#i would fall in love if some idiot chased me around with a guitar case all day

[almond-tofu-chan]

Okay I get that it’s super cute that Gepard uses Serval’s guitar case in battle, but also ?????

How exactly did that?? Happen?? Like ignoring the obvious fact that a guitar case is a bad weapon and also Serval’s guitar is FUCKING huge, why???

I’m just picturing little baby Gepard like training to join the Guard and hauling around this absolutely ginormous guitar case and nobody bats an eye because obviously his sister fights with the LITERAL GUITAR that the case is for so sure this isn’t That Weird

Like he HAS to have another weapon right?? Like a sword or claymore or something??

Also like did Serval let him do this? How did that interaction go?

Gepard: Hey sis can I borrow your guitar case?

Serval: yeah, for what?

Gepard: …

Serval: For What??

This man is the absolute funniest man in the game and absolutely not On Purpose

[lilsuzn]

MLQC Boys as Fathers

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen's Choice

Warnings: In the post below I decided to make girls like stereotypical girly things and boys stereotypical boyish things, but it doesn’t mean I believe it’s how it’s supposed to be. I personally had periods when I was very girly and ones when I was very tomboyish and that’s okay. What’s not okay is forcing your children to act certain ways and like certain thing just because they represent a certain sex.

Dedication: anon

Gavin

baby girl

Have you even seen that nail-painting Karma with him? This cutie!

If you guys had a daughter, she would be the happiest little girl on earth.

He would be unable to deny her anything. Don’t let these two go to the mall alone. Unless you don’t care for electricity or hot water. Then you do you, I guess.

I even can see him dressed in pink tutu, sitting by a small, pink table and sipping on nonexisting tea. Anything to make his little angel happy

I overall don’t see him as a parent who actively takes part in his child’s school life - like helping with organizing plays or sawing costumes or parent-teacher association associating or other stuff alike, BUT...

He sure would never miss a single performance of his baby girl and would support her along the whole way there.

And yes. He will watch YT tutorials to learn how to do some pretty hairstyles for his princess, even though initially he wouldn’t want to do them at all.

And yes. He will paint her nails when she’s old enough not to stuff her hands into her mouth all the time.

baby boy

They are collecting figures. Like, motorcycles and cars at first. Then also planes when the boy gets a little older.

He would look upto his daddy very much. Would adore that he’s a police officer and could fly and was just basically flawless - at least in your son’s eyes.

They would play with his plane toys, which boy could all name. His favorite would be the Supermarine Spitfire. Gavin could never play with that one. Dad is great and all, but it’s HIS plane.

When your sun gets a bit older, his dad would take him to aerobatic aviation shows and historic planes displays.

He surely would be a daddy’s boy, if you didn’t figure it yet. You’re cool and he loves you… BUT GAVIN?

Their bond remains strong throughout the years. They keep alot of secrets from you, but you benefit from it from time to time. Especially in saving nerves. So it’s cool. Unless it’s not…

When grown up he sure would become a police officer like his dad or a soldier. I sure see him in military aviation. Dad would be a bit worried, but would give him his full support and all the help he could.

I also believe you and Gavin would have more than just one child, but that’s just a side note.

Kiro

baby girl

He’s not a regular dad. He’s a cool dad.

Not a reckless dad tho. He knows it’s not good for kids to eat as much sweets as they want to. He knows it’s not the best idea to say yes to every single whim of theirs…

But his little princess is so pretty. And so cute. And so sweet.

Remember when I told you how Gavin would be not so happy to attend her daughter’s tea parties?

Kiro would live for those! He would buy himself dresses for those occasions.

And they would do fashion shows for you. 

This dad is going to ask his daughter to do his makeup.

Takes her to get ice cream behind your back after picking her up from her ballet practice.

baby boy

I don’t know why, but I see his son as that shy, artistic type. That romantic boy with an acoustic guitar kind of trope.

He would have a voice of an angel and a talent surpassing even his father’s. He literally doesn’t need Kiro’s evol to have his charm.

This dad would be so proud. A little sad that his modest, little boy doesn’t want to perform on stage with him, but still - so extremely happy to have such a talented son.

He would get him the best tutors, and the finest instruments and every other equipment his little angel might need. Not even necessarily ask for.

If that was what wished for, he would help him start a career. He surely has what it gets to make someone famous.

If that wasn’t what his son wanted however - he would never push him. He knows the price that comes with money and a large fanbase and he wouldn’t force anyone to pay it.

Lucien

baby girl

I see Lucien as the best dad of all 4, and before you get mad at me for being biased, know that he's not my fav. I like being called an idiot and men in uniforms.

Big part of it would surely be his psychological knowledge, not gonna lie. Second one would be his outstanding intelligence that helps him with application of  upbringing’s roles into life.

He just knows exactly how and when to be soft and when and how to be firm.

He would take his daughter for walks and movies. He would love to take her to an amusement park from time to time.

It’s important for him that his daughter would be well socialised.

And surprise, surprise - his daughter would be a genius. Doesn’t matter if you are biological parents or not. It just happened. And he’s very happy to be destroyed in a chase game by his nine year old.

He helps her with preparing for math contests. And any other contests there are.

They often sit together on the couch and read books. She even makes the same face as she focuses. Yes - even she’s adopted.

It’s a Christmas miracle, I don’t know. Ask Lucien, he probably does.

baby boy

Wouldn’t it be absolutely cute and a little bit ironic if his son would be a little trouble maker?

Wouldn’t want to study. Just spent all day on the playground with other kids. An tradic picky eater. Can fall asleep wherever he is, in whatever position he is.

I could see Lucien struggle to find a way to get to his child, but I couldn’t see him ever give up.

He would enroll his son into some school sports team and would very actively support it. They need a parent to go with them to attend a sports contest in another school. Sign him up. Lucien is a very busy man, that’s true, but not too busy for that.

He would learn the rules and tactics of whatever game his son plays.

Would help him practice outside his practices. Even if he might not enjoy it.

And obviously, would eagerly help him if he had any problems in school.

Overall, I see Lucien as a very loving father, who doesn’t shy away with expressing just how important his kids are for him.

Victor

baby girl

The one who would constantly motivate his children.

They are learning languages, participating in at least one sport, playing an instrument and traveling around the world with him to experience many different cultures.

His little girl would be confident, smart, self-disciplined and an absolutely cute dork who thinks daddy doesn’t know she figured how to get to that cookie jar on the highest shelf.

She started drawing things for him since she was too small to even talk properly… and she was really good for such a small poppet.

He quickly decided to add art classes to her already long list of extracurricular activities.

At some point she was absolutely wonderful. Daddy was swelling with pride.

A perfect student, remarcable artist… Obviously a Li.

She would then study architecture at the most prestigious university in the country. Victor would spare no expenses. She deserves it.

baby boy

A quiet but intimidating kid that sits in the first row in class and gives his teacher a challenging look.

Destroys in chess even Lucien’s daughter… sometimes.

Has no friends because he’s disgusted by other people.

Daddy’s boy lvl. 100 Future LFG CEO.

If he could he would even sleep with daddy… but daddy doesn’t let him because he needs “privacy” with you. Good thing you sometimes make him sandwiches, because you might get taken care of…

Victor would have his kid’s photo on his desk. Two of them actually. One facing him and one facing anyone who sits on the opposite side. People need to know just how cute they looked in their matching shirts during last year’s father’s day celebrations.

They would go to the movies together. Victor who usually makes sure your kids are eating healthy would buy him a huge popcorn… and sometimes even M&M’s.

Victor would be a principled dad with high expectations, but don’t make a mistake. Even if his kids weren’t as ambitious and success focused as he’s he would love them just as much and care for them just as much.

There would also be no favoring if you had more than one child. Everyone must feel equally loved and he would make sure it’s exactly the case.

[baekchelor]

ａｓｈｏｒｅ[ix]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst, A tiny bit of Smut summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 4.7k a/n: I think you will love this. I loved writing this so, so much. This is the final chapert, BUT we still have the Epilogue to come. I’m opening a vote for my new story, if you want a Ned Kelly AU pls comment a 🥵below and if you want a George Mackay GossipGirl AU comment a 🤭.

❝the  sea,  the  majestic  sea,  breaks  everything,  crushes  everything,  cleans everything,  takes  everything...from  me.❞                                                                                             ― corinne  bailey  rae

THREE ｅｉｇｈｔｅｅｎ ｄａｙｓ

◄ ｐｒｅｖ

Being completely, utterly honest, you were one of those doctors who suffered the hidden pleasure of actually enjoying Grey's Anatomy. Guilty as charged. Not ony our life, you've understood the guilt some of the characters experienced —Meredith, per se—when a phone buzzed loudly, the name of the person they were supposed to be committed to flashing on the screen, while they were trapped in dreamland and in the arms of someone else.

Empathy crawled over you, though, the thirteenth morning in Namibia. Over the bedside table, your phone spun over the fake wood as the ringtone chosen and reserved for Ethan and only Ethan, sneaked into your dream, grabbed you by the toes, and its claws were so sharp that on their attempt to drag you out, you jolted awake.

However, you weren't able to sit up all sweaty and scared. You tried to, but you were unable. The limbs in your body felt extremely stiff, heavy, and the source triggered the alarm system inside you. Someone's strong, perfect arms were resting tightly around your waist. Said someone, muffled and whined when you carefully freed your body and sat up, every inch of skin flushed red.

As things go, conveniently enough, it was almost midday, and you've slept curled up against Bodevan's frame. With the head buried on his chest, his arms encircling your waist, your legs mingled together... the entire flipping night.

Great. Just great.

The worst thing is —and it is shameful to admit, you must confess— the reason why you decided to answer Ethan's call that morning, was the fact that the longer your phone rang, the most possible it would wake Bo up. And firstly, you enjoyed the view too much to give it up. Secondly, the last thing you wanted was Bodevan to realise your fiancée had called.

By mere instinct, while you murmured a groggy Hello! to the speaker, your eyes travelled their usual route towards the exquisite engagement ring residing on your index finger. Then, right then, hell broke loose. Because there, right there, was none ring to be found.

Your eyes went wide, wild, and almost jumped out of your face when frantically, you introspected between the covers, underneath the carpet, across the floor only to be met with no sign of it.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

"Hey baby," Ethan's voice was sleepy, deep, and the obliviousness on it made your eyes water. "Did I wake you up, sleepyhead?"

Yes, he did, and your head is killing you.

How many drinks did you share with Bodevan last night?

How many bottles?

How on earth did you lose your engagement ring?!

"Yeah... It was a long night".

"Hospital emergency?" He pressed on, "You forgot to call me. I waited."

"Sorry, E," The apology means so much more, it quivers as you speak. "I was at the birthday party I mentioned before."

Bo rustled in the sheets beside you. Your voice must have woken him up.

The laughter at the other side of the phone, robbed back your attention, "Completely zoom out on that. How was it?".

"Fun, I guess..."

"So it was crap?"

"Yeah," you lied. More so, you didn't lie entirely. It was crap that you lost your ring, and it was crap that you snuggled all night with a boy who is not the one you're going to marry —and it was crap that if you're completely honest with yourself, you didn't give a shit about it. Because you were certain, almost certain, you have fallen in love with another man.

As in, with the man in front of you with wild pillow hair and piercing blue eyes.

With Bodevan Cash.

This was madness. Africa induced madness! Surely, this infatuation was a result of the miles-away syndrome. You haven't seen your fiancée in two weeks, and you have spent the majority of your days in the company of the uniquely weird boy.

But what if... what if the loss of your ring was destiny talking? Perhaps it was written in the stars that the sapphire engraved item wasn't supposed to be wrapped around your finger.

Fate or not, you needed to find it. You couldn't just give up on it and on Ethan. It wasn't fair, and you weren't that kind of girl.

In such wise, you cut the conversation short and hurriedly hung up the phone. Ethan believed your excuse: you slept in, and you needed to rush to the hospital for your rounds.

