#if you want to replicate the recipe for happiness the steps are: move out of the hellish city where the rents are so high

[drumlincountry]

Man, I’m just happy these days. I’m just happy. It’s wonderful. I’m grateful for it.

It shines. Everything shines. Yesterday, on a ferry I watched the waves roll over each other and catch the sunlight - and I was happy. I spent 12 hours on public transport and still I was happy.

And yes, last night I got 5 hours of sleep and today I was exhausted and sore and stressed about work. But I was also happy. I’m happy because of the autumn chill in the air. I’m happy because I saw my friends, unpacked my bags, and listened to dracula. I’m happy because I have planted roses, even though I don’t know if they will take.

This time last year was one of the worst times in my life. I was hopeless, miserable, crying every day. I knew my life was making me sick and sad, and I couldn’t keep living it. I knew it would take an enormous amount of work to build a life that I could live, that I would need so much support for it. I felt so weak and it all felt impossible.

But guess fucking what!!!! It was possible!!!!!!! I was supported!!!!! and I was capable!!!!! and I did the enormous amount of work!!!!!  AND NOW ... I’m content with my life. :)

There are problems, stresses, fears. There are big things I’m working towards that I might never achieve. There are big things I tried to do, and failed. And that’s ok! Because there are also hopes, dreams, joys. Fun! Love! Games!

My life isn’t perfect. Of course it isn’t. but it’s so much better, and I feel so much better.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Little Things

doing this thing | day 18 - “Where did that come from”

They're in town to have Geralt's armour repaired and to stock up on supplies. Nothing else. Geralt has been very clear about that. But there is a little shop that sells stationery and how is Jaskier supposed to ignore that? His notebook is filling up quickly and soon he'll need another and his notebook to him is just as important as, say, Geralt's potions - he simply couldn't do his job without it. So looking is fine.

He slips into the shop while Geralt is talking to the armourer and he's sure he won't be missed. He slips amongst the shelves, keeping quiet at the shopkeeper speaks to another customer and then, right at the back of the shop, he finds a notebook. It's not special, really, but the design on the cover reminds him of Geralt, somehow.

He holds the book in his hands, running his fingers over the indented design and sighs to himself. There are too many other expenses right now, he'll just have to find a cheaper one somewhere else - he doesn't need it right now, anyway. He sets the book back into its place on the shelf and moves on, inspecting their quills and inkpots, and eventually exiting the shop to go and find Geralt.

The notebook stays on his mind for days. Which doesn't make any sense because it's only a book and he knows Geralt's armour is more important, that a trip to the herbalist is more important, but it doesn't stop him from wanting. And it's not as though he denies himself, not as though this book might be the one indulgence for him because it certainly isn't. Geralt often teases him about where he spends his money and on what, but that's because Geralt doesn't understand fashion. But he's certain Geralt wouldn't have minded if he bought the book. After all, he pays for their rooms at inns and for their supper most nights when they're in town - and that money comes from his music.

He's sitting next to the fire dwelling on it, but when Geralt comes back from a hunt bloody and holding his left side, all thoughts of the book are gone. Geralt's armour is much more important.

They pass through the same town a few weeks later and Jaskier steadfastly avoids the shop, instead taking Roach ahead to have her stabled while he pays for a room. He takes his things up to the room and gets settled while he waits for Geralt to return. He gets a fire lit and has the table ready so when Geralt comes back he has somewhere to work. During the last hunt, he'd depleted his potions and once again Jaskier is glad that they purchased ingredients instead of the notebook, not that it doesn't still linger in his mind.

Once he's happy with the state of the room, he pulls his old notebook out and settles in front of the fire to write while he waits. He doesn't have long as it turns out. After only a few minutes, he hears footsteps outside the door and then Geralt walks in with his bag slung over one arm. He sets it on the ground, instead crossing to the bed to gather the things he needs. Jaskier watches as he always does, coming to sit at the other chair. He likes knowing what is what and how to put them together so that if he ever needs to, he can replicate the potions.

Geralt is patient with him, explaining each step as he goes, telling him which herbs need to be ground finely and which need to be turned into a paste. Jaskier listens eagerly, glad to have a distraction from the nagging regret about the book. His current notebook is unravelling and he's had to re-bind it three times - not that he minds, there are more important things.

"Jaskier," Geralt says sharply and he snaps his head up. Maybe this isn't as good a distraction as he thought.

"Sorry, what?"

"I need the vials from my pack, will you grab them?"

Jaskier nods, already rising from his seat, pushing the chair out behind him. He crosses the room and crouches next to Geralt's discarder bag, undoing the clasp. He's expecting to find the vials on top, considering they're delicate, but instead there's a package wrapped in fine silk. Jaskier frowns in confusion, taking the package and setting it aside.

But as he does so, a corner of the silk slips away, revealing a square of embossed leather and he freezes. The pattern looks familiar - but it can't be. Glancing up to see if Geralt is watching, he gently pulls the cloth away, revealing the book beneath. He can't breathe. Surely, there has to be some logical explanation as to why Geralt has this particular notebook in his bag. Maybe he needs it to record his recipes - Jaskier has been nagging at him to do that for him - and it only stands to reason that they would have similar tastes after spending so much time together. But Geralt doesn't care for patterns and intricacies; he likes things simple. Before he can think better of it, Jaskier is turning with the book in his hands.

"Geralt," he chokes, "what is this?"

Geralt, the bastard, barely acknowledges him, glancing up and shrugging. "Oh," he says, "where did that come from?"

"Geralt, I'm serious, what is this?"

"It's a notebook," he says simply, "I thought of all people, you would be able to recognize that."

"Yes, yes, but what is it doing here. What is this notebook doing in your bag?" This time, Geralt sets his tools down, looking over at him with the faintest smile on his lips.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, "You've been talking about it for weeks. Unless I picked the wrong one?"

"No," Jaskier mumbles, but suddenly his words have abandoned him. Surely Geralt can't mean that. He picked it out? For him? "I- it's- you- Geralt this was expensive, we can't afford-" Geralt's smile grows into something soft and warm and he turns in his seat.

"I made a trade," he says, "turns out the shopkeeper's brother was having a bit of a ghoul problem. I told him I'd take care of it in exchange for the book. He held it for me."

"So we- you didn't need to come back for supplies?" Jaskier stammers, struggling to process.

"Not for me, no."

Jaskier gets to his feet, crossing to where Geralt sits, the notebook still clenched tightly in his hand. "Thank you," he whispers, "I don't know what to say." He climbs into Geralt's lap, surprised again when a strong arm encircles his waist. Geralt cocks his head and reaches up abortively, letting his hand fall to Jaskier's thigh.

"Write me something nice," he says and Jaskier nods, breathless. He doesn't realize he's crying until Geralt reaches up again, brushing his cheek. "It's not that important," he says but Jaskier disagrees. Without thinking, he dips down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Geralt's mouth.

"It's everything."

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Should have known better

Prompt: when ur reading fanfic and one character was cooking and the other comes up to them and they start making out and everyones like starting to take their shirts off and the author STILL hasnt mentioned anyone turning off the stove

My first attempt at Dickinette. I hope I did it justice!

Here’s my favourite ratatouille recipe! It’s amazing!

Ao3

—————————

Warnings: mild sexual content & mentions of gun violence, gangs, bullet wounds, fire hazards and unplanned pregnancy

The keys jangled as he took them out of his pocket, the lock clicked open and the old apartment door creaked. He took two steps into the hall, dropping his bag with a thud and closed the door behind him. Running a hand through his long, sweat slicked hair he sighed. Today had been a long day.

A deep inhale inflated his chest, but the black police vest he wore restricted it’s full extension. The smell of a wonderful home cooked meal made his stomach growl. Ratatouille, his favourite.

His heavy boot laden feet created echoing footsteps as he walked into the grey tiled kitchen. His wife stood at the stove humming, the google pad’s screen was lit with the ingredients list. She scooped and flipped the squared vegetable mix before putting the lid upon it for the meal to soften. She turned to her sketchpad, inspired by something unknown. Drawing captured her full attention, her brain’s need to replicate the idea on paper outweighed her focus on her surroundings.

He should have known better. He grew up with vigilantes and superheroes. He should have know never to sneak up on someone, especially if they knew how to fight; although this rule doesn’t count for villains (they know what they did).

For Marinette, it had been a long day of ripped seems and designer’s block.. It was nearing on eight when she finally started dinner. Looking at the clock she sighed, ‘Dick’s working late again.’ She hoped he wasn’t caught up in the shooting across town. Two gangs had a disagreement over territory and many civilians got caught up in it. She wanted to help but she had been banned from heroine duties for the time being. Her last ladybug adventure resulted in a bullet to her leg, which was still healing.

Dick took her to the hospital stating she had gotten caught in the crossfire (which now reminds her they need to restock the medical supplies), and they discovered that she was four weeks pregnant.

In present time she was still well within her first trimester, just starting her second month; and she was feeling it too. Vomiting each morning wasn’t fun, more so when it started happening more frequently throughout the day. Their midwife reassured the young couple that it was completely normal, but if it keeps up to come back as it may become hyperemesis gravidarum which will harm the baby.

Baby.

She was still trying to wrap her head around it. She had turned twenty-four last July and Dick was only older by a year. They weren’t planning on this and they had taken all of the precautions to prevent it. Yeah sure, they were married but it hadn’t even been two years! Her worry for the future faded as she reminisced on her husband’s reaction to the discovery. He was shocked for a few seconds before jumping up and down like a toddler who got a toy, beaming with joy. Tears of happiness pricked his eyes, threatening to spill on a moments notice.

Another symptom that weighted upon her was fatigue. She was no longer a teen who could challenge the world with a pen and a cup of coffee. She was a tired, pregnant adult who had to give away her coffee maker due to the temptation being too strong. No more late night or all-nighters designing clothes and completing commissions. She had to lessen her commissions due to the stressful nature of them but working from home, in her own studio helped. It had been a month since she found out and now she just wanted to hibernate due to lack of energy.

Putting down the spatula, she scooped up the pen, suddenly inspired by the mix of colours; an autumn playsuit came to mind. Biting her lip as she drew, neglecting her surroundings, the blare of the news channel becoming white noise.

She should have known better. She was a superhero, albeit she was benched at the moment, but still! The first rule of ‘herodom’ was to always do the right thing, but the second rule was to always be aware of your surroundings.

Arms wrapped around her waist, a small gasps left her mouth and her elbow drove straight back into her captor’s chest. A masculine groan came from behind her, but she paid it no mind as she tried to get out of the man’s strong grip.

“Mari, Mari! Calm down it’s me” Her husband said breathlessly. Her jab winded him, although it was softened by his police uniform, Marinette’s miraculous strength was powerful to say the least. He just wish he didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it.

“Ma moitié! Why would you do that!?” Her anguished cry caused him to hide his chuckle in her neck. Her heartbeat made its presence known within her chest and her breathing was still shallow. Turning within his embrace, she faced him with a pout on her face, “You jerk, you scared me!” She whimpered, her pregnancy hormones had blurred the line between her emotions causing her mood to flip like a switch.

Dick looked down at her with a guilt riddled face. “Shoot Mari, I’m sorr-“

Before he could finish apologising Marinette tugged him down and connected her lips to his. She leaned back into the countertop, cupping his cheek and jaw with both hands. Dick eagerly followed her lead.

He picked her up, his hands moulding the flesh of her thighs. He had done this before, but took extra precautions this time due to her still healing leg injury. He moved her away from the countertop and sat her upon the plush couch. He hovered above her, lips only splitting for a millisecond for air before closing the gap once more.

Marinette pushed on his shoulder and swiftly flipped him so that she was on top. The quick motion caused his head to slam back into the wall, the noise halted their make-out session. Her eyes widened, the cloud of lust had evaporated and rained down on her parade. She apologised multiple times to him, eyes watering in the process.

Dick just laughed before pulling her back in for another kiss. In contrast to the sloppy wet kisses before, the gentleness off Mari’s lips now made him feel like he was made of glass. She filled it with her remorse over hurting him. But as the kiss continued it shifted back to the momentum and passion they had before.

Her hands trailed up his chest, she shivered into the kiss; he had just taken off her shirt, leaving her in her bra. His thumb brushed under the mound of her breast, he felt her furious heartbeat through he skin.

Her focus lowered to his bare neck. Placing kiss upon kiss there and biting occasionally, leaving a trail of pink marks for his colleagues to see during his neck shift. A hand ran down her back as it arced, pushing her bosom into his chest.

They broke apart, foreheads pressed together, bodies flushed against each other’s. She peppered his face with kisses, “I love you”s were stated after each. He returned this action with the same fervour.

Something was wrong though. It was a sudden onset plaguing thought that something wasn't right. They had tried to ignore it but it had become like a tugging string tied around their hearts, signalling an oncoming danger. Wordlessly the two scanned the apartment, neither wanting to part from their entanglement.

Confused the two looked back at the other. Neither finding what set off the warning sensation. As their eyes connected, realisation washed over them like a bucket of ice water. They inhaled the burnt air and scrambled apart; both exclaiming “Fuck!”

Running into the kitchen, the tiles were cold against her bare feet. Dark unventilated smoke hung in the air. Upon entry to the room it was a wall of heat, it was a wonder the smoke alarms hadn’t gone off yet. Dick grabbed a nearby tea towel and swatted at the smoke, he shuffled towards the burners, mouth and nose hidden within his elbow.

Marinette opened all nearby windows, she hoped that the neighbours on the floors above didn’t question the smoke. The couple worked together to set up a system of fans to push out the smoke from the kitchen.

“If Alfred were here he would kill us.” Dick solemnly nodded in reply, ‘we should have known better’. He scraped the burnt black char into the bin, while Mari held the pan. Once the pan cooled down enough it went into the bin too, there was no saving it.

Dick tied up the yellow bin bag and placed the spatula into the sink. “Soooo... want chinese? If you’re up for it, it’ll be my treat.”

Her stomach growled as her eyes flicked to the clock, it was almost nine and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at seven. She nodded, “sounds good let’s go!”

She walked towards the door, hand on the handle when she realised that he hadn’t followed her. Turning back around she saw him staring at her, cheeks flushed, unmoved from his position next to the bin.

“Um babe?”

“What’s wrong Ma moitié? I thought you wanted Chinese.” Her head tilted, confused at his actions.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking away. “Babe you’ve forgotten your shirt.”

“Shit” left her lips as she bolted back to the couch, vaulting over a counter much to Dick’s disapproval. She heard him scolding her from the other room, but was too hungry to care.

Walking back to him, now appropriately dressed, she grabbed his hand, pulling him out the door. He just sighed, following his crazy wife, throwing the bag into the complex’s dumpster on the way to the car.

No one was getting in between her and her noodles.

[thenovelartist]

A Blanc Slate, Chapter 3

<Previous Next >

7. Secrets

Oh how the dirty laundry was hung out to dry in the week after the Agreste Mansion fire.

Apparently, the corpse of Gabriel Agreste’s wife was kept preserved underneath the mansion. Which, of course, brought on all the questions of how and why she was there, followed by questions pertaining to Gabriel Agreste’s sanity and even more questions as to why he did it.

Unfortunately, the only person who knew was dead.

Early reports said that it was likely he suffocated in the fire. However, the coroner’s report came out recently saying that there was evidence of an altercation: a fractured arm, a few broken ribs, and a cracked skull. Due to the autopsy report, it was suspected Gabriel was dead before the fire broke out. However, with the crime scene as they knew it had been burned to the ground, along with any clues that could have lead to a more solid answer.

Marinette, Alya, and Nino had done everything they could to reach out to Adrien, but he refused. “Sorry, I just need some time,” was his go-to excuse. His other being, “I’m not feeling great.”

Nino hated it, but he still wanted to be a bro and respect Adrien’s wishes. Alya would have had no problem going over, busting down the door, and forcing a check-in, but Nino kept his girlfriend in check.

Egged on by Alya behind the scenes, Marinette decided that she was going to do that.

Well… maybe minus the “breaking down the door” part. She’d just insistently knock.

With a bag full of baked goods and a container of soup, she headed over. She’d been experimenting with this soup for his birthday, trying to replicate a recipe from his favorite café to surprise him with. But she thought now would be a good time to share it with him. Chat had even given it a good mark in his own way, so she was sure it would make Adrien happy.

Upon arriving at his new place—the address had been the one thing she’d been able to drag out of Nino—she knocked a couple times before waiting. When he didn’t answer, she knocked again. If he didn’t answer after this one, she’d give him a call.

However, she heard the lock on the door click and put on her best smile. “Hey, Adri—Oh, my gosh, how’d you get that black eye?!”

The expression he gave her clearly stated he didn’t want to talk about it while also regretting worrying her. “Don’t tell Nino. Or Alya. Please.”

“What happened, though!”

His lips pursed, curling downwards at the edges. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nearly stamped her foot on the ground because that made two of the most important men in her life who refused to let her in. However, she couldn’t force anything. Instead, she asked, “Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth, but words seemed to catch in his throat for a moment. “I will be.”

“Adrien.”

With a sigh, he reached out to pat her head. “I appreciate that you care, Marinette,” he began. “But really, don’t worry about it, okay?”

She didn’t want to give him time. She wanted to fix it. She wanted to be able to do something, anything, for her boys. But she couldn’t if they kept keeping secrets like this.

With a sigh, she relented, unable to do anything else. “Okay.”

He stroked her hair, and if she wasn’t so damn worried, her heart might have fluttered at the action. “Thank you,” he said before pulling his hand away. “So, was that the only reason you came by? To check in on me?”

“It was either me or Alya.”

His smile was sheepish. “I’d rather have you. Alya scares me.”

His grin seemed weary, but it was still enough to put Marinette at ease and a smile on her own face. “She’s pretty pissed. Nino’s also really worried about you. Maybe you should give him a call.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and only then did she realize the hand he’d been so good at hiding behind the door this whole time was wrapped heavily in bandages

“Adrien!”

He jumped at her voice, taking a step back, but Marinette was quick. She grabbed his arm before he could hide it again. “How’d you get this? Oh, wait, ‘you don’t want to talk about it’?”

He groaned. “I got into a little argument with my dad last week, came home and hit the wall. I don’t think I broke anything, but it still hurts.”

Marinette sighed. “Damn it, Adrien. Why didn’t you tell us? We could have been there to support you.”

Adrien turned his head away, refusing to look at her. “I… I just needed some time alone, okay? There was a lot on my mind. Please, just drop it.”

“Okay,” she caved. He was already talking with her now, as opposed to pushing her away again, so she would meet him halfway and stop arguing. “Do you want a croissant? Maybe some soup? Or you’ve got a sweet tooth. Maybe a cookie?”

Adrien looked somewhat surprised by the change of subject, but soon, he relaxed in relief. “I wouldn’t mind a cookie.”

She gave him a smile, one she had to force a bit to be brighter than it was. “Okay. I thought you would.”

8. Princess and Knight

The knock on her balcony door could only be one person.

Rather, one cat.

With a grin, Marinette rushed to answer her trap door. “Chat Noir. How nice of you to come see me.”

He looked rather stoic. “I’m not ‘Noir’ anymore.”

“You’ll always be Chat Noir,” she gently countered. “You just happen to look a little different at the moment.”

He sighed, clearly not wanting to continue their conversation. He then handed the bag in his hand over to her. “Here. The clothes you leant me. Washed and clean. And a little extra ‘thank you’ gift for your kindness before.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at the bag. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Chat just shrugged.

Looking at the bag, Marinette hesitated to take it. She had wondered if Chat would appear before her or if he’d just drop the bag and run. Now, she feared he’d bolt the moment she took the bag from his hand, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Impulsively, she reached past the bag to grab hold of his wrist. “Come inside for a minute. Let me get you some cookies for the road.”

His brow scrunched together, showing his hesitancy.

She shot him her best smile, going as far as batting her eyes at him, a technique her friends had forced her to learn a few years ago in an attempt to get Adrien’s attention. “Please, Chat? I’m sure you’d like a treat?”

He sighed. “Thank you, princess, but I’ll decline.”

“Aww, really? I can’t convince you to stay a moment?”

“No.”

“Wow. That was cold.”

Chat stood, trying to remove her hand from his, and though he was trying to be firm, he wasn’t being overly forceful. “I came to thank you, not to linger on your kindness any more.”

“But what if I want you to linger in my kindness.”

He scoffed. “Why would you bother?”

“Because I care about you?”

“You barely know me.”

Oh, kitty, I know you better than you could fathom. “So?”

“So, I took advantage of your kindness once—”

“Do it again.”

The words that came so easily out of her mouth had clearly startled him. Frankly, they surprised her a little, too, but those words also allowed her a moment to crawl fully out of the hatch and stand right before him. “I don’t mind. In fact, I want to.”

Chat looked at her, exhaustion lingering behind the stoniness in his eyes. “Princess, you’re killing me here.”

She tightened her grip, leaning closer. “Good. Maybe I can offer you a little break away from your world.”

“Who said I needed one?”

“You’re still white, and you’re not in a signature smile. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”

His brow furrowed, eyes hardening, yet he didn’t pull away.

And she wasn’t going to surrender, either.

The stare down lasted a good many seconds, neither moving or backing down.

“Are you trying to seduce me, princess?” he eventually asked, the slightest edge of teasing in his tone while the corner of his lips quirked upwards.

Her heart could soar at the sight. “So what if I am?”

He flashed her a fake roguish grin, leaning closer in what she quickly realized was an attempt to coax her backwards. “I’d say there’s only room for one flirt in this town, and it sure won’t be you.”

She stood her ground, knowing that if she wasn’t careful, she’d fall right through her trapdoor. Which was likely his plan and why he’d just started flirting. She knew him too well by now to know his flirting was a cover-up. Always had been, and always would be.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t also wreck her heart when he stopped the flirting and pulled a genuine romantic gesture. It always wrecked her heart when he stood with his heart bared to her. And maybe over time, those gestures built up love for him in her own heart. And maybe that’s why she stood here so adamantly now, unwilling to let him go.

“Oh?” she flirted back, trying to channel her ‘inner Chat’. “How would you know? Maybe I’m better.”

“I doubt that. This cat has worked hard and purr-fecting his technique to make the ladies swoon.”

She hummed. “You pull out all the stops on Ladybug, don’t you?”

It was as though she’d doused him with cold water, because all teasing disappeared in an instant.

Her regret level was high, but at the same time, she wasn’t even sure what she’d said to change the mood so fast. “Chat?”

He sighed, pulling away and shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” she countered.

“It is,” he firmly stated. “And don’t think otherwise.”

Biting her lip, Marinette wracked her brain for how to possibly coerce him into talking. “Something wrong with Ladybug?” she asked, reaching out to grab his other hand. “Because I haven’t see—”

“Ahh!”

In a flash, Chat ripped both his hands from hers and cradled his left hand close to his chest.

Her gut sank. “You’re hurt?”

He grit his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

His ears sank in shame for a moment. “Let it go, Marinette,” he snipped, already taking steps backwards and away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not. What happ—”

“Does it get tiring?”

His eyes took on a hard edge to them, and that was the moment she knew she screwed up. “What?”

“Trying to weasel into my business,” he challenged.

“How was I weaseling?”

“I’m a grown man. I don’t need you mothering me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t if you weren’t hurt.”

The moment those words left her mouth, Marinette regretted it. Instead, her consequence was watching Chat’s expression harden, eyes glinting like the edge of a knife.

“Who do you think you are?”

She flinched at the harshness of his tone.

“You’re not Ladybug,” he hissed. “We barely know each other. Why are you so damn worked up over me getting hurt?”

Because I am your lady, dammit! But she couldn’t say that. And without that, she wasn’t fully sure what to say. “Can’t I care about you at all without my motives being questioned?”

“I don’t need your help, Marinette!” he shouted. “So, stop trying to fix things and let me take care of my own business! You don’t have any idea what I’m facing—"

“Of course I don’t! You know why?” Marinette felt something snap in her at his words, and her own feelings came tumbling out before she could stop them. “Because you’re a knight with a martyr complex who thinks he has to bear the weight of the world alone on his own shoulders. I’m no princess, Chat, and neither is Ladybug. So why is it impossible for you to let either of us help you? Do you not trust Ladybug to help you? Do you think she’s incapable? Do you hate working with her that much?”

“I love her more than you could ever imagine!” he shouted, shocking her so badly she had to take a step back to steady herself. “She is incredibly strong and capable, and don’t you dare do her the injustice of stating otherwise. But that is exactly why I’m keeping her out of this. What I’m facing is personal, and it’s something I need to do on my own. You wouldn’t understand and don’t even try to. You’re an outsider here, Marinette. Stop trying to pretend you’re the superhero here and micro-manage everything about someone you don’t even know!”

