoulder, holding her tight. “I miss you…I miss you a lot and I…” A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I curtly ignore it. “I feel like you’re too busy for me.”

There’s a momentary pause between us, silence filling the room – before a soft; “What?”

I stuffed up, didn’t I?

I winced, “Um—”

The next thing I know, her arms are securely around me, leaving a string of kisses along my neck. With each one, she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Kiss.

“I love you.”

Kiss.

“So much.”

Kiss.

Her gaze meets mine, gently drawing me away from the safety of her shoulder. “Can you forgive me?” She asks quietly, lips downturned to the cutest pout I’d ever seen in my entire life – yet it seemed much more sincere than the other ones I’d noted.  “Since I got my new role, I’ve just been so busy and I know that’s no excuse but I never ever meant for you to-”

“Hey, Y/n…”

“—feel like you weren’t cared for.” Her voice wobbles, and she grabs onto me. Her hand smoothed down my arm to clasp my fingers in hers. “I’m sorry.” Her whisper is so petit I swear the air could’ve shattered it with one blow.

I reach to brush the hair that drapes across her face, letting the pale moonlight highlight the glisten of her eyes. “Y/n,” I repeat, cupping the side of her face. I catch the falling tear with my thumb. “It’s okay, I know you don’t—”

“But it’s not okay!” She cuts me off, face crumpling evidently. “It’s not okay to neglect someone,” Her intense gaze drops from mine, drifting away. “whether you mean to or not.”

I want to contradict her; tell her that she’s wrong and that it hardly stings at all.

But her words hold immense volume, and they weigh into me.

[angelicspaceprince]

Dewey x Crafter Reader Headcanons

Ive fallen down a rabbit hole of crafting and I can't get up. Help me. I write hcs to help save my soul

I'll also edit when I have computer access so then there is a read more button or whatever they're called, I can't find it on mobile

Wrote directly onto the tumblr app so if there are any mistakes that's why. No betas, we die by our spelling and grammar mistakes here

You were a crafter before you met Dewey, having taken up most crafts by the time you were 17

Sewing, needlepoint, embroidery, cross stitch, knitting, crocheting

You'd experimented with them all and even though each one had its merits, you definitely had your favourites

Then life happened. You had to start working, unable to attend college, and soon you had no time to craft. If you were awake, you were working

Mostly low paying jobs to cover rent, bills etc, taking on as many shifts as possible

It was actually during one of your shifts you met Dewey

You started working at a local music shop, mostly serving and organising CDs when a very excited Dewey rocked up, wanting to find the newest release for one of his favourite bands

You got to talking and realised that you had similar music tastes and, even though you really wanted to get to know him more, you had to remain professional. You were still on the clock

Luckily for you, however, you were invited to go see a group of local bands performing to celebrate your friend's birthday

You recognized Dewey the moment he stepped on stage and was in awe at his musical skill

You figured it'd be weird to go up to him and start talking because a) if he didn't recognize you then having a stranger come up to you and say that you remembered him from work would be odd and b) if he DID recognize you from work that'd be even odder

You didn't want to give off stalker vibes, so you stayed at the bar, content just to leave it

Dewey, however, saw you in the crowd and had a different plan in mind

Still riding the adrenaline high from being on stage, he walked straight up to you

"I don't know if you remember me, bu-"

"I remember you."

"Oh."

You both blushed heavily as you shift in your seat. "Drink?" You offered. "I....I liked talking to you earlier, I'd like to talk some more."

Dewey positively beamed at that, sitting down next to you as you effectively start ignoring your friend's birthday party celebrations in favour of talking to the man in front of you

The rest, as they say, was history

You ended up dating pretty quickly after you first met, moving in with each other after only dating for 6 months

It was an accident, you had your power cut off (again) and it was the middle of winter. Dewey offered you a warm place to stay temporarily and after 4 weeks of looking for a new apartment, he just said "you're already living here, just move in with me."

It made things easier, now there were two people contributing to bills

Rent was never paid in full, but something was always sent in

Patty wasn't impressed by that but Ned wasn't as fussed, just happy to have something coming in

It helped that he really liked you and felt that you were a good fit for Dewey

Even though things still remained tough, you were happy just to have a roof over your head and someone who loved you

When Dewey started working for Horace Green, things became easier

Bills were paid with his paycheck, yours became groceries and fuel money

Even then, for the first time in a long time, you had spare cash

Most went into savings but being able to afford your own Netflix account? Felt amazing

Despite having a bit of extra money, some habits were hard to break.

You rarely bought clothing from anywhere but thrift stores and Walmart, Dewey prefering Walmart but essentially doing the same thing

Unfortunately, that meant the clothing you had bought wasn't always the best of quaility, especially when Dewey was the one wearing it

Just the nature of his jumpy, clutzy, accident prone and slightly messy self meant you were constantly buying him new shirts and mending his sweater vests

To be honest, it was getting old

You'd also been missing crafting for a while so. Two birds, one stone

The next time you were in Walmart alone, you grabbed yarn and knitting needles and on the few days a week you were home alone, slowly you started to knit him some new sweater vests, using an old one that was beyond repair as the template to make sure each one fit

The first one was just a plain, fadded red to get yourself back into practice before slowly beginning to add simple designs similar to the few he owned now

Then a couple of weird themed ones, a couple of his favourite bands, one with music notes in the design, one that was birthday themed, one with mini guitars, whatever amused you and you thought would amuse him, you knitted onto the sweater

Each vest took three weeks to make. By the time his birthday came around, you had made him ten new vests, having kept it a secret the entire time

You were super nervous when he opened up his present, but the giant smile on his face was worth it, excited with the concert tickets you managed to get for the two of you (in the pit, of course) and with each new sweater, he got more and more excited

"These are amazing babe! Where did you get them?" He asked as he got up to try his favourite (the one with a replica of his Gibson knitted around the bottom) on

You go quiet. "I....uh.....I made them."

He looked over at you like you just admitted you had found a cure for cancer

You'd neglected to tell him of your crafting past, it never came up so you never said

Now, however, he was keen to see you craft

He never even dared to try it out for himself, but enjoyed watching you knit or crochet without looking at your work, watching TV or chatting to Dewey as you just continued to work

Every year, he got at least two sweaters from you, and you made sure to knit a sensible one and a silly one

What amazed you was the fact that Dewey seemed to have fewer accidents

He took extra special care of all of the stuff you make him, never spilling so much as a drop of coffee on them and tried his best not to get them snagged on the one sharp part of the doorway into his office

One day he came home, nearly in tears

You were folding up laundry but you dropped everything and came rushing over, thinking the absolute worst but instead he simply pushed something into your hands and said "I'm so sorry"

Turns out, he took off his vest when he came in to play a song with the kindergartners, something he now does daily as part of his role as music teacher

He didn't notice one of the kids grabbing it and wandering off with it

It was covered in paint, one of the Gibsons were cut out and the yarn was beginning to unravel, despite clear attempts to keep it from doing so

It was ruined

You hush Dewey as you pull him close and reassure him it's ok, you can make him another one

It took a while to settle him, he treasured everything you made him and he allowed one to get ruined

But once you assured him it was fine and you knew it was an accident, you ended up spooning in the couch as you mentally start planning the new sweater

A month passed when he found a wrapped up parcel on his desk

He was running late, didn't have time to grab a coffee and accidentally grabbed his vest with a massive hole in the back rather than one of your handcrafted ones

Still, he made it to the classroom before any students arrived, so he quickly opened it up and a huge smile plastered its way onto his face

A new sweater vest that was near identicle to his ruined one, a bit cleaner and better designed than the old one

You'd also made him a pair of socks, something you'd been experimenting with, with the AC/DC logos on the side

He found the note at the bottom 'Hope you have a good day. I love you. Y/N. P.S. These are not allowed near the kindergartners ❤'

He quickly changed into the sweater, feeling so much better than he did 5 minutes ago

The socks became his lucky socks and he'd wear them to his gigs, stating that it was like you were up there with him

He shushed you when you pointed out that it meant he was technically stepping on you, telling you "you know what I mean" before giving you a kiss

He'd give you requests for scarves, beanies, the lot. Socks were for bed or performances only, apparently, but everything else was worn whenever

You even made beanies and scarves for members of the band who wanted them, each having the School of Rock logo on it plus the kid's name

Dewey loves wearing and telling everyone about the stuff you make because he thinks it's absolutely incredible you're able to create something like this

And he treasures everything you make him

Most importantly, he's there to listen when you rant that the yarn isn't working like it should, or just about crafting problems in general, and be an ear as you problem solve an issue and is there to celebrate the victories when it finally works

Gets really good at yarn shopping too, picks up the brands you prefer and learns to read the packaging labels

Just

He loves the fact you can create something just like he can

[flutteringphalanges]

                                              Mirabile Visu

Summary: Sister Agatha Van Helsing discovers she’s in over her head when a competitive game of chess ultimately results in her becoming pregnant with the child of her worst enemy, Count Dracula. Now tied by a bond deeper than blood, the two must learn to coexist and adapt in a world that could be potentially hostile towards their offspring. Parenthood has never looked so batty.

Characters: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Chapters: 9/?

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Thank you all for the love and support! This story wouldn't be what it is without you! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Knowing there is an audience for this story keeps me regularly updating it! Stay healthy and safe! -Jen

                                                Chapter Nine

                                               Dracula Residence

                                                  Present Time

This was different from the raid on Whitby beach, that much Dracula realized. As he stood there, trying his best to shield his wife from the onslaught, he found it very difficult as the guards formed a circle around them, pressing in so that he couldn't make a tactical move. Suddenly, from the blown in door, a woman stepped inside. She was familiar, her scent immediately assaulting his nasal passage ways. Dr. Bloxham. Ah, the thumbless scientist.

"You know," the woman sighed, looking from Dracula to Agatha. "It didn't have to come down to this. Your flat is rather lovely, it was a shame really."

"If this is about your finger," the count commented. "The nine others aren't completely useless."

"Dracula," his wife hissed quietly. "Don't antagonize…"

"She's right," the woman answered, cutting Agatha off. "I'd be mindful if I were you. I'm sure you've noticed, but there has been quite an adjustment made to our weapons?" She motioned to one of the men, his black uniform masking his features. "Military grade fabric designed to withstand 3,000 PSI bite power. Extra padding around the neck to protect the throat and jugular. Pure silver buckles and," she smiled, pointing to a deep pocket. "Stake holster. But that's not the best part."

Both vampires watched as Bloxham's fingers trailed across the strange device each figure held.

"A crossbow rifle combination," the woman smirked. "Equipped with bullets fashioned similar to stakes with pure silver tips. And," her eyes sparkled maliciously. "Even managed to get them blessed. I must say, the cost was incredible, but thankfully the Foundation has money to spare."

Count Dracula snorted. "I've been shot many times, mortal bullets don't cause us any harm."

"Oh really?" Dr. Bloxham inquired, cocking her head to the side. "Care to wager on that?"

Before either could react, the scientist nodded towards one of the men who pointed the weapon towards Dracula. With a click, he aimed and fired the device, the bullet embedding itself into the count's shoulder.

"Dracula!" Agatha cried out, turning to her husband in horror.

The vampire gripped his arm in pain, trying not to give the doctor the satisfaction of a groan. When he looked to his wound, to his utter surprise, dark red liquid began to trickle down from the entry point. Blood. He was bleeding. And it wasn't immediately healing either. He felt Agatha's hand pressing tightly over his, her eyes wild with concern.

"Detain them," Dr. Bloxham said, turning on her heels. "And if they give you any trouble, shoot them." Her lips curved into a small smile. "Dr. Van Helsing...never trust someone who's emotionally tasked with such a job..."

                                    Zoe Van Helsing’s Residence

The sun had just disappeared below the horizon when Sorina eyes fluttered open. Yawning, she sat up in her bed, blinking back sleep. She was not surprised to see Jack sitting against the wall opposite of her, mindlessly tapping away at his phone-one of his game apps for sure. He'd stayed over after the incident with her parents, Zoe surprisingly allowing it.

"Hey," she smiled tiredly. "Did you get any sleep?"

"Hey yourself," Jack chuckled, putting his cell away. "A little," he admitted. "Zoe gave me a pillow and a throw blanket. At least it was something. Can't exactly complain there."

Sorina sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. "Last night was…"

"Unexpected?" The young man finished. "Look, I know I should've told you about your dad and his...opinion on me, but you just got reunited with your parents and I wanted you to rekindle your relationships before I blew it up."

"If anyone blew up, it was me last night," the halfling stated. "And Mum is pregnant, wasn't expecting that curve ball." She shook her head, glancing at the curtains that still hung over the window. "Where's Zoe anyway?" Not that she really cared. After last night, there had been a long period of silence between them.

"In her room, I think," Jack replied. "Last time I checked she was trying to contact the Foundation. It's strange, she said the phone lines kept sending her to the public voicemail, not to the laboratory itself despite the password. Maybe there's a mishap in the system."

"Could be," Sorina agreed. "I mean, the place is nearly as old as I am. It has its occasional blips." She exhaled, moving to stand up. "Hungry? I was thinking we could order a pizza?"

"Extra pepperoni and bacon?" He smirked, meeting her gaze. "I'll call it in."

"You know me best," Sorina grinned. Pork had, of course, always been a food she gravitated towards. "I'm going to go have a word with Zoe. Hopefully it won't take too long."

Still dressed in her clothes from yesterday, she headed in the direction of her aunt's room. As she drew nearer, Sorina could just make out Zoe cursing softly under her breath. Peering through the slightly ajar door, she watched as the doctor repeatedly typed a series of numbers onto her phone before holding it up to her ear. Seconds passed. Nothing. And the scientist brought the device down to her desk with a sigh.

"Zoe?"

The woman jumped, slightly startled by the sound of her name. Hesitantly, Sorina slipped inside, closing the space between them. Zoe looked tired. More exhausted than usual. Sorina noted a small cut on her bottom lip where the woman must've been chewing on it nervously.

"Sorina," her voice was flat. "You're up." She turned in her chair, now facing the girl head on. "Are we going to have a proper discussion about last night?"