After you were enchanted by the fact that under a morning sky, Bo's eyes really did match, and you giggled and blushed over breakfast with him —you didn't share pancakes, you wouldn't do that to Ethan. The meal of choice was waffles and sweet but dark coffee—you two embarked on the exhausting search for the ring.

The starting point was the clinic, under the patient's cot. Then you searched across the beach, digging in the sand as if you were looking for seashells. You searched all over your cabin, in between the sheets, under the bed, inside the drawers...On day fourteen, you and Peera turned the teepee upside down, pushing furniture to the corners, emptying the shelves, to no avail. On day fifteen, you asked the hotel plumber to dismantle your sink, in  case in your drunken state you'd washed your hands and didn't notice it going down the drain. On day sixteen, you gave up the pursuit. On day seventeen, you came to terms with it and gathered enough courage to break the news to Ethan.

Today, on day eighteen, you are ready. Or at least, you think you are. Bodevan will be here soon, like every day around 9pm to strum some chords on his acoustic guitar and then play that silly game you invented a week ago where either of you would close their eyes, while the other wrote medical terms onto your skin. Whoever wins, gets to choose dinner —and breakfast, because weirdly enough, Bo has been staying the nights. And he always wins.

Holding yourself, in seek of steadiness, you dial Ethan's number. The rain has increased, and you wish upon the stars it delays Bodevan's arrival.

Ethan picks up almost immediately, "Hello, you. I'm on my lunch break, so you're on luck today."

Here it comes. No filter.

"I lost the ring."

"What ring?" He's chewing something, an apple you presume. Ethan loves apples.

"The engagement ring."

"You did what?" He is not screaming, but his voice is sharp, and it cuts right through you.

"I-I lost it. It fell off the night of Danny's birthday party."

"I see." You know what it's about to come, you recognise the tone on his voice as the one he employs when he's aiming to hurt. "You lost your engagement ring the day you got wasted while partying with that excuse of a doctor you're working for."

"I was not-", you hurry, "I mean I didn't..."

"Of course, you did. I know you. I know your hangover voice, and I'm not a fucking idiot."

"Ethan, I-"

"Will you cut the bullshit?" he intervenes, "This is your revenge from what happened with Harper. I understand."

Your mouth falls open, at a loss for words, "Are you implying that I lost your ring on purpose, to get back at you?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

Rage curls in your stomach, "Wow. Real nice, Ethan. You really don't know me at all."

Ethan laughs. He fucking laughs. "I'm saying this because I know you." None of you talks for a minute, and then he breaks the silence, "I'll change your flight for tonight."

"No," calmly, you answer. "I'm not leaving until I find that stupid ring."

"Come on, you're never going to find it." Ethan sighs, evidently done dealing with your stupidity. "I will just buy you a new one."

"I don't want a new one," you say, still calm. You've been pacing back and forth concerning the decision you're about to make. Finally, you've made up your mind, and it's clearly the right choice. "I don't want an engagement ring, Ethan." The rest of the sentence goes quietly, "I-I don't want this marriage."

He sighs again, and you can picture him resting his fingertips between his eyebrows, tired of dealing with you and your feelings. Ethan has always been a cold man, and for a while, you thought the only person he was warm to was you. Such a fool. "Is this your way of saying you're still upset over my previous marriage?" asks Ethan. "Because you said you were fine, but I knew this would happen—"

"It's not just that," you confess, in part, you haven't get over it yet and eighteen days in Namibia haven't bought you enough time to do it.

"What are you saying?"

Your heart grows heavy. You hate this. But you have to do it.

"I can't marry you, E. I'm sorry. But I-I can't promise away my entire life with someone when I'm not even sure how I want to live it," you confess, voice breaking.

"Fallen out of love with me already, huh?" he questions, the pain sewed to his words, further breaking your heart.

"I love you. I'm just—It's been hard, this whole thing... we being liers, you being married, me being here..." You don't dare to say his name, but you think it. Bodevan. "I don't know what I'm supposed to know, but at least at this exact moment, I'm sure I can't marry you."

"Alright," comes the response, always calm, always composed. "Let's take a break. We'll talk when you're back."

"Ethan—"

"I'm hanging up now."

Before you could retort, he hangs up. You feel a strange sense of relief, even though something inside you broke with the knowledge of what you'd just done.

It isn't entirely over, you're aware. You still have to go back, and you have to face him, and return gifts, and send apology letters to the guests. But the confession is off your chest. You didn't want to lie to him anymore.

As you let out a deep, heavy sigh, you glance back and notice that right at the doorframe, stands your very own sun. Now you understand why it's raining and cloudy; sunlight is trapped in your cabin. Bodavan witnessed everything, and he is watching you, warily.

Plastering a smile on your face, you greet, "Hi."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I would ask if everything is okay, but clearly…"

Shaking your head, you explain, "It had to be done. I can't do this anymore. Pretend as if I love him like he loves me and spend the rest of my life with him. It's not fair to him, or to me."

Bodevan says nothing. For the first time in days, he looks incredibly flustered, ocean eyes avoiding any sort of contact with you. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but then he steals the words away.

"I apologise," he blurts. "It was inappropriate for me to spend so much time with you, and even worse t-to fall asleep with you in the same bed."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, shame. More so, hurt. "What are you saying? All of that was my choice, you didn't force me into anything. Wh-why are you apologising?"

"Because I have this... feeling that whatever just happened," Bo hurries his gaze away from you. "H-Happened because of me."

If there was a hole in the middle of your room, you would crawl inside and dig your way back to New York.

"It had nothing to do with you," you half-lie. "Nothing even happened between us," you snap, coming off rougher than you'd expected.

"Right," he murmurs, looking away. You can't fathom why the look on his face manages to break your heart more than cancelling your engagement had. "Let's play something then. W-Whats your favourite song?"

"Sweet Child O' Mine."

He smiles, "That's my mother's as well."

Bodevan shrugs off his wet jacket. He clears his throat and sits on the edge of your mattress, guitar resting on his lap. You hear the soft sound of his voice singing a much slower version of the song, and suddenly, you feel at peace. Absent-mindedly, you pick up Bo's signature mustard jacket, draping it over a loveseat so it can dry. Right off the bat, something silver and sparkling drops to the ground.

You gape. Lying there, on the floor, is your engagement ring. Looking undamaged and pristine. A smile would have curved your lips if it hadn't unmistakably fallen from Bodevans's jacket.

When you crouch down to pick it up, your mind begins to spin. Since when does Bo have it? Had he had it all along? Or had he found it and not told you?

The mere train of thoughts makes you sick to the stomach. You clutch the ring in your fist.

When Bo strums the last chords of the song, and his soft voice comes undone in a whisper, he looks up to find you standing there, features betraying the long lost smile.

You stare out at the bay, avoiding the gaze he refuses to haul away from you. His eyes are deep blue, as wild as the waves crashing the shoreline. Confusion is evident on his face, brows curved in the sense of bewilderment. Right now, Bodevan is a doctor, trying to diagnose your symptoms, and figure out what shifted inside you that has you bracing yourself against the biting gale off the water. And him.

You tug the yellow montgomery closer, but it is no use. Only one thing could warm you tonight, and he is out of reach. You miss the way he fills the circle of his arms with your body, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head —it should be an Anatomy case of interest, it seems to be customed as the perfect resting spot for his lips. But it is a good thing Ethan isn't here now. What he'd find out would leave a bruise on Bodevan's face, and it would be the last hit to turn you into pieces.

Bo's eyes drop to his jacket, your fist clenched around the fabric, and his face falls. Dr Cash found the disease, and it pains him, of course, it pains him. He just figured out, the source of your lack of well-being, is him.

"You know," he states, careful. The astonishment in his voice doesn't surprise you, yet you can't explain to yourself why it stings so much. You’re trying your hardest to stay calm. But a lump has formed in your throat, your stomach has turned into a thousand knots, and you can feel the tears building up inside your eyes.

"Why?" It is pathetic, really, how your voice breaks amidst a one-word sentence. The tears are free now, streaming down your cheeks. "I know it wasn't for the money. Unless you've fooled me on your Maoist shit as well."

"A fighter for the rights of poor farmers and landless labourers, seeking to overthrow the state and usher in a classless society? I am."

"Then, why did you do this?"

Bodevan looks away, clearly weighing his options. It takes him a second, and then he is down on his knees, staring up at you with big ocean eyes, and your legs turn to jelly.

"I know what you think, but I didn't do this to hurt you," he grabs your hand, and you feel his fingerpads as though they were burning through my skin. He takes your palm in his own, urging to open up your fist. "You have broadened my mind, you've helped me grow. The way you've opened me up —you've penetrated deep inside me. Like if you had cut me open in the operating table and filled my insides with you. And I know I penetrated deep, deep inside of you—" he stutters, with eyes still wide. If you weren't as mad at him, you would find the pink streak across his cheeks adorable, and you would find inside you the box of tenderness reserved just for Bo and his peculiar self. But Bodevan made sure to close that box, cover it in tape, and carry it all the way down to the basement in your heart. "Not, not like that. I-I would love to... o-one d..."

"Bodevan..."

"I did it because I am an idiot," he blurts out. "I'm an idiot for you. I-If you'll have me." Right on cue, you watch him suck in his breath, wishing to take back his confession. Clear as water, you can see the progression of his emotions settle in the crease between his eyes. Bo feels impetuous, then bewildered, then ashamed by his own forwardness. He always does this, too many times before.

"No," you whisper, remembering...always remembering... Ethan. Bodevan's lies. "I don't want to talk to you, and if you care for me at all, you won't say another word."

His ocean eyes drill into you. Bo steps back and crosses his arms over his broad chest —God, you'll miss watching his yoga routine in the morning. But this is his fault.

For a few seconds, he looks at you strangely, wondering whether to concede. You stand for a moment, gathering energy, it's stupid, but it is taking all of you to walk away from this misunderstood unique boy. But is time to let your feet drag you out of this air-consuming cabin, away from Bodevan Cash and his perfect long hair. Back ashore.

The moment you storm out, rain drains all over you. It soaks you in a matter of seconds, but you don't care, you really don't care at all. You're angry and upset and feel as if you're adrift in the middle of the ocean, with thunders in the horizon and strong winds moving your ship from side to side, without giving you a rest.

Bodevan chases after you. Ever so careful, he clasps his big calloused hand, around your waist and guides you to meet his eyes. It's puzzling, he has never done such thing, on the contrary, his gaze is always playing hide and seek with you.

"I didn't tell you because every time your anatomy appears in from of me, I run out of methodology," he says frustratedly. "Because this love no longer understand of reasons or advice and it feeds on pretexts, and it lacks pants."

With shaking hands, almost without noticing, you let the ring fall to the sand. "T-This love?" you ask quietly.

Bodevan doesn't let go of your wrist. His lids are squeezed shut. "I'm sorry. You have every right to never talk to me again."

"You didn't answer the question. Do you love me?" you ask again, heart hammering in your chest.

"By all means," he confesses, chest rising and falling. "I-I'm an idiot who somehow fell in love with you without realising it."

Dizziness overwhelms you. You share the same suffering than Bo. This love doesn't allow you to stand, it has broken your heels. Even if you get up, you'll fall again into it. Even if he hid the ring, you're still in love with him. Even if Ethan returns, you would still be in love with Bodevan.

You've transformed into a thing that does nothing but love him —fool, blind, deaf, brute. Bodevan Cash rules your thoughts day and night, withal how many times you've tried to bury him in your memory, you haven't figure out a way to forget him.

If you could exorcise yourself from his voice.

If you could escape his name.

If you could rip your heart out and hide, so you don't feel ever again.

Maybe then, you would be able to stop loving him.

"I'm stupid, you know? I always want the things I can't have" Bodevan stutters. "And now I've ruined everything."

Your thumb brushes against his cheek, "You haven't ruin anything."

Taking him by surprise, you untangle his grip from your waist and bring his hand to your waistline. His figure grows very still as you pierce through his blue gaze, his pupils nervous. "I gift you my waist," you whisper softly, pink mouth close to his bruised one. "And my lips, for whenever you want to kiss."