And with that, Chat whipped out his baton, and Marinette was left watching a white ghost float over the rooftops of Paris, further and further away until he finally disappeared.

9. Blanket

The night wasn’t chilly, but she still had a blanket draped over her shoulders as she stood out on her balcony. It had been a week since the little altercation between her and Chat, and she regretted so many things she said and how she handled the whole situation.

Chat was hurting, and while she had been prying, she’d also gone against his wishes to do so. He had shut himself off, and instead of just being a safe spot he could land with no questions asked, she’d pushed and pressed and prodded any way she could to get information out of him. In her defense, she had only wanted to help as well as try to keep her cat around so he wouldn’t run again.

But a trapped cat doesn’t submit easily, she supposed. Especially one with as much fight in them as Chat Noir had.

So, she wanted to apologize, even though she knew it was unlikely he’d come around again. And who knew if she’d see him again. He said he’d see Ladybug at least one more time to give up his miraculous, but she didn’t want to wait until then to see him again. Though, the longer she stood out here on the balcony with no sign of Chat on the horizon at all, she thought that might be her only chance.

If it was, then she had to be careful not to squander it. Let this be her lesson, and let it be her only one because she really couldn’t afford to make a mistake on her last chance.

“Marinette,” Tikki said, flying up to rest on her shoulder. “It’s past midnight. You should really come inside and go to bed.”

She didn’t want to, but there really wasn’t any other choice. Chat wasn’t coming, and she knew it. “Okay.”

[olliepig]

Scott-land Yard

So, as everyone knows, it was our wonderful Scott’s birthday yesterday. In honour of that fact, the amazing @willow-salix and I got together and this was the outcome. 

It’s also available on AO3 here.

******

“Smile!” Gordon chirped as he and Scott posed for the camera that had been thrust in their faces. John managed something that looked more like a trapped wind grimace and resisted the urge to hide behind Scott.

“I hate this,” John whined. He'd deny it, but it was definitely a whine.

“You hate everything,” Gordon shot back, pausing and shifting to a new pose after only three steps when another passer-by spotted them and requested a picture.

“I do not, I just hate going anywhere public because it’s always like this,” he lifted a hand to shield his eyes as another flash almost blinded him.

“We’re International Rescue,” Scott reminded him. “It’s part of the territory.”

“Yes, because that’s the only reason they’re popping up like meerkats to invade my personal bubble.”

“What else could it be?” Gordon asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” John replied, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “It’s definitely not got anything to do with the fact that we’re dressed like we just fell out of a Jane Austin novel.”

“I think we look good,” Gordon argued, tugging his jacket back into place and smoothing it down.

“We do, quite dashing,” Scott grinned, preening for another picture.

“I think we look like idiots.”

“This is going to be a fun night,” Gordon sighed as they reached the door of the pub appropriately named ‘The Moody Cow’.

“Happy birthday to me,” Scott rolled his eyes, shoving his protesting brother inside.

Looking around the inside did not instil John with more confidence.

“This has to be at least six health code violations.”

“Just six?” Scott quipped.

“I was talking about the front door.”

“Oh stop complaining so much,” Gordon chided him, taking in the sawdust floor and wobbly looking tables. “I think it’s charming.”

“Exactly,” Scott agreed, making a beeline for the bar and ordering three beers. “If this is what the girls have planned, then who are we to argue?”

“I don’t know what their plans are,” grumbled John, reluctantly following his brothers into the bar, “but based on this, I do know I don’t trust either of them.”

“You might have a point there,” Scott conceded, as he waited for their drinks. “We’ve all seen what happens when we leave those two unsupervised, and according to Cat they’ve been planning this for months.”

“We’re doomed,” John groaned, taking an experimental sip of the beer he’d just been passed. “There’s no hope for us.”

“What even is this?” Gordon asked, making a face as he sipped whatever pigs swill had been glassed up and handed over to them. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s traditional, I believe,” John said, taking another cautious swig of his own, unable to decide if he liked it or not.

“Well I like it,” Scott declared, taking a big gulp of his own drink and looking around for a table.

“What is this?” John asked the barman, who fished a bottle out from under the bar, showing him the label. It turned out to be from an historical brewery that specialised in archeological brewing, with recipes taken from old texts and replicated. John raised an eyebrow briefly in what might possibly, somewhere in the outer reaches of space, be considered as appreciation, not that he’d ever admit that, before handing back the bottle and taking his seat with his brothers.

“What time did the girls say they’d get here?” Gordon asked.

“About now I think,” Scott replied, looking at his watch before fixing his eyes on the door in the hope of seeing someone who wasn’t one of his brothers. It wasn’t that he didn’t like spending time with them, but he had been promised a fun night out with some kind of activity that involved great secrecy and costumes, and he was very keen to find out what it was.

“They’re late,” John sniffed. “I’m not in the least surprised.”

“Since when has Selene been on time for anything?” Gordon laughed. “I’d have thought you’d have stopped complaining about it by now.”

“John? Not taking the opportunity to complain? Never!” Scott jested, giving John a friendly nudge.

John scowled in response. “I am perfectly aware of her way of doing things. I’ve learnt to accept it, but that does not mean I agree with it. Also, I do not complain, I state facts.”

“Can we leave him at home next time?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, please do,” John agreed, sounding far too eager.

“No, it’s my birthday and I want you here,” Scott declared. “Plus I’m not dealing with the girls on my own, this is supposed to be a celebration not torture.”

Before John could open his mouth to reply, their attention was grabbed by a door at the back of the room swinging open, revealing both Selene and Cat dressed as what could only be described as Victorian hookers.

“Oh god,” Scott choked as Cat sashayed towards him, swinging her hips as she went.

“I dread to think what this is about,” John sighed when his own woman reached his side, trying very hard not to lose an eyeball in her cleavage.

“Well hello there, birthday boy,” Cat breathed, sliding herself onto Scott’s lap with a wiggle that made him groan quietly as she slung an arm around his shoulder and placed a small kiss of his cheek.

“This is new,” John observed, skimming a fingertip down the laces of the corset he’d definitely not seen before. “I’d ask what the occasion was but you never need an excuse to go shopping.”

“I feel very left out,” Gordon bitched, his eyes still fixed on the door as if staring at it would reveal his date for the night.

“Is Penny not here yet?” Cat asked, looking up in shock as she finally tore her eyes away from Scott and realised that one member of their party was indeed missing. “I thought she’d have got here ages ago.”

Selene, who had been surprisingly quiet the whole time, now perched herself on John’s lap and lifted an arm to get the attention of the barman.

“You,” she called loudly in a demanding tone. “Da, you, you bring me vodka, big glass.”

“That’s new too,” Gordon laughed, hearing a very strange accent coming out of her previously quite common London mouth.

Selene took the glass with a nod of thanks and downed half its contents in one, slamming it down on the table, before spearing Cat with a warning look. “Nyet, remember what grandmudder say, they pay for grind or get nothing at all.”

“Da, but she also say need to show something to bring them in,” Cat retorted, her face reddening slightly as her awful attempt at a Russian accent grated in her ears.

“Minushka, she say, you show one apple, not whole basket of fruit,” Selene gave a little hip swivel that made John choke on his fancy beer in demonstration then got to her feet, avoiding his attempt to keep her on his lap and his dignity intact. “Like so.”

“And I’ve shown apple,” Cat replied, sliding herself up Scott as she stood, feeling his eyes tracking her every move. “Now he want whole basket.”

“Whole basket is extra,” Selene nodded. “We take to rooms now, da?”

“I can’t even pretend to know what’s going on here,” Scott cut in, clearing his throat and grabbing Cat by the waist, enjoying her shriek as he pulled her back down onto his lap. “But it’s my birthday and I’m very happy with having this ‘basket’ right here, thank you very much.”

He fixed Selene with a stare, daring her to deny him on his special night. Smiling in triumph as she huffed dramatically and looked away, allowing it for now, it was his birthday after all. Risking her wrath further, he placed a quick kiss on Cat's neck before continuing. “Anyway, shouldn’t we wait for Penny before we go anywhere?”

Selene rolled her eyes in Cat’s direction, clearly throwing her under the bus for her best friend being late. “Staff, you cannot get them.”

John’s hand took it upon itself to reach out and tweak the edge of the bustle pad type thing that was giving his woman a backside you could balance a tea tray on, unable to ignore it.

Just as Selene turned to admonish him for touching something he might not be able to afford, the main door to the bar opened and Penny swept in, looking every inch the Lady that she was. Dressed impeccably in what looked to be an original evening gown from the period, her eyes registered her shock at the low cut chemises, corsets and shortened ruffled bustle style skirts that adorned the other two women present.

“Did you not send her the brief?” Selene whispered to Cat, dropping the fake Russian accent she had adopted for a moment.

“Of course I did,” Cat hissed back. “But you know she likes to do things her way. I guess she just decided she knew better.”

“Then I guess that means we have a classy prostitute that’s just joined the ranks, best we got,” Selene whispered back.

“It sure does,” Cat shrugged. “We can make it work.”

“Not like we’ve got a choice,” Selene gripped her corset and hoiked it up, wiggling her boobs back into place then turned back to the boys. “Gentlemen, it is time, we have you now.”

“Is that supposed to be a romantic offer?” John asked, although he didn’t hesitate to offer his hand so she could drag him to his feet.

“In Russia we do not do the romance, we just do the bonk,” she told him, making Scott splutter with laughter. “We have not time for making nice. Time is money, friend.”

Penelope shot her fellow females a look of utter bewilderment with a dash of disdain but gamely moved to join them, running a judgemental eye around the bar and its less than pristine flooring. “I should not have worn great great great great Aunt Mildred’s debutant gown.”

“Yeah, probably not your greatest idea,” Cat laughed, giving her a quick hug in greeting before slipping her hand into Scott’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze as she led the way towards the door at the back of the room.

“What kept you?” Gordon asked, sidling up to Penelope in the hopes of stealing a quick kiss. Much as he loved his brothers partners it sucked to be playing the part of the third wheel. Penelope offered him her cheek, conscious of her perfectly applied lipstick, she might be completely over dressed and apparently out of character and her depth, but she was not about to let that stop her.

“I got held up at the Bureau, they’ve decided that everyone, regardless of experience or seniority, must now have a partner,” she snorted in disgust at the very thought that she might be counted among that number. My new recruit leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Sounds like a bad day,” Gordon winced sympathetically. “But you’re here now, so at least you can kick back, relax and have fun with us.”

Selene threw open the door and started climbing the stairs, stopping them all in a dark, dingy hallway which led off to more doors.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” Penelope huffed, catching the lacy edge of her skirt on a nail that stuck out from a door frame.

“Money first, no kiss, no taking home to mudder,” Selene called out, laying down the rules. “Catya! Penya! Ladies to your jobs.”

Cat grabbed Penny by the hand and towed her forwards to the front of their little huddle.

Selene shoved a door open and walked in two steps before stopping and letting out the longest, loudest and most dramatic scream she possessed, the one reserved purely for kilt shots of sexy heroes or cute animals.

“Holy hell!” Scott yelped, having been directly behind her and therefore deafened the most.

“No,” Cat shrieked, throwing herself over the mannequin splayed out on the floor, using all the acting skills she possessed as Selene and Penelope tried to pull her back up again. “Anna!”

“What on earth is going on here?” Gordon asked, completely lost at the turn of events that the evening had taken.

“You not know?” Selene sobbed dramatically, burying her face in John’s neck to hide the fact that she was still dry eyed as she huddled against his side. “You are in Whitechapel and you know not of the murders? Are you not detectives sent to save us?”

“Ah, I see,” Scott declared triumphantly, feeling rather smug that he’d worked it out before anyone else. “It’s some kind of murder mystery thing.”

“I see nothing!” Gordon whined. “Someone explain, please?”

“What you mean ‘murder mystery’?” Cat sniffed as she looked pleadingly up at Scott, finding it very hard to keep a straight face. “This our friend. You help us please? We not want to be next victim.”

“You help, we pay with kind, da?” Selene did some weird kind of boob shimmy that almost popped the twins right out of the corset that was barely holding them in as it was. John resisted the urge to throw his jacket over her head and drag her away right there and then before she lost every last ounce of dignity she possessed. He was right, they could not be trusted to be left alone to plan anything.

“Well, if that’s what’s at stake, then I think we’d better help the ladies, hadn’t we?” Scott asked, trying very hard to tear his eyes away from Cat’s behind as she crouched back down over the body on the floor.

“Let me make sure I understand this,” Penelope started. “You told me that we would be playing some kind of escape room scenarios and that we had to dress the part, at no point did you tell me that I was supposed to act as a braindead lady of ill repute.”

“Women no work for police,” Selene told her. “Women have but one job, to please man.”

“Women cannot work for the police? There to please men? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!” Penelope gasped, utterly horrified at the way her friends were apparently happy to set women's liberation back a few centuries. “Now let me tell you somethin-”

“C’mon Penny,” Gordon bravely interrupted her, gently taking her hand and pulling her away from the main group slightly as the others all exchanged worried glances, wondering how this would play out. “It’s just a bit of fun for Scott’s birthday. Nobody means any harm by it.”

“That may be so,” Penelope sniffed, “but I still wish someone had told me in advance.”

“We did,” Selene reminded her, dropping her fake accent for a moment. “We sent you the package with the historical notes and details, it’s not our fault you didn’t read them.”

“And it’s not my fault I didn’t have time!” Penny shot back, her eyes meeting Selene’s in a challenge that nobody wanted to see the outcome of.

Selene’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Gordon took a step closer in case he needed to dive in between them to act as a human shield, but she seemed to think better of it, obviously caring more about the reason they were there, that being her best friend's birthday.

“Well if you’re really not comfortable then nobody is going to force you to do it, Penny,” Gordon continued, trying desperately to keep the peace and allow the night to go ahead more or less as planned. “Tell you what, if we need to keep the numbers equal, why don’t I take your role and you can do mine?”

“Yes, that would do very nicely, thank you,” Penelope replied, brightening instantly and placing a small kiss of thanks on Gordon’s cheek before moving to stand with Scott and John.

John had been wandering the room, taking in everything there was to see, but now his eyes strayed from the crime scene to catch Selene’s, one eyebrow lifting in question. She shrugged in return, she had no clue what was going on either.

“So how does this work then?” Scott asked, trying to move away from the slight awkwardness that seemed to have sprung up in the room.

“How this work?” Cat repeated, trying to hide the smirk of amusement that Scott was finally bamboozled by something from showing. “You police. You investigate scene, go back to police station. Find who did it.”

“Examining body is usually good place to start,” Selene nodded, slipping back into character. “It has been so long since last victim, we thought him gone.”

“We try to help,” Cat added, gesturing to Selene and Gordon. “Can ask us questions. We might know answers, might not. But you not know if not ask us.”

“Anna, rest her soul,” Selene did a wonky cross over her chest and closed her eyes, bowing her head respectfully. “She was good to her mudder, she had three children. They were life. Now she will not have beets to feed her family, for she has been so slain.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” John whispered to her, unable to help the small smile that formed.

“Oh, you know you want me to bring this accent home tonight,” she whispered back, trying not to lose character too much. “You are clever detective, with big,” she looked him up and down seductively, eyes lingering just a second too long below his belt, “brain. You help and I reward, da?”

“John,” Scott called, managing to gain John's attention before his brother's brain short circuited. “We need a game plan here.”

“I’d try reading that note first,” John suggested lightly, pointing at the slip of paper that was half hidden under the victim’s bloody torso.

“Well, sure, if you want to go for the obvious option,” Scott shrugged as if he’d known the note was there the whole time. John and Gordon were not fooled.

Scott bent down to retrieve the blood splattered letter, noting there were fingerprints on it.

“Did you really think I was gone?” he read aloud. “My victims are many in number and miles apart, but now I am back in my original hunting ground and embarking on a series of murders worse than the last. And this time I’m upping the stakes. You almost caught me the first time but you did not succeed. Now you have no choice, find me or I will come for you next. Signed, Jack.”

“Well, that is rather distressing,” Penelope commented. “Based on that note, along with the location and time period, it sounds like Jack the Ripper has made another appearance.”

“Da,” Selene nodded, sidling closer to John to hang off his arm in what she hoped looked to be a suitably terrified way while still rubbing herself against him like an over friendly cat. “It is not safe for us to be on streets. We are honest working girls-”

“Ahem,” Gordon interrupted, clearing his throat and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I swapped with Penny, remember?”

“Honest working people,” Selene corrected herself. “All we do is the sex.”

“You needn't sound so proud of it,” Penelope sniffed, leaning over the body to examine it. “There appears to be a number of wounds to her body, all of which look to be consistent with a stabbing and slashing motion made with a knife, if my memory serves that is correct for the setting.”

“This is not game,” Selene snapped, her temper flaring just a little. They all had their roles to play and Penelope was not taking it seriously enough. The escape room usually had actors that fulfilled the roles that she, Cat and apparently now, Gordon, were playing, but she and Cat had decided that that would likely mean they had too many detectives and would reduce both the fun and the time they would be in the rooms. They had paid extra to hire the whole of the establishment for two hours and to take on the roles themselves to increase the fun. They had spent days researching, learning their lines and brushing up on the details of the case, now it seemed that, not only had Penny neglected to do her homework, she was reluctant to play along.

“A lady detective, I think that’s a bit of alright, I do,” Gordon leered in an attempt to defuse the situation, sounding like a mix of Parker and a bad Dick Van Dyke, Mary Poppins accent.

Cat sniggered to herself, clearing her throat and assuming her character once again when Scott glanced at her.

“Find anything interesting, detective,” she drawled, swanning over to Scott in an attempt to distract him from his mission.

John rolled his eyes, moving to join Penelope at the scene of the crime, although he had to drag Selene with him as she still clung to his arm. “Pass me that camera, will you?”

Selene handed him an old fashioned camera that looked exactly like a victorian era piece but it had been updated with some kind of polaroid technology so that a picture was printed out of it almost instantly in period accurate sepia.

“Huh, that’s actually quite clever,” John reluctantly admitted as he snapped a few shots and collected the photos that came out, handing them to Scott for him to examine. “Penelope, can you bag up anything that you think could be evidence?”

“I’m a little busy here, John,” Penelope answered, already rummaging in the murdered dummy’s clothes.

Scott picked up the slack and took the leather bag that Cat handed him, taking a bag out of it to pick up anything that John might consider evidence. He picked up a key from the ground beside the victim, while John took a photo of a bloody boot print and then laid a piece of paper from the detectives bag over it to make a copy of it.

Selene took it upon herself to delve into the bag too and emerged triumphant, an old fashioned pair of handcuffs dangling from her fingers. She twirled them for a moment, whistling to get John’s attention, then attached them to her belt.

“For later, you will pay extra,” she informed him, blowing him a kiss.

“Do I get toys like that?” Scott asked Cat. “It is my birthday, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware of that,” Cat answered with a wink. “You heard the lady, toys are extra, so you better have brought your big wallet with you.”

“Want to come find out?”

Cat looked him up and down appreciatively. “Is that a grapple gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Locked and loaded.”

“Can you smell something?” Gordon asked Selene, adopting a conversational tone.

“Da," she nodded." Uglichsky.”

“Huh?”

“The english, they call it cheese.”

“Yes, exactly right, something is definitely cheesy around here and I think it’s coming from the birthday boy.”

“Hey!” Scott protested. “Be nice to me, it’s my birthday!”

“And people think he’s the smooth one,” John sighed, shaking his head. “Can we get back to work now?”

Cat, Gordon and Selene shrugged their agreement.

“OK, you can start helping by telling us a bit more about the woman that was murdered and where you were in the hour leading up to the discovery of her body,” Scott suggested, although he soon wished he hadn’t.

What came next was a jumble of gossip of life on the streets, sordid tales of the woman’s past, each more outlandish than the last, a few too many details of her not so private life, some tips on love making in Russia that John was very sure Selene had made up on the spot and enough random information that all three detectives were more confused after than when they had started. Penelope had declared that they had all the information they needed and that they could relax until they were called for.

“Our work here is done,” Cat said, smiling proudly.

“Yeah, but look at them now, being all serious and shit,” Selene replied as she moved to join them, leaving the detectives to do their work.

“I wonder how long it’ll last,” Gordon grinned, lounging against a nearby wall.

“Longer than if you were with them,” Selene sniggered, nudging him gently when he feigned outrage.

Once Scott, John and Penelope had agreed that they had gathered as much evidence as they could from the crime scene, the girls, with Gordon trailing along between them, led the way to the room that housed the police station.

In the room there was a desk, a few chairs and some evidence boxes, along with piles of paperwork and notes. The walls were covered in photographs of the original Jack the Ripper crime scenes,  case notes, maps and newspaper articles. There were also autopsy reports, witness statements and artistic renderings of potential suspects.

“Woah, this is actually pretty cool,” Gordon whistled, looking around the room.

“It does seem quite thorough,” John admitted, his eyes taking everything the room had to offer.

“I say we start with the first victim, work our way across the wall and then tackle the desk,” Scott decided, “that way if there is any hidden evidence on the desk we’re more likely to notice it.”

“Agreed,” John said, already calculating ways to catalogue the information they would discover.

“I’d rather start at the desk,” Penny cut in. “One often finds that the first place to look would be the last place someone sat, and they always leave things on desks.”

“Then, by all means,” Scott gave in graciously. “You know best, investigating is your job after all.”

“Scott and I can do the walls while you check the desk and then we can swap if that works for you?” John suggested. “That way we won’t be getting in each other's way.”

“That will do quite nicely,” Penelope smiled, moving to start rummaging through the desk.

“Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence,” Gordon called cheekily to her, “you’re all supposed to be working together to solve this, not going for solo glory.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you, Gordon,” Penelope huffed, firmly tucking an errant hair behind her ear that had dared escape the meticulously crafted hairstyle that was a perfect replica of a late 18th century style.

“I was just kidding,” Gordon assured her, earning a little smile in return.

Huddled together in a corner with Gordon, Selene and Cat watched as the detectives got to work and congratulated themselves on picking such a unique and fun activity. It was always a bit of a mission to find something to do on any of the boys birthdays. The kind of things that were considered to be once in a lifetime dream opportunities for everyday folk were just a standard Wednesday to their Tracys, so they often had to think outside of the box. Virgil was the next in line and they were already brainstorming, if they left it to any of the brothers they would never leave the island. No, it took their input to get anything done.

“I think we did good,” Cat whispered to Selene as they waited to be called upon as witnesses.

“We did,” Selene agreed. She glanced at Gordon as he bounced about between Scott and John, getting in the way. She couldn't help but smile at his antics, obviously they had expected the boys to be doing the actual detective work and for Penelope to be with them, but they could adapt.

“Has Penny said anything to you?” Selene had to ask, watching the serious way that Penelope was studying a letter she had found in a desk drawer.  Their purpose was to both help by answering questions but also to hinder the detectives if they were motoring through the rooms too quickly. The whole experience was supposed to last for at least two hours, giving them time to work up an appetite before they ‘escaped’ and made their way down to the restaurant at the back of the building where they would have a slightly more upmarket atmosphere to eat and drink in.

“Not a thing,” Cat shrugged. “But knowing her as I do, I’m going to assume she had a bad few days at work and is a bit ratty because of it.”

“I guess so,” Selene sighed. “Bit of a shame though, this is Scott’s night and I’ll be pretty pissed off if it ends up being soured because someone is in a foul mood.”

“As would I,” Cat agreed, watching her man as he chatted quietly with John, discussing something they had found.

“They look like they are doing far too well at this,” Selene murmured, nodding at their boys. “I think we need to intervene.”

“You read my mind,” Cat grinned, rearranging her top to show maximum boobs.

“The things we do so they have a good time,” Selene sighed dramatically as she patted her bustled behind. “You know, this thing is kinda growing on me.”

Cat sniggered as they slunk their way over to start annoying to detectives. “Come on, Gordon, do your job.”

“On it,” he saluted, grinning wide.

For the next ten minutes they worked their hardest to distract the detectives with rude tavern songs, a slightly uncoordinated version of the can-can, seductive whispering in their ears and promises of demonstrating the tricks they had learnt on the streets of London.