"About how you not only neglected to tell me that my Mum was pregnant, but also the Foundation wanted to 'study' her like some exotic animal?" Sorina nodded towards the phone. "Why are you trying to reach them anyway? To attempt to call things off like some hero?"

"This is a lot deeper than you realize," Zoe sighed heavily. "But yes, I'm trying to handle the situation in favor of your parents. However," she ground her teeth together as she spoke. "No one is taking my calls. Not Bloxham. Not the research facility. No one." Shaking her head, she moved a strand of hair out of her pale face. "I'm sorry, Sorina, what I did was not done with the intention of hurting you."

"If you'd really cared, you'd leave the Foundation for good after this," the young woman exclaimed. "Once my Mum's safety is secured." She paused, noting the gaunt expression on Zoe's face. Anger momentarily melted into concern. "You should've left a long time ago. Have you taken your pills today?"

"They only dull my senses," Zoe stated wearily. "And right now, having a clear mind is needed to figure things out." She glanced at her laptop and her frown deepened. "It's almost like my key card has been cancelled…" It was then her eyes lit up. "Ask Jack to come downstairs, I want to try something."

Sorina studied her aunt curiously for a second, before doing as she requested. Once Jack had joined the two women in the room, Dr. Van Helsing sat up straighter in her seat, expression one of determined nature.

"Call the Foundation," she informed the young man.

"I thought the lines were down?" Jack posed, dialing the number on his own phone. "What makes you think," he continued, now holding it to his ear. "That they'd answer to-"

"Jonathan Harker Foundation," a voice responded on the other line. "Please enter the twelve digit code on the back of your key card to proceed."

The room grew quiet and, though she wasn't sure at the time why, Sorina's blood grew. Jack, looking rather unsure, only continued when Zoe nodded eagerly at him. He typed in his identification number and was immediately redirected.

"Hello," a man answered. "Who am I speaking to?"

"This is Jack Seward," he said with hesitation. "I was wondering if I could reach Dr. Van Helsing?"

"I'm sorry," the person responded. "But the person by that name no longer works for the facility. Have a good day."

With that, the other line hung up. Jack lowered the phone from his ear slowly, his eyes locked on Zoe's. It had been loud enough for all three to hear it. The halfling felt a lump growing in her throat, even her aunt's expression had paled. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"We have to go back to your parents' flat," Zoe said, breaking the silence. "I've made a horrible mistake."

                                 The Jonathan Harker Foundation

The prison situated in the center of the Foundation's research room seemed even smaller than Dracula remembered. The vampire found himself pacing, his shoulder still aching from his injury. It had begun to heal, his body pushing the bullet out within a few hours, but the sting was still there.

Agatha watched nearby, her eyes scanning the room as if trying to figure out some solution that would lead to their escape. At every given corner, a guard stood poised and ready to take action if provoked. One hand rested on her still smooth abdomen, a feeling of helplessness hanging over her. A mother was sworn to protect their child and being trapped here was going against that instinct.

"Bloody Mina Murray," Dracula growled, turning on his heels. "Should've killed her when I had the chance. Why didn't you let me?!"

"We're really going to argue about this now?" Agatha frowned. "About me saving the life of an innocent woman during a massacre you caused?"

"Well look where it brought up!" The other vampire gestured around. "She had to go and created this ridiculous little institution of hers."

"Well if I hadn't," the woman countered. "You wouldn't have me, Sorina, or…" her voice trailed off as her eyes flickered down to her stomach. The count seemed to sense her worry and moved to her side.

"I won't let any happen," he promised, placing his hand over hers. "To either of you."

"It's funny," she smiled weakly. "You said to me once all those years ago that I can't save everyone and yet here you are, proclaiming the same thing."

"Perhaps you unfortunately rubbed off on me," he smirked. "You do have a way of doing that."

"Must be the inner nun in me," she chuckled, leaning into him. "To think a game of simple chess led us this far."

"Remind me to burn the game when we escape," he replied.

"Not after I challenge you to another round," she countered, the mood beginning to lighten. "I…"

The former nun's words were cut short as the heavy metal sliding doors opened and Dr. Bloxham strode in. She seemed to study the two vampires, expression void of any emotion as she approached, two men at either side. In her hands, she clutched a clipboard, her focus shifting to whatever paperwork was attached to it.

"It's rather unfortunate that I never got a proper examination of your daughter," the woman commented. "Based on the relationship between the Van Helsings and the Murrays, it was declared that she was off limits. A pity, I would have loved to learn what made her tick." A low growl escaped from deep within Dracula's chest and the doctor smirked. "Did I hit a pressure point?"

"For a place that relies so much on Christian faith, you sure lack the understanding of it," Agatha answered bitterly. "Forgiveness, Kindness, Humility…"

"I don't take preaching from a fallen nun," the woman countered. "As for my beliefs on God, they pertain solely on the idea of how to destroy a monster such as yourselves." She paused, amused by Agatha's threatening glare. "I will say, I am quite curious though as to what's inside you. I may have missed out on your daughter, but your second child and its development. I think I'd like to have a better look at that."

Dracula nudged Agatha behind him as the armed men began to circle around in close proximity to the prison's frame.

"Restrain him," Bloxham said simply. "I'm only interested in her."

                                          Dracula Residence

Sorina was the first to leap out of the car and bound towards her parents' home. She could hear Jack calling out, his footfall far behind hers. There was something off. She could sense it. And as she rounded the corner, her heart immediately sank at the sight.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no!"

The damage was done. The door blown right opened, wood splinters. She could smell it. The scent of blood. And it was not human. Zoe and Jack stood behind her, both humans panting as they too took in the sight.

"Sorina," Zoe said breathlessly, reaching out for her niece. "I…"

"You!" She snapped, turning to face the scientist. "This is your fault!"

"I didn't know this would happen," she replied, pain laced in her tone. "I didn't…"

"I don't care," Sorina muttered. "About you or about the Foundation. I'm going to get my parents back alone or otherwise."

Her eyes had grown dark, and for the first time since he'd known her, Jack felt afraid of her.

"They just fucked with the wrong family..."

[langdvnshepherd]

Thick and Thin (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

Summary: Duncan’s serving his time in prison, which means conjugal visits are the only time you have to yourselves.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, dirty talk, slight degradation, cum play, the breeding/impregnation kink jumped out whew

A/N: I’ve wanted to do a conjugal visit with Duncan fic for forever bc it’s like....really hot and finally did it and switched it up a little from what I originally had in mind so here it is ladiesss :-))))). It’s a big switch up from how I’ve been writing, but I’m still really satisfied with how it turned out! Reblogs/likes/comments are always appreciated!! Let me know what you think.

Masterlist in bio!

     The bleak walls of the small conjugal apartment once frightened you; the dull, rigid structure was uninviting, to say the least. You’d thought that a white-collar prison for the wealthy might spare some expense at not making the unit feel like a Motel 6 located in the middle of nowhere, but you'd thought wrong. The box-spring under the mattress squeaked at the slightest of movements, and the sound of the dripping, grimy shower faucet could be heard at all times.

     It had taken some time, weeks, for Duncan to win your trust back after blindsiding you with his illegal side-job hidden under the guise of his oh-so-glorious app. He had been sentenced to 14 months in prison for his crimes. That seemed like a long time, but it was exponentially shorter than the treason charge and life sentence that the Department of Justice was gunning for (thank god for the wealthy and their cutthroat legal teams). 

     After some time away from Duncan, you concluded you were ready to repair the shitshow that was your marriage, although it seemed impossible at the time. First came visits in the common area, where you spoke to him behind a glass window with a microphone, unable to even touch him or feel him in any way. Your meetings were brief; you only stayed long enough to give him a piece of your mind and then storm out of the steel-reinforced doors with a fire lit under your ass, but you still came back each day.

     You realized you missed him, your husband. The bed was always cold and there was no one waiting for you at home to listen to your excessive rants about your bitchy, annoying colleagues that you hated so much. The thought of not waking up to Duncan clutching onto your waist like a koala or feeling his trademark stubble between your fingers (or your legs) ever again made your heart ache. When your anger at Duncan subsided, and after many long, clarifying conversations later, you upgraded to conjugal visits once a month. As husband and wife, you were granted two unsupervised hours to do whatever you wished in the micro-apartment, but everyone knows what conjugal visits were really for.

     Now, after a handful of meet-ups with Duncan in the confines of the dingy room, and some steamy ones at that, it resembled the closest thing you two had to normalcy. Sure, the furniture was in desperate need of repair and the television looked like it came from the early 2000s, but it was all you had to work with until he was released.

//

     You were perched on the stiff mattress, anxiously twirling your glimmering, oversized rock of a wedding band around your ring finger while you waited for a guard to bring Duncan to the conjugal apartment. You had to cancel on him last month because of a work conflict and you’d felt like shit ever since; Duncan tried to casually play it off like it didn’t bother him, but you knew he was so touch-starved that it for certain tore him apart inside.

     Of course, you’d seen him since then during normal visiting hours, but it had now been almost two months since you’d been with him. Since you’d felt his embrace. Since you’d felt him inside of you. There was no telling if you’d be greeted by a loving, soft Duncan that would shower you with kisses and was just happy to finally touch someone other than the CO that escorted him to the rec center, or a stern, cold-faced Duncan that was ready to throw you around and punish you for leaving him unsatisfied for such a long period of time. Just the thought of Duncan’s touch, however the nature, being only minutes away already had your stomach tied in knots and a warmth buzzing in your abdomen.

     Your mind wondered to your last visit with Duncan, how his voice was oozing lust and desire through the telephone mic as he told you all of the obscene things he was going to do to you when he got his hands on you again. How he was going to force his long, thick cock down your pretty, little throat and make sure you swallowed every last bead of hot cum he granted you the pleasure of tasting. How he was going to fill every hole you had with his girth; that you’d be so full of him you’d feel him lingering inside of you for days after. You were mortified that he’d said such filth out in the open, looking rapidly to your left and right to see if any of the other visitors had overheard. Your fingers wrapped impossibly tighter around the telephone cord until your knuckles were white and the muscles in your thighs kept your legs clamped shut, desperately ignoring your own desire to bust through the glass and have your own way with Duncan. 

     You could only hope that he’d follow through when he saw you today.

//

     Duncan was thrown into the room by two tanned, beefy arms. He stumbled forward, almost tripping on the patch of frayed carpet that had been uprooted from the floor. You heard the guard huff at him, muttering something about how Duncan needed to “watch his fucking tongue,” before he got extra time. The door then promptly slammed shut, so hard that it rattled the drywall. The commotion began as quickly as it ended; you weren’t sure that it had even happened.

      When Duncan gained his bearings and turned to face you, that’s when you saw it: the patch of scarlet-red, busted blood vessels and lavender-colored bruising that adorned the peak of his left cheekbone. It looked fresh, like it was still throbbing against his sculpted cheek.

     “Duncan, what the fuck is that?” you demanded to know, jumping up from your place on the bed to reach out and trace the injury with the tips of your fingers.

     He caught your wrist before you could get too close, using his grip to pull your body into his.

     “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing,” he tried to play it off, flashing you a grin to distract you from the incident before yanking you forward to crash his lips onto yours.

     He worked his way into your mouth, his warm tongue running along your bottom lip in an attempt to shut you up. God, had you missed him. He tasted the same as the last time you’d kissed him, as he always had ever since you’ve known him, like the cinnamon gum he loved so dearly, only the faint, cooling numbness of menthol cigarettes also danced on your taste buds. You’d have to get onto him about that later.

     You pulled away, reluctantly of course, in dire need to understand how your husband had acquired a massive, fresh bruise on the side of his face.

     “It’s not nothing. Who did that to you? What was that guard talking about?” You drilled, motioning once more to the mark on his cheek.

     “Nobody, Y/N. Nothing. Please, let’s not talk about it right now,” Duncan pleaded.

     “I missed you so much,” he continued, leaving a trail of hot, exaggerated, open-mouthed kisses along your cheek and down your neck, another obvious attempt to get you to drop your inquiries.

     “I missed you too, Duncan. But seriously, what happened to your face?” Your voice was full of genuine concern, your mind buzzing with the possibilities of what had happened, who had hit him, and why in the fuck he would potentially be serving extra time per the guard that launched him into the room.

     He stalled momentarily, one frustrated huff of oxygen leaving his nostrils. Duncan closed his eyes trying to keep his cool, but you knew his anger was about to bubble over. It was best to drop it, for now, you mentally noted. Gently but firmly, he gripped you by the jaw with one hand, resting his thumb on the pout of your bottom lip. You teasingly bit down on the digit, your own attempt to soothe his anger. Duncan pressed himself further into your mouth so that his thumb was laying flat against your tongue. 

     “I said I don't-” he began, making sure you were looking him directly in the eye as he spoke, “-want to talk about it.”

     Duncan used his grip on your jaw to pull himself in towards your ear, his hot breath fanning over the dip in your collarbones as goosebumps broke through the surface of your skin. It wasn’t with malice, although there was a certain roughness in his motions that let you know he was not to be toyed with.

     “Now, get back on the fucking bed and take your fucking clothes off.”

     A shiver broke out down your spine, arousal running straight from your core. There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere of the room, a change in focus. You wrapped Duncan’s thumb around your lips and swirled your tongue along the knuckle, something you often did when his cock was in your mouth. Removing his finger from your mouth with a pop of your spit-slick lips and a devious grin, you were more than happy to oblige.

     “Yes sir.”

     You backed away slowly, climbing onto the bed and reaching for the buttons on your blouse. Duncan kept his eyes locked with yours from the foot of the bed, occasionally flickering down to watch your fingers work open the center of your shirt, revealing inch by inch of your chest to him. Each button undone sent another rush of blood to his hardening, neglected cock. He had waited too long for this. You both have.

     He began stripping himself down as well, the thud of his canvas shoes hitting the linoleum of the floor in complete disregard. Before he removed his sweatpants, he reached down to stroke himself, palming away at his erection through the thick cotton at the sight of you, his wife, teasingly undressing yourself for him.

     Just as your fingers fumbled for the zipper of your jeans, Duncan approached you. He crawled towards you on the bed like a predator moving in on its fragile, docile prey. You felt the mattress dip around you as he straddled your frame, his knees coming to rest around each side of your thighs.