Both of you, nervous as hell, can't believe the promises that are rolling off your tongue.

"I give you my delusion," you giggle. "And the few neurons I have left."

Bo doesn't react and says nothing for a bit. It frightens you, but you find comfort in the fact he hasn't pull away from you. And then, he hums, "I gift you my silence."

You want to cry, of pure and golden happiness. Bodevan leans closer, resting the damaged skin of his perfect lips at the tip of your nose. And you say, "I gift you my nose too."

"I give you my bones, even," Bo interjects, voice deeper, rough. He is breathing heavily, forehead pressed to yours, and your mind flashes back to the first day you met him, and how you have been like this, near the sea. "But don't run away from me anymore."

Bodevan lands his lips into yours. Responsive, you entangle your hands in his damp locks, luring him closer to your body. His lips are igniting fire down your spine, and you discern now why he is your sun, and why his eyes are like the morning sky.

Dramatically out of character, he doesn't hesitate when you reach down to pull his shirt up and off his body, your small, cold hands resting on his toned, flipping fantastic chest. The rain continues, yet, neither doubts to turn your clothes into a wet pile dangerously close to the seaside. Bo lowers you onto the sand, kissing patterns into every inch of skin he encounters, tracing the entire shape of your body. Never in your life, have you felt this alive. Every part of you burns under his touch and his eyes, and you don't fear to be consumed by the fire.

Eyelids screw shut when you hear yourself gasp. Your bodies have entwined, and you hold him close, closer as you ever embraced someone, his minty breath misting your ears as he whispers your name.

"Bo..." lazily, you flutter open your eyelashes and watch him in adoration.  His jaw is clenched in concentration; his hard muscles contract and pull on top of you. Bodevan brushes your cheekbone with his fingers and kisses you twice before burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breath is staggering, hot and wild.

Bringing his face to yours, he opens his eyes, "You once asked what I loved most in the world..." You did. He answered, his siblings. "I lied. It's you."

As you smile, you recognise you're equally a liar. When he asked the question back, your answer was medicine. But it is him. It really is him.

The following morning, you wake up tangled in the sheets, a beam painting your face with pink shades as you remember why. Peacefully asleep and ever-so ethereal, Bodevan lies next to you.

Bo matches your smile as you kiss his cheek, your fingertips tracing the words you couldn't find yesterday, but the ones you're certain you feel. He's always been an expert, he always beats your ass, and you can tell he understands what you're writing with invisible ink across his back when he smiles, lids still closed. You love him, and although you can't vociferate it, you want him to know it.

Bo pulls you into his arms, "I'll wait for you. You have my words" he rustles. "But you need to go back to Manhattan. You need to go sort out if you really want a life in the middle of nowhere, with me.

"I do."

"You don't," he intervenes. "You have been here too many days, now everything is blurry. My dad, he—He never asked my mom if she still wanted the life she was living. And she killed herself." Tears run down both your faces, no matter how hard you're trying to stop them. "I would never do that to you."

You nod, "Alright."

Bo wipes your tears away with his thumb, "I will miss you."

"I will miss you too," you choke. "So much."

With one last look back at the boy with morning-sky coloured eyes, you step into the departures gate, taking a shaky breath as Bodevan waves goodbye. An ocean will be between you, and your heart drowns the entire flight home.

ｎｅｘｔ►

[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2007

18 to 19 years old. Things were slowly starting to get better and better.

15 honorable mentions, but this is still only a top 10. What an incredible, amazing year for music. My favorite hit song for the entire decade is in there! I think everyone already knows what that is because I am, in fact, extremely predictable.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

Second to third year of my History studies. Met a great guy. So great, in fact, that I married him in 2019 because we’re still living together 13 years later. Got my first summer job but spent my first pay on driving lessons, because, again, I needed to get out of my parents’ appartment and knowing how to drive would be good to find a job. I had a much better access to internet. I still had great grades. Things were getting much better.

I stopped making my personal lists of favorite songs that year, and I had an mp3 player, which really opened a world of possibilities even if you could only put something like 40 songs on it, at best.

I was still reading Rock Mag a lot. As you can see, the biggest controversy at the time was what was emo and what wasn’t.

We were alright.

As far as non-elligible songs go, well there’s I Still Remember by Bloc Party (and the fact I can’t put it on the list is a heartbreak and a half) and basically everything from Year Zero by Nine Inch Nails. Nightwish, Epica and Within Temptation all had pretty good albums too.

Here’s a metric ton of honorable mentions first!

Snow (Red Hot Chili Peppers) - Perfectly pleasant song.

D.A.N.C.E (Justice) - Never understood why this was so popular. Still good.

Love is Gone (David Guetta) - Heyyyy another repetitive dance track, perfect.

Miracle (Cascada), Smack That (Akon), Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol), SexyBack (Justin Timberlake) and Say It Right (Nelly Furtado & Timbaland) - Still elligible songs for that year. Still great songs. Still not making the list.

Butterfly (Superbus) - I didn’t like this band, but I liked that song.

Thanks for the Memories (Fall Out Boy) - Same here basically.

Who Knew (Pink) - Not her best, but not her worst by a mile either.

Walk It Out (Unk) - Stayed in my head for days, I swear. I have no idea what the general opinion about it is nowadays. Maybe that’s a humiliating pick and I genuinely have no idea.

Crank That (Soulja Boy) - I do, however, know that the fact this very nearly made the list IS hilarious.

Alive (Mondotek) - Laugh all you want about the tektonik phenomenon, this is still a banger and a half.

Sound of Freedom (Bob Sinclar & Cutee B) - Not as good as Rock This Party. That’s the only thing I can say against it.

Umbrella (Rihanna) - This is an edit because holy shit I forgot Umbrella. It very nearly made the list too. Sorry.

And now, possibly one of the best top tens yet.

10 - This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race (Fall Out Boy)

US: #32 / FR: #71

Almost everyone got the lyrics wrong. The title is way too long. I really don’t like this band of pretentious idiots; if you’re gonna be pretentious at least write about something more grand and epic than your own navel, and go all out (more on that later). Nobody ever really cared about their supposed feud with Panic! At The Disco. And, to make matters even worse, the singer looked exactly like the terrible ex I had punched in the face the previous year.

This is still a damn good song and it’s on the list instead of any of the honorable mentions.

RIP me.

9 - How To Save A Life (The Fray)

US: #24 / FR: Not on the list

You already know I loved The Fray. This song could have apparently also made the previous list but it’s on this one instead. It was overplayed. I still loved it.

8 - U + Ur Hand (Pink)

US: #29 / FR: Not on the list

In 2002, I bought Pink’s Missundaztood album and as you might remember this was the second album I ever bought in my life, right before the gigantic trainwreck that highschool was.

The fact that about five years (that felt like twelve) later, Pink was on the other side of that trainwreck, back in my earphones, just as energetic and fun as she was before, was nothing short of heartwarming.

7 - Je Suis Un Homme (Zazie)

US: Not on the list / FR: #43

I’m not gonna beat around the bush. This song is terrifying.

Here’s a translation. Yeah, it’s about humanity destroying the Earth and itself in various ways, and it’s preachy, but holy shit, how can something be so bleak, so scary and still so catchy. It’s a mystery.

6 - Double Je (Christophe Willem)

US: Not on the list / FR: #2

When I first heard this song, I genuinely thought that was also Zazie and I was like oh wow, she’s learned to have fun again after that bleak, bleak song.

But no. She only wrote it, and it’s sung by this guy. It’s relatable as hell (”When I grow up it’s gonna be easy, I’ll finally know what I am”, “Who’s fault is it? / I’m something and its opposite / Double me”). The fact that a guy had this kind of voice and that a ton of people loved it (enough for him to win a big talent show and make this the second biggest song of the year!) also did wonders for my dysphoria, by the way.

5 - Ta Meuf (Faf Larage)

US: Not on the list / FR: #19

This is a song applying the most obnoxious rap and hip hop clichés about gangsters (and guys in general) to a woman, and she ends up terrorising all the guys and they’re realising these clichés might, in fact, be really toxic.

It’s a great song about gender roles usually seen in this kind of music and instead of being preachy, it’s hilarious, and well-written (I mean, it’s Faf Larage, it’s a given, but still). Check it out.

4 - Relax Take It Easy (Mika)

US: Not on the list / FR: #12

All hail the new king of pop. He was here to stay and what a breath of fresh air he was. This was very much his year in Europe as soon as the album Life In Cartoon Motion dropped.

My significant other absolutely loved this album and we listened to it wayyyy, way too much, and even with all the radio overplay AND the overplay when we were together, I still can’t get enough of this album.

3 - Love Today (Mika)

US: Not on the list / FR: #39

Here he is again!

If this was any other year this would top the list very easily. What were the US even thinking back then to not let this guy chart. Why isn’t Mika a huge star over there too. What is your problem guys. Do you have something against fun or what.

Anyway, here’s possibly the best comment on the music video:

I mean. You’re not wrong.

2 - What I’ve Done (Linkin Park)

US: #38 / FR: Not on the list

Aaaaaaand they’re back. And they’re once again topping my list. Lord have mercy on me. I loved them so much.

This was the first step into their modern sound, less raw, more U2. A couple of years later, when Lacuna Coil released Shallow Life, I used to joke that Lacuna Coil was trying to sound more and more like Linkin Park, that Linkin Park was trying to sound more and more like U2, and that U2 was trying to sound more and more like boring garbage and. I mean. I wasn’t wrong there.

My absolute favorite part of the song is at 2:24, when the music calms down a bit and the lyrics go “I start again / And whatever pain may come / Today this ends / I’m forgiving what I’ve done” and then the guitar explodes again. So powerful. Love it.

And now you’re probably thinking “so... Linkin Park was back, and with such a top quality song and it’s NOT your #1? After you put a Linkin Park song or a Linkin Park remix at #1 for three years in a row in 2002, 2003 AND 2004? What’s going on, Jo? Are you okay?”

Oh I’m more than okay. Friends and enemies, here comes the absolute best hit song of the entire decade and possibly of my entire life so far.

You probably already know what it is.

1 - Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance)

US: #59 / FR: Not on the list (shame on you French charts)

I know I keep complaining about stuff I love not charting, or charting but not high enough to make any year-end list, but... How was this even allowed to chart. Why and how did it end up on the US year-end list when so many more radio-friendly hits I loved couldn’t even scratch the hot 100.

I’m not complaining at all. I’m just baffled.

Play the first note on a piano and I’m already a wreck. Heck, I’m pretty sure everyone from my generation is. It was basically our very own Bohemian Rhapsody. It still is. Where do I even start.

Oh. I know. Look at this page from a 2006 Rock Mag, it’s gold.

Yep, they highlighted The Open Door by Evanescence and praised it, and were like “this is very risky and ambitious and we’re not sure you’re gonna like this” for The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. Hilarious in hindsight.

A few months later, the same magazine was desesperately using double pages to interview them because everyone adored the album.

So in case you’ve never listened to it (I’m... not even sure why I’m doing this since I’m pretty sure even people who don’t like this type of music have tried to out of sheer curiosity), it’s a concept album about a guy (...possibly. I mean there’s a lot of trans and/or nonbinary hints in the lyrics and did you really NEED to make all of this more relatable? What the hell guys) dying of cancer, remembering all the good and the bad things that happened in his life, and since his fondest memory is seeing a marching band once as a child, death arrives in the form of a marching band. He then settles some scores with his friends and family, says his goodbyes, and... and doesn’t die in the end. He ends up surviving the whole ordeal, and the last song, Famous Last Words, is one the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. It’s so propulsive, uplifting and motivating. “I am not afraid to keep on living / I am not afraid to walk this world alone”. Holy. Shit. Sadly, it’s not elligible.