Hands had to be stopped from sneakily wandering, pieces of evidence had mysteriously vanished only to be found hidden in slightly suggestive places upon their bodies and John had forgotten what he’d been thinking entirely when he’d found himself the recipient of a spontaneous motorboating as he got up close and personal with his girl's chest. Even Penelope had given up on her grumpy mood enough to be jollied into giggling along a few times, that was until the moment that Gordon’s hand came into contact with her behind in a gentle smack.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

"Enticing you into a dalliance, my lady," he grinned, sweeping his barrow boy hat off his head in a mock bow.

"Yes," she hissed, clearly fed up to the back teeth of the antics going in around her. "A lady. Your lady, and one does not smack a lady's bottom in a public place. And you," she pointed a finger of doom at Cat and Selene, "look at you both, look at how you're dressed and acting. It's all well and good playing a role but you're taking it too far, don't you think?"

"How we're dressed?" Selene glanced down at her outfit which, by her standards, was actually pretty normal, although it was in blue and white rather than her usual gothic black. "Should I be insulted?"

Cat just looked shocked, she hadn't thought that their behaviour had been that bad, they had simply been having fun, playing the part. Scott, John and Gordon seemed to be enjoying themselves too. Had she somehow messed up? It was true that she didn't know the family as well as Selene did, since she didn't live with them and was still a relatively part time member, but she had planned this with Selene and was taking her cues from her.

"Oh, come on, Penny, relax a bit, will ya?" Gordon groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I am relaxed," Penelope said, turning back to the wall she was studying.

Scott, who was at the desk studying some papers, caught Gordon's eye, nodding towards Penelope. It was his birthday celebration and he wasn't impressed. Cat and Selene had put a lot of effort into organising it for him and he didn't want their time to be wasted. Cat looked like she was about to cry and Selene looked like she was about to curse something or someone. Much as Scott knew that Gordon hadn't meant anything by his actions or comments, he had simply been joining in after all, it was obvious that something was bothering Penelope and it needed fixing.

Gordon nodded his understanding and moved towards his girl. His arm slipped around her waist and, while she stiffened at first, after a few whispered words she relaxed, allowing herself to lean closer to him for a moment before she shook him off.

"Stop trying to distract me, I'm trying to concentrate."

"It's my job to distract you," Gordon teased gently but it did little good.

"And I'm trying to do my job, so kindly let me do it."

"Dang, and I thought Tracys were competitive," Selene whistled, trying to defuse the tension. "OK, let's do this, boys against girls, screw the rules, you in?"

"I'm so in," Cat agreed, "who says prostitutes can't work with the law?"

The object of the escape room was to find enough evidence to point to a particular suspect that had been chosen by the escape room organisers. Almost like a game of Cluedo where there was a different murderer, room and weapon every time, the escape room team cycled through five of the most well known suspects of the original case. There was no telling which they had picked this time so the girls did their best to help Penelope as she worked to put together all the clues she had found.

Selene had spent a fair amount of time with Penelope, enough to feel like she knew the other woman quite well, but she realised now that she only knew one facet of her personality. Their interactions had mostly been on a casual, socialising level because, although Selene did work with the GDF on a freelance basis now and then working anywhere she was needed, she mostly found herself teamed with Kayo or Rigby. She told herself that this was because she was just that damned handy that they only put her with the best, she refused to acknowledge the fact that they were likely the only ones no longer scared of her. That wasn't it at all.

So, somehow she had managed to spend more than three years in the family and never had the opportunity to watch the Lady at work, now she was kinda glad that she hadn't.

Penelope was very much like John in the fact that when she had a goal in sight she was very bloody minded. She knew what she needed to do and she refused to let anything stop her. Selene tried three times to offer suggestions or to point out what looked like it might be an interesting piece of evidence only to be told, politely but firmly, that she was very wrong. Never one to waste her time flogging a dead horse she passed the baton over to Cat, tapped out with a fist bump and switched allegiance without a shred or remorse or a backwards glance.

"I'm out! You're on your own," she declared, defecting to the enemy camp, announcing her presence with a sneaky grope of John's behind where he was bent over the desk, Scott still in possession of the only chair.

Cat watched her friend go, unable to blame her. She had had the dubious honour of calling Penelope her best friend for more than half her life but that didn't make her any easier to deal with when she was in one of her moods.

A focused Penny was often a snappy Penny, the severity of which Cat had forgotten after years of not working with her on anything like a professional basis. Penelope, much like anyone that came from a privileged background, was used to getting her own way and having things done to their exact specifications. When you worked alone as much as she did, you often forgot that there were other ways of doing things other than your own.

Cat was well aware that just having Parker for back up had done very little to soften Penelope's edges, in fact it seemed to have sharpened them. Oh, she couldn't deny that her friend was excellent at her job, top of her field and still climbing, but that left her little time to waste on those that would potentially hold her back. She was of the mind that if there was someone considered better than you, that simply meant you had more to prove and harder work to do. You didn't stop until you had no one to surpass.

“What’ve we still got to do then?” Cat asked, knowing better than to just dive in and inadvertently mess with whatever strategy Penny was using to solve the mystery.

“You can look at those if you want,” Penny replied curtly, nodding towards a series of pictures beside her, her focus still on the paper in her hand.

Cat sighed as she picked up the pictures, managing not to recoil at the murder scenes depicted on them, as she desperately tried to work out the best way to talk to her friend. It wasn’t unknown for Penny to be prickly and difficult when things didn’t go her way, and it was something that they had fallen out about in the past, but she hadn’t expected her to behave like this at a birthday event for her boyfriend's brother.

“Penny, what's going on with you tonight?” Cat asked, deciding that the direct approach was likeliest to be successful. If experience had taught her anything, it was that Penny was far too good at evading questions and hints if they didn’t suit her.

“Nothing,” Penny dismissed, her eyes still firmly on the job at hand.

“Don’t start that bullshit with me,” Cat replied quietly but firmly, enjoying the look of shock in Penny’s eyes as they flew up to meet hers, clearly not expecting to be challenged. “I know you far too well for your own good and this isn’t like you.”

“What do you mean?” Penny deflected, trying to buy herself time, not liking the anger in Cat’s eyes but doubling down anyway. “I’m here aren’t I? I dressed up just like you asked and I’m even doing your little puzzles.”

“That’s not what I mean and well you know it,” Cat pressed, unimpressed but not surprised by the attempted diversion. “Yeah, you’re here, but you’re acting like you’d rather be literally anywhere else and I’m gonna need you to stop it before it ruins the night for Scott.”

Penny paused for a second, casting a glance around the room to ensure that nobody was in earshot before leaning in to Cat.

“If you must know, I’ve been feeling sick on and off for the last few days, so yes, I probably would rather be anywhere but here if I’m being honest,” she confided, feeling strangely glad to have unburdened herself on her friend.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear that,” Cat sympathised, concern for her friend’s health diluting her anger somewhat. “Do you think you’ve caught something?”

“Perhaps,” Penny replied stiffly, sitting herself back upright again, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.

“You look after yourself tonight, OK?” Cat pressed, not wanting to let the opportunity go. “But can you tone down the grumpiness a little? It’s Scott’s birthday night and we’ve put a lot of work into organising this.”

Taking Penny’s curt nod as an acknowledgement of what she had asked, Cat decided that she had done what she could for the time being. Looking around the room before getting back to her assigned task, she was glad to see that Scott at least seemed to be enjoying himself, absorbed in conversation with his brothers as Selene hovered nearby in case she was needed. Throwing a quick nod to her partner in crime in confirmation that she had tried her best, she reluctantly picked up the pictures again and began scanning them for clues.

Selene had little to do but watch the two teams, content to stay out of the way for the most part. Gordon had slotted back in with his brothers as he always did, the boys working together seamlessly to get the job done, focused now on their end goal.

John had all the relevant information correlated and they had moved onto the floor to spread out their findings. Talking together in hushed voices they were soon busily discussing their theories, expanding on or rejecting as needed until they had narrowed down their suspects to just two.

They held one last, whispered conversation, huddling together even closer when Cat wandered a little too close to their workspace and made their decision.

"So, we're in agreement?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Gordon clarified, John nodding with him.

"Even though I'm the IT guy, I'll allow you to input it, since it's your birthday," John grinned, carefully folding the piece of paper in which they had scribbled their conclusion and passing it to Scott.

"How generous of you," Scott quipped. Taking the paper he crossed over to the old fashioned typewriter that had been set up on the desk.

"What are you doing?" Cat asked suspiciously, "you can't be done already."

"Oh, I think you'll find that I am," Scott replied with a cheeky grin as he started typing out their answer. The typewriter had been modernised so that anything typed on it would be automatically transmitted to the central computer that controlled the escape room, the one that would either release them, or condemn them to try again.

"You don't normally say that so proudly," Cat shot back, making Gordon howl with laughter.

Scott ignored her to continue typing. He finished the last word, hit return and waited.

Somewhere in the hall a buzzer sounded, along with the unmistakable sound of a door unlocking.

“Is that it? Did we do it?” Gordon asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

John stuck his head out into the hallway, ducking back in a second later.

“Gentlemen, we are victorious,” he announced in as serious a tone as he could muster.

“They won?” Penelope glanced at Cat, a look of utter disbelief on her face. Cat shrugged in return. She didn’t really care who won as long as Scott had a good time. "They beat us?"

“Yes!” Scott cheered, high fiving Gordon. “Team Tracy for the win! What’s our prize?”

“I don’t know about you, but I quite like the look of our helpers,” John grinned, sliding an arm around Selene’s waist to pull her in against his side. “Doesn’t the hero always get the girl?”

“Only if he have coin,” Selene shot back, yelping when his hand bounced off her padded backside. “But in this case, I shall make exception. We call it taste test, da?”

“Now I know how Julia Roberts felt in Pretty Woman,” Gordon grinned cheekily. “Here I am, turning cheap tricks on the street and I’ve nabbed myself a real Lady. Personally, I think we all lucked out.”

“Is that so?” Penelope drawled, but she allowed a small smile to flirt with her lips, one that got larger when Gordon followed his announcement up with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “You are impossible.”

“So they all say,” Gordon agreed, offering her his arm. “My lady?”

“Good, sir,” she acknowledged, slipping her arm through his with an accepting nod of her head.

“I’d certainly be very happy to accept our helpers as a prize,” Scott laughed, pulling Cat towards him and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “Now, anyone got any idea of what happens next?”

Just as he spoke, a member of the escape room staff poked their head into the room. “Congratulations. You have found the killer. Thanks to you, London is safe again. Now, to whom should I give the hat of master detective?”

“Me,” Scott announced without hesitation, accepting the deerstalker hat and placing it proudly on his head before anyone could argue.

“If you’d like to follow me, dinner will be served downstairs in the restaurant. You must all be very hungry after all your hard work.”

“Oh thank God,” Scott declared, doing his best to ignore the stifled giggles aimed at his headwear coming from the rest of his family. “I’m starving.”

“Is there ever a point at which you’re not hungry?” asked Cat, genuinely interested to know the answer.

“Nope,” Scott answered proudly, yelping as Gordon swiped the hat off his head from behind as they walked.

“Gordon, you look ridiculous,” Penny giggled as he tried to put it on over the hat he’d forgotten he was already wearing. “Give it back to Scott. It’s his birthday after all,” she added, catching Cat’s eyes with a quick smile of acknowledgment as she tried to atone for her earlier outbursts.

“Seems unfair but OK,” Gordon grumbled good naturedly, handing the hat back as they entered the restaurant.

“Finally, somewhere that's not a total health hazard,” John muttered to Selene as they took their seats.

Totally ignoring him, not that he cared, Selene fussed around Scott, making sure that the birthday boy was comfortably seated at the top of the table with everything he could possibly need on hand if he wanted it. The start of the evening hadn’t exactly gone as they’d planned but she’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy what was left of the night.

There was something so rewarding about your first decent drink of the night after you’d suffered the stress of event planning and Selene was more than grateful to be able to slip into her chair between Gordon and John and pick up the vodka apple cocktail that had been delivered to her.

“A toast,” Scott started, holding up his beer.

“Isn’t one of us supposed to do that?” John asked as he grabbed his own beer bottle.

“Birthday rights,” Scott told him smugly. “I just wanted to thank you all for being here tonight, thank the girls for planning such a great activity with such pleasant eye candy and for joining in to make it fun.”

“Sure, why not,” Selene agreed, saluting with her glass. “To birthday rights and milking them.”

“Damn straight,” Scott grinned.

“To annoying older brothers on their birthday,” Gordon added.

“To brothers who aren’t safe to be left alone with your witch,” John grumbled goodnaturedly.

“Many happy returns to good friends,” Penelope continued.

Scott looked at Cat, one eyebrow raised in anticipation. “What have you got for me? Anything you wish to bestow upon me for the next year? Any praise that should be coming my way?”

“To my favourite dumbass in the whole world,” Cat grinned, raising her glass to join the rest. “May this year bring you health, happiness and as many enormous steaks as you can eat. Happy birthday, Scott.”

“Now that’s something I can definitely get on board with,” Scott laughed, raising his glass to his lips.

“Are you ready to order?” a waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere. He was dressed in period clothing, as were all the other staff members and a few patrons.

“What do you have here?” Gordon asked. He, like all of the Tracy family, enjoyed nothing more than a good meal and since there had been many years where such a thing was not always readily available, they had learnt to make the most of any time they were somewhere where food was cooked for them by someone who wouldn’t destroy it.

“Your meal tonight will consist of six courses,” the waiter started.

“Six!” Gordon yelped.

“There goes my waistline again, I’d only just found it again after Christmas,” Selene groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I know this is supposed to be a traditional Victorian meal, but who thought this was a good idea?”

“You,” Cat reminded her.

“Shh, woman,” Selene growled but Cat just smirked, unbothered by the threat. She knew her far too well to take her seriously now.

“I think it’s the best idea you’ve had,” Scott grinned. “I’m so hungry I could eat my hat.”

“Even the ear flaps?” Gordon asked. Scott nodded seriously.

The waiter coughed politely.

“So sorry,” Penelope apologised, “do continue.”

“Your first course is a choice of pheasant or cream of asparagus soup, served with fresh bread. This will be followed with a lettuce salad with accompanying cheese fingers.”

A few eyebrows rose at this.

“Next you have your choice of fish course, consisting of either baked salmon with sauce hollandaise, oysters rockefeller or stewed eels.”

“Eels?” Selene made a face of pure disgust which was echoed by Cat and John.

“For your entree meats you have a choice of hunters style stuffed venison, roasted chicken, pan fried duck, lamb medallions or a sirloin of beef. You can pick any combination.”

“Any combination?” Scott was practically drooling.

The waiter nodded, clearly having seen the disbelieving faces many times before.

“All are accompanied by a choice of wild mushroom risotto, boiled new potatoes, potato croquettes or boiled rice, along with green peas and seasonal vegetables.”

“I’m in heaven,” Gordon groaned.

“For your dessert course we have a choice of a delicious lemon sorbet, chocolate mousse, sugar biscuits or a selection of petits fours. This will be followed by a cheese course and finally coffees,” the waiter finished with a flourish, clearly enjoying playing the part. He stood with his order pad, awaiting their decision.

Blank faces stared back.

“Clearly this is new to you all,” Penelope sighed. “You must excuse them. I’d like the asparagus soup and then the baked salmon, followed by the venison with boiled potatoes and the sorbet to finish. Thank you.”

“How the heck did you do that?” Gordon goggled. “I’m pretty sure even John didn't catch all that.” He looked at his brother for confirmation.

“I made it up to the meat selection,” John confirmed.

“I’ve forgotten everything before chocolate mousse,” Selene admitted.

“I got stuck on the eels,” Cat joined in.

“I’m still trying to decide which meats to pick,” Scott finished.

“It’s quite alright, sirs, madames,” the waiter assured them, producing a number of printed menu cards from somewhere about his person. “I shall give you a moment to decide while I fetch tonight's choice of wines and refresh your waters.”

“Thank you,” Cat called after him, already scanning the menu.

A lively debate broke out as everyone discussed the options, deciding what they would like and struck up bargains amongst themselves of who would get to try a sample of the others meal. Scott, of course, had pulled out his birthday card again to secure himself a taste of everyone's food.

Decisions finally made it was a better informed group that reeled off their choice of food to the waiter, who’s name they found out was Carl. He left them with four bottles of wine and didn’t even baulk at Scott ordering the sirloin, lamb medallions and the roast chicken. He was getting the biggest tip of the year that night.

-x-

“I can’t walk, I’m too fat, carry me.”

“My love, I adore you, but if you are indeed as fat as you claim I doubt carrying you would be good for my health.”

Selene paused to think about this, wondering just how her man seemed to be able to drink the amount of beer and wine he had and still form a coherent and slightly sarcastic response. It was one of the many things she found quite sexy about him. Hmm, sexy...

“I do like your body to be in peak health,” she mused, letting her eyes wander up and down his body, taking in the tailored coat, waistcoat, neckerchief and shirt combo that was sitting so well on him. His hair had been brushed back and styled in a close approximation of the era's popular side parted look and it suited him to perfection, though she missed that familiar curl she liked to run her fingers through. “I’ve heard that regular exercise is key, for which I’m always willing to lend a hand.”

One eyebrow rose at her assessing stare and blatant ogling of his person. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he assured her, trying to keep his serious tone but only just managing it.

“Good, you do that,” she insisted, wobbling slightly on her heels as she tried to keep to a straight line. She sighed happily when his arm draped around her shoulders, helping to keep her upright. She slipped her arm around his waist, leaning closer. This was good. This was nice.

“Do you think Scott had a good time?” she asked quietly, watching Scott and Cat as they walked a little way ahead of them.

John rolled his eyes, having known this was coming. She always got like this when she had a few drinks in her. She would either be so over confident she thought she was a queen or she started doubting her very existence.

“You know he did,” John assured her. “You always manage to somehow dream up the best ideas for us, something we very much appreciate, and joining forces with Cat made it all the better.”

“Cat’s great,” Selene said, smiling dopily. “I love her, she’s the best.”

“You love everyone when you’re tipsy, I should be grateful that I’m getting any attention at all.”

“Oh hush, you’ll get more attention than you can handle when we get home.”

“I must admit, a night of peace and quiet alone in our little apartment, before we return to the madness of the island tomorrow, is sounding like heaven.”

“Just the peace and quiet?” Selene’s hand slid its way neatly from the small of his back to his right buttcheek.

“Not just that,” he admitted. He glanced at his brothers and their respective partners. “Can we say goodnight now?”

Selene followed his gaze, still feeling the need to check the situation one last time before she abandoned her duty of best friend for the night and concentrated on her man.

Scott and Cat were giggling so loudly she could hear it echoing around the quiet streets, that and the clack, clack, clack, skkerch noise of Cat’s heels as she stumbled now and then. Scott was trying admirably to keep her upright, just as John was with her, but it seemed that all of the ballerina’s balance and poise had abandoned her.

“They seem happy enough,” she murmured, her eyes searching out the other two. Gordon and Penelope were walking close together, though there was a lot less holding up than the other two. Gordon was a little winding in his walking but was holding his own, chatting amicably, clearly on his best and most charming behaviour. Penelope was the vision of a perfectly put together lady, she always was no matter how much she drank. Not that she seemed to have indulged much from what Selene could tell.

“Did you see Penny drinking much tonight?”

John paused, frowning lightly as he thought about it. “No, I don’t believe I did. We went straight up to the rooms when she arrived so she missed out on the first drinks and she said she wasn’t in the mood for those wines and, since she doesn't touch hard liquor and can’t stand the taste of beer, she’d stick to fruit juice.”

“Makes sense,” Selene shrugged, not bothering to think too much about it. “Gordon seems to be back in her good books now so I guess it’s safe to leave them all to their own devices.”

“Good enough for me,” he grinned, stealing a quick kiss before raising his voice to be heard. “Scott, Gordon! We’re heading home, don’t forget to be ready to go at one, any later and we’ll leave without you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gordon called back. “And if I ask if we’re nearly there yet one more time you’ll dump me out at 5,000 feet.”

“Too right I will,” John answered, not even trying to deny the threat as being a possibility. “Scott?”

“One, got it,” his brother responded after a well placed elbow to the ribs from Cat. “Although you know you’ll have to wait for me, it is my birthday.”

“One more day, that’s all you have left to use that excuse,” Selene reminded him.

“And I’m gonna milk it for all it’s worth,” he assured her, opening his arms for a hug.

Selene pulled him into her arms, yelping when he grabbed her a little too tightly and tried to lift her into the air, holding her against his chest as he rocked her back and forth.

“John! A little help!” she patted Scott’s back ineffectively, dropping her bag which hit the ground with a suspiciously metal sounding rattling clunk.

“Alright, bro, that’s enough, give her back and go home,” John ordered, rescuing his girl from his brother’s limpet like grasp. “Go fling your own around until she throws up.”

“Good plan!” Scott, who had been on the verge of pouting when his cuddle buddy had been stolen, now grinned.

It was Cat’s turn to shriek as she was unceremoniously grabbed around the waist and hoisted up to drape over his shoulder as he took off running.

“Don’t drop her!” Selene called but they were gone.

“And people think I’m the one to watch out for,” Gordon mock sighed, shaking his head.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” John laughed.

“Night, Pen,” Selene said, giving the other woman a hug goodbye and then Gordon.

They waited until the pair had wandered off in the direction of their hotel, Penelope having given Parker his freedom for the night, before Selene allowed John to drag her to the tube station. Everyone was taken care of, the night had come to an end and now she could finally relax.

-x-

“Are you OK there?” Cat giggled as she threw her keys on the table, the amount of wine she had drunk with the meal making the sight of Scott sprawled on her sofa, looking very much like he might pass out any second much more amusing to her than it usually would.

“I’m absolutely fine,” he smiled up at her, grabbing her hand and pulling her down beside him. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” she laughed as she teetered dangerously on the edge of the sofa before losing her fight with gravity and slipping onto the floor with a bump. “Just that I’ve never seen anyone eat that amount of meat and remain conscious before.”

“Clearly, you’ve never been out for a meal with Virgil then,” Scott chuckled, undoing his belt and top button to give himself more room. Now that she’d mentioned it, he did feel rather full, not that he’d ever let her know that.

Cat spun herself around where she sat, threading an arm around Scott’s waist and resting her head on his chest, enjoying the peace and quiet her flat afforded them as he absent-mindedly stroked her hair.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight then?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably as the bones of her corset started to dig in. How Selene managed to wear stuff like this on a regular basis was beyond her, although she did have to admit that it gave her a good figure which she had caught Scott admiring on more than one occasion over the course of the night, so perhaps she was onto something.

“It was awesome,” Scott declared, sensing Cat’s discomfort and making room on the sofa for her. “You did a great job.”

Cat let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as she hauled herself up beside him. “I’m so glad. It’s a bloody nightmare trying to think of anything for you lot.”

“Well, I really appreciate the thought that went into it,” he continued, flashing her a dazzling smile. “It was a great night and I think everyone had fun. Even Penny seemed to get into it by the end.”

“Yeah, she got there eventually,” Cat agreed, relieved that her friend’s behaviour hadn’t soured his enjoyment of the night. “Anyway, now we’re home, there’s something I want to give you.”

“It’s the handcuffs from earlier isn’t it?” he guessed, genuinely unsure as to whether that would be a good thing or not.

“No, I think Selene took them,” she giggled, enjoying the look of horror that passed over Scott’s face before he shook his head to clear unwanted thoughts of what his little brother and best friend may or may not be up to at that moment.

Jumping up from the sofa, Cat grabbed a small box that she’d carefully stowed on the mantelpiece earlier, handing it to him carefully. “Happy Birthday Scott,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly before retaking her place on the sofa beside him.

“Thank you,” Scott beamed as he started to peel off the wrapping paper, taken by surprise by the gift. They had talked about it beforehand and he had assured her that spending the evening together would be more than enough for him to be happy, so this was completely unexpected.

Cat just smiled in reply, taking a sip of her drink as she anxiously waited for him to open it. Buying the man who had literally everything he could ever dream of something for his birthday was a task that she had hated every minute of and a tight knot formed in her stomach in case she had somehow got it wrong.

“It’s amazing,” Scott gushed, finally opening the lid of the box and pulling an antique pocket watch out of its satin bed to examine it better, running an appreciative finger over the ornate filigree on the back. “I absolutely love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Cat smiled, relief rushing through her as he went straight back to scrutinising his new toy. “But your present isn’t just the watch though, it’s really what the watch represents.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me there,” Scott admitted, a small frown appearing on his face as he looked up in surprise.