     “Let’s see how much this pretty, little pussy missed me, shall we?” Duncan posed, dipping down to playfully tug on your ear with his teeth.

     He removed your pants with ease, making sure to tease you through the rough denim with a few grinds of the palm of his hand. You whined beneath him in desperation for something, anything, else. It truly had been far too long since anyone besides yourself had made you feel this way.

     You were more than willing to part your legs for Duncan after he unhooked your now damp, lacey panties from your ankles, leaving your wetness on full display. Without the barrier of your underwear for protection, your arousal ran freely from your core, forming a damp spot on the comforter just underneath where you were seated. Good luck to whoever had to clean this up.

     “Fucking beautiful,” Duncan murmured to himself, eyes fixated on your shining cunt. His mouth watered at the sight, at what he’d done to you without even touching your pussy beyond rubbing you over your jeans.

     “Judging by the looks of it, I’d say you missed me an awful lot. Wouldn’t you?” he teased, referencing to your pussy that was glimmering with your cum, consumed by the need to be filled by Duncan’s cock.

     A strangled, “Mhmm,” left your lips, your head then reaching for Duncan’s face to kiss him once more. He dodged your advances, sliding off of his place at your open legs to scoot further down the bed.

     Your feet were yanked out from under you by Duncan’s large calloused hands so that you were lying flat against the bed. Duncan burrowed himself between your legs, hooking his elbows around the underside of your thighs to pull your body closer to his face.

     “God, I dream about this pussy all the fucking time,” Duncan said, lust dripping in his tone.

     “How fucking tight it is. How fucking good it feels. I fuck my fist to the thought of your cunt every. fucking. night.”

     You mewled in your position underneath him, his words sending another bout of arousal that dribbled down your folds, surely widening the stain on the sheets.

     “Is this what you think about?” he began again, gently pressing his lips to your kneecap. The look you gave in return was puzzled, but Duncan proceeded.

     “When you’re all alone and I’m not there to help you?”

     Another kiss to your inner thigh.

     “What you fuck your fingers to at night?”

     Another to the dip between your pelvis and the top of your leg.

     “The thought of me-”

     One just under your navel.

     “-my tongue-”

     One to your pubic bone.

     “-between your legs?”

     And finally, one smacking kiss over your aching clit.

     A prolonged moan ran from your lips like honey upon the contact. Your spine arched beneath him, your hips then bucking up in attempt to meet his mouth again. Duncan was smirking into your skin. He was clearly satisfied with the effect he had on you after only the slightest of touches.

     “I’ll take that as a, ‘yes,’,” he proclaimed, then dove back in to refamiliarize himself with every curve and dip of your pussy.

     It was if Duncan were the match that lit the fire inside of you. Your body felt electric, pulsing every time Duncan mouthed at your folds, sucking on the outsides and releasing them with a pop. It was overwhelming, it all was. Not only the sensation of Duncan’s tongue caressing your clit with his tongue again after having to wait for so long, but being able to touch him again, feel him again, breathe in his scent again. Sometimes it felt like Duncan was never getting out, and you’d be left alone for an eternity. You were constantly having to remind yourself that he only had a few more months left and it would all be over. As long as everything went according to plan.

     You couldn’t help but run your fingers through Duncan’s dirty-blonde locks as he continued to work you open with his mouth. The strands were slightly longer than the last few times you’d seen them, but they still felt the same in your grip. Just as his scruff still felt the same brushing against your inner thighs: like home.

     His eyes were closed in bliss, fully immersed in drinking from your dripping cunt. He looked so beautiful, you hoped you’d never forget the image in front of you at this moment. His hot tongue darting back and forth through your folds eagerly, his lips occasionally giving your swollen clit a harsh tug. It was as if he was on a mission to make you cum as quickly as possible, and at this rate, he would succeed. But as much as you missed the feeling while Duncan had been gone, you knew he missed the action just as much, if not more.

     “I don’t think I’ll ever forget how fucking good your pussy tastes,” he stated, briefly interrupting your train of thought, “No matter how long you’re away from me. Just like fucking candy.”

      You instinctively ground your hips against his face, fighting for more friction against your freshly drenched core. Duncan caught wind of your yearning, raising his fingers to your cunt to begin massaging your folds, his mouth not pausing as he continued to massage your clit with his skillful tongue.

     When he’d collected enough of your essence onto his index and middle digits, he slowly slid them inside of you. They glided in effortlessly, the stickiness of your slick allowing them to penetrate you with ease. He submerged them to his knuckles, so deep that you could feel the cool sting of his plain, silver wedding band brushing along the side of your ass. A gasp escaped your throat, rendering you breathless. His hands were much larger than your own, meaning he was able to reach places you were never able to during the long two months you’d been left without his touch and every other stretch of time in between visits before that.

     You could feel him inside of you, softly brushing his fingers up into your spongey walls. He didn’t thrust his fingers in and out of you, however. He kept his hand still, using just his fingertips to stretch you out before he inevitably replaced them with his cock. And he never stopped using his fucking tongue, like he’d been stranded in the desert, and your pussy was the oasis that revived him. 

     It was slowly becoming all too much. Your thighs were beginning to tremble and your walls were clenching around his fingers, grasping for straws in your attempt to submit to desire. You began wriggling your hips, trying to fuck yourself onto his hand. Duncan didn’t stop you, he only added his ring finger into the mix, sending you further into a spiral of pleasure and even closer to your release.

     “Duncan, I’m so close,” you panted, reaching out to press the back of his head even further into your heat.

     And you would have, if not for Duncan ceasing his movement all together as soon as the words left your mouth. His fingers withdrew from your slit, followed by an obscene squelch that forced an even deeper blush onto your already fevered cheeks. His lips unhinged from your clit with a “pop,” and they shone in the cheap, fluorescent lighting of the room. Your body ached at the loss of touch, feeling defeated that the finish line had been right there, and Duncan had stripped it away in an instant.

     “Not yet, my little pet. I want to feel you fall apart around my cock.”

     Duncan propped himself up on his knees and leaned over on top of you so that his elbows were resting on either side of your head. He looked at you for a moment, his blue-green eyes boring into your soul. They were full of love, astonishment that you stayed with him even after he’d betrayed your trust so hurtfully. Full of bewilderment that you waited for him, and that you come back for him even though he knew you had hundreds of other opportunities and people that could occupy your time far better than he felt like he could.

     He ducked down to press his lips to yours, not forgetting your failed attempt from earlier. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the odd, almost embarrassing flavor mixing with Ducan’s saliva as his tongue fought its way into your mouth. Duncan was right, you really were sweet.

     You pulled Duncan’s face towards yours as a means to deepen the kiss, your fingers pressing hard on each side of his cheekbones. Duncan flinched into your mouth, almost accidentally nipping your tongue with his teeth as you’d completely forgotten that you were practically digging your palm into the welting bruise that covered the area. 

     “Sorry,” you mumbled into his mouth, your hand immediately flying off of his face and wrapping around his shoulder.

     Duncan chuckled at your apology whilst his lips were still pressed against yours. A silent acceptance. His tongue slipped out of your mouth then trailed along your jaw, where he continued to slowly work his lips against your skin in the same manner. 

     “I love you,” you heard him mutter into your neck, “so much.”

     “I love you too, but will you please just fuck me?” you gave the outgrown hair on the nape of his neck a tug, signaling for Duncan to get the show on the road. Your neglected pussy was still throbbing with want, its only desire to be stuffed full of Duncan’s length.

     “Oh, kitten. I’m not gonna fuck you,” Duncan stated, although his actions suggested otherwise. He placed his muscular arm between both of your bodies, reaching for his cock.

     He was unbelievably hard, the slit of his cock surrounded by tiny beads of precum that resembled minuscule pearls. A low hiss came from the back of Duncan’s throat when he wrapped his fingers around the base and aligned himself with your entrance. His cock was clearly just as needy as your cunt.

     “I’m gonna destroy you.”

     Duncan thrust into you with force, immediately filling you to the hilt. Pre-prison Duncan, while he could be intense at times, would have never. He enjoyed taking his time with you, watching how your mouth fell open in a silent “o” shape as he pressed into you inch by inch, taking what felt like an eternity to enter you before pulling back and starting again. This Duncan still enjoyed the teasing, the winding up, but he was rougher around the edges, more aggressive. There was an urgency in his pace like he was trying to catch up on all of the times he’d been unable to make love to you while he was away serving his time.

     You let out a scream, a concoction of both pain and pleasure. Duncan was impossibly large, and your body hadn’t had time to adjust to anything other than the girth of your own fingers over the last few months, and Duncan’s up until just recently. The change in size was overbearing. It felt like he was brushing against your cervix as he began pounding into you, no regard in his movements as to how it felt as if Duncan had split you in two.

     His pace was animalistic, feral. Duncan spared you no mercy as he obliterated your cunt. It felt like only seconds had passed by, and you already felt the pooling of heat in your lower belly. You became encompassed by an all-consuming heat, your body once again feeling as if it had been set on fire.

     Duncan removed his grip from your waist, his hands beginning to roam around your body. A quick tug at your sides, a slow trail with his fingertips along the valley in between your breasts. He stopped to give each of your tits a hard knead with his palm, making your eyes roll back into your head.

     “I can’t fucking wait to get out of here,” Duncan said he continued to annihilate your cunt.

     “Gonna fill you up nice and deep. Put a baby in you. Let everyone know you’re mine.”

     His head ducked below yours to take one of your breasts into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around your nipple, similar to the treatment he gave your clit earlier on. You arched into him, surprised by your own actions. You and Duncan had talked about having kids only once before, and you both decided that they weren’t something you were interested in. Surely, this was all just talk, something he was doing in the heat of the moment, but you couldn’t believe your own body was betraying you over something you were certain that you didn’t want.

     “You’d look so beautiful,” Duncan mumbled against your breast, “with your stomach all swollen. And god, your tits. They’d be so huge. All for our baby. All because of me.”

     His words were kindling to the wildfire burning inside of you. You couldn’t explain why, but every syllable that rolled off of his tongue spurred you further and further down the rabbit-hole. You weren’t sure how much more you could take before the band inside of you snapped and turned your limbs into jello.

     “But maybe I can’t wait until then. Maybe I need to knock you up right now. So everyone knows who you belong to when I’m not around.”

     You locked your legs around Duncan’s waist, the heels of your feet digging into his ass. Almost as if you wanted him to fill you with his seed and mark you up as his property.

     “Do it,” you begged, “cum inside me.”

     Both you and Duncan were hyper-aware that you were on the pill, and that there was no way he’d actually be able to get you pregnant, but the game you were playing enticed you both, pushed the two of you even closer to the edge. Duncan’s pace grew by tenfold, quite literally drilling his cock into your heat. He was glowing on top of your, a layer of perspiration clinging to his entire body. The light reflected off of Duncan’s sweat-coated injury, making it sparkle in a way. His brow was furrowed in concentration, engrossed in the way your cunt was practically swallowing his cock.

     You were quickly falling apart, your breathing uneven, unable to do anything other than chant Duncan’s name like a fucking prayer. He was holding you as close to him as he could, his pubic bone brushing softly against your clit with each passing thrust.

     “You ready for me?” Duncan asked, his own demeanor faltering ever so slightly.

      A nod was all you could muster as Duncan continued his brutal assault on your pussy. You didn’t know how he was still going. It had to be a combination of pent up energy and frustration from being locked in a 10x10 every day for the better part of a year. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

     “Go ahead, baby. Let everyone know who you belong to. I want to hear you fucking scream.”

     You hadn’t meant to, but Duncan’s cock had hit that spot deep inside of you at the exact time your walls clenched tightly around him and you physically couldn’t stop it from happening. Your orgasm rattled throughout your entire body, your frame shaking as if an earthquake was happening inside of you. The noise that left your body was something between a mangled scream and a pornographic moan. Every single teasing touch and second you’d spent away from Duncan had led up to this, and it was worth it.

     “Fuck,” Duncan growled, feeling every single contraction and twitch as he continued to pound you throughout your release.

     Duncan soon followed suit, a guttural groan coming from deep in his chest as he gave himself over to pleasure once your cunt had milked him for all that it was worth. His seed shot deep inside of you, coating your walls with warmth. The sensation sent another bout of arousal coursing throughout you, but you knew following it was a lost cause. Duncan took a moment to look at the mess he’d made of you. There was a wet, squelching sound as Duncan severed his body from yours, followed by strings of cum that overflowed from your entrance, a mixture of both yours and his. For his own amusement, Duncan gathered the leakage on two of his fingers and playfully shoved them back into your core, a half-hearted chuckle escaping his throat. He’d always been very particular about where his cum ended up, making sure you took it one way or another every single time, whether it was in your mouth or in your cunt.

     Duncan collapsed beside you, swinging you on top of him in one quick, skillful movement. He held you tightly against his bare chest, his arm pressing into the space in between your shoulder blades to keep you from moving. As if you ever would. His other arm took your left hand in his and raised it to his lips, gently kissing the large diamond nestled in between the smaller stones of your wedding ring. You wrapped your free hand around his torso, nuzzling the side of your head into the crook of his neck. It was customary in the Shepherd household to share a cuddle post-coitus, and not even the fact that you were lying in the conjugal room of a prison could affect the long-standing tradition.

     The silence between the two of you was comfortable, but you felt Duncan’s rigidness. His muscles were strained, his eyes fixated on the ceiling in contemplation. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea to ask him about it, seeing as the last time you questioned him things didn’t go over so well.

     “Are you happy?” he spoke up suddenly, never breaking his stare from the ceiling.

     “What do you mean?” you pressed a small kiss to his collarbone rather than turning your face up to look at him, your reassurance that you were listening.

     “If you weren’t happy, you’d tell me right? You wouldn’t keep coming out here even though there’s plenty of other shit you could be doing?” There was genuine concern laced in his voice. And maybe even fear.

     “Of course I’m happy, Dunc. Why would you think that I’m not?”

     “I just feel like I’m useless in here. I can’t do anything. Fuck, I can’t even kiss you more than once a month. You deserve someone that takes care of you. I can’t do that when I’m locked in a cell all fucking day. I want you to be happy, so you don’t have to keep doing this if you’re not happy.”