Welcome to the Black Parade is basically the centerpiece of the album, as you already know or might have guessed, but here’s the thing. It also works out of context because there’s already an entire narrative arc within this one song. It’s larger than life. It’s about death and the meaning of existence. It basically contains all the stages of grief, and the conclusion it reaches is that this guy will be remembered and therefore, he will transcend death. It’s full of rage and passion and triumph. There’s key changes. There’s tempo changes. There’s everything. It’s a rock opera in a single song. I put it on my mp3 player immediately after listening to the album, and it’s still on my mp3 player today. I never, ever removed it. I listened to it countless times and every single time, it feels like rewatching one of my favorite movies.

Best hit song of 2007 by a mile. Best hit song of the decade, hands down, and now that the 2010s are over, I’m pretty confident in saying nothing has topped it so far. I’d say “fight me” if I thought this was a controversial opinion, but it’s not even that controversial.

And that feels damn right.

Next up: Is... is this a list with actual filler? Are you telling us there was ONE mediocre year for music in the 2000s? Sounds fake but okay

[searchingwardrobes]

Your Love is a Song

Happy Birthday, @let-it-raines ! For anyone who doesn’t know, Raines is an amazing writer and an all around sweet person. I was honored to have her as my Captain Swan Secret Santa, not only because she gifted me with an absolutely perfect fic but also because chatting with her was a blast. I am so blessed to have come to know her as a friend. I hope you have a fantastic day, Raines!

I got a prompt on Ao3 from a reader with the user name Adidas. Sweetie, wherever you are, I hope you read this because I don’t know your tumblr url or even if you have one. Anyway, the prompt was that Emma used to be into music but stopped. Then she meets musician Killian, and her family notices she’s started playing again. I wasn’t sure I could do the prompt justice since I am only a lover of music and not a musician myself, but then I was listening to the Switchfoot song “Your Love is a Song,” and this came to me. I was also working on Raines present, and it just all seemed to come together!

Summary: Emma Swan is having a pretty horrible night when she hears the voice: gravelly, sultry, with a touch of melancholy, accompanied by an acoustic guitar. She’s never heard the song before, but after that night, she won’t be able to get it out of her head. Or the dark haired, blue eyed man singing it.

Rated M, but only for brief mentions of nudity. It’s really light M with no smut, but I wanted to ere on the side of caution.

Words: 4,500 or so

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @branlovestowrite @shireness-says @distant-rose

Emma is bone weary, her dress is too tight, and she broke a heel chasing her latest skip. She’s walking barefoot through downtown Boston, which can’t be good. She had to run three blocks to catch the guy who – oh yeah – spilled wine all over her only nice dress. They were only a block from the nearest precinct, so she’d cuffed him and hauled him in on foot. Only now she’s trudging four blocks barefoot to get back to her Bug.

She’s leaning against the nearest storefront to massage her aching feet (they weren’t particularly happy with the stilettos in the first place) when she hears it. A voice; gravelly, sultry, with a touch of melancholy, accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

The dawn is fire bright against the city lights. The clouds are glowing now. The moon is blacking out.

The lyrics catch her attention too: poetic and speaking of a hope that’s belied by the tortured voice of the singer. He’s good too, whoever he is, with a voice that is powerful and melodic. Like a sailor drawn by a siren, Emma follows the music into the small, smoky bar. It’s one of those places below street level, the type of dive bar that locals swear by and tourists don’t know about. The source of the music is there, alone, in the corner of the bar. The place is too small and unpretentious for a stage, the crowd thin even for one in the morning on a weeknight. With her small clutch in one hand, and her broken heels in the other, she slides on to a stool at the bar, eyes glued to the dark-haired man singing in the corner.

When the bartender approaches, she asks for a beer and stays only long enough to finish it and hear one more song. She worries it’s the type of place where the bartender tries at being a part time therapist, but he leaves her alone. He can probably sense she’s not having the best night: her attire and the smell of wine saturating her dress screams bad date. Of course, who has good dates on a Wednesday night?

On second thought, maybe the bartender thinks she’s a hooker in her honey-trap dress. Oh well, like she ever cares what people think. (And it shows just how much of an idiot her skip was that he didn’t stop and think why a woman would be willing to hook up on a week night.)

She finishes her beer, pays the bartender, then rises to leave. The last notes of Pearl Jam’s “Better Man” linger behind her as she leaves, yet it’s the song that drew her into the bar in the first place that keeps haunting her mind. Even after a warm bath and her soft bed. For some reason, it fills up her apartment with a lonely cry.

********************************************************

Emma’s not entirely thrilled when Graham calls her the next day with some bull shit about paper work for the night before. She’s pretty sure it’s a thinly veiled excuse to ask her out. Again.

It is.

Prickly as she is, Emma still doesn’t take pleasure in turning the man down yet again. He’s nice and all, but . . . well, that just might be the problem. At any rate, she’s dragged herself out of bed for no purpose but to stomp on a nice man’s heart.

So maybe that’s why she stops in front of the bar. Maybe. She knows it probably won’t be open yet, and it isn’t, but she can at least scan the posters of musical acts littering the door. She startles when the door swings open.

“May I help you? We don’t open until after lunch . . . “

It’s the bartender from last night, and he’s narrowing his blue eyes at her with suspicion. She wonders if he recognizes her.

“Of course,” she says with a wave of her hand, “I was just looking for a musician on your posters. I stopped in for a beer last night, and he was really good -”

“Oh, . . that’s just my brother,” the man tells her. “Killian fills in on weeknights. We’re just a local dive, you know, and we can’t afford to pay for acts every blessed night.”

She realizes then he has a British accent, and she assumes his brother does too. Funny how you can rarely tell a person has an accent when they’re singing. Country music notwithstanding.

At least the bartender’s smiling at her now. “I remember you. Red dress, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma chuckles, tugging at the ends of her hair, “it had been a long night.”

He nods, humming in solidarity. “We all have those from time to time. It’s what bars are for, am I right?”

“One reason I guess,” Emma says with a shrug of one shoulder.

“Well, come again,” he says, easing back into the doorway, “on another week night if you like my brother.”

She opens her mouth to clarify that last statement, but the door is already closed.

*******************************************************

Emma tries to stay away from the bar, she really does. Especially because of the way the bartender could have meant the whole “if you like my brother” comment. If he actually mentioned her to said brother, it would be all kinds of humiliating.

Yet here she is, nursing a beer at one in the morning again. The brother – Killian – is indeed once again strumming his guitar in the corner, playing “Pictures of You” by The Cure. She tries not to stare, but the intense way he closes his eyes as his lips practically caress the microphone is too mesmerizing. She practically jumps when his brother addresses her.

“Another beer?”

“Oh,” Emma mutters, flustered as she gazes down into her empty mug, “uh, yeah.”

He regards her with almost amusement as he takes it, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he fills it at the tap.

“I didn’t mention you, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he tells her.

Her eyes widen and she feels warmth creep up her neck. “Um . . . thanks.”

He’s chuckling and shaking his head as he walks away, and Emma begins to wish she’d never come. Until Killian transitions to another song – the song.

I hear you breathing in. Another day begins. The stars are falling out. My dreams are fading now, fading out.

It’s all she can do not to close her eyes as the words wash over her. Though she does find herself humming as she finishes her beer and the song winds to a close. Killian says into the mic that he’s taking a break, and that jolts Emma out of her reverie.

She’s out the door before his guitar is back in its case.

When she gets home, she strides to her bed, not a trace of hesitation within her. She gets down on her knees and reaches underneath to pull out the hard case, running her hand longingly across it before flipping open the latches. She lifts the lid and exhales long and slow, just gazing at the acoustic Epiphone nestled in red velour. She takes it out almost reverently, settles on to the floor, and situates it on her knees.

The first strum is like a flame flickering back to life.

********************************************************

Emma comes to a complete stop in the middle of the bar the next night, frozen in place amidst the Friday night crowd. Friday night – shit, she’s an idiot! His brother said he only played on weeknights, and everyone knows Friday night kicks off the weekend. So of course, Killian is behind the bar, smiling at a flirty brunette, and over in the corner are a pair of women with guitars doing their best Indigo Girls impression. Emma thinks of turning and fleeing, but before she can, Killian turns in her direction, and his eyes meet hers. If she were the type, she would swear it was one of those moments in rom-coms when everything else in the room gets fuzzy and time slows down.

But she isn’t. The type, that is.

Leaving would be too obvious, though, so she gives him a nervous smile and approaches the bar. Up close, he’s even more handsome, and she can now see that his eyes are blue. Extremely blue. His brother’s were blue, so she should have figured, but Killian’s eyes. Damn. They make his brother’s seem colorless by comparison.

“So we finally meet,” he says, extending a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she tells him as she takes his hand. And maybe there’s a spark, but again, she’s not that type. “Your brother told me he didn’t say anything.”

Killian cocks his head. “Liam?”

“So that’s his name.”

“Aye, but – why would he say anything?”

Emma’s face is on fire, and maybe leaving wouldn’t have been so bad. “You know – about me showing up Thursday morning looking for your music flyer.” She gestures in a ridiculous way towards the door.

“You did?” His broad grin makes her feel slightly less idiotic.

“I did,” she admits, “but you didn’t have to know that embarrassing detail, did you?”

He leans on the bar and chuckles. “I noticed you Wednesday night.”

“You did?”

“Why do you think I played Better Man?”

“Um, I don’t follow.”

“You came in with your heels in your hand, a wine stain on your dress, and a scowl on your face. Anyone who would leave you in such a state is clearly a jerk or an idiot or both. So . . . Better Man.”

He stands then, crossing his arms over his chest, and Emma notices how toned they are. She’d noticed as he strummed his guitar, but up close it looks even better. His head is cocked, one eyebrow raised, and a smirk tilts his lips. The cocky bastard.

“Let me guess,” Emma deadpans, leaning across the bar. His gaze flits to her cleavage, and she flashes a smirk of her own, “you’re that better man?”

“I could be,” he quips, his tongue swiping at his lower lip.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I hate to devastate your ego, but you’re not the reason I keep coming back.”

Now he waggles those eyebrows, and she can’t help the brief chuckle that escapes her lips. “Oh no?”

“No. It was the song.”

He leans close again. “Which one, love?”

“Not your love. And it was the one you were playing Wednesday night when I first came in.”

“Aww, I see. And what’s it worth to you?”

She props her chin in her hand. “You do know there’s this thing called Google.”

“Yet here you are.”

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “You didn’t seem so full of it when you were playing your guitar.”

He laughs then, completely self-depracating, and she hates how it makes her heart flip. Then he tilts his head at her and pouts like a five-year-old, and that makes a traitorous smile fill up her face.

“Just that you’ll come back next time I play, Swan, that’s all I’m asking.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Fine, done. Now – the song.”

“It’s a Switchfoot song,” he says softly, all trace of flirting gone as he leans against the bar again, “one of my favorites. It’s called Your Love is a Song.”

Her breath hitches involuntarily at the intensity in his eyes. Someone yells for the bartender, and Killian yells back for them to wait a damn minute.

“You better go,” she tells him in a breathy whisper. She’s really piling up the rom com cliches tonight.

He sighs, but goes to serve the customer. The second his back is turned, she’s gone without evening ordering a drink.

When she gets home, she pulls out her guitar, this time settling cross legged on her bed. She finds the song online, with the chords, and starts to pick out the tune. She stays up most of the night before she gets it, her skills a bit rusty.

I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open.

*******************************************************

She waits until Monday night to return to the bar, and Killian is once again in the corner with his guitar. His eyes find her as she walks in the door, and he winks even as he continues to croon Free’s “All Right Now.” Instead of sitting at the bar, she takes a booth in his line of sight, and orders a beer once again from a red headed waitress. She could say she isn’t giving him sex eyes over the rim of her mug, but she’d be lying.

“This one’s for the blonde in the corner.”

And it’s her song. Your love is a symphony. All around me, running through me. She can’t help singing along under her breath, and when it ends, he stands.

“Sorry folks, but it’ll have to be the jukebox for the rest of the night.”

She can’t help the beaming smile that fills her face at his words, and her heart beats triple time when he puts away his guitar and saunters over.