“Time,” Cat explained, her grin becoming wider as she became more confident in her choice. “From today, I’ve arranged for us to both have seven whole days off from our jobs. We’re going back to the island tomorrow but then what we do is absolutely up to you. We can stay there, come back here or do anything else that you might like.”

For once in his life, Scott was speechless, unable to think of any response other than to grab Cat and pull her into a tight hug. “How?” was all he could manage when he finally let her go. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“John and Selene helped me sort it out,” Cat explained. “He’s going to stay down and let EOS run Five while you’re away so there’s backup if needed.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “I don’t remember when I last had that amount of time off in one go.”

“That’s exactly what Selene said when I mentioned the idea to her,” Cat smiled, relaxing back against the cushions now that she knew her idea was a success.

“Do you think we really have to go back tomorrow though?” Scott wheedled, nuzzling into Cat’s neck, trying to hit all the spots that he knew usually made her putty in his hands. “Can we not just stay here for the whole week, order lots of pizza and be really antisocial?”

“Nice try,” she laughed, using all her strength to shove him off. “Selene and I are cooking you a birthday meal for all the family so yeah, you do kinda need to be there for that. But after that we can absolutely just chill out here if that’s what you'd like.”

“Spoilsport,” Scott grumbled goodnaturedly, his smile giving away his true feelings about the prospect of having all of his family around him for a meal not cooked by his grandma.

“Yep,” Cat agreed cheerfully. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Nothing probably,” he shrugged. “Too tired and full at the moment.”

“Thought as much,” she concurred, nestling in and resting her head on his chest.

Silence descended over them as they lay, lost in their own thoughts. Turning his watch over in his free hand, Scott was unable to stop himself from fiddling with the clasp, repeatedly opening and closing the case as a smile crept onto his lips, the evening replaying in his mind.

“Is it time for bed yet?” Cat yawned eventually, the adrenaline from making sure the night ran smoothly finally beginning to wear off.

“Let me check,” Scott grinned, opening the watch case once more and squinting at it. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.”

“C’mon then,” she decided as she pushed herself off the sofa, somehow finding the energy to help haul Scott upright from where he was almost horizontal on the cushions.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sleepily, draping an arm around her shoulder as they made their way towards the bedroom and some well-earned rest. “This has been the best birthday ever.”

[sophisticatedloserchick]

Fanfic - Eggnog Confessions - 1/1

Summary: On Christmas Eve Barry and Iris share a bottle of Grandma Esther's famous Eggnog which leads to secret feelings being confessed. Alternate take on Season 1.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1355

A/N: Finishing up some Christmas prompts! Hope everyone enjoys ;)

Barry felt dead tired when he got home after a night patrolling the city.

The cold winter nights slowed him down and being relatively new to having powers Barry struggled to navigate the changing weather. In one night alone he had slipped several times on icy patches and at one point lost control that had him careening through a group of carollers. He found it difficult to get the criminal underworld of Central City to take him seriously lately. He talked to Cisco about getting snow boots or a thermal lined suit but Cisco gave him a look of disgust and disappointment at the idea of adjusting his suit that Barry decided to suffer in silence this winter rather than bring it up again..

Back at his apartment Barry shed out of his suit into more comfortable sweatpants and faded CCU shirt. He went into the kitchen debating on making a frozen pizza or boxed macaroni to eat while he binged watched a documentary series of prehistoric insects. A typical single bachelor's night for him.

Going for the pizza because it was easier Barry popped it into the oven. While he waited his thoughts wandered back to a couple of days ago when he exchanged Christmas gifts with Iris. He allowed himself to submerge into the memories of how her dark brown eyes lit up when she saw the replication of her mother's ring. The smile that spread across her lips had made it all worth it. He loved nothing more than making Iris happy.

Their moment then apruptly ended by the appearance of Eddie.

After that Barry kept his distance for the next couple of days. Barry might be in love with Iris and wanted her to be with him, but he didn't exactly want to be a homewrecker. Though he couldn't deny giving Iris that ring had him dangerously close to crossing a line. Eddie's barely concealed look of disapproval when he interrupted then confirmed it.

Barry resolved that he needed to take a step back. He couldn't be making any moves with Iris while she dated Eddie. He needed to push those feelings down until the time was right to tell Iris how he felt. And he couldn't risk causing anymore rifts in their friendship.

At the same time his oven pinged letting him know the pizza had finished Barry heard a knock at the door.

Barry frowned in confusion since normally no one visited him at his apartment. Joe and Iris usually invited him to the West family home to see them. And he hadn't known Cisco and Caitlin long enough to have them over to his place.

Quickly taking the pizza out Barry sped over to the door to see who it could be.

“Hey Barry,” Iris greeted him when he opened the door.

Seeing her at his doorstep, right in front of him, made his heart ache. Her beauty not for the first time overwhelming him. Her dark brown eyes, and the sweet curve of her lips lifted in a smile when she saw him, snowflakes scattered across her black hair like stars in the night sky.

“Iris?” Barry stood there taken aback, “What are you doing here? Its nearly midnight.”

Iris bit down on her lower lip anxiously and he could see her brown eyes start to mist with emotion. You didn't have to be her best friend to see that something had upset her. Seeing her this way pulled at his heart and suddenly he didn't care how late was. All that mattered is that she came to here to see him.

“Come on in,” Barry opened the door wide to let her in. “I just made pizza if you want any.”

Iris gave him a grateful look as she entered his apartment. He noticed that she carried a small bag with her as she walked in.

“Whats that?” He nodded towards the bag.

With a sly smile Iris reached in to pull out a large glass bottle filled with a creamy white liquid.

“Grandma Ester's special eggnog. I was hoping we could have a bit of a drinking night?”

In no time the two of them had squeezed together on Barry's small couch. Alternating between eating slices of pizza and taking long swigs of Grandma Esther's thick and spicy eggnog. Barry found himself grateful for his healing powers because he'd forgotten the amount of rum in the recipe. Before his powers Barry would get smashed after drinking one mugful. With his powers he could enjoy the warmth that spread through his body without the fear of passing out drunk.

Iris on the other hand definetely became affected. He cheeks darken with a flush and her eyes became bright and glassy. She also struggled to keep sitting upright and in no time had to lean heavily into Barry's side. A different kind of heat spread through Barry's body at the feel of her soft curves pressed against him.

To distract himself from his increasingly naughty thoughts and stop him from embarrassing himself, Barry turned on the TV settling on a black and white version of 'A Christmas Carol'.

“This is nice,” Iris sighed happily as she snuggled in closer to Barry. “I really needed this.”

“Everything okay?” Barry allowed himself to rest his cheek on top of her head.

Iris went quiet for a long time after that. Barry worried she had fallen asleep and he'd be left struggling to figure out how to untangle himself from her.

“Eddie and I broke up,” Iris said quietly.

Barry's heart stopped at those words. Caught between feeling elation at having a chance with the girl he loved and sadness at her potentially having her heart broken.

“What happened?” Barry wrapped a arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

“He wanted me to move in with him,” Iris words slightly slurred the eggnog clearly having taken full affect, “But I couldn't...”

“Why not?” Barry asked feeling something twist in chest at her words.

Iris gave a half shrug before saying, “Because of you maybe. We got into a fight and he said you had feelings for me.”

Barry glanced down to see Iris's fingers were twisting around the thin gold chain of her necklace and touching the ring Barry had given her for Christmas.

“Oh...Really?” Barry tried to sound casual and unaffected but in reality his heart jack hammering in his chest. “That's crazy.”

“And it made me wonder,” Iris continued her words thick and sleepy. “Maybe he's right about your feelings...and my feelings for you too?”

Barry felt as though the whole world came to sudden stop at those words. Since he was twelve years old he hoped and imagined for the moment when Iris could confess her feelings for him. Though he had to admit he never thought it would happen after they had ate an entire pizza and drank far too much alcoholic eggnog while watching a Christmas movie on his cramped and nearly falling apart couch.

“Your feelings for me?” Barry finally choked out. “Iris what do you mean?”

When she didn't answer Barry turned slightly to look at her. Hoping to find some sort of answer in the expression of her face. To his great disappointment he found her fast asleep on his shoulder.

Just his rotten luck. Barry thought to himself, the girl of my dreams confessed her love to him then fell asleep.

But his bitterness over the situation didn't last long. They should probably talk things over when they were both sober. He rather Iris remember confessing her love for him. He resolved he wouldn't make the same mistake again. He wouldn't keep his feelings for Iris to himself and silently watch from the sidelines her date someone else.

But he'd still appreciate this moment as a small Christmas miracle given to him by Grandma Esther's eggnog. Barry glanced outside his window to see snow falling blanketing the city but inside his small apartment he felt nothing but warmth. Snuggled in close to Iris's side watching old Christmas movies had to be the best way to spend Christmas eve. And he had a feeling tomorrow's Christmas would be one to remember.

[captainseaweedbrains]

Everlark + 14 (though I like how 25 is actually just cribbed from the books ... I see you, OP)

So I finally got around to writing this! I hope you enjoy it and sorry about the wait! All mistakes are mine. :) 

Can also be read on Ao3: x

Prompt: “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”

Life under house arrest—“Stay at Home Order, Katniss,” Peeta always corrected whenever she referred to it as such, “We’re not under arrest for anything.”—Fine. Life under their state’s Stay at Home Order with Peeta was far from the worst-case scenario she could have concocted when the world went into lockdown mode. While she never foresaw her casual weekend-with-the-boyfriend trip turn from her usual two-day visit to an almost three-month visit, Katniss couldn’t complain. The tiny apartment was exploding with all types of baked goods—different breads from recipes Peeta’s dreamt of trying for years and finally had the time to “give them the attention they deserve,”; the sweets she’d randomly point to in his fancy cookbooks and challenge him to make for her; and their many attempts (and failures) at replicating what they saw while binging The Great British Bake Off on Netflix. She’d never been as well-fed in her life as she’d been at Peeta’s for the past three months and she loved it.

 Life was pretty good at Peeta’s. Great, actually. And despite the world crumbling around them and her anxiety taking a huge nosedive due to her fear of her mother and sister possibly contacting Co-vid while working their long hours at the hospital, Katniss couldn’t help feeling content here in their little nest of sweets they created.

On days where she finished with her classes on a good note, the apartment still smelling like fresh baked bread and coffee Peeta made that morning, Katniss would curl up on the couch, the soft blanket she kept at his place wrapped around her, and imagine this being their life always—Peeta painting out on the small balcony, humming to himself; Katniss writing at her desk inside, trying to figure out the notes to the tune in her head. Both subtly glancing at each other and smiling when they were caught (they always got caught). She imagined them walking hand-in-hand, after, to the pizza place around the block that sold the greasiest garlic knots known to man, pointing out the new window displays from the tiny shops as they went. Later, they’d return to their place and argue over what movie to watch until one of them caved, both knowing they’d end up tangled under the blankets, food and movie forgotten.

The image of them living together was comforting. It felt wonderful. Katniss couldn’t stop the silly grin on her face as she thought about it, thinking about how right it felt, living here with Peeta.

They’d only discussed living situations once, a few years back when Peeta got offered a position at an art museum in the city that was two hours away from their hometown. The offer was too good to pass up, they agreed. It’d be stupid not to take it. “It’s only two hours,” she reminded him when he still seemed unsure about the distance, her hands cupping his face, her body pressed against him in his lap. “Remember in college, when we were, like, 8 hours apart? Or when you studied abroad for a year in Italy for your Master’s program? We survived that and we’ll survive this.”

“Yeah, but those all had an end date,” he argued. “This is my career. There’s no end date in sight.”

“And there won’t be,” she reassured. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“But what about us?” he asked, his hands rubbing up and down her back. “I know it’s a couple hours, but with work and our everyday lives—we won’t see each other as often, especially when you get into musical season.”

“I’m not worried,” she said, kissing him on the forehead, her hands running through his curly hair. “We’ll make it work.”

And they did. They found him a cheap apartment in a small village where you walked everywhere for things you needed, music playing at almost every corner, the train station nearby for him to take into the city for work. They alternated months and weekends on who visited whom, Facetiming every night before dinner, before bed. It wasn’t ideal, and the weeks sometimes felt so long, the desire to feel his warm arms around her at night hitting her hard at times, but she always seemed to survive until the weekend, tackling him when she’d see him on Friday nights, throwing bags on the ground, squealing in glee when he’d pick her up and carry her inside, their lips locked together.

They’d been dating since junior year in high school, but everything still felt fresh and new, especially when he kissed her. Held her hand. She wasn’t sure if that lingering feeling of newness was because of the distance, though. Most of their years together had been living hours apart. If they moved in together, would that feeling go away? The few months living together didn’t seem to diminish the excited flutter she felt when he’d curl up next to her on the couch, or how happy she felt when he brought home things she had mentioned in passing, like needing more tampons or wishing she’d remembered to bring more hair ties, having misplaced the six she brought with her for her supposed two-day visit days into her Stay at Home Order stay. In fact, their government-mandated time together only seemed to further convince her that they could make living together work and still come out strong.

There was still a wiggle of doubt, though. Part of her worried maybe this was moving too fast, or that he was perfectly fine with their hours-apart living situation. Moving in together was a big deal. It was the step couples made before marriage. Was she ready for that? God, she wasn’t sure. Then there was her job to worry about, the kids she’s taught for years. What would her students do if she moved on, wasn’t their teacher anymore? Would they miss her?

Prim thought them moving in together was a great idea. “It’s about time,” her sister said during their weekly Facetime date. “Your relationship is a fourth grader, Katniss. A fourth grader,” she stressed. “I think that’s long enough to move in together.”

“I know, I know,” she said quietly, hoping Peeta couldn’t hear them from the front room. “But what about my job? This year I qualify for tenure and with the world turning to shit, job security is pretty important.”

“Please,” Prim scoffed. “I bet Rue can get you any choral position in the state. My girl’s got connections.”

Katniss gave her sister a look. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this, Primrose. I can’t just leave you and mom—my job!” She fiddled with the end of her braid. “My students need me. I can’t just leave that for a guy.”

“Do you honestly hear yourself? ‘For a guy,’” her sister mimicked. “Need I remind you that your and Peeta’s relationship is the same age as a fourth grader? God, I asked Rue to move in a month after knowing her. You two move way too slow.”

“So you think I should ask him?” Katniss wrapped her arms around her legs, tucking her knees under her chin. “Is it rude to ask if I can move in? It is his place.”

Prim rolled her eyes. “God, you two can be too much sometimes,” and with that, her sister hung up.

That was days ago and all Katniss kept thinking about was asking him. She thought of doing it in a cute way, like with her toothbrush or maybe joke about her needing space in his closet for her things, but she already kept half her belongings here. She had a toothbrush next to his and drawers for her socks and underwear. Peeta had always kept obvious space in the closet for her shirts and dress pants for when she came straight from work. Somehow without her realizing it, without the mandated Stay at Home Order, Katniss had already started moving in. Maybe Peeta was just waiting for her to mention it.

So later that day when she finished with her classes on Zoom and he came in from painting on the balcony, his hands still a bit sticky with orange acrylic paint, she pulled him down toward her, the couch far lower than his tall frame, making their angle awkward but she didn’t care. She kissed him, cupping his face in her hands, his cheeks warm from the early summer sun. When she finally let him go, she smiled and told him to sit, crawling into his lap when he did.

“I’m not complaining,” Peeta joked, his sticky paint hands leaving finger prints along her skin, “but what was that all about?”

“Let’s move in together,” Katniss told him softly, biting her bottom lip. “I want to live with you, Peeta, and not just while we’re under house arrest.”

Peeta’s smile could brighten any room and right now, it blinded her. “Stay at Home Order,” he jokingly corrected, rubbing a thumb along her cheek. “You’re really ready for that? To take that step with me?”

“I think I have been for awhile,” she confessed, leaning into his touch. “I want to live with you for always. Is that—is that okay with you?”

He laughed and pressed his forehead against hers. “That is perfectly fine with me, Katniss.”

[karasuno-writings]

66 prompt with oikawa plzzzz and female reader btw ^-^

Sure thing nonie! Thank you so much for the request!! This is a more wintery one!! I hope this is good and that you enjoy it!! Thank you for the request! I just noticed you asked for a female reader OH NO sorry let me fix this real quick.

“you’re sick and I feel bad because I’m pretty sure i gave it to you, so I bring you some of my great grandmother’s soup and watch movies with you”

_______________________________________

It was a beautiful winter day; the air was chilly and snow threatened to fall, granting the atmosphere a surreal grey aura that made everyone feel like it was the perfect day for taking a stroll fully covered in warm clothes, in which whenever you took a deep breath you could feel the holidays and general festivities come in closer with the joy that people brought in on the air. Too bad Y/N could not breath. 

Y/N blowed her nose once more, highlighting the ache that had begun to pester her after several box of tissues had been used and disposed off. She was covered in a bundle of blankets as she almost coughed a lung out. The day was perfect and now she was just miserable, specially since she was supposed to go out and meet her boyfriend, who indeed had a good share on the guilt on her current situation.Y/N grabbed her phone, she had to tell him that there had been a change of plans due to the sickness which now tormented her.

Y/N: We won’t be able to see each other today Toru 

Oikawa: Why love? Am I too much for you too handle?

Y/N: No silly, I actually can’t, I’m dead sick

Y/N: Also, you are pretty much at fault on this 

Oikawa: How dare you assume it’s my fault? 

Oikawa: Maybe I was just too irresistible with that cold 

Y/N: Oh yeah your runny red nose was far from gross

Oikawa: Are you feeling really bad?

Y/N: Yes, it sucks

Oikawa: Don’t worry, take a nap and I’ll be home soon Y/N-chan 

Oikawa: Take care while I come to the rescue my love

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Oikawa pouted as a shiver ran down his spine. He had once more forgotten to take care of himself, and had stayed perfecting his technique up until late at night. This would usually not prove to be a problem, however winter had come harsh, and the cold air of the night proved to be enough to get him sick.

Y/N wrapped a blanket around him as she placed a kiss on the top of his head. She had already scold him enough for the reckless actions that had gotten him into this, now Y/N took on the task to take care of him while he was on this miserable state.   

He sneezed, and all seriousness came back to him as he leaned on her arm. He knew this was all his doing, and Y/N being there for him was more than he could ever asked for. Y/N rubbed his back tenderly with her hand hand as she handed him chamomile tea with the other, steam puffs rising from the hot liquid. Oikawa raised both hands to cup the mug, gently blowing to cool it down. He coughed once more and then turned to look at her as Y/N smiled gently and he smiled back, he stared at her beautiful eyes full of love and then at her lips crooked barely upwards, he could only think about how much he wanted to kiss her.

“Don’t even think about it Tooru” she said lovingly, reading through his intentions. Oikawa pouted once more and glared at her. Y/N shook her head as she planted a kiss on his temple and handed him more tissues so he could blow his runny nose. 

“Thanks my love…not even a little one?” His smile was bright and sincere, still he looked sick, and his red nose was reason enough for Y/N to scrunch her face up and scoot farther away. Oikawa however had other plans as he knew what her reaction was going to be. His hands cupped her cheeks and he planted soft kisses all over her face, on her cheeks, on her forehead and nose, being cautious to not kiss Y/N on the lips; as as much as he needed to shower her in love he did not want to get them sick after all she had done for him. 

As Y/N hugged him to get him to stay still he stopped, burying his head on her neck and wrapping his arms around her waist. He coughed lightly and grunted as he felt his head throb, being sick absolutely sucked, but having Y/N by his side made everything better. He turned around as he heard her turn the television on, ready to watch their favorite movies.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Oikawa knew this was indeed his fault, he would not hold back on his affection while sick, so now Y/N suffered the consequences. He stared at the now black screen of his phone, lost deep in thought, he wanted them to to feel better and take care of Y/N. Be there for her just like she had been for him. What would he do?

“Quit making that face Trashykawa, it makes you look silly” Iwaizumi scolded the setter as they sat outside the volleyball court. Oikawa turned to look at him, clearly surprised by the harsh comment, still he furrowed his brows once more but now staring at his friend. It got him thinking of how whenever Iwaizumi got sick when they were little, Oikawa’s mom always gave him a container full of his grandma’s soup to give his friend, it was a special recipe made only for the sick, guaranteed to make them feel better. 

“Oi! That’s even worse!” Iwaizumi complained as Oikawa kept staring at him without uttering a word. Oikawa didn’t reply and instead smirked and stood up from the steps, his mind was set on getting the recipe, and while his mother was out of town he was going to try to replicate it for Y/N. He left without saying a word, leaving Iwaizumi wildly confused, however with Oikawa one never knew exactly what to expect so he just shrugged it off and set on his way home.

He had called his mom to get the recipe, she was delighted to hear that his little boy was taking up on family traditions, and even more so when he told her it was to take care of the delightful Y/N. As soon as she handed him the information he needed it was time to work. Tooru had few to no experience with cooking, but if he followed the recipe step by step he was sure to get there. He abysmally failed the first time, a new fire of determination growing within him, he was not going to give up on the task he had put on himself, he was set to deliver to Y/N.

Hours passed on quickly and now Oikawa stood in the middle of the kitchen, he ran a hand over his forehead to wipe off the sweat that had begun building up due to the heat that plagued the room thanks to the cozy fire on the stovetop. He let out a pleased sigh at his creation, the smell was practically irresistible and while he had struggled a lot to get to this result he was sure Y/N would love the soup he made for her. After four different attempts, this was it.

Y/N sulked on her bedroom which was dark aside from the faint glow that the television granted. Tooru had probably got stuck on practice because he was not happy with his technique, polishing what to her was already perfect. She was supportive of her boyfriend, but it would have been nice to have him around keeping her company. Their lock-screen flashed as her phone announced the hour, a picture of the two of them reflected on Y/N’s eyes and with one sad glance she flipped it face-down.

Oikawa however stood outside Y/N’s house, holding his bag tightly to his coat so it wouldn’t get cold. He sure had not noticed how late it had gotten while he was cooking, but he hoped she were still awake, the night proved to be colder than expected and she was surely in need of warmth. He unlocked the door with the copy of the key Y/N had given him and walked over to her room, following the faint glow and the sound of whatever show she had decided to watch.

“Your rescue is here Y/N, and I have with me the best soup for my sick love!” He announced as he walked into her room. Y/N looked away from the TV sniffing due to the sickness that seemed to give her no break. As he turned the light on her eyes started glowing once more, she was not expecting him and his sudden appearance immediately seemed to make everything better. 

“I thought you forgot” Y/N said, sadness apparent on her tone of voice. Oikawa left the container on the nightstand and hugged her, planting a soft kiss on her head. “I would never…was actually making something for you…It did take longer than expected.” He moved the nightstand closer to them and sat cross-legged next to her.

“This is my nana’s recipe, guaranteed to make you feel better in no time, best part? I did it all by myself” He stated proudly as he grabbed a spoon from his backpack and handed it to her, just after he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around Y/N’s shoulders. 

Y/N got teary eyed, she knew that Oikawa was no cook and now everything made so much sense; he had spent all this time working hard to make something just for her. She cuddled closer to her boyfriend, a small smile spreading on her lips, this proved to be the start of a lovely relaxing night as her boyfriend took care of them in a way he only knew how. She took a spoonful of the soup and was delighted by the taste, proving to warm their inside as much as Oikawa had warmed her heart. 

“Tooru…I love you, thanks”

“I love you more Y/N, I’d do anything for my love”

“It’s a good thing you now know how to cook”

[love-carries-on]

Love Carries On: Chapter VI

Virgil woke up, and immediately jumped up; today was the day, Logan’ birthday. five months of hard work, five months of life changing progress and now today was the day that Logan should get to relax. Virgil sat up out of bed and scrambled around until he found his hoodie, a gift from Roman. He pulled it on, his perpetually cold body reassured in the added protection of the jacket. He pushed his hair out of his face before heading out into the living room.

The living room was entirely empty, which was to be expected. His boyfriends always liked to go really big on celebrations, birthdays, holidays, any chance they got to be extra they’d take. Logan had presumably been kicked out of the house until the party and the rest of them were probably in the kitchen preparing something akin to a feast.

Virgil smiled to himself as he walked into the kitchen to find Roman and Patton in matching flowered aprons. Patton was furiously stirring some type of batter, while Roman was building layers of something in a pan. Diego was nowhere to be found. He walked up to Roman and tapped him sharply on the shoulder, he received on finger held up to him, give me a sec.

After a few minutes of working and arranging, Roman turned around. What’s up Virge? He leaned forward, raising his eyebrow in a questioning way.

Where’s D? Virgil responded in likewise, his own question granting an eyebrow raise.