     His self-depreciating monologue sent you straight up from Duncan’s chest. You looked him dead in the eyes, making sure you had his full attention before you spoke.

     “Duncan Shepherd, for starters, you are not useless. I am certain that you don’t need a recap of what just happened for you to know that useless is the last word I would use to describe you. And I married you. Didn’t I? I said my vows and I meant them. I still do. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, through thick and thin, til death do us part. This is just the thick of it. It’ll all be over soon and we can put it behind us. We can start over. But don’t for a second think that you are useless. Okay?”

     Duncan nodded in return for fear that he might stutter if he made any attempt to respond with words. He’d spent the better half of his sentence wondering if you even cared about him anymore, about your marriage. Your profession squashed his anxieties and caused his heart to swoon. There was definitely no way he deserved you, he though. He was silently thanking the stars that you loved him enough to stay with him throughout this dark period of his life.

     “I love you,” he said in an exhale of breath, pulling you once more back into his naked chest. He turned his head down to press his lips to your damp forehead, where wild strands of hair were stuck in place. You were still covered in sweat, a reminder of the previous events that took place, but that was the furthest thing from his mind.

     “Love you too. Now can it be my turn to ask you something?” you toyed, fingers tracing patterns on his toned chest.

     “Go for it, love.”

     “What was with all of that baby talk? Don’t get me wrong, I was clearly into it, but I thought we didn’t want kids?” your neck was craned upward to gauge his reaction.

     Duncan’s face flushed an embarrassing shade of pink. He ran his hand along his stubble as if he was trying to hide the blush from you.

     “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I guess I didn’t mean it, but I kinda did? Being in here has given me a lot of time to think about shit. I don’t want to leave this world with nothing to show for it. So, if you ever change your mind about kids, I’m down, I guess.”

     He was fully blushing now, his face beat red at the confession. You knew he was playing it off like he didn’t care as much as he actually did, because he was Duncan Shepherd, and Duncan Shepherd is not known for being as big of a softie as he was being right now. 

     You nodded sarcastically, trying not to laugh at how fucking adorable Duncan sounded babbling on about having chubby little babies with you, the love of his life. Just as he was yours.

     “We’ll have to see about that,” you affirmed to him, “But let’s worry about getting you out of here first.”

     A hard knock on the door of the conjugal apartment cut your conversation short, signaling that you had only five more minutes until your time together ended. You sighed in unison, both silently cursing to yourself that it always felt like being in a time warp when you were together. It was never easy to leave one another, knowing that it would be an entire month before you’d be able to be with each other again. Duncan begrudgingly slid off the bed, placing you off to the side while he reached for his discarded shirt and sweats that had littered the ground.

     When you finished dressing, you turned to Duncan with one last question.

     “Hey Duncan?”

     “Yeah?” he called out, slipping on his shoes in the armchair in the corner of the room.

     “Before you go, will you please tell me how you got that massive bruise by your eye?”

     Just as Duncan opened his mouth to finally tell you how he’d acquired his lovely shiner, there was another pounding on the door. Your time was officially up.

     Duncan chuckled at the irony. His initial anger from the start of your visit had subsided and he was actually going to tell you this time, but fate had other plans. You threw your hands up in defeat.

     “It’s a long story,” he began, “for another time. But I will tell you one thing.”

     “What?” you questioned as he made his way towards the door to leave, twisting the knob with his sizeable fingers.

     “You should see the other guy.”

     He gave you a playful wriggle of his brows before walking through the threshold of the door, where the same guard that threw him in was waiting to escort him back to his cell.

//     

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @venusxxlangdon  @aveiangdon @belusima @ccodyfern @readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @wroteclassicaly @gold-dragon-slayer @langdonsdemon @langdonshell @1-800-bitchcraft @rocketgirl2410 @hecohansen31

[amberfawzy]

20/20 Vision | Self-Para

Tagging: Amber Fawzy, with mentions of Bennu & Dr. Mensah Fawzy, and Eliana Cardoso Loccation: The Fawzy household; Portland, OR & Eliana’s home; Beverly Hills, CA Time Frame: New Years 2019/2020 & mid-March 2020 Notes: Turning Point para for Amber.

Amber tried to stay out and party with her friends to ring in the new year. They had long-standing plans to dress up in 1920′s garb with their friends, bar hop throughout downtown and then find a spot near the waterfront to watch fireworks at midnight. But Amber just didn’t have the spirit for it. Normally, this was the kind of night they lived for--drinking, dancing, laughing, singing some karaoke with friends and waiting for the ball to drop--but they felt a changed heart that night. They had dressed in a glittering flapper dress and heels, and faked excitement through roughly three bars before feeling they’d had enough. So while keeping up some of her typical bubbly personality, Amber made up an excuse of having a headache and eventually convinced her friends that she had to go home. Following a few disappointed, “Awwww”‘s and pleas, Amber made their rounds with hugs and New Years wishes before taking a Lyft home.

The house was dark and quiet when they arrived. It was no surprise to them that their father wasn’t home and was most likely working. And Bennu still visited from time to time when he needed a break from his roommates but he was likely out enjoying the festivities somewhere in the city. Amber turned on a few lights and walked over to the fridge to take out a celery stalk. After cutting it in half, they returned to the living room to feed the halves to their bunnies, Lola and Roger. “Happy New Year, sweeties,” they crooned despite it being a bit too early to declare it the new year.

Following a quick shower and a change of clothes, Amber returned back downstairs with her iPad and flipped on the TV to watch the countdown and Times Square performances. It provided a distraction for a short while but the same, lonely and unfulfilled feeling that sank in at the bars and pulled at her when she first got home haunted her once again. She tried flipping through a few channels and considered switching to the streaming services to see if there was something that could occupy her until the countdown, but instead ended up switching back to the cable and getting up to pour herself a large glass of wine. 

They returned to the couch and took out their iPhone to play some games, or attempt to. Just as they were about to close one of the trivia games on their phone, an ad popped up for a brand new ‘dating’ app called Matched. Amber had seen the ads a few times before in between levels on one of their phone games. Although they had thought about this app from time to time when it was being promoted, tonight they were especially sensitive to seeing the ad. Giving an exasperated sigh, they chucked their phone on the couch and got up for another glass of wine.

Which eventually turned into three more large glasses of wine. The more she dwelt upon where her life was at the end of another year and the start of another, the sooner that tears filled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

At some point after midnight, Amber managed to get poorly spelled ‘Happy New Years’ texts out to their parents and their brother (separately) before passing out on the couch in a petite heap of throw blankets and used tissues.

- * - * - * - * - * -

The week before the shutdown took effect in California, Amber had flown down to Beverly Hills for their mother’s birthday. The trips to visit their mother had become less frequent as they got older, but Amber tried to still be present in both their parents’ lives despite the lack of reciprocation.

The evening of the party, Eliana had been styled and made-up. She was expecting somewhere around 30 or so people to be at her house but with the music playing downstairs, it was hard to tell exactly how many people had shown up. But it seemed that she wasn’t in any rush to go greet them just yet, especially since Amber had been asking to talk to her, and this was the time she’d carved out for said talk. The two were in the master bedroom--Eliana’s room, of course--and while sitting in front of her vanity mirror, doing some final primping and quite a bit of imbibing, Amber told her about Matched and their plans to sign up for it.

“A dating app? ...You’re kidding.”

The words fell flat and heavy out of Eliana’s mouth but despite the obvious judgement and clear disapproval already, Amber replied with as much confidence as they could muster, “No, I’m serious. I told you, it’s different from the others out there and it sounds like it might be the thing for me and what I ne-”

Before Amber could finish their thought, Eliana was snickering, and then laughing quite brazenly at them. Amber knew when their mother was drunk and given the occasion, their mother was most definitely drunk already, which did not do any favors for this particular conversation. They doubted it would go over much better with their mother sober; however, they weren’t prepared for what left their mother’s mouth next.

“It would be really great if you could grow up already, dear.” Eliana turned around in her vanity chair, abandoning the expensive bottle of spiced rum she’d been nursing to pre-game her own birthday party with. “I mean really. Look at you. You’re in your thirties already. You live with your father, you’re, what--a temp? Your life’s going nowhere. It’s sad and a little embarrassing, really and now you think you’re ready to jump right into marriage? Tch. Good luck with that horrible plan in the making. But you know what? The silver lining for you being where you’re at already is that you keep on taking up space in Mensah’s house. By all means milk him for every utility bill and whatever else you can, darling. You and his little bastard. God knows he deserves it. And when his well runs dry. Then! Then you get yourself your own place and figure your life out. I mean look at me! You think I need your father or need anyone in order to be happy? No, I choose to share my life with people, and I choose who those people will be and I have never been happier in my life.”

Eliana slipped and slurred through her biting rant, leaning into some words more than others for emphasis. And Amber struggled to stay in the room and contain themself with their mother. They made themself listen to their mother essentially call them a child, a disgrace and a burden while encouraging them to be a leech to their mostly neglectful father. They felt as though they had been delivered a heinous blow to the chest hearing that their mother had never been happier in her life despite having a child she never really showed love for and seemingly only fought to have in her life as a form of leverage against her ex-husband.

“And speaking of those people,” Eliana said, giving herself a once over while only vaguely snapping Amber out of her own thoughts. “I’m going to join them again. I suggest you put this silly app out of your mind and do the same. Maybe rubbing elbows with some of my friends will get you to rethink what you need to be doing with your life. Take it from me, you’ll be much better off. Maybe you’ll even show some gratitude and thank your mother one day for the tough love. I mean I’m not holding my breath but it would be nice, someday.” 

And with that, Eliana sauntered out of the room, leaving Amber alone and thoroughly hollowed out. The only thing that got them moving again was the stinging blend of tears and mascara in their eyes, as they hadn’t anticipated a need for waterproof make-up tonight. Fingers trembling, Amber hastened to the vanity and yanked a cpuple of tissues free to dab their eyes and nose with. Hurt and anger began to seep into their gutted form. And while their mother’s harshest of words continued to ring in their ears, Amber’s rebellious instinct was quickly fueling them. They snatched the half-full spiced rum bottle off of the vanity and, still clutching the tissues, made determined strides out o a different door from the master bedroom.

After skillfully avoiding party guests, Amber reached the room that was dubbed hers for whenever she visited. She locked the door, guzzled as much of the rum in a go as the burning in her throaat would allow, and then went for her phone. Flopping on the bed, she did a quick search for the Matched app. In between some more forced gulps, she read how it was still in its beta testing but they were still accepting applicants. Without another moment’s hesitation, she installed the app and prepared herself to apply--that was, after several more swigs to numb her aches and anger. Halfway through inputting her information and filling out the application, she’d mumbled to herself, “Thank goooood for autocorrect!”

[mariequitecontrarie]

All of Me: Chapter 16

The Fic: Belle French is a pudgy librarian who’s in love from afar with “town monster” and ace reporter, Mr. Gold. Little does she know, he’s head-over-heels in love with her, too. Chapter Summary: Belle and Emma go shopping in Portland to prepare for a big night out with Gold and Neal at the Storybrooke Winter Gala. Emma runs into an old high school rival and shares a secret. Rating: T A/N: Guys, it’s been 84 years! Much love to @galactic-pirates and @magnoliatattoo for putting up with me. Artwork by the talented @wizzygold @a-monthly-rumbelling: “I’m not dressed for this.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | 

Stay with Me (bet. Ch 9&10) | Spiked Chocolate (bet. Ch 16&17) | Pieces of Me (Q&A)

ON AO3

“The quickest way to know a woman is to go shopping with her.” - Marcelene Cox

***Three weeks after Belle has moved out of her parents’ house and into Marco’ s.***

Belle picked up the telephone to call Gold at the newspaper, her day planner spread open on the desk.

Yes, it was old-fashioned, writing things down on a calendar and lugging the thick planner around in her bag, but she liked old-fashioned. She liked books, and fountain pens, and the rustle of paper—both crisply new and faded with age. Besides, she didn’t trust iPhone calendar apps.

She’d forgotten Daddy and Edith’s anniversary one too many times thanks to those finicky electronic calendars. Whenever it happened, she rushed to write a card at the last minute but instead of being grateful, Edith seemed to enjoy shaming her for “neglecting her family.” Personally, Belle felt anniversaries were about the couple celebrating each other…but her thoughts were veering way off course. If she ventured down the dark road of worrying over Edith, she could end up in bed with a box of snowball cakes for the rest of the day.

But falling into depression was less likely now that she no longer called her father and Edith’s house home. After three weeks of living with Marco, there was no denying how much better she felt; the freedom of coming and going as she pleased was a heady sensation. Sometimes Gold joined her at Marco’s house in the evening and the three of them played Scrabble together. Once, she had insisted Marco not cook dinner after cooking at the restaurant all day long and dragged him to Emma’s house for a family dinner where Henry chattered about school and his friends and made everyone laugh until their sides ached. 

But most often, Marco would come home from the restaurant and the two of them would eat a pasta and salad dinner, and then spend the evening in the comfortable quiet of his small, cozy living room. His overstuffed couch and chairs were such a contrast to the hard, slick leather furniture Edith filled her house with, and Belle loved sinking into the corner of Marco’s huge couch and covering up with a fluffy throw blanket.

Sometimes they would make small talk about their days but on most evenings, Marco would be bent over a notebook making notes for the next day’s specials at the restaurant, and she would pull out her laptop to research books to add to the library. Usually, either the Cooking Channel or HGTV played in the background. She’d had an older television in her bedroom at her parents’ but no cable connection. Marco, however, had a new flatscreen and Belle indulged in her love of watching House Hunters International, which combined two of her favorite pastimes: seeing home interiors and a peek at exotic destinations.

Gone were the days of being chased into her bedroom, hiding her diary, and hoarding snacks. Some days, the years spent in Edith and her dad’s frosty household seemed like a bad dream. 