“May I?”

“You may,” she says with a flip of her hair over her shoulder, and God, could she be any more cliché?

“How are you tonight, Emma?”

She shrugs coyly. “I’m better now.”

“Now that you’ve heard your song?”

She nods as she takes a sip of her beer. “I learned it last night. Took me hours, but I did it.”

His eyebrows raise in admiration. “You play?”

“It’s been awhile,” she says, “but yes.”

“I would be in a dark place if not for my music.”

She looks into his eyes, so sincere and intense. It’s as if he’s opened a door, inviting her in, fully

knowing she might not take it.

“When I was sixteen,” she begins slowly, running her finger through the condensation on her mug, “my foster mother bought an Epiphone for me from a pawn shop for Christmas. No one had ever done that for me before.”

“Bought you a present?”

Emma nods, the understanding in his voice giving her courage. “Not only that, but actually asking what I wanted for Christmas to begin with and then actually listening. She even payed for lessons.”

“I started playing around the same time,” Killian says, leaning back in the booth, “it helps during lonely adolescence, doesn’t it?”

Emma smiles and shrugs. “Cheesy I guess, but yes.”

He laughs lightly, and Emma finds that she loves the sound.

“Anyways, Ruth, that was her name, she encouraged me in my music. She and my foster brother David came any time I did talent shows and stuff. Then, when I put together a horrible garage band, they came to all our gigs.”

“So why did you stop?”

“Someone told me it was dumb, and I listened,” Emma lifts one shoulder to brush it off, though Neal’s biting words still echo in her mind. “He was right in a way. I wasn’t good enough to make a career out of it. And I’m good at what I do now . . . I like it -”

“Emma,” Killian cuts her off gently, placing a hand over hers, “just because art isn’t your career doesn’t mean its dumb or that it can’t be part of your life. If playing brings you joy, then play. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

His words are like a warm bath on an icy cold day. Ruth and David, even Mary Margaret and Ruby, have told her the same time and again. But for some reason, coming from Killian, a man with such talent in his voice and in his hands, it means so much more.

They continue to talk over drinks, the time going by much faster than Emma can believe. Before they know it, it’s closing time. Liam is berating Kilian for flirting instead of playing, but the smile on his face tempers his words.

Killian walks her to her car, and when he kisses her, she practically melts against the side of the Bug. Her hands tremble with want as she slides them up his chest, past his shoulders, finding stability when she digs her fingers into his hair. The melody of her song plays in her ears.

“Will you go to dinner with me,” he whispers against her lips.

She can barely collect herself enough to speak, but she does say yes. The next two weeks go by in a haze of bliss, with both lunch and dinner dates, and many hours at his and Liam’s bar. And any time she isn’t with him or working, she’s finding solace with her guitar.

************************************************

Emma is leaning against the sofa in her living room, her guitar once again on her lap, her tablet propped up on the coffee table as she strums through the chords of a new song she’s learning. It’s another one Killian had played at the bar. The verses are giving her trouble, but once she gets to the chorus, she belts it out, her eyes closed. When she gets to the next verse, she opens them to glance at the chords and screams when she sees a figure looming out of the corner of her eye.

“Shit, David,” she gasps, pressing a hand to her heart, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Well, you weren’t answering your door,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest in that pose of brotherly intimidation.

“And you couldn’t hear me playing?” she grumbles, putting her guitar back in its case and rising to her feet. “I gave you that key for emergencies only.”

David gives her a side hug and a kiss to her temple. “Well, you not answering the door classifies as an emergency.” Then he grins broadly, setting his hands at her shoulders. “But you’re playing again, that’s great! What changed?”

She bites her lip as she feels a traitorous blush rise to her cheeks. “I just . . . felt like it was time.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Mhm, right Emma. And what else?”

“You know,” Emma says, stepping around him, “MM and Ruby are waiting for us at the restaurant.”

*****************************************************

“Emma’s playing again.”

The table falls silent as her friends turn to her with joyful expressions.

“That’s great!” Mary Margaret exclaims.

“But she won’t tell me what inspired her,” David adds, “and I know something’s up with her.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You haven’t been around much lately.”

“He’s got a point,” Ruby says, then her eyes widen and she gasps. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

“I . . . um . . . why would you think that?”

Ruby points at her, “Aha, see! You’re stumbling over your words, and your face is bright red.”

“Okay, so I did, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret breaths, “that’s wonderful!”

“Now slow down, MM, it’s only been a few dates.”

“How’s the sex?” Ruby asks, and David groans.

“There’s only been kissing,” Emma clarifies, shooting daggers at her blunt friend.

“What’s his name? How did you meet?” Mary Margaret is much too giddy, her chin resting on her fisted hands eagerly.

Emma sighs and tells them the whole story, starting with hearing him singing in the bar and not being able to get the song out of her head. Ruby and Mary Margaret are practically swooning while David is scowling.

“I need to meet this guy.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t go all overprotective on me, David.”

“Well, I’m your brother, it’s part of the job description. “

“What was it?” Mary Margaret asks, ignoring her husband.

“What was what?”

She rolls her eyes. “The song. What was it?”

“It’s by Switchfoot. Your Love is a Song.”

Mary Margaret lets out a little gasp and presses her fingers to her lips as tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, that’s so beautiful! It’s fate!”

Emma eyes her warily as she hands her a tissue. “Slow down, MM, this isn’t a rom com.”

She waves her hand in front of her face as she dabs at her nose with the tissue. “I’m sorry. Pregnancy hormones.”

And suddenly the table erupts in another round of emotions with Emma and Ruby trying to hug Mary Margaret at the same time. Thankfully, the attention is off Emma. For now.

********************************************************

There’s a knock at Emma’s door the next night, and she’s surprised to see Killian standing there with grocery sacks in his arms. She tilts her head in confusion.

“I thought I was meeting you at the bar.”

“Aye, that was the plan,” he looks at her hesitantly, “until your brother showed up a little while ago to give me the third degree. You never mentioned he was a detective with the Boston PD. A mite intimidating.”

Emma groans. “Oh my God, I am so sorry! He gets a little . . . overprotective.”

Killian chuckles. “I can relate. Liam tends to be the same. At any rate, David parked himself in a corner booth and informed me he would be staying there to keep an eye on you. All night.”

Emma liftes her hands to her temple and massages her brow. “For the love of God, David!”

“So, I thought we could either hang out with both our big brothers watching, or I could come over and cook you dinner. In privacy.”

A flirtatious grin fills Emma’s face. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

With an eager smile of his own, Killian comes in and heads for her kitchen. She closes the door and sags against it, watching him unload the ingredients he brought over. It’s so domestic, and feels so right, and suddenly words to the song – their song runs through her head.

With my eyes wide open, I’ve got my eyes wide open, I’ve been keeping my hopes unbroken.

That’s the feeling sweeping through her – hope.

*****************************************************

As Emma stumbles backwards into her room and almost trips on a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor, she vaguely thinks that maybe she should have straightened up in here while Killian was cooking. But he doesn’t seem to care about her mess as he kicks the shoes out of their way and maneuvers her to the bed. Emma giggles against his lips as she falls backwards. He catches himself before he can fall on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her. He’s grinning wider than she’s ever seen, almost goofily, his hair a riotous mess. And in that moment, she knows.

She grasps his biceps lightly, caressing the muscle with her thumbs. “I love you,” she says, amazed that it doesn’t terrify her.

He waggles his eyebrows. “I know.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, more giggles falling from her lips. He swallows them with more kisses.

“That was so cheesy, Killian.”

“Was it?” he mumbles as he kisses a path down her neck. She digs her fingers into his hair and tugs so she can look into his eyes. They’re dark blue with desire. He nuzzles his nose with hers and speaks against her lips. “I have loved you since the moment you walked into the bar.”

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight, Killian.”

“Well I hate to tell you love, but that’s how it happened.”

She laughs again as she tightens her arms around his neck.

*****************************************************

“You still haven’t played for me,” Killian mumbles against the bare skin of her back, trailing kisses as he speaks. They are both sated and content, Emma wrapped up in his arms, her back to his chest.

“I can’t,” she protests, distracted when he lifts her hair to kiss the nape of her neck, delicious tingles running down her spine.

“Why not?”

She turns in his arms and buries her face in his chest. “Because you’re too good, and I’m . . . not.”

He kisses the top of her head, then lifts her chin gently. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

He kisses her once more on the forehead, then rises from the bed as if it’s decided. He goes to the corner where her guitar is propped up, then brings it back, holding it out like an offering. She sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at her waist.

“Do you think the offer is more appealing because you’re stark naked right now?”

He gins salaciously. “Perhaps.”

She shakes her head, messy curls falling across her forehead, but she reaches out for the guitar nonetheless. “Should I put some clothes on?” she wonders before she settles the guitar in her lap.

“Please no,” Killian pouts, “a beautiful woman playing the guitar in the nude has always been a fantasy of mine.”

Emma laughs, shaking the hair out of her face. “Okay, that’s rather specific.”

“Humor me, Swan.”

She winks at him, and his answering smile calms the butterflies in her stomach. Still, she closes her eyes and breaths in through her nose, her nerves still on edge. Her eyes fly open.

“What should I play?”

“Our song, of course,” he tells her softly.

“Right.”

A peace steals over her as she strums the first few chords. She closes her eyes as she begins to sing: I hear you breathing in. Another day begins. The stars are falling out. My dreams are fading now, fading out. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open.

When she begins the chorus, Killian joins her, and the harmony of their voices together is more breathtaking than she ever could have imagined.

Your love is a symphony. All around me. Running through me. Your love is a melody. Underneath me. Running to me. Your love is a song.

Killian goes quiet again as she sings the second verse, but now she’s singing out strong, with power. His belief in her, his support of her, giving her voice strength.

The dawn is fire bright against the city lights. The clouds are glowing now. The moon is blacking out. I’ve been keeping my mind wide open. I’ve been keeping my mind wide open. Your love is a song.

By this time, tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she isn’t sure why. Killian gently takes the guitar out of her hands, and sets it carefully on the floor by the bed. Then he takes her in his arms, lowering her to the bed, and kisses all of her tears away. He cups her face tenderly as her eyes flutter open, her tears spent.

“I love you, Emma Swan. And you’re bloody brilliant, amazing.”

A year later, they sing the song – their song – at their wedding in exchange of vows. It may not be traditional, but in the lyrics is the very story of their love.

Your love is as symphony.

Your love is a melody.

Your love is a song.

[realmofextremepossibility]

Birthday Interruptus

This was written for @medicaldoctordana’s Trope Fic Writing contest Slightly silly, slightly NSFW, definitely tropey

AU set during IWTB era

------

They didn’t have the best track record when it came to birthday sex. Worse than the rate of solved X-files, honestly.

There was the time, early in their relationship, when Mulder had Scully bent over his desk in their dimly-lit basement office, skirt hiked up to her waist and his pants pooling around his ankles. He had her shirt open and his hands under the cups of her lacy bra. His warm deft fingers rolled perky nipples into hard nubs, hips grinding into her backside. Mulder tugged outward until the nipple slipped from his grip and moved his hand downward, positioning his head at the entrance of her silky heat and dragging it through the folds. The moans that tumbled through Scully’s lips filled his ears and consumed the space between them. Had they not been so distracted, they might have noticed the sounds coming down the hallway growing louder.

He was a single thrust away from his birthday present, when the clattering they had failed to notice arrived right outside their door. The tell-tale fumbling of janitor keys led to the panicked fumbling for discarded clothing. Shirts retucked, skirt straightened, pants pulled up, hair smoothed, and arms hastily shoved into a black suit jacket. The portly middle-aged man who burst through the door took no notice of the scene he’d walked in on, belting along with closed eyes and an air guitar to the chorus of “Don’t Stop Believin’” that poured through the headphones of his Walkman. He snatched up the trash bin next to the door, tossed its contents into his rolling dumpster, replaced the bag, and headed on his merry way none the wiser.