We sent him to the store so that he could get decorations and candles. He shrugged at the end of the statement, his eyebrows relaxing as he switched out of the question asking zone.

By himself? It was less a question and more an anxious and panicked statement.

No! Logan went with, as did Stella. Roman was surprisingly nonchalant, and his eyes were already wandering back to the pan full of food. He just wanted to cook with Patton and not be bothered by all these questions about where and who.

Virgil rolled his eyes before walking away. He couldn’t do anything right now, Logan and Diego were already gone, and he wasn’t a very good cook, or at least not Roman and Patton’s level. A brief thought of him helping Logan and D set up decorations shot through his mind and he nodded to himself in agreement. Seeing as there wasn’t much else to do, he settled himself on the couch and put on a documentary.

As much as he poked fun at Logan for liking documentaries, he liked them a lot as well, it didn’t require him to use his imagination and to understand what type of tone the narrator, or in the case of a lot of movies, character, might be using because they were just relaying factual information. It was comforting to read the subtitles and feel like he understood exactly what was going on.

Today’s documentary was on World War One, it seemed to be centered around one specific battle, but Virgil was just sort of watching the pictures on screen and halfway reading the words. It was comforting, to hang out and not have to do anything just yet. The black and white photography was just boring enough for his brain to focus on other things. He found himself pondering who’s car the boys had taken, what Roman was making, what Patton was making, how Stella was doing. His mind just drifted around, and it was comforting to drift, nothing to focus on, just allowing his mind to think and know things.

He spent what felt like hours doing that, but it was barely half an hour before the door opened and Logan and Diego came in. He didn’t hear the door of course, but he did feel the tap on the shoulder from Logan and he turned around to see them both standing there, bags in their hands.

“Want to help decorate?” Diego spoke slowly, allowing Virgil to read his lips.

Yes. He signed it, a quick knocking movement, before getting up off of the couch to help them put things away.

They set the bags on the table, and inside Virgil found an assortment of party goods, hats, banners and streamers, candles, a few bags for gift wrapping (which Virgil needed because he’d been hiding Logan’s present for months and now he needed a bag to put it in). He was impressed that they had managed to remember all of this, of course since Logan went along, it shouldn’t have surprised him at all.

He shot Diego a quick few signs, asking him if there was a plan. And when Diego explained to him that there wasn’t a plan, he was almost delighted. Virgil had been told almost all of his life that he had an eye for design, and even if that was something of a hidden talent, he thoroughly enjoyed designing things. He grabbed the streamers, (blue and silver) and started to layout in his head where he wanted everything to go. He dug around in the bag until he found a roll of tape. He grabbed a chair from the table and climbed up on it.

Then he paused, suddenly remembering the banner that said ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. He snapped to get Diego’s attention, pointing at the banner on the table, and wordlessly, he handed it to him. Virgil took a step back and looked at the arch, careful not to fall off of the chair, trying to figure out where the banner would have to go to be centered. He nodded his head unconsciously before turning back and snapping again. Diego looked up, and he signed for him to get Logan’s attention.

Logan was the tallest of his boyfriends, and he needed him to hold the banner while he ripped the tape to hold it in place. After Diego explained to him what Virgil needed, Logan came over to stand by him. Virgil guided his hand to where he needed it to be, before letting go so that he could tear the tape. He tore several smaller pieces, so that he could stabilize it, before pulling a long piece to put over the rest. Then, he pulled on the shoulder of Logan’s button up, trying to get him to move around to the other side. After a few seconds of being yanked on, he understood what he wanted, and after accidentally running into the chair that Virgil was standing on, he eventually made his way over to the other side. Once again, Virgil guided his hand into position before taping the other side of the banner in place.

As soon as he was done, he patted Logan on the head in thanks, and grabbed the roll of streamers off of the table. The blue roll was the one he had originally had in his hand, and now that the banner was up, he could see it that much clearer. He ripped off a piece of tape, and stuck just a little bit of it to the wall where he wanted the streamer to be. Then, he placed the streamer, before smoothing the tape over it.

Virgil turned around where he was, reaching out to grab the scissors off of the table as well. He cut the streamer and then stuck them into his pocket so that he’d have them on hand. He stuck the other end of the streamer centered in the middle of the banner. Then, he put the blue streamers in his other pocket to replicate the design with the silver streamers.

It didn’t take long for him to have every archway leading into the dining room decorated with streamers. Some of them were branched across the archway, while others hung down in colorful representations of celebration. He got down off of the chair, and turned it back to face the table, as he finished the archway leading into the kitchen. Then, he pushed it back, before turning away so that he could set all of the things out of his pocket on the buffet table in the corner.

He smiled, satisfied with himself, before going back over to the table and putting on one of the party hats. There were several of them, in a variety of colors, and he was glad to see a dark blue one, which was close enough to his favorite color, purple. He settled it on his head, wincing slightly when the elastic band snapped his chin. He took the empty bags off of the table, and put them in the bag bag.

Diego snuck up behind him, and grabbed (not surprisingly) the yellow party hat. Then, he tapped Virgil on the shoulder.

It looks so cool in here! He smiled brightly, his eyes wide and almost amazed looking.

Thank you. He smiled just as brightly, before sitting down at the table to rest. Are Roman and Patton almost done? It was more of a curious question than a pointed one, and he tried hard to convey that by keeping his expression more surprised like rather than questioning.

Patton is waiting for the cake to cool so that he can put the icing on it.

Nice, what flavor? He knew that Logan didn’t like overly sweet flavors.

Marbled perhaps? I didn’t get a good look at it. He shrugged at the end of the statement, sitting down next to Virgil.

Eventually they were joined by Logan, who after having a conversation that Virgil couldn’t quite keep up with, was handed the silver party hat. He settled it on his own head, before leaning back in his chair and presumably turning his attention to Stella on the floor.

Meanwhile, Patton was adding the finishing touches to Logan’s cake. He had made a lemon cake, allowing for the frosting to be more icing like than anything, and it was decorated with candied lemon slices and pretty yellow flowers. He had written ‘Happy Birthday Logan’ in flowing Silver writing to finish it off. It was one of the only times his handwriting would ever look good.

Roman on the other hand, was just putting the finishing touches on his vegetarian lasagna. He sprinkled the cheese on top of it, before popping it back in the oven. He was very proud of this recipe, a mixture of mushrooms and black beans to create something akin to a meat texture (despite his other boyfriends’ embrace of the vegetarian life, he still indulged in meat every so often). As the cheese was melting, he stirred a little bit of ranch into the mashed potatoes, adding a little more creaminess to the dish. He also reached out to stir the pot of corn so that it wouldn’t burn.

Soon, the cheese had melted, and with a little bit of help from Diego, they carried all of the food out to the table. The festivities were in full swing, they all talked and laughed over dinner; they told stories about Logan, poking fun at him, reminding them all of his greatest days. It was exactly what a great birthday should be.

While they were chatting, Roman had dished up dinner, and now that it was on everyone’s plate, they all quieted down so they could eat. Patton took a bite of the lasagna and immediately his stomach turned, it was slimy, some of the filling was, the texture of what he could only guess was beans and maybe even mushrooms. His heart lurched, he had to forcibly grab the edge of the table to actually swallow down the bite had taken. He caught Virgil’s eye with a pleading look.

Virgil watched as Patton set his fork down and looked down at the ground, he had grabbed the table very tightly, before shooting him a pleading look. Virgil knocked on the table to get Roman’s attention. Ask Pat what’s wrong. His look was just as pleading.

“Pat, are you okay?” He turned to him, to see him hunched slightly over his plate, his knuckles white as he gripped the table.

“I’m fine.” He choked on his words, his gag reflex involuntarily reacting to what he had eaten. His mind was racing with the feeling the texture left behind, his mind blooming with all of the things the texture reminded him of, mud and snails and raw meat.

“Are you sure? You can tell me if something is wrong Patton.” Roman kept his voice as quiet as he could, maybe all the noise had upset him, or something had been said that startled him.

He started to cry as his mind almost hyper fixated on the taste in his mouth and the texture it represented and all the things that texture represented, his mind ran circles around it as tears streamed down his face. Not quiet, unfocused crying, but audible sobs and whimpers.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine.” He murmured over and over again, pushing the plate away from him in an actual show of what was wrong.

Roman felt a flame of something like anger, and he didn’t know why, but he was mad at Patton. He had worked so hard, had done everything he was supposed to, didn’t use meat because Virgil was vegetarian, didn’t make anything overly sweet because Logan didn’t like sweet, didn’t make any of the dishes that Diego had specified so he wouldn’t cause a switch in him, he had done everything and now this.

“Well if you don’t like it Patton you can just not eat it.” Something that could be said with a warm and caring tone, something that should be said with a warm and caring tone, was full of malice and bitterness. “I worked hard to make something good and if you don’t like it I’m sorry.” He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in anger as he sat back down. Stupid Patton, why can’t you just like it, there’s nothing wrong with my cooking, you’re overreacting. It wasn’t that bad I tried it too, no one else seems bothered by it.

It reminded Patton of when his mother would get mad at him and send him to his room. And in his mind's eye, it was one and the same, Roman was his mother, hissing cruelly at him in french and sending him to his room for causing a problem at the dinner table. Despite the fact that Roman hadn't said it, he could still hear 'go away, go to your room.' in his voice. He got up, and fled from the table, moving as quick as he could without running, tears still streaming from his eyes

[hope-for-olicity]

Hope for the Holidays 1/?

Happy Holidays Everyone! I’d like to dedicate this story to all those who have taken the time to read my stories - I’m so grateful!  I hope you enjoy this AU where Felicity and Oliver meet over the holidays when they find love right next door. Thanks so much to @mel-loves-all​ for the lovely edit. Also available on AO3.

1. There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays

“Grr Argh. This is never going to work.” Felicity placed her head on her desk next to her laptop.

“No need to get dramatic, it worked once and it will work again.” Felicity’s best friend and business partner was always best at reassuring her. 

“It worked once! And it’s in my spine! One time and I can’t replicate it with the updates. It’s like my brain can’t process the code. Which is impossible because it’s MY BRAIN!”

“Okay,” Caitlin looked at her phone. “It’s now almost seven o’clock I think we should call it a day. We aren’t going to solve it tonight and I promised Emma I’d read her a bedtime story tonight.”

“Of course! Go home! Emma should have her story. I’ll just…”

“Go home. Walk out the door with me. Because, Felicity my darling friend that is what you are doing. There is a nice box of food at your house to cook. Remember you signed up for one of those ingredient meal boxes? You will go home cook yourself a nice meal, get a good nights sleep and tomorrow we will drink all the coffee and solve this. Okay?” 

Felicity laughed. She loved her best friend, she knew Caitlin was right, they needed a break and a little self-care. Maybe then her ginormous brain would start computing again. 

~~~~~

As Felicity walked home as light snow began to fall. She smiled. She always loved this time of year, it felt like there was magic in the air. The twinkle lights, the smells of holiday food and the feeling of anticipation in the air just brought her joy. She always wished she had someone to share it with.

Yes, she had friends, amazing friends but they were busy with their own growing families. Her mother recently remarried, she was staying put in Vegas with her new husband instead fo joining Felicity for Hanukkah. 

So this would be a quiet holiday season for her. She did get invitations for parties but they felt a little like pity invites. She would light her menorah alone this year without her mother’s fabulous food. She knew she would especially miss the Sufganiyot, jelly donuts. 

This was definitely the time of year that shone a spotlight on the fact she was alone. Her mother was always encouraging her to date but after her last boyfriend, Cooper, work seemed safer. Oh well, maybe next year.

As she approached her apartment building she decided to shake off the pity party, brought on my hunger she was sure. She was going to cook a good meal and watch a holiday movie, it would be sure to cheer her up.

~~~~~

Oliver Queen looked around his new digs. He had been working at the Queen Consolidated London office for the past couple of years but would be officially transferring home at the start of the year. His little sister found him this condo to rent and he had to say he was pretty impressed. 

The main floor was a wide-open space with a wall of window, he liked the open concept for the living room and kitchen. He smiled as he noticed the built-in fireplaces at either end, so Thea, she was always cold. He looked up noticing the high ceilings, before turning to see the steps that up to the bedrooms, he’d head up there in a moment, first he had a phone call to make.

“Do you love it? Because if you don’t love it, I do and it’s mine,” She answered, Oliver swore she was smiling.

“Woah, I do love it and it’s mine BUT you are welcome to visit and warm yourself by the fireplaceS any time. In fact,” Oliver walked over and took a seat in the lovely comfy leather coach Thea picked. “If you want to come over tonight we can order pizza and catch up?”

“Umm, I’d love to but I kind of have a, I’m meeting this new guy, I’m…”

“It’s okay if you have a date, Thea. I know you are an adult and you date now. But remember if he hurts you, I’ll kill him.” Oliver used his sternest voice to make sure Thea understood.

“Very funny. I promise I’ll come by tomorrow after work. Maybe we can have pizza then? Do you like the furniture?”

“I love everything I’ve seen so far. I’m sure it’s great Thea. Thanks so much for setting this place up. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

“Bring coffee, please!”

“I promise not to show up empty-handed.” Oliver chuckled before saying goodbye to his sister.

He was glad she was dating. Oliver had gotten to the point in life where most of his friends were married with children. He met many lovely women in London, but not the one. Much to his mother’s relief he knew. Maybe now that he was back stateside…

~~~~~

Felicity placed all the ingredients from the box on the counter and began reading the recipe instructions, she could do this. It would be like building a computer. Just follow the directions. Always a good idea to give yourself a pep talk.

She read and followed the directions for the casserole. It kind of looked like the picture, success! See, she could cook. She put the dish in the preheated oven and set the timer. She sat down and hit play on her movie while she waiting for her supper to cook. 

It wasn’t long before there was a strong burning smell and smoke began to fill the room, followed quickly by a loud beeping smoke alarm. “Oh no! Oh no!!!” Felicity rushed to the kitchen, grabbed her oven mitts, before opening the oven to get a full face of smoke which then revealed a severely burned and beyond edible casserole. Oh no! Felicity had tears in her eyes, what did she do wrong?

She didn’t have much time to contemplate as she heard banging on her door, which was impressive over the loud beeping of the smoke detector.  She rushed to the door, stubbing her toe on the way. “Frack, frack, frack, FRACK!” 

Felicity was hopping on one foot by the time she reached the door. Without looking through the peephole she threw the door open. 

Everything stopped. The man in front of her looked like some guy from the superhero movies and shows she loved. Chiselled jaw, perfect scruff, piercing blue eyes, talk, broad…..perfect. “Are you here to save me?” She wondered.

“Why yes, I am. Are you okay? Can I come in?” The man looked down at her. Apparently, she hadn’t just wondered if he was there to save her, she’d said it out loud.

“Here let me help you,” He leaned forward so she could lean on him. “Is there a fire?” 

“No! I just burned…” Felicity grumbled. “Burned my supper.” She looked down ashamed.

The man helped her to the couch. Her toe had stopped hurting at least. “Here, you stay put. I’m going to go deal with the smoke detector and open a window”

Felicity watched the attractive man walked through her condo. She didn’t even know his name but she felt like she could trust him. The beeping stopped. He walked back in the open area kitchen/living room.

“I opened the small window in the back, that should help a bit and I disabled the smoke detector until the smoke clears.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much for your help. Who are you?”

“Aww, sorry, I’m Oliver Queen, your new neighbour. I heard the smoke detector and was worried.”

“Nice to meet you Oliver Queen, I’m Felicity Smoak.” Felicity began to stand up from the couch. 

“Oh no, sit down!” He walked toward her.

“No worries, I just stubbed my toe on the way to the door. I’ll live. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I promise this won’t be a regular thing. I guess I learned my lesson.” Felicity looked over at the burned casserole on the counter.

“Hey, it happens to the best of us.”

“Yes, I hoped that this time I would be a success, I followed the instructions, set a timer.” Felicity didn’t know why but she didn’t want this man to see her as a failure.

Oliver walked into the kitchen and held up the timer. “I think I spy the culprit.” He held up a cute chicken timer. It had not moved from the time set. “Faulty timer.”

“Oh.” Felicity smiled, it wasn’t her fault. She should have used her phone, it was just the timer was so cute she had to buy it and this was her first chance to put it to use. 

~~~~~

Oliver put the timer down on the counter, made his way back to Felicity. He didn’t why he was suddenly nervous. He didn’t get nervous but there was something about this woman. The moment he saw her he wanted to protect her. 

He noticed she was smaller than him, specifically in height, but he sensed a strength within her. He knew there was far more to her than she appeared. She was beautiful, with curly blonde hair, glasses and what he was sure was the perfect pout. She looked familiar, her name was also a little familiar. Uh oh. Had they met before? “This is going to sound awful. But have we met before?”

Felicity shook her head vehemently. “Trust me I’d remember. Your name does sound familiar to me. Are you related to Thea Queen? The family that owns Queen Consolidated?”

“Yes! She’s my sister. I also work at Queen Consolidated. Just moving back from our London office.” Oliver began connecting the dots together. “You’re Felicity Smoak! The tech genius that’s going to make people walk again. I can’t believe it’s really you!”

“Wow. I can’t believe you know who I am and yes, I am working on the biostimulant to help people walk. So far there is only one working in existence but I hope to create more soon.” Felicity looked down for a moment before looking back at him. “Thea speaks so highly of you. So strange she didn’t tell me you were coming back. My company Smoak Tech works with Queen Consolidated on projects. In fact, I think I have a meeting at Queen Consolidated tomorrow.”

“Well, I hope you do. It would be nice to see you again.” Nice to see you again? As if he wasn’t standing in the room with her right now. Man, had he left his game on the other side of the Pond?

“My meeting is with Thea but you never know.” Felicity smiled. 

“Let me fix your smoke detector now,” Oliver headed across the room, fixed the smoke detector before walking back to the door. Well, I’d better head back. I’m glad you are okay. It was nice to meet you, Felicity.”

“Thanks for stopping by, coming to my rescue. It was nice to meet you too, Oliver Queen.”

“Night.” Oliver pushed the door shut behind him. Oh, he would make sure he was in the meeting with Thea and Felicity tomorrow. 

Thanks so much for reading! More to come soon!!

I’m tagging people who might be interested. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or untagged: @memcjo​ @stephswims​ @julieofrandomfandoms​ @mel-loves-all​ @cruzrogue​ @laurabelle2930​ @lucyyh​ @green-arrows-of-karamel​ @oliverfel4​ @tdgal1​ @tangled23works​ @lageniuswannabe​ @swordandarrow​ @it-was-a-red-heeler​ 

[hookedonapirate]

A Glimmer of Hope

Banner by: @resident-of-storybrooke. Thank you so much for making this, Tori! You are the sweetest!

Summary: Killian returns home from visiting his brother, looking forward to asking a question that will change his life. That day, his life is indeed changed. Just not in the way he expected.

A/N: This ended up being really long, but there was not a good place to split it up, so here's the last chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

Rated: M for violence, language and smut

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2  I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6

Also on: A03 I FF.N

Chapter 7

Cake flour, unsweetened cocoa powder, butter and oil, eggs, buttermilk, red food coloring. These are just a handful of the ingredients he needs to make the perfect red velvet cake. The perfect red velvet cake Mary Margaret has been kind enough to help him make. He’s never made a cake before, so she gave him her recipe and offered to come over and help him with it. But he was determined to make it himself, so he took down several notes as she explained the specific techniques she uses, like how she separates the egg whites and whips them before folding the whites into the batter, and how she uses both butter and oil for a moist, soft, cakey texture, and a buttery flavor. She also explained how to make the frosting that pairs nicely with red velvet cake—cream cheese frosting. She told him to add a pinch of salt to offset the sweetness and to chill the frosting for twenty minutes so it will hold its shape before he slathers the white sugary goodness on the cake. He also watched several cake-making tutorials on YouTube to see how cakes are put together. 

 When the cake is finished, it looks nowhere near perfect, and he’s sure it doesn’t taste nearly as good as Mary Margaret’s, but he sure as hell tried. While the cake is setting in the refrigerator, he cooks the lasagna, another recipe Mary Margaret had gladly handed over to him. She even gave him some fresh tomatoes she picked from her own garden for the sauce, which he found out is her secret ingredient. Fresh garden tomatoes. Who would have thought that would make a huge difference, but it really does. And now Killian gets to replicate it. Okay, maybe not exactly, but he’s sure it will be a close second.

 So, why did the lasagna have to perfect, or at least close to perfect? Why did he want to use Mary Margaret’s fresh garden tomatoes to replicate the best lasagna dish that ever existed? And why did he need the cake to be perfect? Why did the cake have to be red velvet, why did it have to have the perfect, light, soft-crumbled texture, why did the frosting have to be silky and sweet, but not too sweet? Why did he have to combine the perfect dinner dish with the perfect cake? Why did he have to go to the jewelry store and pick out the perfect piece of jewelry? Why did the apartment have to be neat and tidy, and why did he have to be so finicky about his outfit for the evening, even though he’s not dressed up per se, but wearing his best pair of jeans and his red dress shirt with a black vest? Why was he so nervous about tonight? 

 Easy. It’s his best friend’s birthday. And he wants tonight to be perfect. Hence, he made her favorite dish, baked her favorite cake, and he picked out a bracelet that fits her style perfectly. He did all of these things because she is perfect. The perfect roommate, the perfect best friend, the perfect woman. She told him not to make a fuss about her birthday and that she just wanted to come home and relax after a long day at work, so he decided to throw a party of two. He knows she won’t mind if it’s just the two of them.

 He and Emma have been roommates and best friends for six months. Six. Amazing. Months. The decision to move in together was easy. They both needed a place to live and they had both agreed to remain friends since they didn’t want to be each other’s rebound. That would have been an ugly situation, and Killian didn’t want to take advantage of Emma. It’s the very last thing he wanted to do. So he settled on being friends. Okay, settled is not the appropriate word. He thoroughly enjoys their friendship. 

 They talk about everything and do everything together; they go out to lunch and go shopping together. They share the chores around the apartment, they cook together, they’ve spent many nights binge-watching t.v. shows and having movie marathons on the sofa together. Some nights, they even share a bed together, but it took Killian a few months to trust himself enough to not molest Emma in her sleep after the whole incident at her brother’s place. 

 He’s surprised he never received a fist in the face from David for that. He’s also surprised the Nolans forgave him when they learned Emma and Killian actually met the day they agreed to let him stay at their place. But they couldn’t blame him because he’d told Emma he didn’t want to impose on them, and she was too stubborn to listen. He doesn’t blame her though because she was trying to help him. And he’ll appreciate that gesture until the day he dies. 

 When neither of them is working, he and Emma are inseparable. The only things they haven’t done together is shower and engage in other enjoyable activities in bed, but he’s totally okay with that. He’s completely in love with his best friend, but that’s neither here nor there. He’s not about to fuck up what they have by admitting his feelings to her, because what they have is too damn good.

 Killian grabs two oven mitts and takes the pan of lasagna out of the oven once it’s done. The cheese is bubbling as he sets the pan on the counter. He inhales through his nose, taking in the delicious aromas of fresh tomato sauce, Italian sausage and a mixture of different types of cheeses. If it tastes half as good it looks and smells then he’ll be extremely happy. 

 He’s smiling in success as he hears keys jingling outside the apartment and the sound of the door opening. He pulls off the mitts, setting them on the counter and strides across the kitchen to meet Emma at the door.

 When she steps inside, she looks completely drained from working at the station. She immediately pulls off her boots and when she rises, he can see the tiredness in her jaded, green eyes, which seem to spark to life when she catches a whiff of the lasagna, a weak smile pulling at her lips. 

 “You made lasagna?” 

 “I did.” He graces her with a warm smile and leans in, kissing her on the cheek. “Happy birthday Emma.”

 Her smile widens and she draws him into a hug, their arms wrapping around one another. “You know you didn’t have to, right?”

 Killian chuckles against her, murmuring in her ear. “I knew you would say that. I also knew I didn’t have to. I wanted to.”

 She squeezes him tightly, and he groans playfully, pretending to be squeezed to death. She laughs and swats him playfully. “Thank you, Killian.”

 He pulls his lips away from her ear to face her, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re welcome, love.” He lifts his head to press a kiss to her forehead. “Now go and get dressed into something comfortable. You look beat.”

 Emma smiles as they pull away, and she lowers her gaze, taking in his outfit before returning her eyes to his. “But if I wore something comfortable, I’d be in my PJs. And you’re all dressed up, I’d feel underdressed, but honestly my PJs sound so good.”