At least twice a week, Belle offered to pay Marco rent. It didn’t seem right to eat his food and live in his space and offer nothing in return. But he refused every time she asked. “No,” he had said this morning over breakfast, flipping eggs with a stubborn twist of his lips. “We are family, Bella. La famiglia. And when life is hard, family is a soft place to land.” Her eyes had burned with grateful tears, but she kissed his cheek and ate her breakfast and let him fuss over her until they went their separate ways—he to the restaurant and her to the library.

Besides, she thought as she punched in Gold’s number, she didn’t have time for wallowing.

She needed to talk to Gold about the annual Storybrooke Winter Gala today. On impulse, Neal had bought four tickets and insisted he and Emma and Belle and Gold make a double date of the occasion. He’d even arranged for their next-door neighbor, Ana, to watch Henry.

Every December, the Mayor’s Office hosted the gala to benefit the city schools. This year, all proceeds would go toward school Arts programs—music, theatre, writing, and art workshops. Emma and Gold usually attended every year, Gold to cover the event for the Times and Emma to capture photographs to accompany the story. Belle had never been invited to the ball before, though, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Part of her didn’t want to be seen in public with so many shiny glossy people she couldn’t measure up to, but another side of her was excited to play princess for an evening.

She glanced again at the date and punched in Gold’s phone number. Today was Friday, November 16th. Thanksgiving was next week, which meant the gala was only three weeks away. There wasn’t much time to get ready. Finding a dress could be difficult and she would probably need to take it to a tailor, too. The thought of shopping for formalwear made her palms begin to sweat.

“Gold,” he answered on the first ring.

“What are you wearing?” she asked in a rush, followed by a breathless pause.

He answered with a laugh, the deep, rich sound making her spine tingle. She imagined him setting down the newspaper proof he was holding to turn in his chair to peer out the window toward the library. Since her office was in the back of the building he couldn’t actually see her, but she felt the admiring burn of his eyes all the same.

She heard a rustling sound as he set down the pages. When they talked or spent time together, he always gave her his full attention. It was certainly a refreshing change from Sean distractedly glancing at her during one of his marathon video game sessions and asking her to repeat what she’d said for the third time.

“A naughty call in the middle of the workday?” Gold drawled into the phone. “Sweetheart, men dream of these sorts of calls from their girlfriends. It’s not even my birthday.”

Belle blushed. She hadn’t stopped to think how awkward the question would sound out of context, but now that it was out, she teased him right back. “Mmmm nothing naughty to say today but just wait till it is your birthday,” she said. “Now that you mention it…”

“Yes?” He drew out the word, filling it with expectation and making her giggle.

She could almost see him leaning forward across the desk, a mischievous gleam in those caramel eyes.

“When is your birthday?”

“January 14th,” he answered promptly. “And tell Marco I prefer ice cream cake.”

“You prefer every cake,” she shot back, smiling into the phone. When it came to baked goods, Gold had an enormous sweet tooth. “But I think it can be arranged.”

“That’s excellent news. Just don’t tell Marco how many candles to put on it because the thing will be melted before we have a chance to slice it.”

Belle knew he was still self-conscious about the difference in their ages. She also knew exactly how to soothe him when he worried. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer mature men.”

“Indeed,” he said, sounding pleased.

She flipped her planner forward and marked his birthday on the calendar in bold, red ink, surrounding the date with fat, bright hearts. The birthday of the man she loved was an important day—far more worth remembering than the wedding date of her stuffy stepmother and emotionally unavailable father. At least she knew Marco wouldn’t snoop through her things and read her planner or her diary. But she was digressing again.

“Now, back to my question,” she ordered, feigning sternness. 

“You have my full attention, General French.”

She laughed and rubbed the thick holiday gala invitation between her fingers. Its embossed gold lettering and sprigs of holly in metallic ink screamed expensive. Everyone knew the Storybrooke Winter Gala was the social event of the season. From the chilled seafood towers bursting with crab claws and lobster tails to the elegant champagne cocktails, no expense would be spared.

Belle fanned her warm cheeks with the cardstock, her clammy fingers leaving damp smudges at the top of the matte stationery. “The invite says formal attire, but you’re almost always formal. Were you thinking suit or tuxedo?”

 “At the moment, I’m in my usual. I did opt for the socks with the turkeys today as a nod to next Thursday.”

Belle giggled and dragged her teeth over her lower lip. His Thanksgiving socks were adorable and he was being terribly sweet in his attempts to put her at ease. She wanted to go to the gala, but she didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin who had never been anywhere. Gold had attended fancy dinners and parties all over the world. He’d been to a State Dinner with the President, for goodness sake, while Belle had never ventured beyond the Portland city limits. “You know what I mean. It’s not like we can show up in sweatpants and be all ‘sorry, I’m not dressed for this.’” Oh, how she wished.

“Sweetheart, you can wear anything you like. You’re gorgeous no matter what you have on. That said, I’m not really the proper person to offer advice on evening gown selections. Why don’t you talk to Emma?”

She sighed. “Honey, I have talked to Emma. We’re both going shopping and we both need to know. It’s not like we can ask Neal for guidance.” Exasperated, she pushed a curl off her forehead, wondering why she had to explain this. “You know what he’s like. Emma said, ‘Neal would dust corn chips off his construction clothes, zip a hoodie sweatshirt over it, and head out the door.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Gold burst out laughing. “Sounds like my boy. I’ll make sure he’s dressed appropriately.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “there’s not much of a boutique circuit here in Storybrooke and I’m not exactly a candidate for Rent the Runway.” She sucked in the inside of her cheek as soon as those last words were out. Since they’d started dating, she’d been making a concerted effort not to say self-deprecating things about herself. At least not out loud.

Gold hadn’t seemed to notice her negativity, though.

“Which would you prefer I wear? Tux or suit?”

The image of whirling on the dance floor with Gold in a sleek black tuxedo was doing crazy things to her insides. “Tux,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Tux sounds good.”

“Tux it shall be then. And Belle?”

“Yes?” She was still picturing Gold in black tie and her stomach was doing gymnastics.

“Love,  I meant what I said: you’re gorgeous no matter what you wear. We’re going to the gala so we can dance and eat shrimp cocktail and support the Arts, not so you’ll worry over competing with silly girls and stupid women who wouldn’t know true beauty if it ran over them with a sleigh.”

“I wish you and Emma and Neal were going to be the only ones there,” she murmured, feeling silly. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known about the gala and been given every opportunity to decide against going. The event had been on the calendar for weeks, yet the closer it came the more she fretted about fitting in. An inexplicable craving for belonging tightened her chest.

Gold hummed into the phone. “This is about more than a dress, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath, letting the weight of his understanding settle over her like a comforting mantle. Her head lolled forward until her forehead rested upon the top of her desk. The smooth, cool grain of the wood felt good against her flushed skin and she forced out another lungful of air. Gold didn’t deserve to be at the wrong end of her short fuse. She tried to tell herself she belonged at the gala because he’d invited her, but the heart didn’t always believe the head—no matter how sensible the head was being.

“It matters to me that I at least look like I belong, even if it isn’t true,” she admitted.

Gold was quiet for a long moment. “It is true, sweetheart. For as long as I draw breath, you will always have a place to belong. If Marco, Emma, Neal, and Henry were here, I know each of them would say the same. I also know it’s going to take more than hearing the words to make you believe it. You have to know the truth deep down. I love you so much, and I only hope and pray that one day you’ll see yourself the way we see you.”

Belle pressed her lips together, muffling a sob. “Thank you for understanding,” she whispered tearfully. “I love you.”

“It’s nearly five. I’m coming over to the library.” Through the phone, she heard the distinctive click of his pocket watch as he snapped it closed. “When I get there, I’m going to kiss you till you’re breathless, then take you out for a nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Belle smiled and wiped her tears and her worries away with a tissue from the box on her desk. “It sounds perfect.”

“So we’re here.” Emma sucked down the dregs of her iced latte in a noisy slurp and wiped her hands on her black jeans. “Portland. Boutique Row. What do we do now?” She tossed the cup in the trash can inside the door.

Like aliens on a foreign planet, they hovered inside the doorway of Posh, the largest formal boutique in the city.

Belle eyed Emma suspiciously. “I thought you said you knew about shopping.”

“Yeah, for denim and dry fit. Where to get the best doughnuts. And the occasional piece of leather. Not evening gowns.”

“But you’ve been to this gala before?” she pressed.

“Yeah, as the photographer. No one pays attention to what you’re wearing when you’re behind the camera. I got away with black pants and a dress shirt three years running.”

Belle looked her friend up and down. Perspiration was dotting Emma’s temples. Her cheeks, ruddy from the winter air outside just moments ago, were ashen. She knew that deer-in-headlights look: Emma was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Belle ran her teeth over her lower lip, discouragement slithering around her and squeezing the air from her lungs. “Are we in trouble?”

“It’s possible,” Emma acknowledged, then shook her head hard enough to cause her ponytail to sway. “No. No! We’re two grown women. We can handle one small town formal.”

“You make it sound like war,” Belle said wryly.

“It’s worse. Other women. Rich, polished, cold as ice.” She rolled her eyes at a chic blonde dripping in Chanel and carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag bigger than Belle’s suitcase. “Maybe we should invest in suits of armor.”

“Or maybe we should eat them for supper.”

Emma snorted, their laughter breaking the tension. It was rare for Emma to be intimidated, and Belle patted her shoulder. Misery loved company, and somehow knowing she wasn’t alone in her insecurity gave her hope for more than the hunt for an evening gown. “We can do this, as long as we do it together.”

Emma’s reached for Belle’s hand and squeezed. “Right. Together is better.”

”Exactly.”

Emma gave a long, slow whistle and they moved into the store like two people tied together in a three-legged race. “Where should we start?” Belle stared at the array of gowns and began to shuffle through the racks, heading in the direction of the plus sizes. She’d come here expecting to have maybe two choices in style but after a few minutes of browsing, to her surprise, there were many gowns in her size—short and long, tight and flowing, beaded and glittery. And though she hadn’t tried on a solitary dress, she was still convinced there wasn’t one in all of Portland designed to flatter her physique. In one fell swoop, she’d gone from zero choices to too many. So many dresses, so little time, and so much Belle.

Even the eggnog lattes and cream-stuffed doughnuts she and Emma had feasted on in the car on the way here left her feeling hollow. She was at her worst at formal events—the last one she’d been to was her high school senior prom and not one person had asked her to dance. She’d gone stag simply so she didn’t have to sit in the house with her father and Edith. With the exception of going to the refreshment table to sneak brownies, she had sat in the corner the entire time.

But she wasn’t in high school any longer. She had a handsome escort in Gold and friends to spend the evening with. The steeply priced gala tickets had already been purchased and paid for and supporting the Arts in their schools? She couldn’t think of a more excellent cause. Besides, backing out three weeks before the event was paramount to announcing you had no interest in seeing Hamilton. It simply wasn’t done.

She squinted in the direction of the lingerie. Spanx were what she needed—something to suck her in and smooth her out—injected with industrial-strength elastic.

“Black. Black is the slimming choice,” Belle decided aloud, pushing through the rack toward a plain A-line silk sheath gown.

At least if she stuck to basic black, she and Gold would match. Like two penguins. One sleek and sophisticated, the other round and plump, carrying a lot of blubber around to make it through the hard, cold, South Pole winter.

“No black! Black is the safe choice,” Emma countered, smacking Belle’s hand when she reached for the hanger on another simple, nondescript black gown with clean lines.

“And that’s bad why?”

“Because it’s drab and washes you out. Go for color. Like gold.”

“Suddenly you’re a Pantone expert?” Belle winced. “A gold dress? Isn’t that a touch…cliché?”

“Alright. We’ll keep looking.”

Belle nudged Emma in the direction of a tall, willow-thin woman with striking black and grey hair and the pointiest red stilettos she’d ever seen. “Maybe we should ask someone. I think she works here.”

Emma squinted and slid more dresses down the rack. “The one with the scarf on?”

“It’s a poncho.” She knew that much.

“Wait! Wait! Try this emerald one! Gold will go crazy when he sees you in this!” Emma whipped a dazzling, jewel-toned gown with a daring thigh-high slit off the rack. Belle stared at the stunning gown then glanced back at the saleswoman. “Five minutes ago you didn’t know anything about dresses.” “You’re right, I don’t. But I know my father-in-law and he’s going to love that dress. Well, he’d love you in a life-sized paper bag, but this dress will make even Mr. Smart Ass Newspaper Dude speechless. God, I can picture him drooling already!” She thrust the dress into Belle’s arms and gave her a playful shove. “Go try it on. And remember, the only person who has to know how beautiful you are…”

“Is me,” Belle finished. They’d had this conversation often during their walks over the past few months, and Emma had reminded her yet again on the two-hour drive here. She fingered the rich velvet skirt with trembling fingers. Now she had to walk the walk. “I’ll try it. What color are you looking for?” she asked, backing into the fitting room.

“Black.” “Emma!” she whined.

Emma yanked the fitting room curtain closed with a laugh. The dress was crushed velvet with full-length sleeves, hard to find, even in the middle of a brutal Maine winter. She slid into the gown, the silk-lined velvet feeling decadent against her skin. Even without the back completely zipped, she liked the look. Emma was right, she realized, turning this way and that in the three-way mirror.

The scoop neck hugged her shoulder blades, emphasizing her thinnest feature—her shoulders—and the color made her blue eyes sparkle and skin creamy even under the garish fluorescent fitting room lights. It was a few inches too long for her 5-foot, 1-inch frame, but the skirt length was easily remedied at a tailor. Not hating it, she took a deep breath, lifted the skirt so she wouldn’t trip, and opened the curtain. She hoped Emma was nearby because she didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself. Those stupid little fitting room closets were designed to thrust you back out onto the floor where commission-hungry salespeople could tell you how good you looked and convince you to buy.

“Em,” she called out, “could you zip—” She swallowed the rest of her words. Emma was face-to-face with a dark-haired woman, and looking even more nervous than she had when they walked into the boutique. “Emma? Emma Nolan?” The stranger wore a smart navy pantsuit and a light blue silk blouse, and her blood-red lips spread in a wide smile. Everything about her, from her perfectly coifed hair to her buffed, nude pumps, screamed suave and important.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” “It’s me, Regina Mills. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. We graduated together from Storybrooke High! I sat next to you in Mr. Walsh’s English class.” “Oh, hey.” Emma kicked the carpet with her boot, looking anything but thrilled to meet an old high school friend. “Good to see you. You remember Belle French, I’m sure. She graduated the year after us.” Regina frowned at Belle, making a small scar on her upper lip stand out. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a...bell.” “It’s fine. We didn’t really travel in the same social circles anyway,” Belle said.  Regina pouted, as if trying to decide if Belle’s remark was a put-down.