Scully’s startled expression had morphed into one of amused disbelief, accompanied by a shake of her head and hand thrown over her eyes. Was this really her life? She was a doctor for god’s sake. Dana Scully, MD, caught having bureaucratically inappropriate relations with her completely platonic partner, over a desk slathered in casefiles involving alien spacecraft and government conspiracies. She raised her head and shot him a look of cocked eyebrow.

“Mulder, that’s my blazer.”

—

Then there was the time on an undercover case in the middle of Midwest nowhere, at a run-down motel that belonged on an episode of 48 Hours Mystery in which a victim is snatched from an outdoor corridor, chopped up, stuffed in a suitcase and rolled away. The half-broken neon sign declaring “VACNY” sent flickering red-tinged shadows across the musty office with a dripping ceiling and damp carpeting. Mulder earned himself a stomped-on foot when he tried to check them in as newlyweds Mr. and Mrs. Spouquet.

“You are married, aren’t you?” the old lady who owned the motel asked, eying the gold cross on Scully’s neck. There was only one room with one bed available and she couldn’t possibly rent it to an unmarried couple because that would be living in sin and the Lord is always watching.

Mulder slung an arm around Scully’s shoulders and tried to assure her that they were indeed married. He’d almost succeeded until she spied Scully’s ringless left hand, narrowed her eagle eyes and warned them that the one vacant room shared a wall with hers and while the Lord was always watching, she was always listening.

Mr. Spouquet slept in the car that night.

—

But this time, this time is going to be different. Scully had already awoken this morning to his lips on her neck, his hand between her legs (through the front opening of his pilfered boxer shorts he always complained about her stealing, but secretly loved because of their “easy access”), and a promise to make up for all those other times.

One romantic candlelit dinner and a countless number of whispered carnal promises later, Mulder pulls the car into Maggie Scully’s empty driveway and brings their twined hands to his lips, definitely, absolutely not gazing at Scully.

“Happy birthday”

Scully returns his gaze of not gazing and smiles at him. God, she loves him. In an endless, ineffable, all-consuming way that often renders her speechless at its magnitude. After spending years chasing after him chasing after aliens to the literal end of the earth and back, they finally had something resembling a normal life. If a normal life included a bathroom with a fluffy Bigfoot toilet seat cover; she had lost the argument with Mulder and William on that decorative detail.

Mulder steps out and jogs around the front of the car to open the passenger door, extending his hand to her. With her three inch heels, she almost comes up to his nose. Sliding his jacket around her thin shoulders, he hooks a finger under her chin and tips her face to his.

“Happy birthday,” he presses into her lips, tongue swiping across the bottom one.

Scully twines her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper for just a moment before dragging his head back to look him in the eye.

“You can’t behave like this at the family party tomorrow, you know. You and Bill coming to blows is a birthday gift I can do without.”

“I promise to be on my very best behavior,” Mulder intones solemnly, holding up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

This quip earns him his favorite patented Dana Scully You’re-an-Idiot-but-You’re-My-IdiotTM eye roll. “Weren’t you kicked out of your Boy Scout troop for convincing all the other boys there was a Bigfoot in the woods on a camping trip?”

“There WAS a Bigfoot in those woods! I saw the tracks, Scully!”

Scully placates him with a pat on cheek. “I’m sure there was, Spooky, I’m sure there was.”

Mulder growls and sweeps his arm under her knees, a surprised shriek of a laugh bubbling from her chest as she throws her arms around his neck and lets him carry her up the walk to the front door. He deposits her gently on the stoop and reaches down with one hand to trail the pad of his thumb over her lower lip, his own lips following close behind. She meets his lustful eyes with a forcibly tipped chin once again, squirming under the heat of his gaze.

“Happy birthday”

Sensing her hesitation, Mulder closes the space between them and kisses her again, deeper this time, his tongue demanding entrance into that smart little mouth of hers. “Your mom took William to the movies and they won’t be back for at least another hour…we’re all alone and we have the whole house to ourselves…”

Scully sighs, knowing she is powerless to resist him when he stands that close to her. Not that she minds. Standing close to him is almost always worth her while.

“Come on,” Mulder wheedles as his lips brush her ear. “Get me out of this suit and into my birthday one…”

His teeth clamp down on her earlobe and his hips pin her to the front door. He slides his hot mouth down the slope of her jaw, lightly trailing his lips over hers, her once firm resolve now a dissolving alien bounty hunter puddle.

“Let’s just get inside before we scandalize the neighbors.” Scully tips her head to the flapping living room curtain in the house next door. I think we’ve given Mrs. Morganson next door enough of a show for one night.”

Fumbling for her keys like the janitor of yore, she can feel Mulder hardening impatiently against her back, a fact emphasized by his whine in her ear.

“This would be much easier without you breathing down my neck,” she gripes, finally having located the proper key and attempting to jam it into the lock. 

This snark earns her a firm bite on the aforementioned body part. As soon as the knob is turned, Mulder practically shoves her through the door before immediately pressing her up against the other side, the slam of the door echoing in the darkness. His jacket falls to the ground as his lips capture hers again, devoid of any of the lingering sweetness of their predecessors. He wraps one large hand around both her tiny wrists and pins them above her head; his other hand tangles in the flame of her auburn tresses. He nestles his hips into hers, rutting against her leg.

Mulder drags his lips from hers with a protesting whimper to whisper, “See all the good things that can happen when we’re all alone?”

“Think again, asshole.” The angry voice rises from the dark, followed by the sound of an elbow to the stomach and accompanying umph.

Mulder whirls around and instinctively draws his weapon, protectively shielding Scully with his body as she fumbles for the light switch on the wall. They squint as the bright light floods the room. Eight faces stare back at them, wearing expressions ranging from disgust to mortification to bemused pride: a scowling Bill Jr., with his arm wrapped around his middle where his wife had hit him; a wide-eyed Maggie; a red-faced Skinner, his hands clamped around seven-year-old William’s eyes and ears; and three smirking Gunmen.

“Surprise…” Maggie says weakly, gesturing to the sea of floating red balloons, twisted streamers, and a hand-painted “Happy Birthday” banner proudly covered in William’s handprints.

“You can put the gun away, Mulder,” sighs an exasperated Skinner, with a nod towards Mulder’s crotch. “Both of them.”

Mulder’s face flames and Scully quickly bends down to retrieve his fallen jacket, thrusting it in front of his hips.

“You always have to ruin everything for her, don’t you?” Bill snaps. Tara’s sharp elbow jabs him again, accompanied by a ferocious look that told him he wouldn’t be getting any tonight either.

“Hush Bill,” Maggie fixes that maternal gaze upon him, the one that stirs the fear God in the heart of her children, no matter their age. “Dana, dear, I’m so glad to see that you and your…Fox enjoyed your birthday dinner. I do hope you have room left for some cake.”

At this moment, Mulder doesn’t think he’d really mind being devoured by a Chernobyl sewer worm. Where’s the Flukeman when you need him? Scully’s equally crimson face is buried in his back. She gives another whimper, this time of barely audible mortified despair. Is this really her life? Dana Scully, MD, respected doctor and devoted mother, caught once again in a compromising position with her no longer platonic partner, grinding up against her mother’s front door in front of her family and colleagues. After everything they’ve seen together - liver eating mutants, killer bees, a demon worshipping PTA, homicidal exsanguinating child clones - this is as bad as it possibly gets.

“Uncle Skinner?” a little voice pipes up. “Can you let go of my head now?”

[choisgirls]

i'm so so so sorry for bothering, i just absolutely ADORE YOUR BLOG. LIKE HOLY HELL, YOUR BLOG IS THE REASON WHY I GO ON TUMBLR. ITS MY FAVORITE BLOG, WHY AREN'T YOU FAMOUS FOR THIS BRAH. but i do have an ask! how about an RFA + V + Saeran reacting to the MC fluently playing an instrument? i understand if you can't but it would really make me happy if you could! 🖤

A/N: You totallyaren’t bothering!!! Don’t ever think that!! ^^ BUT OMG WOWOWOW REALLY??? US??THIS BLOG?? YOUR FAVOURITE?? ARE YOU SURE??? i am but a lowly 404;;;; ~Admin 404

*YOOSUNG:

               -He could hear this faint,whimsical sound through his headphones but he had no idea where it was comingfrom??

               -Until he took off hisheadphones to ask you about it and heard it 10x louder

               -It sounded.. magical! Soft andairy, he had no idea what it was though?

               -He found you sitting in the shower,holding some sort of long, metal thing in front of your mouth and his headtilted to the side like a confused pup

               -“MC? What is that? Andwhy… are you sitting in the shower with it?”

               -You quickly got embarrassed andset down your instrument, trying to look busy with your sheet music

               -“I, um,” you startedto turn bright red, knowing you’ve been found out. “It’s called a flute.Lame, I know, but I’ve been playing since I was younger and really liked itmore than the others. I even got into a symphony with my playing… and as forsitting in here, well.. the acoustics are better in here. It sounds nicer to myears than if I were to practice in the living room. Oh god, did I bother you?I’m sorry, I can just-”

               -He cut you off (and lowkeyscared you) when he jumped into the shower next to you, excited as all hell

               -“Sorry? Sorry for what!When you play, it sounds just like the fairies in LOLOL! Wait, can you playmusic from LOLOL? MC! If you can, you’ve gotto teach me! I want to play it too!! Look at it!!”

               -He picked up the fluteincorrectly and you could feel yourself cringing, trying to pry the instrumentfrom his hands before he broke a key or lost one of the pads. He turned it intoa game and you had to chase him around the house just to get your pride and joyback from Mr. Destructive

*ZEN:

               -You never told him where youwere going later at night sometimes and it scared him to death

               -What in the world were youdoing?? Seeing someone else?? What if you were out and about and something wereto happen to you?!

               -So, he decided to wait up foryou the next time you took off

               -You turned on the living roomlight and practically jumped out of your skin when you saw bright red eyeslooking up at you from the arm chair

               -“Ah, hi MC! Would you liketo tell me where you’ve been tonight?” he stood up and walked towards youas you stood there, trying to get your heartbeat to calm down. That’s when henoticed you were holding a large… and oddly shaped case

               -He pointed to it and looked atyou quizzically, expecting an answer

               -You sighed, “It’s my saxophone.I’ve been going to this coffee shop Jaehee recommended to me so I could playsome shows. I missed playing my baby and just had to get it out of mysystem!” you raised the case to your chest, rubbing it gently, giving himyour best pair of puppy dog eyes hoping it would get you out of trouble

               -He looked at the ground and youcouldn’t tell what he was thinking, but before you could ask, you hear hisvoice dip low and ask you, “Saxophone? You play… the saxophone…?”

               -You made a noise of agreementand jumped again when his head shot up to look at you, stars practically in hiseyes. You’ve never seen him this excited for an instrument in your life and itwas actually pretty cute?

               -“MC! The saxophone is oneof the smoothest sounding instruments… so jazzy… so… sexy? Oh god, MC,you’ve got to show me how good you are. Right here, right now. Play a privateshow just for me- you might get one in return” wink wonk

*JAEHEE:

               -The two of you decided to add alive musical element to your coffee shop!

               -But you also really… wantedto be a part of it. It had been so long since you picked up your ukulele and ithad been killing you

               -The musicians who played yourshop were really good, but you wanted a little kick! You wanted some upbeatmusic! Something that was soft but kickin’!

               -So, you signed yourself up onthe list.