 He chuckles. “Love, you are not allowed to eat your birthday dinner in anything other than your PJs. How does that sound?”

 Emma laughs and doesn’t seem to be opposed. “Sounds perfect.”

 “Good, now go before I eat all the lasagna myself,” he teases.

 She starts making her way past him. “I’m going,” she says and spins around when she’s halfway across the room, pointing a finger as she continues to walk toward her bedroom. “Don’t you dare start without me,” she warns with a big smile.

 He smirks playfully, his eyes flashing with a bit of mischief. “I would never dream of starting anything without you.”

 “Good.” She turns around again and disappears into the hall.

 Killian goes into the kitchen and grabs two plates and a spatula, dishing out the lasagna. He takes the food to the coffee table and returns to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He sits on the couch, lighting some candles, and he’s filling the glasses with wine when Emma appears in the room, donning a frail smile.

 She looks absolutely stunning.

 She’s wearing a pale pink tank top and a pair of white pajama shorts with pink hearts, her long, golden curls spilling over her shoulders as she plops down on the couch next to him, her eyes widening as she takes in the view of the lasagna, the wine and the candles. “Wow, I really feel underdressed now.”

 He sets down the wine bottle and turns his head toward her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple. “You look perfect.”

 Emma’s blushing as he pulls away. “Thanks.” She gazes at him wistfully, and her eyes start to well up with tears. She looks like she might cry as her eyes return to the display on the coffee table. “Thank you, Killian, this is so great.”

 “This is just the beginning, love.”

 She lifts a thin brow in bewilderment. “There’s more?”

 Killian chuckles and leaves the room to retrieve the gift he got for her. He was going to wait until after dinner, but now’s as good a time as any. A minute later, he’s reclaiming his spot next to Emma as he hands her the gift.

 Her eyes widen as she sees the rectangular-shaped gift encased in gold wrapping paper. “Did you wrap this yourself?”

 He nods. “Aye.” He smirks and holds up his hands. “You’d be surprised what I can do with these hands.”

 Killian notices the light tint of pink in her cheeks and a hint of a smirk on her lips, as though she wouldn’t mind finding out what exactly what he’s capable of doing with those hands. She carefully peels the wrapping paper away, not wanting to ruin the beautiful wrapping paper. She opens the slim black box to find the beautiful, silver charm bracelet inside. Her eyes widen, a gasp leaving her lips as she takes the bracelet out of the box, fingering the different charms. 

 Emma laughs once she realized what he’s done. “Each charm fits my style.”

 He grins, “Aye, it has all your favorite things.”

 He had chosen each charm specifically to mirror her tastes. A buttercup, which is her favorite flower, a horse, her favorite animal and a pair of Uggs, which are her favorite type of boots. The bracelet has a Volkswagen bug for the vehicle she drives, a deputy badge for her new job and a swan for her last name. It also has a heart-shaped charm inscribed with her name. But his favorite charm is the one she’s currently looking at, her thumb brushing over it. A tear slides down her cheek. “You included our friendship…”

 Killian’s heart flutters. He loves that she noticed what the pair of hands holding onto one another meant. It symbolizes their friendship, and Emma only had to glance at it to know that. “Aye, love, I did. How could I forget such an important aspect of your life?” he asks playfully, hoping she agrees.

 Emma laughs. “No, we can’t forget that.” She leans her head on his shoulder, her voice more sincere. “Our friendship is really important to me. Thank you for this. It’s beautiful.” She peels her eyes away from the charm bracelet and leans in, kissing his cheek. Her lips are soft against his skin as she lingers a bit longer than he’d expected. She pulls away and drapes the bracelet around her wrist. 

 He helps her with the clasp and brings her wrist to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss there. “You’re beautiful.”

 Her cheeks tinge with blush, a bright smile curving her lips, as she playfully swats his shoulder. “Stop, you’re making me blush.”

 He cocks a brow, smirking vibrantly. “I fail to see the problem. It’s a good look on you.”

 She laughs and cups her cheeks in her hands to hide them. “You’re making it worse.”

 “Still don’t see the problem, love.”

 She shakes her head, still smiling as she leans over, grabbing her plate of lasagna. “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

 He retrieves the other plate from the coffee table, and the room grows silent for a moment, apart from the noises she makes while she eats. “Mmmmm.” 

 A hint of a smile plays at his lips. He enjoys watching her as she enjoys the food he made her. Several mmmms later, he finally asks, “I take it you like the lasagna?”

 She nods and swallows the food in her mouth with a sip of wine. “Are you kidding? It’s sooo good, it tastes like Mary Margert’s lasagna, maybe even a little better.”

 Killian smirks against the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. 

 Emma turns her head, eyes narrowed at him. “Did she help you make this?”

 He swallows the liquid in his mouth and nods. “Aye. She gave me the recipe and  her garden tomatoes.”

 “When was she here?”

 “She wasn’t. I called her and wrote down all of the instructions she gave me.”

 “So, you made this by yourself?”

 “With her recipe and a bunch of notes, yes.”

 “Well, you follow directions well because this is amazing,” she compliments, licking her lips.

 “Thank you, love.” He grins proudly, his heart bursting with relief. She said his lasagna was better than Mary Margaret’s! 

 When they’ve finished the lasagna, Killian brings the plates to the sink and retrieves the cake from the refrigerator. He grabs a candle and a lighter from the kitchen drawer, lighting the candle. He hasn’t mentioned he made her a cake yet. 

 “That was so good,” she calls from the living room. “I’m ready to sleep now.” 

 He grabs the platter of cake and carries it into the living room. The sofa she’s sitting on is facing away from him, so she can’t see when he enters the room.

 “Not yet, love. You have to try the cake.”

 She turns her head around, her eyes widening as she sees the red velvet dessert. “There’s cake, too?”

 He chuckles. “What birthday is complete without a cake?” He walks slowly across the room, singing happy birthday, and Emma’s laughing as she watches him. He takes a seat next to her, facing her as he holds the cake, shifting it over slightly so he can lean in and kiss her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, love,” he whispers softly. He pulls away and holds up the cake in front of her face. “Now, make a wish and blow out the candle.”

 She’s more serious now, although there’s still a hint of a smile on her face and her eyes are locked on his as she blows out the candle. 

 “What did you wish for?” he asks, setting the cake on the table.

 “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

 He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout but accepts her answer, hoping whatever she wished for does come true. He goes to the kitchen and returns, cutting a slice of cake and transferring it to a small plate.

 Emma’s eyes are wide as she looks at the tall slice. “Wow, not only is red velvet my favorite, but it looks amazing. Don’t tell me you made this too?”

 He nods, grinning smugly. “Oh, but I did,” he replies, handing her the plate. “Again following your sister-in-law’s instructions.”

 “You really shouldn’t have.” She takes the fork he offers her and takes a bite of it. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, a low moan crawling from her throat. “Oh my god, this is sooooo good,” she mumbles with a mouthful of cake. “Like really, really  good.”

 “Really?”

 She nods profusely and takes another bite. “Like better than sex good.” She moans again, filling his mind with unbidden imagery as he watches her.

 He lifts a brow, a cocky smirk curving his lips. As happy as he is to hear how much she likes his cake, he has to wonder if it’s really as good as she says it is or if she doesn’t have much to compare it to. “Maybe you just haven’t had great sex, love,” he muses, a warm blush spreading through his cheeks.

 She licks her lips, staring at him, as though he might be right. “That’s very possible. He who shall not be named wasn’t very good in the sack.”

 “And yet, apparently he was good enough for she who shall not be named.”

 “Or maybe she was only faking it,” Emma conjectures, piercing another piece of cake with the fork and offering it to him. 

 “That’s a possibility,” he replies, wondering if Emma faked her orgasms with him. But he doesn’t wish to dwell on the subject and banishes the thought. He opens his mouth, closing his lips around the fork prongs to scoop up the cake. “Mmmm.” He nods and licks his lips. “That is better than sex.”

 “See? I told you.” Emma sits back against the couch, continuing to eat as he grabs a plate for himself and they both eat in silence. “Oh, crap.” 

 Killian looks over to see what happened and immediately regrets it. 

 A small amount of frosting had fallen from the fork and landed in her cleavage. He takes one look at her and has to refrain from groaning as he quickly faces forward again. He sets the cake down and is about to get up to retrieve a napkin, but before he does, she scoops up the frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, sucking on her digits. “Mmmm, it’s still good,” she comments, licking her lips.

 Fuck.

 He’s sure it is good. He wonders if she tastes even better than the cake. Killian tries to rid the thoughts from his mind as he grabs his plate of cake again and continues to eat.

 Emma finishes her slice and sets the plate down, holding her belly as she slumps back into the couch. “I’m so full now.”

 He cranes his neck to look at her and he can still see remnants from where the frosting fell between her breasts. 

 She catches him staring and furrows her brows in confusion. What?”

 “You still have some frosting there, love,” he says, pointing to his chest.

 She peers down at herself and laughs, looking up at him again. She must sense his uneasiness because she gives him a lazy smirk. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable, does it?”

 He chuckles and looks away. “Nope, not at all.”

 “Mmhmmm,” she nods. “Then I guess you won’t mind if I just leave it there…”

 This woman is trying to torture him.

 He shrugs nonchalantly. “Fine by me.”

 He plans to avoid looking at her at all costs, but the little minx sits up and reaches for the remote, which is on the other side of the cake, and she makes sure to give him a better view of her breasts with the frosting still smudged on her soft skin. He tries not to look, but it’s very hard not to. It’s indeed very hard.

 He shifts in his seat, realizing the effect she has on him and he shoots up from the couch as she turns on the television. “Let me get you a napkin.” He flees from the room and grabs some napkins, releasing a heavy sigh. He looks down at himself and he’s as hard as a fucking rock. 

 Bloody hell. 

 Reluctantly, he heads back to the couch and sits next to her, handing her the napkin. She takes it and looks disappointed that he’s ruining her fun. Just as she’s about to dab the frosting with the napkin, he reaches out and grabs her hand to stop her before he even thinks about what he’s doing. 

 Emma’s eyes snap up, meeting his heated gaze. He can see the longing in her eyes. She is the one with the ability to read people, but after six months he’s able to read his best friend pretty damn well. 

 She wants him. 

 Hopefully just as much as he wants her. When her eyes drop to his lips, it only proves his theory to be true.  

 Slowly, he brings his hands to her face, his left thumb brushing over her cheek. When she lifts her eyes and stares directly into his soul, his heart starts pounding mercilessly. He leans in and catches her eyelids fluttering before he closes his eyes, softly capturing her lips. It takes her no time at all to react. She drops the napkin on the floor and curls her hands around the collar of his shirt as she moves her lips against his. 

 He can’t believe he’s actually kissing his best friend, and it hasn’t really sunk yet. They’ve shared pecks on the cheeks, on each other’s forehead and other innocent parts of their body, but never once has he kissed her on the mouth until now. Those were all friendly, chaste kisses meant to express their affection toward one another, but this is vastly different. This kiss is hot and volcanic, every inch of his skin exploding as he savors the delicate press of her lips; they’re soft and pliant against his own, his tongue darting out to trace the taste of cake at the seam blocking the entrance to her mouth.

 She parts her lips, allowing his tongue to swoop in and taste her. She’s more delicious than he’d imagined. Her mouth is soft and tastes like red velvet and cream cheese, and he sucks on her tongue to get more of her flavor. Once he tastes her, he can’t enough. The slowness of the kiss is gone, rapidly heating up, his hands sliding into her hair until his fingers are entangled in her soft curls. Kissing her is everything he imagined it to be. Her mouth is everything he imagined it would be; it’s an intoxicating mixture of soft lips, a warm, eager tongue, playful nips and her sweet, decadent taste. 

 Emma climbs atop him, straddling his lap, their lips never disconnecting as his arms snake around her. His palms are on the small of her back, fingers digging into her as he pulls her to him until her breasts are flush against his chest. He becomes infused with the couch beneath him, melting in the cushions as her body molds into his. 

 He kisses her with the intensity of the feelings he’s held for her over the past six months. He’s waited all this time until it was the right time for both of them. He wanted to rebound after what that wretched bitch did to him, but truth be told, he couldn’t stomach the idea of being with a woman who wasn’t Emma. He tried going on dates, but none of the women was his Swan, so he never went further than dinner with them. Emma had the same issue, although she’d never said, or at least never admitted out loud that it was because of him.

 He releases her lips, leaving them both panting for air, his breath ragged on her skin as his lips drag across her jaw. He takes some of her hair in his hand, gently tugging her head back so he can kiss down the column of her neck, his lips moving in a blazing hot pursuit. Her mouth is so heavenly, he didn’t want to stop kissing her, but at the same time, he’s eager to taste other parts of her.

 His hands slide underneath the hem of her shirt, fingers wrapping around her slim waist as he kisses the tops of her breasts, licking off the remaining frosting off her skin. Both of them moan at the contact, and her fingers scrub through his hair as he savors the added sugary sweetness mixed with the tangy sweetness of her skin on his tongue. He kisses her there with the hunger of a man who’s been fasting his whole life. He’s tasted nothing so delicious, and he’s dying to taste her most secret place because he can only imagine what he’s doing to her and what that tastes like. 

 He’s back at her mouth, but only long enough to find her tongue again, getting another taste. He tears his lips away to pull off her shirt and sees that she’s not wearing a bra. He growls, his cock twitching in his pants as his eyes glide over her beautiful bare breasts, her pink nipples stiffening under her gaze. He’s touched them before, six months ago while he was half asleep… while he was dreaming of she who shall not be named. 

 Killian lifts his eyes to Emma’s as he remembers the promise he made to her. His hands are on her hips as she’s unbuttoning his vest, and apparently she can read his thoughts. 

 “You’re not thinking of Milah are you?” she asks playfully.

 He lowers his head and moves in, kissing the valley of her breasts. “Who the hell is Milah?” He breathes in Emma’s intoxicating scent as he wraps his arms around her back and kisses along the curve of her breast, eagerly drawing a nipple into his mouth.

 Emma moans, melting into him as her fingers curl around his dark locks of hair. He sucks on the hardened bud, taking her other breast in his hand, squeezing and pulling her nipple. He licks her, twirling his tongue around her areola, and sucks her bud into his mouth, groaning several times at how good she tastes. How good she feels in his mouth. His hands and lips take turns exploring her lovely breasts, switching back and forth between each one. Both of her breasts are perfect—the perfect size, the perfect amount of softness, the perfect nipples colored with the perfect shade of pink—he couldn’t pick a favorite from the two of them if he wanted to. 

 As soon as he pulls away, Emma’s shoving off his vest, and together they pull off his shirt. Her eyes light up as takes in the view of his body, her hands gravitating to his chest like they belong there, fingers combing through his chest hair. Her touch ignites his skin.

 “Do you want to know what I wished for when I blew out the candle?” she asks, lifting her eyes to his.

 Killian raises a curious brow. “I thought it wouldn’t come true if you told me, love?” he asks, his voice completely wrecked.

 Mischief laces her little smile. “It already did.”

 Killian’s heart pounds in his chest. Her statement could only mean one thing.

 “I wished for you to kiss me.”

 He smiles and wraps his arms around her back, pulling her to him. “Well, then you were wrong in assuming your wish wouldn’t come true if you told me… because I would’ve kissed you either way.” 

 Emma grins happily, wraps her arms around the back of his neck and smashes her lips against his, kissing him breathlessly. He groans in her mouth when her breasts are pressed against his chest and he can feel how hard her gorgeous nipples are through his hair. With their lips attached, Killian scoops her up in his arms and lays her on the couch, her head resting on the arm of the sofa as he explores her body, his fingers kneading her breasts before trickling down her body. When he reaches her core through the thin fabric of her shorts, he can feel the heat of her dampness gathering at the crux of her thighs. 

 Emma moans, writhing underneath him. “Killian… I want you…”

 Oh, gods.

 He didn’t think it was possible to want her more, but hearing her beg for him causes something to snap inside him, and he’s desperate to grant another one of her wishes. He tucks his thumbs under the waistband of her shorts, pulling them down as she raises her hips to allow him to remove them, and once again he growls. She’s not wearing knickers either. 

 He pulls the shorts the rest of the way down her long, silky smooth legs and throws them carelessly on the floor, his eyes sweeping over her gorgeous, glistening folds as she spreads her legs for him. “Fuck, Emma,” he groans, wrapping his hand around her foot to plant a kiss on the tops of her toes. “You’re trying to kill me.”

 She’s grinning devilishly at him from where she lays. “That was the plan.” 

 He lifts both eyebrows and smirks. “So you put on these pajamas with no underwear, hoping I would find out? Hoping I would see you without them?”

 Emma nods slowly, biting her smile. “That was my other wish.”

 Fuck. 

 Knowing she came home and dressed specifically for him, purposely not wearing any underwear with the anticipation of having him see her without them makes his head spin. It’s so fucking hot, he could explode from merely looking at her from his current angle.

 His fingers move, finding her where she’s dripping wet, his touch ghosting over her clit, making her back arch. She sucks in a shallow breath and he looks up at her face, seeing her eyes glowing in anticipation.

 A low growl crawls from his throat. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already fucking soaked for me.”

 “Told you, you’re what I wished for.”

 “So, this is all for me?” 

 She nods, unashamed of herself. “God, yes.” Her voice is wrecked, and it’s clear how deprived she truly was of him.

 His hand falls to her entrance, her nectar coating his fingertips. He wants to lick up her goodness and tongue her into oblivion. His cock twitches at the thought.

 Gods, he can’t wait to taste her. He presses two fingers inside of her cunt, her muscles tightening around him, begging for more contact.

 Without warning, he pushes the two teasing fingers deep inside her, watching as Emma’s mouth opens, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she rocks her hips into his touch. Her cheeks and chest are already flushed red, her chest lifting and falling sporadically as he rubs that little sweet spot inside her wet heat. She’s completely naked and her lips are swollen, her eyes darkened with lust. It’s a glorious sight to behold.

 She’s so tight around him, and he can’t wait to feel her around his cock, but first, he’s dying to taste her. He climbs atop her and begins kissing his way down her beautiful, writhing body. Her breasts, her nipples, her stomach. As he thrusts his fingers deep in her cunt, he makes his way lower and lower until he’s off the couch, kneeling on the floor. He’s leaning over her, planting soft kisses on her nub, which is clean-shaven and smooth under his lips. Her legs are spread wide for him as he tenderly kisses each of her inner thighs, inhaling her lovely feminine scent. He growls in anticipation of having her in his mouth. 

 He wraps his arms around her thighs and lifts her legs over his shoulders for better access, his teeth biting along her soft flesh, indelibly marking her skin as her dripping pussy is only centimeters away from his mouth. Not wasting any more time, he swipes his tongue out to lick her. Even though she knows it’s coming, Emma lets out a small gasp of surprise as he drags his tongue from her soaked entrance to her clit. He smiles to himself at the sounds she makes before capturing her clit with his lips, his tongue flicking over her flesh, sucking softly, making her hips jolt. 

 He’s so glad to realize he was wrong before when he thought she tasted as good as the cake. She tastes much better than the cake. He groans against her sensitive flesh, already in love with her flavor as he tongues her with long, languid strokes, eagerly laving up her arousal. He sucks at her lips, experimenting with different techniques around her clit. But it doesn’t matter how he licks her; the results are the same. A slew of moans pour from her lips as her hands are buried in his tousled hair, her knuckles probably white from how tightly she’s gripping onto him as she rolls her hips into him, desperately riding his face, and presses firmer and closer until he has to regulate his breathing, surrounded by the taste and smell and feel of her cunt. 

 Killian doesn’t let up, his mouth and tongue exploring her thoroughly, working wonders on her. He can tell Emma is completely helpless on the other side of the couch, her breathing accelerated as she feels one of his hands slide away from her thigh, to her opening. Two fingers dive deep with little effort, her own slickness and how soft her inner walls are make a perfect combination in aiding him in his endeavor of making her cum in his mouth. 

 His cock is aching to take her, but he’s too focused on her pleasure to do anything about it. He knows she’s close to coming when her legs start to shake on either side of his head. Killian increases his ministrations, tonging and finger fucking his best friend into submission.

 “Killian… oh god…” The nails of her fingers dig into his scalp, but not deep enough to hurt him. In fact, he loves how restless she is, how much she craves his tongue whenever he pulls away slightly, making her squirm for more. “Killian, please… I’m so fucking close,” Emma whimpers, her muscles twitching around his talented tongue. 

 When he curls his fingers inside her, she flies over the edge, her delicious ambrosia exploding in his mouth. Her entire body wrenches, her moans dying down as she falls from the precipice of her orgasm.

 He’s not finished when her body goes limp from her climax and keeps torturing the sensitive bud between his lips with a slow, circling tongue. Soft whimpers pour from her lovely lips, her eyes closed, mouth parted slightly as she basks in the afterglow of her orgasm. His fingers keep working in and out of her, coaxing more stimulation with each coordinated stoke.

 He doesn’t want to stop, he could do this all night, but he knows all good things must come to an end. He leaves a lingering lick along her slit and a gentle, wet kiss to her nub, making her wince with sensitivity. He groans as he removes his fingers from her core, sliding them into his mouth, eyes fixating on the eyes smiling over at him. She lifts her hand and croaks a finger, beckoning to him. He responds to her summons and climbs on the couch, gently laying on top of her. She cups his cheeks in her hands, bringing his lips to hers, pressing his wet scruff against her lips so she can taste herself. She moans into his mouth as he brushes his tongue against hers.

 She reaches between them and undoes his pants, slipping her hand inside his boxers. He lifts himself up just enough to allow her to wrap her hand around his cock. They both moan at the contact. 

 “Take your pants off,” she demands, giving his shaft a few firm pumps. He groans and thrusts his hips into her touch. “That’s another one of my wishes.”

 He chuckles against her lips. “You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

 She smirks slyly. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be demanding. I want your pants off and your dick inside me.”

 Killian growls and wastes not another second, practically leaping off the couch and lifting her up. He tries to navigate across the room with her lips latched onto his and her legs wrapped around his waist as he carries her to his bedroom and lowers her feet to the floor once they’re past the threshold.

 They’re still kissing as Emma pulls his pants down, and he removes his shoes and tugs off his pants, tossing them aside. Emma tears her lips away, her eyes scanning over his throbbing erection, tongue sweeping hungrily over her lips. This is the first time they’ve seen each other naked, and it’s glorious. Killian doesn’t wish this night to end so quickly and he’s afraid once he’s inside her, he won’t last long. So, he pulls her into his arms, his hands sliding down her backside and over her butt, squeezing firmly as Emma’s lips make a trail down his neck and over his chest, every kiss burning his skin. She moves her hands up and down his body, both of them exploring each curve and contour of the other. Emma curls her hand around his cock and strokes him as he fingers her. The noises they make fill the room, and before he explodes in her hand, he lifts her up and brings her to the bed, depositing her onto the mattress.

 His mouth is back on hers, and they’re kissing again, their bodies writhing, hands continuing to explore each other until they’re panting profusely, heartbeats slamming against their chests.

 “Shall we use protection?” he asks, remembering he has an old pack of condoms in his sock drawer. “I have some condoms, but they’re more than six months old.” He hasn’t used them since he was with what’s her name? He honestly can’t remember, he’s too enamored with the woman beneath him.

 “That’s okay, I’m on birth control and I’ve been tested since I found out that asshole was cheating on me.”

 “I got tested as well.”

 Emma smirks mischievously. “Good, because I want to feel you inside me. I want to feel it when you cum inside me. That’s my next wish.”

 Killian groans and crushes her lips with his. He’s so fucking hard, he can’t wait a second longer to have her. In one fluid motion, he maneuvers the head of his cock at her entrance, pushing himself into her. Emma moans and wraps her legs tightly around him. She reaches behind him and grabs his ass, her fingers squeezing him, pushing him in deep so he’s stretching her wide. He groans, finally feeling those soft, slick walls around his cock and he thrusts into her, his eyes rolling back in his head. She’s so tight and warm and it doesn’t take much for him to feel like he’s on the verge of his climax. He lowers his head and mouths her breasts, hoping to distract himself from coming too soon, but it’s not working very well. She feels too damn good.

 “Gods, you feel incredible,” he groans, pulling away from her breasts, his fingers clutching at her soft thighs. “I’m so close already.”

 “Me too. Fuck me harder, Killian. You feel so good inside me,” she moans, her voice completely wrecked as her hands move to his biceps, fingernails digging into his skin. 