Well, she could interpret the comment however she wished. Belle didn’t care for the change that had come over Emma since Regina had appeared or the barely-veiled insult that she wasn’t worth remembering. Now that she’d had a good look at her, she remembered Regina well enough. Then again, it was hard to forget the most popular girl to ever come out of Storybrooke High School. Student body president, prom queen, and girlfriend of Daniel Colter, captain of the football team. Belle would have called her a high school cliché, except that Regina had carried her smooth, flawless reputation into adulthood. She was still the most beautiful woman Belle had ever seen close-up.  “I’m just in town for meetings today. I’m an attorney and planning to run for office next term.” Regina’s frozen smile was back in business. “I’m thinking start small with state Senate and work up from there. So, Emma, what have you been up to since graduation? I haven’t seen you since we walked across the stage.” “Um, well.” Emma shoved her hands in her pockets and looked toward the racks of dresses. “Emma is a gifted photographer,” Belle said, sliding to her friend’s side. If Emma wasn’t going to boast about her accomplishments, she sure as hell was going to do it for her. “How exciting!” Regina’s grin was wolfish, her dark eyes sparkling. “Are you exhibiting your portraits at any galleries?” “Uh…” Emma looked at the floor. “No time,” Belle put in. “Right, Em? You’re much too busy with your son, Henry and your husband, Neal.” “Oooh, a husband.” Regina’s eyes flashed again, reminding Belle of a shark circling its prey. “Is he a doctor?” “Nope.” “Hmmm.” She tapped a red nail against her jaw. “A lawyer then?” “He’s in construction,” Emma said, looking to Belle for help. “For your information, he runs his own construction company. He’s built most of Storybrooke’s new buildings in the last ten years.” Belle glared at Regina, daring her to make another cutting remark. “So he’s a working man,” she said, managing to make the term sound neither positive nor negative. “Yeah. Yeah. He’s great.” Emma’s laugh was feeble and she ducked her head.  Regina clapped her hands. “This has been fun, catching up. We should do this again sometime.” She flashed another gorgeous, winning smile, and moved in the direction of the lingerie. “Best of luck on the campaign trail,” Belle called after her. Waiting until Regina was out of earshot, Belle whirled on Emma. “Excuse me, but what the hell was that?”

“Never mind. We have shopping to do.” Emma cleared her throat and tried to slide past her, but Belle held her ground.

“The shopping can wait. Who died and crowned Regina Mills queen?”

Belle had zero patience for people who clambered for social standing and pronounced themselves better than others. Having been so often on the receiving end of other people’s sarcasm, Belle rarely talked down to people. But standing up to bullies didn’t count. Something about watching Emma cower in front of Regina caused an angry fire to blaze in her belly. Maybe she was lousy at defending herself, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone walk all over her friend. Emma shrugged and studied the dresses. She was pretending not to care about the awkward encounter, but Belle knew better. “I don’t like small talk. ‘Hi. How are you?’ she parroted. ‘Oh, I’m fine, how are you?’ News flash: nobody’s fine.”

“Em…”

“No matter how she makes it sound, Regina and I weren’t friends in high school, we were competitors.” She rolled her eyes. “She reminisces about Mr. Walsh’s English class like that was the only time we saw each other. I guess she forgot about the four years we spent one-upping each other on the cheerleading squad, softball team, and the debate team. Always trying to be smarter, stronger, and skinnier than the other. We were out for blood.”

“Then why are you letting her get under your skin?”

Emma sighed and pulled on her ponytail. “You know Cora Mills?”

“Cora Mills, the mayor? Of course.” Belle suppressed a shudder.

Regina’s mother, Cora, had been mayor of Storybrooke for as long as Belle could remember. Cora was a cold, calculating woman, but what she lacked in lovable qualities, she made up for in efficiency. She ran Storybrooke like a machine and no one could argue with her methods, not even Gold, who was paid to search out everything. From the few times Belle had met her, she realized Cora wasn’t mean so much as devoid of emotion.  Beyond a perfunctory review of the library budget once a year, Belle was fortunate to rarely communicate with the Mayor’s Office and even when she did, it was strictly emails between Belle and Cora’s assistant. The library and its services were beneath Cora’s notice; so long as Belle didn’t ask for too much money, she stayed under her radar—which was exactly the way she liked it.

Emma wandered to a bench next to the row of fitting rooms and plopped down. “My mom always wanted to be like her, you know.”

“Really?” Belle would never have expected sweet, kind Mary Margaret Nolan to want to emulate Cora Mills.

Emma smirked. “Once, a long time ago, Mom even tried bidding against her for Mayor but she was too nice. She was laughed out of the first debate, and it’s a good thing because the town would have walked all over her. Since Mom couldn’t be like Cora, she decided the next best thing would be for me to be like Cora’s daughter, Regina. I spent every day of high school trying to beat Regina for one reason: because my mom couldn’t beat hers.”

“Wow,” Belle said. “I would never have known. Your mom is such a great teacher and your parents are like a fairytale marriage. Talk about relationship goals.”

“Exactly. The thing with my mom is she’s incredible just as she is,” she said. “Former prom queen, straight-A student, a born teacher. She’s smart and pretty and married to the perfect, charming husband. And she loves Storybrooke—but not for me.”

“But your parents live in Storybrooke.” Confused, Belle furrowed her brow. “That seems like a bit of a double-standard.”

“Yeah.” Emma shook her head. “’Why do you want to take pictures of engaged couples and local pet adoptions?’ she said, mimicking her mother’s innocent tone. “She would rather I was out on the front lines of some war documenting the dying.” “Like Gold used to?” Belle nodded in sympathy and claimed the empty side of the bench. She knew all too well the feeling of being expected to be someone you couldn’t be and dashing parental hopes in the process. “She feels like you shouldn’t be satisfied with a simple life.” “Bingo! And she resents the hell out of Gold for telling me what it’s really like out there. I think that’s why I’m closer to him now than I am my own parents. He understands weakness and failure in a way I don’t think they can. I’m not some conceited little bitch who’s hiding in the bathroom to throw up everything she eats to fit in anymore, but sometimes that really sucks, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” Belle’s heart clenched in sympathy. Sometimes she still got sucked into the vortex of her own self-pity and forgot that everyone—even gorgeous, wonderful Emma—was fighting a battle. Trying to be yourself was hard work. It was so much easier to toe the line of people’s expectations, to do and say what made others feel comfortable and safe. “So there’s Regina, first conquering the state of Maine, then the world.” Emma put her head in her hands. “And here I am...not running for a spot even on the PTO. Married with a kid and pregnant again.” “You’re pregnant?” Belle slung an arm around Emma and dragged her against her side in an awkward hug. “Oh, sweetie, that’s amazing!” “Ya think? Emma sniffled but looked hopeful for the first time since they had entered the boutique. “Really? I wasn’t expecting another baby. It just happened.”

“Henry is going to be a big brother!” Belle squealed, excited enough for both of them. “Does your mom know yet?”

“Are you kidding?” “What did Neal say?”

Emma shook her head and touched her belly. “You’re the first soul I’ve told.”

“Me?” Belle crowded closer to Emma and drew her head down on her shoulder. She smoothed Emma’s hair back from her temples, soothing her the way her mother used to when she was little while she tried to process the news. To think she was the first to know about the new addition coming to the Cassidy household. She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been first in someone else’s confidence. At least not...well there’s Gold, of course.” She felt Emma nod against her shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’ve had friends. Acquaintances. Then when I met Neal he satisfied any need I had for friends. He’s a great husband and I love him to pieces, but it’s not like this. Like us. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Belle.”

“Me too,” she said, tears scalding her eyes. She’d known it was true—had felt the stirrings of their bond deep in her spirit ever since their first real conversation at Henry’s birthday clambake. Between family dinners, walks, and girls nights out, the invisible force between them only grown stronger. Somehow acknowledging their friendship out loud made it seem more solid. Precious. As important to her as her love for Gold, but in a different way.

“Now stand up,” Emma said, fishing into her pocket for a crumpled tissue. “I wanna see this dress!”

Belle shot to her feet and smoothed the skirt, her fingers fluttering around the waist and hips while Emma zipped up the back.

“I love it,” she said, motioning for Belle to twirl around.

“Really? You don’t think it makes me look like a medieval strumpet?”

“Hell no!” Emma whistled as Belle turned around again. “You’re stunning. All we need now are Spanx and shoes. And maybe some lingerie for the after-party?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Maybe.” Belle’s face flamed at the thought of wearing a negligee for Gold. “What about you?”

“We’ll get to me after lunch.” She patted her still-flat tummy. “There’s a place down the street serving yummy cheese-covered waffle fries and this kid wants some now.”

Belle’s stomach growled in answer. “Lead the way.”

Their waiter was clearing the lunch plates at the café when Belle heard a knock on the window. She did a double-take as her father waved through the glass with a sheepish smile. Her turkey club sandwich, which had tasted so delicious a few minutes ago, now lodged in her stomach. What was he doing here in the city?

“I’ll grab the check, Belle. You go talk to him,” Emma urged. “If I see things are getting bad I’ll come outside and rescue you.”

Nodding, she gathered her coat and made her way outside, wondering what would bring her father looking for her in Portland of all places, when she hadn’t seen him once on the streets of Storybrooke in the three weeks since she’d moved out.

The air was frigid even in the sunshine, and she seemed to grow colder with every step she took toward her father.

“Daddy?” She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the Portland flower show.” He brushed a bit of pollen off the sleeve of his coat. “I was in the neighborhood and saw you having lunch in the window.” “Ah.” Her dad attended the vendor-focused flower exhibition every year. She should have prepared for the possibility of running into him in town, but she’d completely forgotten it was this weekend.

“We haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling. Edith was devastated when you collected your things and left us.”

Belle gave a noncommittal grunt and thrust her cold hands in her pockets. Edith was devastated? Perish the thought her own father actually missed her.

“Marco treating you well?”  he asked gruffly.

“Like family,” she retorted, her voice carrying a sharpness she hadn’t intended.

Her father’s face paled and she instantly regretted her tone. There was no call to be so mean-spirited, especially when it somehow succeeded in making her feel worse instead of better.

He sniffed. “Will we see you for Thanksgiving?“

Belle looked into the clear blue sky, distancing herself from his hopeful gaze. "Marco’s cooking a huge feast, so I’ll be eating with him and Gold and the Cassidys.“

“Christmas?“

She blew out an exasperated breath and hugged herself again. “Let’s push through one nightmare holiday at a time, okay?“

He huffed. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad.”

“Are we still talking about holidays, or are you referring to other bad situations?” She thought back to the horrible family dinner she’d put Gold through when she’d tossed a roll at Edith’s head and stormed out. “I can’t live like that anymore. I won’t.”

“You’ve changed, Belle. Is this…is this Gold’s influence on you, then?” He seemed to deflate before her eyes, this giant of a man shriveling down to a pathetic shell. “When did you become this way? So stubborn. So willful.” His lips shook as he spoke. “If your mother were alive, she…”

“But she’s not, Daddy,” Belle interrupted. “Mother hasn’t been with us for years. She’s not here to tell you what to do and what to say, and for that matter neither is Edith. You’re the one who changed. It’s as Erskine said, you don’t even see me. Maybe you never did.”

“Belle!” Emma jogged over to the rescue, her breath a white cloud in the cold afternoon air. “Hey, Mister French. We really gotta get going if we’re going to finish shopping and I promised Henry I’d be home in time to tuck him in.”

“Great. I’m freezing anyway.” She looped her arm through Emma’s and mustered a sad, parting smile for her father. After years of trying to gain his attention and approval, she wasn’t sure when she would see him again and at the moment, she didn’t care. “Take care of yourself, Dad.”

###

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Marital Discord

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rough sex, toy, fingering).

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader finds her marriage falling apart; Bucky’s never home and when he is, he’s not really there, but he’s not as aloof as he seems to be.

Note: Alright, we finished Summertime Sadness, I gotta figure out HSB and my other few series that need to be tied up. Hopefully by my one year mark we have some new ones in swing. Thank you. Love you guys!

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

The front door clicked and you lifted your head. You scrolled up quickly on the tablet and hit sign out. You locked it and pushed it against the wall in hopes it would go unnoticed. You grabbed the oven mitt and rushed over to the stove. You opened it and pretended to check on the roast inside, lifting the lid of the pan to glance over the darkening meat.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was dull as you heard him enter the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” You stood and removed the glove and tossed it on the counter. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He narrowed his eyes but the tension quickly left his face. “Skipped training,” He shrugged. “Just wanted to… relax.”

“Oh,” You nodded.

Relax. Alone. He didn’t need to say it. That was just how things were these days. He was monotone, bored. So were you. He came home late most nights. You were already in bed. He didn’t bother to wake you. Didn’t think to. And when you were awake, he barely spoke to you. Even when he was right beside you, it was as if he wasn’t there. How had it come to this?

Three years of marriage and the ring chafed on your finger. Your relationship had begun when he started talking and it would look to end as his words turned again to silence. He no longer told you about his day, just grumbled when you asked about it. He kissed your cheek diligently but not out of love. And he hadn’t fucked you in months.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. You were sweet to him. Tried to be. But he echoed your ‘love yous’ like a child reciting their homework. And he bristled when you touched him. And so you stopped. You let him be. Small talk and tense silences. That was all that remained between you.

“Hungry?” You asked. 

You leaned on the island between you as your thighs rubbed together. You were wet. You had been halfway through a particularly fiery fic when he arrived. You hoped you could find it again later.

“Sure,” He said. “Is it almost ready?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” You replied.

“Ok,” He stretched his shoulders. “Let me know.”

“Of course, babe,” You smiled. He didn’t.