               -Jaehee looked down at your nameand tried to find where you were hiding so she could ask you about it, untilshe saw you up on that small stage

               -You were strumming to yourheart’s content, singing just as happily, your eyes closed and your face thebrightest she’s ever seen it

               -People surrounded the stage,moving slightly to dance along, but nothing too extreme

               -She absolutely loved it! It wasmust softer than a guitar but had a strong enough sound to get people on theirfeet

               -From then on, you decided tofollow her around with it, playing her own theme music whenever she feltstressed, because you knew it would make her happy, and you’d get to hear thatprecious laughter again

               -10/10 you play her Disney andSteven Universe songs because?? They’re short and cute?? And it makes her fallin love with you even more because you’re a total dork

*JUMIN:

               -He was already playing acomplicated piece on his piano when you walked into the room and sat next tohim, laying your head on his shoulder light enough he could still move his armaround

               -“Hello, love. What are youup to?” He asked, pulling his hands from the keys so he could grab yourhand instead

               -“I was enjoying hearingyou play. That piece requires a partner, right?” you asked, feeling himnod to agree with you

               -“Yes, but I’ve neverplayed with a partner. I just play it as best as I can without one”

               -You sat up and stretched yourfingers out, placing them on the keys as he raised an eyebrow, questioning you

               -“Well?” you prompted,“You need a partner, and now you’ve got one. Come on! You start,sweetheart.”

               -He shook his head to clear hisconfusion, as he started to re-play his piece

               -When you started to play thepartnering piece flawlessly, he was so shocked that he kept messing up his ownkeys until he gave up and watched you dumbfounded

               -“I never knew you couldplay the piano… much less as flawlessly as you do. And here I was, trying tosway you with my skills- in the end, you have won me over with yoursinstead”

               -You felt your face turn acrimson red before he kissed the side of your head, smiling against it gentlybefore turning back to his set of keys. “MC, I won’t let you distract methis time, shall we try again?”

*SAEYOUNG:

               -He could hear banging andcrashing from outside of his computer room and he immediately got concerned foryou

               -What if you were trying to geta glass from the cupboard and everything else fell down on you??? That cupboardis unstable! Not.. saying that it… happened to him before, or anything…

               -He ran out towards the sourceof the noise to see Saeran sitting on the couch with his electric guitar inhand, and you banging on a set of drums

               -Skidding to a stop, he lookedat you like he was a deer in the headlights

               -He watched as you smiled indetermination, keeping the beat of the song loud and steady, passionate enoughto get a little sweaty from it, but you didn’t let that stop you! He stood andstared as he took in every feature of your face and every little movement ofyour hands, arms, and upper body. You were shining in a way he’d never seenyou- and he didn’t mean from the sweat of course

               -When the two of you finishedyour song, Saeyoung practically scream and both you and his brother jumped outof your skins

               -“SAEYOUNG!” youyelled, “YOU CAN’T JUST SCREAM AND SCARE US LIKE THAT, WHAT THE HELL ISWRONG WITH YOU???”

               -He laughed and apologized, buthe explained how amazing you guys sounded! You were so in sync and the beat youcreated was amazing! Definitely the kind of beat to get someone up and raging

               -“OH! Wait!! You guys!!! Ican play with you too! Wait right here!”

               -He ran back in and furiouslystarted to play his small, shiny triangle until Saeran threw a couch pillow inhis face and called him an idiot

*V:

               -He was relaxing, listening to awonderful violin piece, waiting for you to join him

               -Until the song ended… and hecould still hear the soothing sound of a violin?

               -As he was looking for thesource, he stumbled upon you standing on the balcony, holding an almost pristineviolin in your hand, playing it softly as you swayed back and forth, spinningalong as you played as well

               -You looked like an angel tohim, accompanied by your own heavenly music and he couldn’t look away

               -Hearing the shudder of acamera, you opened your eyes to find him just putting down his camera andsmiling warmly at you

               -Without another word, he leftthe balcony and you in complete confusion. Where was he going? How could heleave the room like that and not say another word? “How rude!” youcalled, hearing his laughter approaching the door again

               -“I’m sorry,” heapologized, pulling his own violin into view, “Would you allow me toaccompany you on another piece?”

               -You started to play one of thelove songs you know, smiling as you heard the hum of his violin joining you inperfect time, matching note for note, harmonizing like it was heaven

               -The both of you seemed to openyour eyes at the same time to look at each other, laughing at yourselves

               -The two of you took turnsplaying your favourite love songs, or songs that reminded you of each otheruntil the sun started to set. “MC,” he started as he pulled you intohis chest, kissing the top of your head, “I must say, this is definitely myfavourite way to relax. Can we do this again?”

*SAERAN:

               -You ate the last bit of icecream and now he wouldn’t even look at you

               -“You’re being a kid,Saeran! I can get you more ice cream!”

               -All he did was pull his 3DScloser to his face, signaling that he was ignoring you

               -Having enough of it, youdecided you were going to get his attention one way or another

               -Pulling out your amplifier andyour baby that he didn’t know about, you placed the amp on the table close tohim, plugging in the guitar and turning it up as loud as it could go

               -Foot up on the table, guitar inhands, smirk on your face, you were ready to get his attention. You raised yourarm and

               -You. Just. Started. SHREDDING.

               -He practically jumped 3 feetinto the air off of the couch, scrambling to catch himself, he clutched hisheart and stared at you with his eyes wide enough it’s a wonder they didn’t popout of his head. You turned the amp off and put your hands on your hips,shifting to stick one side of them out, a blank emotion on your face

               -“Hi. Are you going tolisten to me now?” You asked, taking your guitar off and placing it gentlyon the couch

               -The moment your hand left theguitar, he practically tackled you to the floor, attacking your lips and theside of your neck with kisses, no words exchanged for a solid 20 minutes. Whoknew he was into guitarists?

Masterlist

[baekchelor]

ａｓｈｏｒｅ[iii]

pairing: bodevan cash x reader genre: Doctor! AU, Romance, Angst summary: After a fall out with your fianceé, and an opportunity to chase your dreams, you embark into a medical mission trip to Namibia where you run into self-taught doctor Bodevan Cash. Love ensues. word count: 3.8k

❝the  sea  beckoned  to  me,  and  all  reality  was  lost —swept  away  in  the entrancing  song  of  the  tide. ❞                                                                                                                ―meredith t. taylor

TWO ｔｗｅｌｖｅ ｄａｙｓ

◄ ｐｒｅｖ

Bodevan's eyes looked like the morning sky every day after the first one you met them. Per diem, Bo's mood was bright as the sun too, although you did notice the tears confined on his bottom lid once ―when he concluded nothing else could be done and called 20:16 as Moharerwa's time of death. Bo summoned you to the OR after practising the caesarean section, as the doctor responsible for keeping Moharerwa's baby alive. Meanwhile, you were transporting the newborn into the incubator, Moharerwa went into cardiac arrest, and despite all his efforts, Bo couldn't keep her alive.

She did, briefly, meet her son, and the few minutes were enough to announce his name was Bodererwa. She thanked Bo and expressed her gratitude by naming her infant with the first two syllables of Bodevan's name.

Baby Bodererwa wasn't the only patient under your care. You treated an Irish girl who suffered from nausea and developed rashes. Rellian (Bo's younger brother) and you bonded over an uncanny case of seizures, muscle weakness and vision loss, you later diagnosed as Tay Sachs Disease. Tjiruru, a Himba man on his forties, came in with an acute case of Hepatitis C. Later, Tjiruru brought his sister, who two weeks ago, at Henties Bay's clinic, was prescribed with azithromycin for bacterial pneumonia. Bodevan figured out the medicine killed pneumonia's bacteria and caused other bacteria (that usually lives in a symbiotic relationship with the body) to produce toxins AKA Tjiruru's sister illness.

On day eight, you met, for the very first time, Danny Dupont. He was from Australia, with Kiwi heritage, and the reason why Bodevan got himself a kind-of-nurse.

Danny was diagnosed with viral cardiomyopathy, which caused his heart to fail. He came to Namibia because he didn't want to spend the rest of his days trapped in a hospital, waiting for a heart transplant. During a Safari across the Skeleton Coast, he fell in love with Peera, his tour-guide. Peera became Danny's reason to live, so he accepted to spend most of his days laying on a hospital bed if it meant he would win more time to enjoy alongside Peera. So she asked Bodevan to train her as a nurse, and Danny requested Bodevan to treat him. Now Bodevan has an Organ Donation Program running on the Himba village so, in case of any death, he can get a heart for Danny.

Today, Peera will host a "western" Birthday Party for Danny. It will be held at the hospital because Danny can't leave his cot, but Reillian will microwave a cake in a mug for him ―he saw the receipt somewhere on Pinterest―, and Bodevan managed to buy a few candles and balloons.

Also today, you're running late for your rounds. Dr Gandy video called early this morning, not to inform you about old patients, but to have breakfast with you. It was 2am for Ethan, but he ate pancakes and orange juice, the same receipt he asked room service to bring to your cabin, with the bacon crisped just like you like it, and with blueberries marmalade instead of syrup. You talked bout your medical experiences in Namibia, and that he will keep the Hamptons' beach house and Harper will have the pent-house in Soho. Ethan also said he misses you like crazy.

Guilt substituted the sugar in your coffee, souring the moment, and making clear that you wish you could say the same to Ethan. And you did, of course, you did, you lied. Truth is, Danny and his heart transplant, Bodererwa and his chances of survival, and every patient you've treated so far, keep your mind busy to the extent that, when you collide on bed, the only thought on your mind is to finally be able to rest.

Or so you tell yourself. Considering that dreamland and the pillow talk with your subconscious revolve around a particular wonderful being named Bodevan Cash.

"Morning!" all smiles, you greet as you walk into the teepee. You've grown to love the place.

"Morning, Intern!" and you've grown to love the nickname he calls you. Bodevan is teaching you about surgery, and yoga, and Hambi language, and about why the globe's entire population should be Maoists.

The boy is erudite. He was homeschooled, and his parents did a hell of a great job. To the point, Bodevan received college acceptance letters from numerous Ivy League schools. "I've got something to show you. Come here."

Bo hands you a pile of old letters. Right away, you know what they are, and you can't help but stare at each of them with your mouth agape.

"Holy Cow," your wide eyes travel to meet his. "Why didn't you go to any of this? Harvard is the best school for medicine out there."

"I never pictured myself as a Doctor," he says, while you check the charts for today patients. "I just wanted to go to college, be a normal guy. But when mom died, well...life has a funny way of trampling dreams, huh?"

"Yeah, it does," you murmur softly. "Sometimes, I just feel as if life controls me, instead of it being the other way around."

Bo looks at you knowingly, but careful of his own words, "Why do I get the feeling you're talking about your marriage?"

"I love Ethan. I'm just... if you've asked me what I wanted to do at my twenties, I would answer joining Doctors Without Borders, not getting married," you answer quietly, surprised at what has just left your lips. Hearing the inner thought that had been plaguing you for the past months being said out loud unnerved you.

"Was he upset about your trip here?" asks Bodevan.

"No. He encouraged me to do it, he even paid the ticket. I guess only because I was upset about him being married before. I know Ethan. He did this to erase the guilt from his system, to try to indulge me," you tell, fiddling with your white coat.

Bo eyes you in surprise, startled, "I-I didn't know he was married."

"He is married. They'll sign the divorce papers in two days. He never really told me, I just found out because his wife made an appearance at the hospital we both work at."

Bo remains silent for a while.

"I'm sorry. I have no idea why I'm telling you all this," you intervene awkwardly, suddenly feeling ashamed. He probably thought you were an idiot for sticking with a man who blatantly lied to your face. And you were likely making it worse by ranting on about your fiancé whom you swore a thousand times before that you were madly in love with.

But Bodevan just smiles. "No, it's alright. It helps to let things out. But if I were you, I'd tell him how I felt. If you're going to be spending the rest of your life with him…"

You sigh. He is right.

"Forget about it. What about you?" you pipe. "Any significant others?"

"N-no," he is all shy again, averting his blue orbs to the floor, as far from you as possible, and stuttering.

"But I assure you, he has ladies lining up for a shot," Peera quickly meddles, grinning. She's grabbing serum and a needle from the cabinets, probably for Danny.

You raise your brow, teasing, "Oh? Even with that 70's hairstyle?"

Peera gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. "I'm offended! I think it looks quite sexy on him, or so I heard..."

You giggle as the girl wiggles her eyebrows, Bodevan flushing red.

"I was kidding. It does," you confess.

"D-Does what?" asks Bodevan.

"Look sexy."