 His heart is pounding erratically in his ear but somehow he manages to make out her reply, changing the angle of his hips in answer and snapping into her. He reaches between their bodies to where they’re joined and he strokes her clit to take her with him. A string of curses and moans pour from her mouth as he fingers and fucks her at the same time, bringing them both closer and closer to the edge. 

 He can feel it; the pleasure that had been roiling low in his belly since they started kissing, finally releases. It spreads through him, burning away anything else, the outside world fading away until the only thing that remains is them here together, making love. He looks deeply into her eyes, which are full of warmth and perhaps something else as she gazes up at him, and he can think of nothing but the two of them. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she places her hands on his back as he moves inside her.

 “Emma… oh, gods,” he whispers in her ear, his words shattered. The building pressure spreads inside him until it becomes unbearable and he rocks into her relentlessly until he explodes inside her, filling her up with his cum, just as she’d wished for. Emma cries out and shudders beneath him as her own orgasm catapults through her body, fingernails digging into his skin, her toes curling against his thighs.

 When they finally come back to themselves, Killian collapses into the mattress beside her, pulling the blankets over them. Emma lays her head on his chest, placing her hand on his stomach as he presses soft kisses through her hair. 

 “Gods, Emma, that was…”

 “About bloody time? Worth the wait? Fucking incredible? Better than cake?” she laughs languidly. “Did I forget anything?” 

 “Agreed, agreed, agreed, definitely agreed. And nope, I think that about covers my thoughts exactly,” he chuckles, running his fingers up and down her arm. Although, there is one thing she didn’t mention that he wonders about. “I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret, my replications of her recipes were a complete success.”

 Emma laughs. “She’ll be happy to hear that. Though you may not want to tell her just how successful they were,” she adds, combing her fingers through his chest hair.

 “Ah, so you’re saying my cooking abilities determined how the night played out?” he teases playfully.

 She shakes her head against his chest. “No, I think we’d end up here in bed regardless of how you cooked lasagna and baked the cake.”

 He cocks a brow, peering down at her. “So, I would have been able to lure you into bed without my cooking skills?”

 She swats him playfully. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve got some talent in the kitchen. In fact, I think you’re in the wrong profession and should’ve been a cook instead. But let’s face it…” Emma pauses in hesitation as her soft, green eyes look over at him, “we would have ended up together regardless of how tonight panned out.”

 Killian’s heart flutters underneath her hand. “You’re sure about that, huh?”

 “Yeah, why do you think I never went on those dates Mary Margaret tried to get me to go on?”

 “Because I know you have a hard time trusting men after being burned twice.”

 She nods. “I do, but I couldn’t even talk myself into having a one night stand with anyone,” she confesses, her eyes flicking to his. “You’re the one guy I do trust. You’re my best friend.”

 Killian is relieved to hear her say those things. He’d imagined that’s how she felt, but hearing her say it out loud and knowing he wasn’t alone in his feelings, gave him a huge sense of relief. “Well, love, I haven’t been able to be with anyone else either. How could I when I’m in love with someone else? You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. The feistiest woman, the most beautiful. No one else could possibly compare,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. 

 Emma lifts her head from his chest. “Killian, did you just say you loved me?” 

 Shit. He did. He didn’t even realize he’d said it.

 Taking in the embarrassed look on his face and the rosy blush crawling up his cheeks, Emma can’t help herself and starts giggling. As to be expected, this doesn’t improve the situation and, if possible, he blushes even more. 

 He gulps thickly, clearing his throat. Is she laughing because she finds it funny that he could be in love with her or is she laughing because she thinks he’s joking? He guesses it’s better than if she had a negative reaction. But, if she finds out that he’s not joking, will she run? Will she be scared or mad at him? Does she even feel the same way he does?

 “I didn’t… I… no, ugh...” he stutters, sinking his head into the pillow, and runs his hands over his burning red face. He’s not actually embarrassed by his confession, but he’s afraid if he tells her the truth, he’ll lose her.

 “Oh, come on, Killian,” she tries again, completely flustered, burying her head under the pillow.

 This is not how he wanted to express his feelings for her. He also hadn’t planned on taking her to bed before he told her. He would have been content on spending the rest of her birthday cuddled up on the couch and catching up on The Good Place on Netflix while trying to build up the courage to confess his love for his best friend.

 So much for that.

 Emma replaces the pillow under her head and takes his hand into her own, intertwining their fingers. Her giggling slowly fades into a whole-hearted smile as her eyes with his and places a soothing palm on his cheek to calm him. He stares into her eyes trying to read what she’s thinking, but maybe he’s not as good at reading her as he thought.

 “I love you, too, Killian,” she says with a grin.

 “You do?”

 “Of course I do.” 

 Killian breathes the longest sigh of relief he’s ever breathed before. “Thank God. I was afraid that after my Freudian slip of the tongue, I’d lose you.”

 She shakes her head against the pillow, still donning a smile. “You could never lose me.”

 He turns on his side to face her and plants a brief, but tender kiss on her lips, all the frustrated tension he’d built up during the conversation easing up. He takes a deep, shaky breath and looks her straight in the eye, the tranquility in her emerald orbs giving him the courage he needs to tell her the truth that he’s spent the last few months trying to tell her, and apparently already has. But she needs to know his slip of the tongue wasn’t a mistake. “I love you, Emma.” He smiles and lifts his hand to stroke her hair. “You are my light and I am so glad we met. So glad you were at my door that day six months ago. You stopped me from making a big mistake by going into that apartment. And you’ve stayed by my side ever since.”

 She smiles and raises her hand to his cheek, her thumb gently caressing his skin. “Well, you know what they say… sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”

 He nods. “This is definitely better. Much better. And it’s only the beginning.” He kisses her again, his heart exploding with joy. He feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders since he told her. Since he knows she feels the same as he does. Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against hers as she licks her lips. “So… anymore wishes for your birthday?” he asks with a mischievous smirk.

 Emma laughs and presses her body into his, hooking an arm around his waist and nuzzling her face into his chest. “No, I have everything I need right here.”

 Her words warm his heart, and he wraps her up in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’m glad. Happy birthday, Emma.” He’s lulled to sleep by the sound of her soft breathing and thoughts of how much his life has changed over the last six months.

 When he arrived at his flat in Boston six months ago, after the flight from England, the woman he thought he would spend the rest of his life with was betraying him on the other side of the door. Little did he know the woman he would actually spend the rest of his life with was on his doormat. When his plans all went to hell, when everything around him had a crack in it, he found the light that shone through. When he should have been hopeless, falling down an endless spiral of misery and sorrow, he instead found a glimmer of hope. 

 He found Emma and never looked back.

@onceuponaprincessworld @ilovemesomekillianjones @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @followbatb @teamhook @darkcolinodonorgasm @nikkiemms @mariakov81 @kingofmyheart14 @kday426 @withheartfulloflove @takhisismb @ohmakemeahercules @bugheadswanjones @tiffanyyy-ma @authorarsinoe @idristardis @balckwolf98 @xarandomdreamx @thejollyroger-writer @mamegank @whatthehell102082 @myswan-myhappyending-mylove @yasbio2015 @squidvisious @leftbeyondthestars @hallway5 @andiirivera @spartanguard

[pidgeon-brained]

Love Carries On: Chapter VI

TW: anxiety attack, sensory overload, angst

Virgil woke up, and immediately jumped up; today was the day, Logan’ birthday. five months of hard work, five months of life changing progress and now today was the day that Logan should get to relax. Virgil sat up out of bed and scrambled around until he found his hoodie, a gift from Roman. He pulled it on, his perpetually cold body reassured in the added protection of the jacket. He pushed his hair out of his face before heading out into the living room. The living room was entirely empty, which was to be expected. His boyfriends always liked to go really big on celebrations, birthdays, holidays, any chance they got to be extra they’d take. Logan had presumably been kicked out of the house until the party and the rest of them were probably in the kitchen preparing something akin to a feast.

Virgil smiled to himself as he walked into the kitchen to find Roman and Patton in matching flowered aprons. Patton was furiously stirring some type of batter, while Roman was building layers of something in a pan. Diego was nowhere to be found. He walked up to Roman and tapped him sharply on the shoulder, he received on finger held up to him, give me a sec.

After a few minutes of working and arranging, Roman turned around. What’s up Virge? He leaned forward, raising his eyebrow in a questioning way.

Where’s D? Virgil responded in likewise, his own question granting an eyebrow raise.

We sent him to the store so that he could get decorations and candles. He shrugged at the end of the statement, his eyebrows relaxing as he switched out of the question asking zone.

By himself? It was less a question and more an anxious and panicked statement.

No! Logan went with, as did Stella. Roman was surprisingly nonchalant, and his eyes were already wandering back to the pan full of food. He just wanted to cook with Patton and not be bothered by all these questions about where and who.

Virgil rolled his eyes before walking away. He couldn’t do anything right now, Logan and Diego were already gone, and he wasn’t a very good cook, or at least not Roman and Patton’s level. A brief thought of him helping Logan and D set up decorations shot through his mind and he nodded to himself in agreement. Seeing as there wasn’t much else to do, he settled himself on the couch and put on a documentary.

As much as he poked fun at Logan for liking documentaries, he liked them a lot as well, it didn’t require him to use his imagination and to understand what type of tone the narrator, or in the case of a lot of movies, character, might be using because they were just relaying factual information. It was comforting to read the subtitles and feel like he understood exactly what was going on.

Today’s documentary was on World War One, it seemed to be centered around one specific battle, but Virgil was just sort of watching the pictures on screen and halfway reading the words. It was comforting, to hang out and not have to do anything just yet. The black and white photography was just boring enough for his brain to focus on other things. He found himself pondering who’s car the boys had taken, what Roman was making, what Patton was making, how Stella was doing. His mind just drifted around, and it was comforting to drift, nothing to focus on, just allowing his mind to think and know things.

He spent what felt like hours doing that, but it was barely half an hour before the door opened and Logan and Diego came in. He didn’t hear the door of course, but he did feel the tap on the shoulder from Logan and he turned around to see them both standing there, bags in their hands.

“Want to help decorate?” Diego spoke slowly, allowing Virgil to read his lips.

Yes. He signed it, a quick knocking movement, before getting up off of the couch to help them put things away.

They set the bags on the table, and inside Virgil found an assortment of party goods, hats, banners and streamers, candles, a few bags for gift wrapping (which Virgil needed because he’d been hiding Logan’s present for months and now he needed a bag to put it in). He was impressed that they had managed to remember all of this, of course since Logan went along, it shouldn’t have surprised him at all.

He shot Diego a quick few signs, asking him if there was a plan. And when Diego explained to him that there wasn’t a plan, he was almost delighted. Virgil had been told almost all of his life that he had an eye for design, and even if that was something of a hidden talent, he thoroughly enjoyed designing things. He grabbed the streamers, (blue and silver) and started to layout in his head where he wanted everything to go. He dug around in the bag until he found a roll of tape. He grabbed a chair from the table and climbed up on it.

Then he paused, suddenly remembering the banner that said ‘Happy Birthday’ on it. He snapped to get Diego’s attention, pointing at the banner on the table, and wordlessly, he handed it to him. Virgil took a step back and looked at the arch, careful not to fall off of the chair, trying to figure out where the banner would have to go to be centered. He nodded his head unconsciously before turning back and snapping again. Diego looked up, and he signed for him to get Logan’s attention.

Logan was the tallest of his boyfriends, and he needed him to hold the banner while he ripped the tape to hold it in place. After Diego explained to him what Virgil needed, Logan came over to stand by him. Virgil guided his hand to where he needed it to be, before letting go so that he could tear the tape. He tore several smaller pieces, so that he could stabilize it, before pulling a long piece to put over the rest. Then, he pulled on the shoulder of Logan’s button up, trying to get him to move around to the other side. After a few seconds of being yanked on, he understood what he wanted, and after accidentally running into the chair that Virgil was standing on, he eventually made his way over to the other side. Once again, Virgil guided his hand into position before taping the other side of the banner in place.

As soon as he was done, he patted Logan on the head in thanks, and grabbed the roll of streamers off of the table. The blue roll was the one he had originally had in his hand, and now that the banner was up, he could see it that much clearer. He ripped off a piece of tape, and stuck just a little bit of it to the wall where he wanted the streamer to be. Then, he placed the streamer, before smoothing the tape over it.

Virgil turned around where he was, reaching out to grab the scissors off of the table as well. He cut the streamer and then stuck them into his pocket so that he’d have them on hand. He stuck the other end of the streamer centered in the middle of the banner. Then, he put the blue streamers in his other pocket to replicate the design with the silver streamers.

It didn’t take long for him to have every archway leading into the dining room decorated with streamers. Some of them were branched across the archway, while others hung down in colorful representations of celebration. He got down off of the chair, and turned it back to face the table, as he finished the archway leading into the kitchen. Then, he pushed it back, before turning away so that he could set all of the things out of his pocket on the buffet table in the corner.

He smiled, satisfied with himself, before going back over to the table and putting on one of the party hats. There were several of them, in a variety of colors, and he was glad to see a dark blue one, which was close enough to his favorite color, purple. He settled it on his head, wincing slightly when the elastic band snapped his chin. He took the empty bags off of the table, and put them in the bag bag.

Diego snuck up behind him, and grabbed (not surprisingly) the yellow party hat. Then, he tapped Virgil on the shoulder.

It looks so cool in here! He smiled brightly, his eyes wide and almost amazed looking.

Thank you. He smiled just as brightly, before sitting down at the table to rest. Are Roman and Patton almost done? It was more of a curious question than a pointed one, and he tried hard to convey that by keeping his expression more surprised like rather than questioning.

Patton is waiting for the cake to cool so that he can put the icing on it.

Nice, what flavor? He knew that Logan didn’t like overly sweet flavors.

Marbled perhaps? I didn’t get a good look at it. He shrugged at the end of the statement, sitting down next to Virgil.

Eventually they were joined by Logan, who after having a conversation that Virgil couldn’t quite keep up with, was handed the silver party hat. He settled it on his own head, before leaning back in his chair and presumably turning his attention to Stella on the floor.

Meanwhile, Patton was adding the finishing touches to Logan’s cake. He had made a lemon cake, allowing for the frosting to be more icing like than anything, and it was decorated with candied lemon slices and pretty yellow flowers. He had written ‘Happy Birthday Logan’ in flowing Silver writing to finish it off. It was one of the only times his handwriting would ever look good.

Roman on the other hand, was just putting the finishing touches on his vegetarian lasagna. He sprinkled the cheese on top of it, before popping it back in the oven. He was very proud of this recipe, a mixture of mushrooms and black beans to create something akin to a meat texture (despite his other boyfriends’ embrace of the vegetarian life, he still indulged in meat every so often). As the cheese was melting, he stirred a little bit of ranch into the mashed potatoes, adding a little more creaminess to the dish. He also reached out to stir the pot of corn so that it wouldn’t burn.

Soon, the cheese had melted, and with a little bit of help from Diego, they carried all of the food out to the table. The festivities were in full swing, they all talked and laughed over dinner; they told stories about Logan, poking fun at him, reminding them all of his greatest days. It was exactly what a great birthday should be.

While they were chatting, Roman had dished up dinner, and now that it was on everyone’s plate, they all quieted down so they could eat. Patton took a bite of the lasagna and immediately his stomach turned, it was slimy, some of the filling was, the texture of what he could only guess was beans and maybe even mushrooms. His heart lurched, he had to forcibly grab the edge of the table to actually swallow down the bite had taken. He caught Virgil’s eye with a pleading look.

Virgil watched as Patton set his fork down and looked down at the ground, he had grabbed the table very tightly, before shooting him a pleading look. Virgil knocked on the table to get Roman’s attention. Ask Pat what’s wrong. His look was just as pleading.

“Pat, are you okay?” He turned to him, to see him hunched slightly over his plate, his knuckles white as he gripped the table.

“I’m fine.” He choked on his words, his gag reflex involuntarily reacting to what he had eaten. His mind was racing with the feeling the texture left behind, his mind blooming with all of the things the texture reminded him of, mud and snails and raw meat.

“Are you sure? You can tell me if something is wrong Patton.” Roman kept his voice as quiet as he could, maybe all the noise had upset him, or something had been said that startled him.

He started to cry as his mind almost hyper fixated on the taste in his mouth and the texture it represented and all the things that texture represented, his mind ran circles around it as tears streamed down his face. Not quiet, unfocused crying, but audible sobs and whimpers.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, I’m fine.” He murmured over and over again, pushing the plate away from him in an actual show of what was wrong.

Roman felt a flame of something like anger, and he didn’t know why, but he was mad at Patton. He had worked so hard, had done everything he was supposed to, didn’t use meat because Virgil was vegetarian, didn’t make anything overly sweet because Logan didn’t like sweet, didn’t make any of the dishes that Diego had specified so he wouldn’t cause a switch in him, he had done everything and now this.

“Well if you don’t like it Patton you can just not eat it.” Something that could be said with a warm and caring tone, something that should be said with a warm and caring tone, was full of malice and bitterness. “I worked hard to make something good and if you don’t like it I’m sorry.” He crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in anger as he sat back down. Stupid Patton, why can’t you just like it, there’s nothing wrong with my cooking, you’re overreacting. It wasn’t that bad I tried it too, no one else seems bothered by it.

It reminded Patton of when his mother would get mad at him and send him to his room. And in his mind's eye, it was one and the same, Roman was his mother, hissing cruelly at him in french and sending him to his room for causing a problem at the dinner table. Despite the fact that Roman hadn't said it, he could still hear 'go away, go to your room.' in his voice. He got up, and fled from the table, moving as quick as he could without running, tears still streaming from his eyes.

[spartanguard]

always pass on what you have learned

so @optomisticgirl found this twitter thread and told me I had to write Captain Cobra in the same situation. It took a little bit but here it is: 1.9k of Captain Cobra/dad!Killian fluff. slightly canon-divergent (Henry hasn’t left yet when Hope is a baby, but he IS an adult—so if you don’t like reading about him doing adult things, even just in passing, back away).

summary: Henry had a visitor last night. she hasn’t left yet and it’s morning. will Emma notice? or will they hide away and make a break for it? Killian is eagerly watching (with his sidekick, baby Hope) to find out.

It was a testament to Killian’s well-honed captain’s eye that he was able to pick out the slight anomaly in the usual prim order, despite the early hour and his sleep-deprived state.

He’d just hit the bottom of the stairs with his teething infant daughter on his hip—who had decided that 4 am was the perfect time to wake up wailing and that 8 am was when she wanted breakfast—when he noticed the unfamiliar pair of shoes sitting at the end of the row of boots and sneakers in the foyer. They weren’t Emma’s style, and certainly were too large for Hope; that left only one option:

“Well, darling. It seems as though your brother’s lady friend spent the night.” Hope babbled back at him in response, green eyes wide. “It looks like today will be more interesting than we thought.”

Henry wasn’t necessarily in trouble or anything; the lad was 18—nearly a man grown. And he’d endured enough lectures from both his mothers on the many modern contraceptives that he would have that end of things covered (and if not, then he was old enough—and had a strong enough support system—that he’d be able to deal with the consequences). Emma would probably be displeased, but she knew she couldn’t stop him. And honestly, they couldn’t say much given that they’d surely done worse—Hope being the evidence of their late-night activities.

So Killian’s curiosity was just that: who on earth had Henry been fucking last night? He hadn’t dated anyone since breaking up with Violet last year. And would she get out past Emma’s notice?

(“Fucking” seemed a crude term to use, but Killian had no other words to describe the sounds coming from Henry’s bedroom as he rocked Hope back to sleep earlier. Lovemaking, it was not.)

He’d just started feeding Hope her favorite squash purée when the stairs creaked, making him pause with the spoon midair. It was too early for Henry to be up on average, but if he was trying to sneak someone out, then maybe…

But it was Emma who blearily shuffled into view, eyes barely open but feet moving on instinct toward the Keurig. “You gonna stare at me or you gonna feed her?” she quipped, as Hope protested the delay in her meal.

“Both,” he replied easily, complying with his daughter’s demands and never missing a moment to ogle his beautiful wife. In the relative silence that followed, the only noises heard were the gurgling of the coffee contraption and Hope’s happy smacking of her mouth as she ate.

No sounds came from the room above, even once the smell of pancakes and bacon filled the house.

“His loss,” Emma concluded with a shrug as she wiped the last bit of syrup off her plate with what was left of her small pancake mountain. She savored her final bite, setting her fork down and leaning back in her chair. “Well, I was going to start working on laundry and cleaning the bathrooms, if you wanna clean this up and keep this one occupied?”

“Sounds perfect.” Hope might be slowly munching on her puffed cereal right now, but once she was loosed, it was a full-time job keeping her from climbing and crawling into places she wasn’t meant to go. Emma had put up some magical barriers, but if the occasional sparks they saw in their baby’s hands were any clue, it was just a matter of time until those became useless.

And he was also extra intrigued to see what Henry and his friend would do now—or if Emma would find them first.

Once the kitchen was cleaned and the puffs devoured (and subsequently cleaned off the floor, where they of course had been stepped on), Killian was keeping Hope occupied in the living room with some toys, trying to get the 11-month-old to take her first steps. Alas, it wasn’t meant to happen for her today, but he did finally hear movement coming from Henry’s room—the creak of the floorboards as two individuals made their way around the space; he had a decent idea of what they were doing.

He could also hear Emma cleaning the bathroom in the next room over. And could see their visitor’s shoes still by the door.

“What do you think, little one?” he asked Hope, pulling her up to standing as she tried to crawl into his lap. “Will your mum discover your brother and his friend, or the other way around?”

Hope’s responding gibberish was as much an answer as he expected—and, oddly, seemed to fit the scenario.

“It seems we’re in agreement, love.”

Nothing developed, though, by the time Emma finished upstairs and then went down to the (now finished) basement to handle laundry. If anyone wanted to make a move, now would be the perfect time; they had a 10-minute window while Emma folded the clean wash.

Killian was reading to Hope from a giant stack of books (mostly from Belle, of course) when finally, footsteps alighted on the stairway. He tried to maintain his focus on the story while watching to see who came down from the corner of his eye—especially since the steps were far too light to be Henry’s.

He had to rein in his gasp when he saw Ava—Henry’s best friend—hop off the landing into the foyer, grab her shoes, then tiptoe back up, not casting a glance his way but clearly trying to avoid being seen. The sound of rushing water from the bathroom shortly followed, to no surprise; it was past 11 am, and no one had a bladder that strong.

His amusement at the whole situation was quickly turning to wonder: why would Henry feel the need to hide a relationship with his best friend? It wasn’t as though she was a stranger; in fact, she was one of Hope’s favorite people. Of all the ways the lad had managed to get in trouble over the years, this was far from anything awful.

Just as he was considering sending Hope after them—neither teen could say no to her adorable face—Emma came back up from the basement and continued on up. The waiting game would continue, though he had to assume it couldn’t go much longer; they were no doubt starving, but far too intelligent to get back to what they’d been doing last night.

By this point in the day, he could only assume the kids were waiting for Emma’s usual afternoon nap with Hope. (She never intended to fall asleep when she put the babe down; but no one begrudged her the rest. Nursing was hard.) That’s what he’d have done, at least; but he also had never quite been in this situation. Before he turned pirate, he was too focused on the Navy to pay much attention to the fairer sex; after, it only helped his reputation to be caught leaving.

Not much later, Emma came to retrieve a drowsy babe from Killian. “Someone’s definitely ready for a nap,” she assessed, scooping the littlest Swan-Jones into her arms. “I’ll be back down soon.”

“Take your time,” he said as he stood to give her a quick kiss, knowing full well neither of them would be seen again for a couple hours.

Silence settled on the downstairs soon, and Killian set about cleaning up the mess of toys in the living room before turning his attentions to the rest of the downstairs—and keeping out an ear for any other happenings.

He was dusting the frames that hung above the fireplace when two careful sets of steps made their way down the stairs. There they were. But he remained focused on the task at hand, letting them slip out seemingly unnoticed. They were good kids, they weren’t doing anything bad—they were just being ridiculous.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the door quietly swing open and Ava creep out. Once she was out of sight, he turned his head and managed to catch Henry’s eye, who evidently was watching to make sure they weren’t seen.

Henry paused as they stared at each other and gulped, which just made Killian smirk. And give him a wink. Henry gave an awkward nod—both knowing they’d chat later—and followed his (girl?)friend out.

Several hours later, Emma was upstairs giving Hope a bath while Killian prepped dinner for the adults when Henry returned. (Emma had been a little bummed that Henry left without saying goodbye, adding that “he should have just invited Ava over”; Killian held his tongue.)