You watched him disappear into the living room and the tv flicked on. Baseball commentators sounded over the drone of the crowd. You sighed and turned back to the counter. He’d eat his dinner in front of the screen again. His eyes would cling to it as if you weren’t even there. You took out two plates and some cutler. You looked to the stove timer and the seconds ticked by slowly.

You reached for the tablet again. You peeked at the door though you knew he wouldn’t appear again. You punched in your code and reopened the app. You signed in and scrolled through your dashboard until you found it again. You found your spot and leaned in the crook of the counter as you began to read.

‘He held her. No, clung to her. She was everything he needed and his love was laced with that inherent fear, the knowing, that one day, she would be gone. He kissed her like it was their first, like it was their last. Her touch left fire across his skin as she traced the line of hair that led to his--”

The fridge opened and you looked up with wide eyes. You hit lock on the tablet and set it down softly as you turned to watch Bucky pull a beer out from the fridge. He popped the cap off with his vibranium thumb and tossed it in the bin. He barely looked at you but his eyes didn’t miss the tablet face down beside you. You turned before he could see your guilt.

You listened to him retreat back to the living room. You shook your head; at him, at yourself. Why should you feel guilty? He was neglecting you. You weren’t his wife anymore, you were a burden. So why shouldn’t you find solace in words? That’s all they were. Why shouldn’t you pull out that buzzing toy when he was gone and grasp at that fleeting release? Why should you try when he wouldn’t?

The timer beeped three times and you shoved the tablet back against the wall. You turned off the oven and opened it up. You lifted out the large roasting pan and set it on the stove. You focused on the aroma. You were suddenly very hungry. You took a carving knife and set to work.

Just another night alone.

💍

Bucky knew she was lonely. He was too. And he tried to try but he couldn’t. Not since that night. Not since…

He didn’t even want to think about it. It was the last time he touched her on his own accord. He was too embarrassed to try again. He could blame it on the stress, on the lingering scars of the past, on all that he felt mounted on his shoulders, but he couldn’t help but feel it was just him. His own inadequacy. The fear that he could never truly make her happy. That he could never truly be happy.

She had said goodnight twenty minutes ago. He echoed her words and glanced over at her briefly. She had her phone in her hand, the screen black, though she held it tightly. He waited for her to kiss his cheek as she did every night. She didn’t. He watched her go and his chest tightened. It was over. It was really over.

He flipped through the channels absently as his mind returned to that night. They were on the very couch he sat on. She was atop him, her mouth on his, her hips rocked as she teased him through his jeans. A whole hour of fooling around like teenagers and he was still soft. He wanted her but his body just wouldn’t respond. 

When she tried to undo his fly, he pushed her away. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt but he also didn’t know how to say it. It’s not you, it’s me. He hated that empty cliche. He apologized but was otherwise speechless. He’d left her there and waited until she went to bed to come out of hiding. He slept in the recliner.

He sat forward and held his head as he thought back on it He just couldn’t find the courage to talk to her about it. To fix this thing. He was a coward. And he let her down just like he had everyone else. 

He slid his metal fingers along his bottom lip as he thought. He closed his eyes and saw that peculiar expression on her face. The way she had looked at him in the kitchen earlier. He knew guilt when he saw it. Recognized the shame he felt so deeply. And more. She had a secret. She’d never had secrets before.

His mind strayed to the tablet, to the phone gripped in her fingers. That had to be it. She was talking to someone else. Could he blame her? Well, yeah. She was his wife, his love, but hadn’t he pushed her to it? It didn’t matter. She was his. 

His blood boiled and he sat up as he thought about it. About this other faceless guy. The man taking her from him. His own shame, his own regret, slaked away and he was overwhelmed by his anger. He let out a growl and stood.

He went to the kitchen. The tablet was gone but she hadn’t had it with her. Maybe she’d already put it in the bedroom. He shook his head and paced the tiled floor. He returned to the living room but couldn’t sit. Well, maybe she was already asleep. He could sneak in and grab it.

He went to the hallway and listened. He didn’t hear anything. His eyes were drawn to a cord as he slowly began across the carpet. Her tablet was on the side table charging. He should’ve remembered. She always kept it there at night. She’d wake and take it with her on her way to the kitchen. She’d pore over the news as she drank her morning coffee. It had been a long time since he’d shared it with her.

His fingers grazed over the screen. He held his breath as he peeked over at the bedroom door. It was closed. He hesitated before he picked it up. He exhaled slowly and turned to stand with his back against the wall. He hit the button and the screen lit up. He typed in the four digit code; she hadn’t changed it. Was it careless or was it a sign of her innocence?

He looked down the hall again before he began to swipe through the apps. Her messenger was almost dead; a conversation with her mother, several with her friends, but nothing recent or suspicious. He opened the browser and checked the history; a few recipes, some articles, but again, nothing untoward. 

Then a notification popped up. ‘We found something you might like, sugar-plum-17.’ That was what he called her; sugar plum. She always cringed at the pet name but he adored that crinkle in her forehead. He blinked and hit the bubble before it could disappear.

He frowned as he scrolled through the post that came up. It was some story or another. He hit the back arrow and found her page. He dragged his finger up the screen. He read the comment she’d left on her last reblog. 

‘This was so hot. I’d love a rough ride, if you know what I mean? Can’t wait to see how dark this gets.’

His heart was racing. He swiped back up and hit keep reading on the original post. His eyes glossed over until they caught on a particular passage.

‘This stranger knew her and yet she knew nothing of him. Not his face, not his voice, not his scent, only his touch. Rough and demanding. He held her hands in one of his as he pinned her beneath him. The mask hid all but a pair of bright blue eyes. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and moved up her body to keep her arms in place. He wrapped the black fabric around her eyes.’

He stopped and looked up at the wall. The words were burned into his mind. He was stunned. She liked this? He looked back to the tablet and continued to read. The scene was graphic and he found the heat crawling up his spine and into his cheeks. When he got to the end, he was hard. And shocked.

He hadn’t had an erection since before that last time. He had tried anything and everything but nothing. And now he was so hard it hurt. He wanted her. Too bad, she didn’t want him.

He closed out of the app and set the tablet back down. He braced himself as he walked down the hall. Maybe he could apologize. He’d wake her up and explain it all. His fear, his embarrassment, his stupidity. He stopped by the door and leaned against it, his hand on the knob. He couldn’t turn it as a noise from the other side held him in place.

There was a low buzz mingled with her heady breaths. Soft moans muffled and strained. He knew what she was doing. His cock twitched and he pressed his hand to the front of his jeans. He listened intently through the wood. She was getting close. He rubbed himself through the denim and she squeaked and gasped. She had cum but he couldn’t. No, he had to wait.

He drew away from the door as the buzzing stopped and quickly retreated down the hall. He went to the living room and grasped the back of the couch as he hung his head and thought. This had to end. This interminable stalemate. And he knew just how to draw out a truce.

💍

The house was terribly empty. Having Bucky home, even as a shell, was preferable to not at all. He texted you earlier to tell you he would be away for a couple days. Last minute mission in Prague. There wasn’t much you could say. It was a good excuse for him not to face you. His work was always a convenient out.

You made sure to lock up the house before you settled down in bed. The usual; alone, snuggled up with your pillow against the headboard as you scrolled through your dashboard. A good fic and you’d be ready to sleep. Your bedtime work-out made sure of that.

You clicked on the newest fic by your favourite author. Another part in her twisted tale of a robber and his mark. The way her antagonist taunted her main character was chilling but delectable. The man behind the mask stalked her towards the line of insanity. His desires were more than monetary and entirely arousing.

You reached for the toy nestled against your leg atop the blanket. You were getting to the good part. You bit your lip and your thumb hovered over the button. You kept yourself from clicking it as you heard a creak. You sat up and set your phone aside, the vibe clutched in your hand. You listened; silence.

You laid back and reached for your phone. As you picked it up, you heard the familiar groan of the floorboard near the front door. You shot up and hit the phone icon. No signal, no wifi. You tried to reconnect, checked that you hadn’t hit airplane mode unknowingly, but nothing. It had been working a minute ago.

You didn’t hear anything else. You hung your legs over the edge of the bed and assured yourself it was all in your head. You stood and neared the door. You’d go out and confirm your paranoia then sleep before it got the best of you.

You stepped out into the hall. You peered down the living room than to the bathroom. You slowly made your way to the former and looked around. Just the shadows of furniture and dim glare of street lights through the window. You shook your head at yourself and turned back.

As you did, a darkness suddenly enshrouded you from behind. You barely had time to react as strong arms surrounded you. You thrashed out and yelped as you were dragged backwards. Your phone slipped from your hand and the vibe clicked on in your panic. You kicked and flailed as you struggled to escape the intruder.

His hand wrapped around yours as his arm tightened around your waist. He turned you with him and dragged you around the couch. He pried your fingers from the toy and took it in his own. He chuckled and spun you away from him. He shoved you roughly and you fell onto the cushions.

“Please--” You begged. Was this your karma? Maybe a nightmare all too vivid to escape? It couldn’t be… real.

“Shut up,” His voice was gristly beneath his mask. “This what you like?”

He held up the you, still buzzing, and you tried to stand. He caught your shoulder and pushed you back down. His hand slid to your throat and he bent over you, his breath seeped through his mask and against your temple.

“Stay.” He snarled. “Or I’ll hogtie you with your own panties.”

You whimpered and his other hand pressed the vibe along your chest and rolled it down your stomach. He slid his fingers beneath the elastic of your pajamas and forced his hand between your legs. The toy glided too easily between your folds. You gasped.

“Ah…” He snickered at your lack of underwear. “Well, I can always figure something out.”

“What do you want?” You breathed.

“What do you want?” He countered as he angled the vibe against your clit. “I think I can guess actually.”

“There’s a safe--”

“We’ll get to that… once I’ve had my fun,” He snarled. “Doesn’t seem like you need much help.”

The toy was slippery in his gloved hand and you trembled as his fingers squeezed your throat and he pushed you harder against the couch. He cradled the toy with his palm and slipped a finger inside you. You squeaked and he shoved another past your entrance. He moved his hand steadily as he pressed his masked cheek to yours.

“That’s it,” He purred. “You like that?”

You tried to shake your head and sobbed. You did. To your disgust, you did.

“Where’s your husband, hmm?” He asked. “Leaving a thing like you all alone.”

“My husband?” You wisped.

“A lot of shoes for one man.” He remarked. “Lined so neatly by the door. Was that you? Such a sweet little housewife.”

You nodded and gulped. Your thighs were tingling and your core glowing. You thoughtlessly grabbed the wrist of the hand at your throat and tilted your hips. You panted. His touch felt familiar and strange all at once. It had been so long that even the roughest touch could make you shudder.

“Cum for me,” He growled against your cheek. “You can try to fight it but we both know… you can’t.”

Your thighs closed around his hand and you spasmed. Your moan was strangled by his hand. You slapped at his shoulder as you orgasmed and pushed against the cushion behind you. He released you suddenly and you sank into the couch as he pulled his hand away.

“So…” He undid his fly. “You gonna play along or do I need to go find one of your husband’s belts? Wouldn’t that be hot?”

You shook and hung your head. He pushed his fly apart. “Get undressed.” He ordered.

You sniffed and stood carefully, afraid to provoke him. You pulled your tank top over your head and shimmied out of your pajama pants, the remnants of your arousal dampened the fabric. You gulped as you looked up at the stranger. His hand was in his pants, stroking himself.

“Turn around,” He sneered. “Up on the couch… on your knees.” You glanced around and he stepped closer. “Try it.” He challenged. 

You blanched at him and turned reluctantly. You neared the couch and climbed up. You braced the back of it and closed your eyes. You sensed him behind you. His gloved hand caressed your neck and tickled along your shoulder. He trailed down your back and his fingers hooked around your hip. He pulled you back until your knees were at the edge of the couch and you were slightly bent.

He slapped your ass and pinched it sharply. You cried out. “Shut up!” He growled. “You don’t want the neighbours to hear, do you?” He spanked you again. “Gossip travels quickly.”

You gritted your teeth and hissed. His cock touched your ass and he rubbed it along your skin. A line of precum left across your cheek. You dug your nails into the couch as he guided his tip lower and squeezed your hip until you arched your back. He slickened himself with your juices and lingered at your entrance.

He bent over you as his hand slipped from your hip and he felt around for your clit. As he teased you with his fingertips, he sank into you, his stomach firm against your back. You moaned and slapped your hand over your mouth. He hummed.

“That’s right. Nice and quiet,” He nuzzled your hair as he began to thrust. “Fuck…”

He groaned and continued to play with your bud. The sharp teeth of his zipper dug unto you with each thrust. Your breath hitched and you moved your body in tandem with his. You didn’t realize you were doing it until you were biting down on your knuckles and the sounds of fucking filled your ears. 

His other hand returned to your throat. He stood and pulled you back. You grasped at his hand as he sped up. He jolted your whole body as you balanced precariously on your knees. His grunts swirled around you and your moans were barely stifled by your own hand. 

You were carried away by the sheer pleasure. It was as if your body couldn’t handle it. Your mind was smokey and your vision a blur. The snarls sounded more and more familiar as they grew louder. You reached back and gripped the man’s thigh as you met your peak suddenly. You swallowed back the whine and your walls twitched around him.

“That’s it,” He purred.

He pushed you up against the back of the couch and climbed up behind you, his knees between yours. He pounded into you and his hand left your clit as he reached up. He didn’t waver as he pulled off his mask and held it out before you. He swore as the gristle left his voice and he came in you.

He leaned against you as he stilled and nibbled at your ear. He kissed your cheek and his hand fell from your throat. He dragged his nose along your temple and chuckled.

“Is that what you like, sugar plum?” Bucky’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts.