For a second, you don't quite realize what you'd said. But as Bo smirks, a bell goes off in your head. You feel your cheeks burn and you hastily look away from him, embarrassed. What is wrong with you?

You clear your throat, gaze hiding from Bo, "I should start my rounds."

These past few days were what you could only describe as confusing. And you had a feeling the confusion started when you accidentally told your mentor that his eyes looked like the morning sky.

It didn't help that during one of your night shifts, you dozed off on his shoulder, only to wake up sensing the weight of his head resting on top of yours, his breath on your hair, your lips near his neck.

It didn't help that over your clumsy attempts of getting into crow pose, you noticed how lovely his crooked smile was, and how when he chuckled, his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

And it certainly didn't help that you woke up to skies as clear and blue as Bodevan's eyes.

Nevertheless, you kenned something was seriously wrong when Bodevan touches your hand, and you actually feel sparks fly ―although that's medical impossible and you are a doctor, you should know. Or that when he, for some miracle, looks you in the eyes, your heart somersaults ―another impossible medical matter. Or that when he leans in to whisper some of his intellectual jokes that most of the time, you don't understand, goosebumps wash over your skin.

Something is happening, something is definitely happening, you just refuse to admit it to yourself.

At downfall, Peera and Danny urged you out of duty so you could go back to the cabin and get changed. With pleading brown eyes, Peera asked you to wear something special. She's been saving money for a while ―turns out Bodevan not only built a miracle in the middle of nowhere. In like manner, he helps the Hambi to sell handicrafts and jewellery at a souvenir store―, and the past weekend, Rellian drove her all the way to Henties Bay to buy a beautiful emerald dress. Therefore, you stopped by the hotel boutique and used Ethan's credit card to buy a gown made by a fluttering pink fabric.

When one of the hotel vans dropped you off at Bo's clinic, you're welcomed by the melody Bodevan and Danny are crafting through their guitars. They are singing Guns N' Roses' Patience, and although the one with the good voice is Danny, you can't seem to drag your attention away from Bodevan. He is wearing a suave, intricately patterned mustard jacket, buttoned low so that his chest peeks through. You hate that he looks so good in it.

A wide smile spreads across your features as you cheer for both guys once they've strummed their last chords. And then, the smile is stolen away when a tall, leggy blonde [you've never seen before] is suddenly leaning next to Bo, a flirty smirk on her lips. The girl whispers something to his ear, Bodevan goes beet red but nods anyway. To your annoyance, he follows her to the drink station Peera put together ashore.

Bitting down on the inside of your cheek, you watch Bodevan lean close into her, turning on the charms he ignores he posses. You force yourself to turn away, squeezing yous lids shut to get rid of the disappointment that is dawning your heart.

Why the hell are you getting this affected by him? He is your mentor, your peer. You've known him for a grand total of six days. Most importantly, you are engaged.

A hand carefully resting on your shoulder, pulls you off your thoughts. You turn, only to come upon Peera. "Her name is Elise. She's been trying to get in his pants since he fixed her sprained ankle a week ago."

"She hasn't managed," comments Rellian, handing you a red cup filled by what you presume to be wine. Chardonnay. 80's music blasts from the speakers shove over Bodevan's desk, and Rellian offers you a hand, "Do you want to dance?" His voice is bright and warm, and his enthusiasm washes over you. It is challenging to pint-point him as the angry teenager Bo told you about.

"Absolutely," you take his hand easily. "I should warn you, though, I'm not very good."

"That's fine. We'll take it slow." Rellian's grin is so inviting that you can't be worried about your poor dancing skills, so you happily follow him out to the beach. The song is an upbeat one, which suits his mood.

"It seems you've fully recovered from Bodevan breaking your heart a couple minutes ago," he jokes

"It's a shame he didn't do any damage," you shoot back, obviously kidding. "If I was heartbroken, I wouldn't have to dance with you."

Rellian laughs, "I'm glad you're as funny as everyone says you are. I hear you're my brother's favourite, too." It sounds as if it is common knowledge. "And that your engagement is troublesome―"

"I wouldn't call it troublesome," part of you is sick of people saying that. Another part yearned for it to be different, although you know people speak the truth. It is troublesome. Sighing, you confess, "Ethan lied to me. He is married, about to get divorced but married still. We' have been engaged for over a year, and I just found out about it a month ago."

Rellian stops dancing for a moment, shocked at what he's just heard. He quickly picks back up, studying your expression for a moment. "I didn't realize that was what was going on," he says softly, apologetic. "I mean, you know I want my brother to get the girl, but I didn't want you to get hurt."

"Thanks," you shrug. "I feel stupid more than anything."

Rellian pulls you in a little closer, yet keeping a respectful distance. "Trust me, Intern, any man who passes up the chance to be with you is the stupid one."

"Bo just passed me up..." <<Oh my god. What is wrong with you?>>

"That's how I know," he replies, followed by a thread of giggles. On cue, you glance over Rellian's shoulder and find Bodevan dancing with Elise.

Seven glasses of wine have paved their way through your system, Rellian keeps throwing jokes as you swing your figures to the beat of the music, when you hear his voice beside you, "My lady?" Rellian freezes in the spot, a knowing smirk appearing on his features. Complicit glances are exchanged, and finally, you turn on your heels to find yourself face to face, lip to lip, with Bodevan Cash. "May I have this dance?"

That feeling, that indefinable something, courses through you. As dejected as you'd felt, as embarrassed as you'd been, when Bodevan offers that moment, instead of to Elise, you have to take it. Because the song is slow, and it is Guns N' Roses, and the waves are crashing on the shore...And you're drunk.

"Of course."

Bodevan, clearly drunk as well, entwines your hands together and walks you near the seaside, where the water can dance as well, underneath your feet. He doesn't seem uncomfortable, or as if he fancied to dance with someone else rather than with you. On the contrary, Bodevan holds you so close you can smell his cologne and feel his stubble against the skin of your cheek.

"I was wondering if I was going to get a dance at all," you comment, trying to sound playful. Bodevan succeeds to pull you even closer.

"I-I needed to drink up my courage, so my second-thoughts are over. Now I'm brave enough to enjoy the rest of the night with you." This time you can blame it on the alcohol, but as both always do near each other, the two flush furiously. Sometimes Bodevan's words are like single lines of novels or movies. After dating Ethan for so long, it is weird to flirt with a guy that turns beet red on the cheeks, shy to speak bluntly. Ethan does it without an effort, he always speaks his mind, whether to compliment or with the sole purpose to hurt. They are poles apart. In every way possible. Bodevan didn't go to Dartmouth like Ethan did, Bo acquired his vast knowledge out of countless books. Still and all, he is as good a doctor as Ethan Gandy.

You are kneen on different and too stubborn to accept it, but the racing on your pulse betrays you.

"You look lovely, Intern. Much too beautiful to be on the arm of someone like me."

"Someone like you? This has been perfect, Bo."

"Agreed," he giggles. "Let's do this next year. Danny will have a new heart by then."

You look at him. Next year?

"Would you like that?"

"I won't be here next year, Bo..."

He stops dancing. "Why wouldn't you?"

On a dime, it hits him. Thank God, because you don't really want to say out loud the reason why this won't happen next year, at least not with you present, is that you'll leave in a couple weeks, get married and never come back. Despite the words ain’t articulated aloud, you know Bo has heard them, and you know he espies the water welling up in your eyes and how hard you're trying to hide them.

"Intern."  

You gaze down at the wet sand. The water suddenly feels cold.

"Intern, look at me," he says gently. "I'm such a nincompoop. I had just discerned tonight is all we have and I-I misused half of it by dancing with Elise." His voice is hoarse, frustrated. "I thought you felt secure in your standing." What? You are missing something here. Bodevan sighs, not relieved, but hugely nervous. The following words are said as his ocean orbs are settled elsewhere, anywhere, but your face. "Honestly? From the beginning, I've really only looked at you, wanted you." Bodevan manages to meet with your eyes, and his gaze is emotional, and blue and so deep that it overcomes you. So, for a moment, you duck your head. "I'm having a hard time accepting that you will leave... It's fine though, you'd be surprised how infrequently I get what I truly want."

You've treated with patients for years now, you've been trained to tell when they lie, how they're really feeling, find out their buried truths. And you can tell Bodevan is hiding something, some sadness he isn't prepared to share. But he shakes it away and resumes the talking, starting to sway to the music again. "But we have tonight, haven't we?. . ."—Bo looks at your eyes. Unwavering. —"There's only you, and me, and this beach. Tonight."

It takes you a moment to attain the correct rhythm of your breath and heart. You could understand the feeling— that it is unlucky, a kick in the ass from fate. Deep, deep inside you, you feel like that daily as well.

"We do," you whisper into his neck. "We have tonight." His lips are at your ear, kissing your earlobe. The arm resting on his back draws him nearer, and he mimics the action until you're physically closer to each other than you'd ever been.

You jump over a wave, and a chuckle bursts out when you turn around and notice Bodevan chasing you out of the sea. The level of alcohol is higher in your system, and your fancy dress is soaked by saltwater.

Bodevan runs faster, and as you're about to reach the back entrance of the teepee, he reaches for your hand, dragging you against his chest.

Before you can speak, he has you up against the wall, his body covering yours entirely. Bo is breathing heavily, panting, and you're just as breathless, not only because you'd just run like a madwoman. Bodevan's proximity to you and the way you can literally feel his chest rise and fall against you with his unsteady breaths is making your brain melt —even though you know, that is medically impossible too.

“What's wrong—”

He hisses and brings his hand up over your mouth. You halt, your breath stopping as you hear Peera and Danny's grunts and moans and pants.

With a crimson streak across his cheeks, Bodevan shuts his eyes and swears softly, not removing his hand from your mouth. You keep very still, trying to stay calm by breathing in and out through your nose.

"How do we proceed?"

"The hotel van will pick me up soon."

The pants grow fainter, but you're still able to hear Peera moaning Danny's name. You don't want to disturb them, or announce your presence outside, mere meters away from they having sex. This is their special night, and who doesn't enjoy a dose of birthday sex?

Bodevan doesn't let go of you for another 5 minutes. He just stands there like that, his forehead pressed against yours. Only when you are blinded by the lights of the van approaching, he quickly drops his hand.

"Peera and Rellian will take over tomorrow. We both have the day off. So see you M-Monday."

You swallow, "Do you want to come with me? I have wine in my cabin's mini bar—"

"Alright," mutters Bodevan, shaking his head at his very own embarrassment. "I-I would love to."

"Okay."

He smiles.

Breathless. That's how you'll describe your symptoms at this precise period in time. And you had been standing still for the past 15 minutes. 

Why is he making you like this?

You catch his eyes widen in surprise as you grab his hand and lead with to the insides of the van. You greet the driver and set off.

After you’ve reached Shipwreck Lodge, and you fidget with the keys to open your bedroom door, you remember Elise and their shared laughter, their noses almost brushing as they talked, and how Bo dismissed the whole thing. Uncertain about the weird feeling stirring in your stomach, you say, "So you really don't like Elise, huh? She must have been upset to see you running away with me like that..."

Bodevan raises his eyebrows, "Oh, it's no problem at all. I don't care about her. A certain other girl caught my eye, you see. And I can't ignore her. Not when she robs my attention with every small detail."

Your heart hammers in your chest. "Oh. Good for you."

Bodevan shakes his head. "Not really. She's engaged."

You almost believe he will talk further, because of the way he glances at you, his eyes sparkling with things unsaid and his lips parted. Or maybe he is about to kiss you...

But he just drags his stare back to his converse, and you grab two cups and pour white wine, hit play on your Guns N’ Roses playlist and invite him to sit down with you at the edge your mattress.

You aren't sure how long you lay there, talking to him. At some point, your eyes start drooping, as are his, and you fall asleep like that beside him, bodies over the undo bed, feet tangled together, and your hair sprawled across his chest. Without even noticing that at some moment during the night, your engagement ring fell from your finger, leaving it empty.

ｎｅｘｔ►