[rktingyan-blog]

scenario: tingyan is forcibly convinced decides to sign up for the mgas. time & place: july 1st, resturaunt in gangnam  word count: 1,563 notes: in case anyone was curious, jinjae is just a npc i placed in to help further her development! ofc this isn’t an official part of the event but this is a pretty big shift for her so i thought it deserved an explanation!  

it all started with a drink.

the same as any other she had in seoul, sipped in the comfort of a booth at the restaurant near her home. the food was alright, the service a little slow, but it was a minute's walk from her apartment and it meant she could get home as late as she wanted (or as drunk as she wanted), all without the worry of meeting trouble on the way. in front of her sat choi jaejin, her endearingly nerdy friend and computer science major. while they attended the same school, they'd coincidentally met through dance classes, and from there hung out outside of practice and around campus. though the atmosphere was more of a hideout for blind dates and couples who wouldn't last past two weeks, the pair used it as their way to cram for impending exams.  

"can i have a drink?" the female asked desperately, reaching for the red bottle to satisfy her craving. with a quickness, her hand was swatted away, jaejin's eyes alone doing the job to scold her. "no, noona! we've got an exam in 2 days, and you're stress drinking again. we can't study properly when you're drunk, you know."

and she did. a whine of frustration signals her to lay her head on the table, downturned lips resembling a child's pout. they were in hour 3 of studying already, and the food they had been enjoying was long gone - all that was remaining were straw wrappers and a bill they'd still been arguing over. tingyan's eyes wander from the table, to the customers, to jaejin - anywhere but the books in front of her. it wasn't that she wasn't willing to learn, but the whole process had been incredibly frustrating. she had her korean in a few short days, and she couldn't be more lost. she had the basics - evident in her extensive conversations with jaejin - but she swore she was being made to learn things even natives got lost on.

"break?" jaejin proposes, looking pitifully down at the girl who, upon observing, was blowing the hair in front of her eyes with a frown. she couldn't have been any more eager, popping up from her position to give a smile and yes! as confirmation. call her lazy, but she'd had enough - and wasn't just talking to him practice in itself? in sync, the two pull out their phones, which they'd hesitantly vowed not to use during studying unless needed for the lesson. tingyan immediately jumped to tap instagram, an app she'd grown obsessed with since it'd become readily available in korea. just as she was about to make mention of jaejin not liking her recent photo of them together, his giddy ohs! fill her ears.

"tingyan-noona, oh my gosh! look!" still gasping, the younger slid the phone across the table to her viewpoint. as soon as the familiar naver colors came to view, she shielded her eyes, losing interest immediately. "don't care," she noted nonchalantly, turning her focus to an attractive customer passing the table. sure, she had an interest in korean entertainment - it stemmed from a yearning for something more, something exciting, all the way back in china. she liked the music - but it stopped at that. while she admired many artists, she simply wasn't interested in the drama these types of blogs had to deliver. why should she care who was dating who and what happened where? they were fully functioning adults - and it wasn't her business, anyway.

"no, no, it's not a gossip post! look closer." if it wasn't for the fact that rejecting his proposal would mean a shorter break, she would have dismissed him quicker than she had the first time around.  but tingyan wanted a break, so, giving the most irritated sigh she can muster, brings her face closer to the screen. in bold, almost mocking her distaste for viewing the article, reads -

MNET CONFIRMS FIFTH SEASON OF MGAS

mnet? mga? both names were very familiar to her, her teenage years, as well as her college ones, spent stressing over eliminations and winners of the popular show. nowadays, between work and intense study sessions such as these, tingyan just couldn't find time to do many leisure activities. but why was he so excited?

"yeah, and?" she asked, sneaking a sip of his wine before he could catch her in the act. sure, she was surprised the new season had came around this quick without her noticing, but was it worth him getting so excited? they were in their 5th season now, and every year they had practically become apart of the regular tv routine.

"don't you see?" a frustrated jaejin rushed to retrieve his phone, and only upon looking at the screen did he understand her confusion. "oh! my bad - look!" scrolling down, the final words are revealed -

... AND START OF AUDITION PROCESS.

okay. so maybe she did get a little excited, but she took a sip of the neglected water beside her so he wouldn't see her grin. "no, no," she says firmly, waving the thought away with her hand. "i'm not even going there with you, jaejin." her hands clap together, as if they've smacked away the idea. "come on, let's study." that's a sentence she hadn't expected to say.

"no! i don't want to, you need to see this." how the roles have reversed! adamantly, he brings the device forward, looking so deeply into her eyes that even tingyan can't look away.

"noona. listen to me." the typically meek younger's stern behavior surprised her, and with an eyebrow raised tingyan silently challenges his attitude. "sorry, i mean....noona, please. you - you'e gotta do it, okay? i knw you can! i see you at the studio, you're really good."

"that's not all it takes to become an idol, jaejin!" she argues. "people who join the mjas have lots of talents - not just one. and they're really good at them. look at me. i can barely pass this korean exam! how do you think i'd have a conversation on line tv?"

"i know that! in fact, you probably won't win!" tingyan would be offended, but, taking the reality of the situation she knows her fate well. "it's not about that. it's about gaining experiences! and i know you know korean, for how easily you're yelling at me now." his attitude was still there, but it's a little tamed, learning from his first mistake that giving sass wasn't going to help get his point across.

no words are said by tingyan; her manicured fingertips are too busy tapping on the glass to drown out the words she knows are true but doesn't want to hear.

"....didn't you say you wanted to feel fulfilled? that you wanted to give music a shot and see if it was something you wanted to do? this could be your chance." it was true, she'd confessed that just weeks prior when she'd had a breakdown following poor feedback from her modeling agency. modeling was fun, and for now it made money, but it was one thing to her - a hobby. it didn't leave her with the same lingering excitement a successful day at dance did, something jaejin knew well from her rare bubbliness after walking home from dance class.he knew better than anyone else, so although she's trying to conjure up some possible excuse she knows there's none that will give her a true pass.

"okay. so say i did do this....mga audition thing. what else am i supposed to do? i just dance."

jaejin cheered in victory, knowing this was the closest to a yes as he'd gotten all night. "well..." he didn't even know, evident in the way he puffs his cheeks out, pondering - a quirk linked to jaejin's confusion she'd caught onto long ago. "you can sing good enough! and...what if you do something that's not necessarily performing for your special skill? that's the whole point! you're super tingyan, i know you've got it."

even the iced over woman can't help the smile that reveals itself at the sound of the familiar nickname, eyes furrowing as she genuinely thinks it over. was could it hurt? her job had flexible hours, so she would be able to make it to auditions. she was turning 20 this year, and knew that both the modeling and entertainment industry waited for no one - she'd have to make a choice. sooner or later, time would catch up with her and she'd be forced to give up on her true dream if she didn't live it out now.

but before she makes a real decision, her hand reached to the bottle of wine - just one more sip would help her think clearly. but no, the opportunity was gone before it even truly presents itself, as her younger friend moved the bottle from her grasp.

"i said no! you want alcohol? fine. but you're not getting a drop until you make a decision."

giving the meanest death glare she can muster, the woman crosses her arms, hhoping for a compromise. nothing. when it's clear jaejin's not budging, tingyan cocks her head to the side in agitation.

"fine. i'll do it."

the words are mumbled as grudgingly as possible, but they're there, and before she had time to process her promise, the future auditioner drowns her thoughts with the wine she's quick to grab ahold of.

[pet-diary]

Any tips for time management? I always think I need less time for assignments than I do, and this caused me a lot of stress this semester- I don’t want to make the same mistakes next semester.

I struggle a lot with time management, especially when it comes to getting ready to leave and catching the bus on time… So I’ve had to develop a lot of tools to help me over the years. These are some of the things that are really helping me right now. Hopefully some of these will help you too! (Sorry this is so long I do not have a tmi filter, lol).

Time Management Tips:

Set alarms to remind you to stay on task. I have pre-labeled alarms on my phone for all kinds of things (e.g. first wake up alarm, second wake up alarm, walk the dog,eat lunch, take pills, etc). I even made the alarm songs kind of embody the vibe of whatever the task is, so that my memory is jogged even without reading the screen. Play around with your alarm settings, you might be able to add emojis to the label to make them feel less stressful, make the song come on gradually so it’s not jarring, or my phone even has a feature where it reads out the time, the weather and news headlines from the day. It plays a song based on what kind of weather it is. It’s really useful! :) If you need to have an alarm separate from your phone because it’s too distracting, cube timers or kitchen timers can be good.

Use a habit tracker to build better habits. Most of my time management problems stem from not having enough structure in my life. Building structure, even in the smallest ways, REALLY helps me manage time better. It helps me have a better sense of how much time is passing, and how much time certain tasks take. I use Habitica which I love, but there’s a ton of habit tracker apps out there. You could also track things manually in a journal, but I feel like that could require a lot of unnecessary work/time. Habitica is easiest for me because it makes it sort of fun (the RPG element is cute), they have groups and challenges you can join, and basically it just gives me some accountability at the end of the day. I just check off what I did and didn’t do that day, and it helps me stay honest about my bad/good habits. It’s really easy to see what you’re neglecting when it’s showing up in red on a regular basis! Building habits and routines is SO key, I would argue it’s the most important thing to do for better time management.

On that note, having better sleep/wake habits is SO helpful for having better time management. It may not seem related, but your body likes routine. If you wake up around the same time everyday, your body gets used to it and will start waking up even without the alarm. Same with sleep, you’ll start getting sleepy around the same time if you make it a routine. I’ve been trying to get the most out of the few hours of daylight we have in the winter in Seattle, so I try to wake up as early as possible. My goal is to wake up at 5am (it’s not been happening lately, but I’ll keep working at it), because this will give me the most amount of daylight. I use Sleep Calculator to figure out what time to sleep/wake, which has been fairly accurate and helps me wake up with more energy. If you have the money, you might try getting a lamp that gradually wakes you up in the morning. I really want one of these! :0

Prevent yourself from getting distracted when you’re supposed to be working. Use an app like Forest to stop yourself from using your phone. Put your phone in another room if you keep checking it anyway, or put it in airplane mode so you don’t get notifications and can’t use the internet. There’s a lot of apps on the phone and on browsers that block certain sites so you don’t get distracted surfing the web or checking social. Have a separate browser for school work only (I use Firefox for personal stuff, and Chrome for school work. All my plugins on Chrome relate to getting work done and not getting distracted. I don’t even allow myself to use Chrome to search something unrelated to school because I know they’ll use my history to advertise to me and I don’t want those distractions when I’m doing work).

Take breaks when you need them, but get back to work when you should. There’s a lot of info out there about how long your breaks should be and all that. Personally, I don’t find a 10 minute break to be very useful. If I’ve been doing school work for hours and I can’t stop thinking about playing video games, I’ll work to a certain point, and then reward myself by playing Skyrim for an hour or two, then work again. Set an alarm for this, set several if needed. I feel like it helps me reset my brain. I simply can’t satisfy my need for a break in 10 minutes… But that’s just me. Figure out what works for you and the amount of time restraints you have!

Set up your environment for the task at hand. If you’re writing a paper, get out everything you’ll need and then make your writing environment the right mood. For me, that means having a nice candle, some calm instrumental music, a comfortable spot, a snack or drink nearby, etc. I’m a big believer in setting up the right environment. Sometimes that even means taking my breaks by looking at studyblrs or watching a TedTalk related to the topic I’m writing about. Inspiration goes a long way.

Remind yourself why you’re working. It really helps me to stay on task when I remind myself why I’m in school, what I’m working towards, why it’s important. Like the last tip, sometimes just taking a break by watching a TedTalk related to psychology helps me remember why I care about the work I’m doing. Make a vision board above your desk, or just a Pinterest that has inspirational images or quotes that keep you feeling motivated. I will even go so far as to find TV shows, movies, or anime that has a similar vibe to what I’m working on. When I was interviewing for an office job, I watched anime about working in an office, and it actually helped me feel excited about the position! Actually, this is the main reason I have a blog, I like to post content that gives me the right feeling for whatever I’m doing at the time. It helps me see things in a positive light rather than dreading it and wishing I had a different life. It really changes my perspective!!

Set time limits for yourself. I know this is obvious, but just make sure you’re not spending too much time perfecting things that don’t ultimately matter. I used to spend HOURS getting dressed. Sometimes you just need to give yourself a wake up call and realize certain tasks aren’t as important as you’re letting them become. If you really just have too much on your plate, ask for some help. Maybe someone else can take over a certain chore until you’ve gotten your routine down better. Maybe some of your hobbies or social activities can be put on hold for a bit. Don’t overexert yourself, or overbook yourself. Keep a calendar or planner, and make sure you know what’s coming up so you don’t just completely screw up your schedule.

On this note, DO NOT take more courses than is right for you. I used to get peer-pressured into taking more courses than I really could handle. People would make fun of me for taking so few, or criticize me for taking less than them when they were juggling work and a social life on top of that. I know that this might be impossible to adjust, financial aid requires a certain number of hours each semester, and most people have to work on top of school, but if you’re able to reduce your work load and you feel you need to, DO IT! Don’t overdo it just because you feel obligated to be busy. I personally do best with two classes. That’s it. I feel like I can handle the work load, and I dedicate enough of my mind to really diving into the subject when I don’t have a lot more on my plate than that. Figure out what works for you and make that your baseline, everyone else be damned. You might have to remain flexible on this, but I think it’s so important to advocate for yourself and know your limits, don’t let people push you into doing more than you can. At the end of the day, your grades, your learning, YOUR future is what’s at stake.

Aim towards efficiency. Really think about what’s taking so much of your time when you’re working. Are you getting distracted by friends? Spending too much time writing notes? Having to reread the same sentence over and over again because you aren’t able to concentrate? Literally just have too many tasks to do and can’t seem to finish them all on time? All of these problems have different solutions. Try to really lay out each problem, and brainstorm solutions. Time yourself if you need to, see what you’re spending the most time on. If you really just have too many assignments, talk to the professor about it. It may not result in extra time or less work, but they might be more lenient, or they might be able to offer solutions. Heck, you might even hear that you’re putting in way more work than is even required! You never know. This might also be a good time to explore accommodations if you need them. I personally have accommodations for anxiety and autism. My disability coordinator gave me access to a program called Sonocent that can be used for recording lectures and taking notes. OneNote is about the same, and it’s included with Office suite, no accommodations needed.

**Extra tip** Don’t spend over an hour responding to an ask on tumblr………. ( ͡°⁄ ⁄ ͜⁄ ⁄ʖ⁄ ⁄ ͡°)