“Smells good,” Henry commented as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. “New recipe?”

“Sort of; still trying to replicate my mother’s,” Killian replied as he stirred the sauce, to go with the pasta that was cooking on the next burner. “Should be done in a few. I’d imagine you’re rather starved after the day you’ve had.”

He glanced at Henry from the corner of his eye; the lad had stopped in the middle of opening his can of soda and was turning a color that matched the tomatoes in the pot.

Henry gulped. “Am I...am I in trouble?” he stammered out.

“No,” Killian answered casually; there was no sense in torturing the boy.

“Does Mom know?” he continued, still visibly nervous (but he at least finished popping the tab on his can).

“Does she need to?” Killian tossed back. “I was always under the impression you and Ava were just friends.”

“We are...I think...I’m not sure.” Henry took a sip of his drink and leaned against the adjacent counter. Killian silently looked over at him, letting him continue. “We’re just kind of fooling around, I guess. Like, we like each other, but with her going to UMaine in the fall and me leaving, we don’t really want to get super involved. Does that make any sense?”

“Aye, it does; that’s tricky.” Killian remembered a similar feeling on the outset of things with Milah—but was pretty sure Henry didn’t want to hear the sordid details of his relationship with his grandmother. (They talked about her, obviously, but Henry mainly wondered what she was like, and Killian was more than happy to oblige.) “Just...try to make sure no one’s heart gets broken. And make sure you’re being safe.”

Henry’s blush had been fading, but then it returned in full force. “We are,” he insisted. “Wait—you heard us?”

“Much to learn, you have, young padawan.”

The Star Wars reference drew a chuckle from Henry, but he quickly tossed back, “Yeah, well, it’s not like you’re a Jedi Master at being quiet either.”

“On the contrary, Master Henry—I don’t let anyone hear anything I don’t wish them to,” he countered with a wink.

“Eww! Seriously? Come on, Killian!”

Killian was laughing quietly at the reaction when Emma joined them. “‘Come on, Killian’ what? That smells good,” she added, echoing her son.

“Oh, nothing—he’s just trying to make me lose my dinner before I even eat it.”

Emma playfully swatted Killian’s shoulder. “Be nice! Especially since Prince Henry has finally graced us with his presence.”

The conversation fell into banter and discussions of plans for the week ahead, as normal as ever. No reference was made to the previous night by either man, and Emma still seemed oblivious; Killian and Henry were fine to leave it that way, and it was never mentioned again.

But Killian did notice that Henry used a bit more discretion with visitors from then on.

And he may have been a bit on the loud side when he and Emma made love that night. It was only fair.

thanks for reading! tagging @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @word-bug @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @queen-mabs-revenge @flipperbrain @sherlockianwhovian @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich​ @killian-whump​ @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells 

[sansanficrec]

Q&A  with ladytp

Grab a glass of wine and get to know @ladytp!

How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I actually went back to the folder of my first posted fanfic, and it was almost 6.5 years ago, September 2012… That was my first ever creative work I wrote as well, as I started quite late – being already adult, established professional and all that. So never too late to start, one doesn’t have to have grown up writing!

Did you write before that?

No I didn't - unless scientific publications are counted as 'creative' writing (well, to be honest, sometimes there was an element of creativity when trying to make one's data make sense, LOL!)

How long ago did you join Tumblr?

To be precise (as I like to be!) I joined March 1st 2013 – so almost six years ago… But it took me four months to make my first post (an awesome music video about ASOIAF and GoT), being initially a ‘lurker’ to observe and learn. I migrated there from Livejournal when things started to quiet down there – like a moth I was drawn to bright lights, moving images, and more of my fandom content!

What is the meaning behind your username?

My username is from the Livejournal times as well, as when I joined it, I didn’t grasp the significance of one’s url or username and just picked the first one that came to mind when filling in the details: “lady” and my initials. D’oh! Luckily I have been able to successfully have the same name in other platforms as well, which is great – it is easier than have many different names. I am also glad that it is not fandom specific, as my interests are many and varied…

What was your first fandom? First pairing?

Definitively ASOIAF – that was my introduction to the whole cultural phenomenon of ‘fandom’, devouring fics and joining communities (yeah, I am so far behind of everyone else – I used to have a life, LOL!). Sansan was my first ship, but I also had a brief period when I was very interested in Daenerys and Jorah (this was before I saw the show). Even though the show had a big negative impact on Sansan experience for me (not due to Rory, I hasten to add – but the storylines), it has still stayed my OTP in a sense that I feel most comfortable about writing them and their dynamic still fascinates me above anything else.

How/when did you first notice (or start to ship) Sansan?

My story is very typical; first reading their interactions after the Hand’s Tourney, then the scene of the Battle of the Blackwater – and I was hooked. Googling and finding fics, Livejournal communities and all the metas…no getting back from there! I mean; it is so blatantly obvious that I wonder who can read the books and NOT get the vibes??

Is there a SanSan fic you’re particularly proud of?  Chapter? Paragraph?  Plot?

Hmmm…’Which one of your children you love the best?’, in other words – always a difficult question! I guess I am still the proudest of “The Triangle”  It was one of my early fics, it was a long-fic, and it was about the subject I had been fascinated with for years and years; the complicated Arthurian relationship between 3 people who loved each other for different reasons (Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot in the original, Sandor, Sansa and Jaime in the fic). Chapter-wise I am very happy with the last chapter of the “Kiss of the Blade”, as hard as it may be for some due to the character death implied. It has melancholy but also beauty, I thought when I wrote it. Plot-wise I am excited and happy about my current WIP “This Time, We’ll Do Better”, as although it has some common trope elements, I think they have somewhat cool applications and it is nice to write something more plot-orientated for a change!

Any comments you’ve received that stick out, even now?

I have to admit that again, “The Triangle” inspired some absolutely wonderful comments, probably because of its unusual premise. Towards the end, and especially with people who had read it in one go long after it had been completed, there were some wonderful convos going back and forth. I especially enjoyed the ones where people either told that they had had some reservations starting it, but then ended up really enjoying the fic, or the ones where they might have had some queries and doubts and questions, leading to a mutually fruitful and eye-opening discussions on both sides. Those conversations really blew my mind!

Do you use a beta?

I have had the privilege of working with two wonderful betas, of which I am eternally grateful. The first one was wildskysheri / wildsky, whom I “met” via Livejournal, and who betaed for me for “The Triangle”, “A Chance Encounter” and “A Premediated Reunion”.  She taught me – a non-native English speaker/writer – so much about writing and what to pay attention to and what to look out for. I owe her so much! After our ways parted amicably as she moved on to other things, I was without beta for a long time, not really actively looking for one, but when my path crossed with the lovely @hardlyfatal, I have once again had the pleasure of getting my words scrutinised by someone knowledgeable, making them better on “This Time, We’ll Do Better”. I honestly can’t speak highly enough for a beta who can make any writer and fic so much better!

Are there tropes/styles/genres you struggle with?  Any that are almost too easy?

I do struggle a bit writing babies and children, and hence haven’t written much about them… I don’t generally care for modern AUs either and would struggle to write a full story in a modern times – although who knows, maybe in a right setting, replicating the high stakes situation of the canon, it could work. Haven’t tried so can’t say for sure! Very fluffy genre is also something I don’t feel particularly comfortable with, nor anything where the characters are very young. And porn without plot is neither a genre I relish. The most comfortable genres for me are the slow-burns, where mature people interact with each other in a mature way (whatever that means…). First realisations of feelings, hesitancy, and all that. I also do like plot-driven stories that have a start, middle and ending. I am all open for fake marriage, bed-sharing, ‘there was only one room at the inn’ kind of genres – any kind of ‘forced’ situations where the characters are obliged to spend time together!

When you start a fic, do you know where it will end?  Or do you figure it out along the way?

There have been fics along both scenarios – some were started at the spur of the moment, with only vague ideas of where and how far they would go (”The Prophecy” comes to mind, which I started as a random holiday scribbling – and repeatedly apologised and updated my chapter number as it grew and grew and grew…). And there were the ones where even at the end I couldn’t decide what the ending should be, so I wrote two (for example “Past Was Such A Long Time Ago“). But for most I would have some idea about the ending at the start, and for some I would gain it somewhere early along the way. So yeah, it varies!

Do you have any rituals/conditions for ‘getting in the mood’ to write?

I mostly write over the weekends when I have more time, after getting up and having breakfast, reading my emails and checking on Tumblr and doing all the routine stuff one does – and then I open my doc and start writing… With my internet radio blasting on the background on some jazz or lounge or classic channel. I find it hard to write during the weeks after getting back from work and being distracted by mundane home things and TV and such.

Have you ever had writer’s block?  Any tips for overcoming it?

I did have a period well over a year ago when I felt I had ‘lost my mojo’. It was largely to do with the way the Game of Thrones show had progressed and changed the characters so much that I couldn’t recognise them anymore, and my initial inspiration of writing about them consequently suffered. Especially as the show canon started to take over the original book canon so strongly in many platforms, including fics. The way I got over it was to distance myself from the show and partly, unfortunately, also from the fandom (so largely focused on show). I had a nice break, didn’t read many fics, focused on books and generally took a step back. Then I challenged myself to write a new type of story, a plot-focused ‘action & adventure’ story instead of romance focused only. That inspired me to write again, and I have been riding on that inspirational wave ever since with my latest long-fic WIP!

Aspirations of publishing one day?

No, not really. It is a tough world out there, especially as writing has become more reachable to many people who previously might not have even considered it (yay, fanfic and other forms of creative writing and platforms encouraging it!), and publishing world is awash with submissions and self-published stories alike. Although I don’t know for sure, I suspect that wanting to become published would take much more effort and determination and will than what I have for now, as for me this is a lovely hobby, nothing more.

What are your other hobbies?

My absolutely biggest hobbies are food and wine. I have loved cooking, eating and learning about food and wine for most of my life and it’s really important for me. Cooking meals ‘from the scratch’ from their base ingredient is what I love, as well as learning to master new techniques, new cuisines and difficult recipes. When I travel, food is one of the main drivers for that too, and holidays are largely built around restaurants, regions, cuisines and wineries. Holidaying in wine regions and wine tasting is the favourite kind of holiday! Yet I also love everyday cooking – the beauty of this as a hobby is that I get to do it every day and can challenge myself, be inspired by it and practice it all the time!

As for other hobbies…not really… I follow the transformative artform that is WWE, especially Dean Ambrose, and love visiting historical sites and reading about history, but that can hardly be called an active hobby… I also make some photo and video edits for fun, but lately my writing has taken much of the time I used to dedicate to that. Yet I feel that what I have is enough – I have no desires for an active life with lots of different hobbies and activities.

Any tips for writers looking to post their first (or second, or twentieth) fic?

I hope this doesn’t sound too harsh, but it would be really cool if even those who write only for ‘shits and giggles’ would do some basic formatting and language checks… Things like how to indicate dialogue, spacing between paragraphs and when to apply them, and of course, basic grammar. There are nowadays so many websites advising about those things, as well as free tools (for example Grammarly), that they are accessible to every person with access to sites posting their stuff – and a simple Google search is your best friend. I recommend this because ignoring those things may easily drown even the most amazing story in these times of fic over-abundance.

Other than that, write the stories you would like to read yourself, and the scenarios you would like to see in the canon. Study the writing style of the writers whose stories you admire and see if you could pick up a trick or two from them (but not plagiarizing, naturally). And if you can, get a beta – it is not absolutely necessary, but would give you a second opinion and advice from a trusted person. Oh, and give yourself a break between writing and final editing – ideally have a buffer of chapters in a draft phase before starting to post, so whenever you write something new, you can afford to let it rest for a while before getting back to it with fresh eyes. And have fun!

Anything you’d like to say to writers in general?

Don’t get hung up on statistics or comparisons. Think why you are writing – is it because everyone does it and you feel you should too, or because you truly enjoy it, or because of the stories themselves, or because you have an internal urge to do it, or it is part of your social networking activities… all are valid reasons, but once you define what they are for you, the easier it is to focus on it and the satisfaction it gives to you.

Anything you’d like to say to readers in general?

If you like a fic, don’t be shy about commenting, as it truly means so much to the writers… Even simplest comment is gratefully received. If you feel like wanting to pass on constructive criticism, first ensure the writer welcomes it, then formulate it in the politest possible way with positivism thrown in as well (and of course, make sure it is actually constructive). Marvel the choices and abundance of fic availability and acknowledge what a joy it is to live in this time and age when all that is possible. Enjoy!

Anything you’d like to say to the SanSan fandom in general?

Do not give up hope – Game of Thrones is over soon and we can get back to canon content, hopefully soon with The Winds of Winter. Whatever the further story of Sandor and Sansa is there, we know how important it has been already and nothing can take that away!

Read LadyTP’s SanSan here!

Read LadyTP’s full library here!

[toddykun]

duckvember 2018: 1. favorite duck - M’ma Cabrera & Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera.

what’s so sweet about you?

summary: Fenton bakes conchas and thinks about his well-meaning but overbearing mamá. Mamá Cabrera is tired but that wouldn’t stop her from actually passing time with her son. Even if stress was trying to break them apart.

word count: 1875

n/a: fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants writing.

Fenton looked at the conchas he just made, they were near perfect, he was 96,7% sure this time. He was really proud of himself for finally being able to make them right after two weeks of trying to replicate his abuela’s recipe.

He jumped giddily to the living room, ready to tell his mama and to show off his new accomplishment to her. Unsurprisingly, she was sat on the sofa looking at the tv. Surprisingly, there were notes, papers, folders, pens and other items that he was sure were from her job on the sofa. She looked tired but ready to kill a man at the same time. Fenton smiled to himself. That only meant that the conchas would be better received, he thought.

“Hey, mamá! Mamá, see this! The conch-!”

“Fenton, la novela!” She interrupted him like he was about to step on something dangerous. “Don’t you see Daniel is trying to tell Diego that he actually loves him for his personality, incluso cuando ese estupido es un monstruo.” The last part she murmured it with a bitter expression. Fenton sighed, looking at the two men on the tv. He recognized the scene.

Fenton raised a brow, confused. “Didn’t you saw that episode yesterday?”

“Yeah, and?”

It sounded like a challenge. Good advice: never challenge an obviously stressed mother, you will feel guilty later. “No, nothing. I thought you didn’t like bringing work to home nor did you like watching reruns.”

His mamá replied with the most tired voice he ever heard her with. “Fenton, hijo, por favor.”

It was a pleading, his mom never pleaded. Fenton nodded, even when his mother wasn’t looking at him and seemed actually busy in trying to write something on her paperwork at the same time that she tried to not waste one bit of her favorite novela. Yeah, there was the guilt mixed with amusement.

It was hard to get his mamá’s attention when she was watching one of her novelas, it had always been like that and he didn’t think it was gonna change any time soon. He knew it was her escape from her always stressing job, it was her way to relax, to forget that there was a world out there that was dangerous and unfair, even when they tried for it to not be. He was glad that he had inherited his ‘I want to save the world’ wish from her but it was easy to forget that his mom had more experience in the field on trying to save from actually trying to save it.

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was a hopeful optimistic, he thought he could do something to change the world even if he was just starting as Gizmoduck. Gloria Cabrera was down to earth and realistic about the issue, she knew how unrealistic it was to think that she could save anyone she came across with, but she tried to save as many as she could anyway. And for what he remembered about his papá, he was a good mix of both of them. As a doctor, Fenton thought, he probably needed to be.

But he wasn’t going to lie, in his memories, the happy ones that Thank God were most of them, his dad always spoiled his dreams when he was a duckling, always telling him to go as far as he could, but his mamá always took his hands and never let him go too much into the clouds. Actually, he liked what his mother did. It was an Icarus thing, he supposed.

I’m going to let you fly, but don’t go too far or you will get hurt and I won’t be able to save you.

He respected if his mamá wanted to go a little overboard with things around him or if she didn’t want any disruption. It was probably hard enough trying to save the world even if you knew you couldn’t do much from your position in life. He understood being on the tv was one of her escapes, especially if she had a stressful case going on or if she was drowning in paperwork, like in that precise moment.

So, he decided to wait for the commercial break, as to not stress his mamá more than she probably was, she only saw reruns if she was having a shitty day and wanted to distract herself from her job. And she never brought work to home and looked at reruns, so it was probably a horrible day.

While he was at it, Fenton decided to watch the telenovela too.

Terrible decision.

Apparently, Daniel did tell Diego that he loved him but Milagros, Daniel’s granny, heard him and had a near heart attack and she’s almost dead now and both guys feel guilty. Meanwhile, Sofia, the beautiful girl that Jorge is dating for what Diego and Jorge, that are triplets but Diego is both of the missing triplets, are fighting for is actually cheating on Jorge with a playboy multibillionaire called Rico McPato (that looked awfully familiar like a younger version of Mr. McDuck but he didn’t want to think too much about that) and ran over with her car over Raquel, the innocent girl that has a pure and unaltered crush on Jorge since they were ducklings, because she found out her cheating ass.

And all that? All that wasn’t even the weirdest moments of the telenovela. He knew he had seen worst of it over the years.

“How can you like this?”

“Do you want me to kick you out of this house?”

“No?”

“Entonces, cállate.”

Fenton did shut up, especially after they did a parallel of Raquel and Mercedes screaming out of pain in one ridiculously painful bot overacted scene that almost made bleed Fenton’s ears. He sighed, looked at the entrance of the kitchen, where his conchas were getting cold, and looked again at the television. 

The following scenes caught Fenton more than he would admit to. In one, while Milagros is in bed, Daniel is being comforted by Diego, who is hugging him a little too tight and whispering reassuring things into his ear, the camera did a lot of unnecessary emphasis on that. In the next, Raquel’s best friend, María (there was always a María on telenovelas, come on), went to see her and kissed her a little too close to his beak and caressed her hair in a definitely not heterosexual way.

“That doesn’t seem very heterosexual…” he commented the obvious without meaning too. It wasn’t like he could be blamed, for the few telenovelas he had seen with her, a telenovela with LGBT+ rep, even if it was this ridiculous, was incredibly rare, like a shiny pokemon or something.

His mamá snorted. “It’s because it’s not. Or I expect it’s not because María has been so ridiculously in love with Raquel since she appeared, she is always trying to make her see her obvious attraction on Sofia so she can admit she’s actually a lesbian.”

“Wait, on Sofia? Lesbian? But Raquel is in love with Jorge, right?”

“That’s the tricky thing, mijo. She isn’t. Do you think is normal that she is always saying that she loves him but it always trying to bond with the girls around him and not with him? Never once she tries to do something about her crush on him until Sofia comes and then what does she does? She is on Sofia all the time, she says that it's for Jorge a few times but she never does something with him.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. Isn’t that disastrously unnecessary for her? How can she not know?”

His mamá smiled, put absolutely everything she had on the sofa to the floor and patted the place beside her. She had this twinkle in her eye, a smug smile in place, Fenton knew there was no escape. “Sit down, you’re gonna get educated on this.”

.

In the end, Fenton didn’t know how or why he ended marathoning the last season until the most recent episode of Patos de la Pasión with his mamá. The power of moms, he thought sleepily, cuddled up at his mamá’s side and being lulled to sleep by her welcoming warm.

It had been an interesting and particular experience finally watching a novela with his mom. He had seen other telenovelas with his mamá but never sequentially and with the intent of analysis, especially since his mamá hated seeing telenovelas with him now that he was adult.

It was a thing she could bear when he was a kid and would run his mouth or move too much during the episodes, but now that he was an adult, it was nearly intolerable. She usually let him when he was feeling upset or his mamá was feeling particularly affectionate and wanted to cuddle no matter what.

Fenton yawned and started to slip away. So, sleepy he was that he didn’t notice his mom accommodating him on their couch, with a pillow, a blanket and a kiss on the cheek. The last thing he remembered was the conchas that he wanted his mamá to try.

Well, maybe later, he thought, finally giving up and falling sleep on the couch. A distant amused giggle was the last thing he heard.

But that lasted nothing, when not having passed five minutes, his mamá was yelling and falling on him on the couch. Effectively waking him up and startling him out of his mind.

“¿¡Qué!? ¿!Qué pasa¡?”

His mom shouted to him happily, “FENTON, ESTAN PERFECTAS.”

Fenton blinked, trying to come back from his hazy state and looked at his mother, who was obviously eating something. Fenton, that was yet to be fully awake, was understandably confused. “What?” His mamá snorted and she actually looked near crying, that worried him. “Mamá, ¿estas bien?”

“Yes, pollito, yes.” And she laughed, making Fenton even more confused. “I mean the conchas, they’re perfect. Te luciste, mijo.”

It was then when Fenton understood what was happening. His mamá had tried the conchas. And she thought they were perfect? “You…you liked them?”

“Well, yes, of course. They taste the same as your abuela’s.” She said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She raised one of the sweets and looked at it appreciatively, smiling like a child on Christmas. “Dios, these take me back. I think I’m gonna cry. Your abuela would be so proud of you. She was always complaining that I never got them right.” Then, she broke up near laughing, looking at the sky. “¡Ja! Take that ‘amá! My baby can make them perfectly!”

“You meant that? You never say things are perfect.” Especially with me, he didn’t say.

His mamá seemed to consider that but smiled at him in the end, dragging her fingers between his feathers and kissing his forehead gently. “Bebé, these are. They were exactly what I needed. Thanks, Fenton.”

“They were?” Fenton sounded so insecure. His mamá hugged him next.

“Yes, they and you. Nothing better to make me relax that my pollito.”

Fenton felt near crying, but he did not. He just hugged his mamá in return and felt content with that.

They passed the day on the couch, cuddling, discussing Patos de la Pasión and eating conchas.

[theo-loves-broadway]

If You Can’t Stand The Heat, Get Out Of The Kitchen (Tyrus Fanfic)

Hi!! So I was inspired by @scientifthicc‘s headcanons for Tyrus to write this fic! After writing the first chapter, I realized I loved where it was going, and decided to make it a chaptered fic! :D I only have the first one done, but if you could read and it leave me comments/kudos/reblogs/suggestions, I would be so grateful! I’ll post it on here, and the link for the AO3 version, as well!

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287934/chapters/35465793

Snowflakes littered the Goodman's front yard as Cyrus watched the little white flecks dance by the window. It was a lazy Thursday morning; the snow fell hard enough the night before that the administration decided to cancel school. Cyrus, of course, was ecstatic when he heard the news, and couldn't go back to bed, so he spent time looking out the window. His mom and stepdad had already left for work, leaving him alone for the day. His mom had left food in the fridge for him to warm up, but Cyrus wasn't in the mood for reheated matzo soup. He thought about texting Andi or Buffy, but remembered that they were away on a trip to Arizona to help Buffy move in, so that was a dud. He took out his phone, and mindlessly clicked on Jonah's number, the cursor blinking monotonously;

[Cy-Guy: hey jonah, wanna hang?]

Cyrus sent the message without hesitation, and drummed his fingers against the table waiting for a response.

“C’mon, Jonah, answer the text,” he mumbled impatiently, “we both know you’re not ‘out with Andi’ today,” he added, mildly defeated. Ever since the Open Mic and Jonah and Andi’s kiss, Cyrus had been a little, err, a lot jealous, even though he tried to smile through it. He’d avoided Jonah for a while, but decided that the best way to handle the situation would be to talk to Jonah, openly and honestly. Why Cyrus didn’t feel as though he was going to faint was beyond him. Suddenly his phone buzzed, and Cyrus opened his text messages with anticipation.

[JoLamaJama: can’t. out with family. won’t be back till tomm. sry cy]

Cyrus sighed, almost in relief, as he extended his legs out over the edge of the couch. “Great, now what?” he grumbled, his stomach doing the same. Oh, shoot, I didn’t eat breakfast, he thought to himself, the house’s deafening silence hurting his ears. He needed to be hanging out with someone, anyone , for that matter. He scrolled through the limited list of his contacts and hesitated on one.

“I know the chance is really low,” he admitted, already typing out a message, “but what have I got to lose?” he added, hitting send, and reading the message he just sent.

[Cy-Guy: hey tj, do you wanna come over? my parents are out and i’m making breakfast, so you can have some too, if you like. if you don’t i get it that you don’t wanna hang out with a loser like me but, whatever]

And after he sent it, he immediately regretted it. “Geez, could you be any more desperate, Cyrus?” he scolded himself, “You were just starting to have TJ not dislike you, and you just send a text out of the blue? This is so sad, Alexa play Despacito,” Cyrus sighed, and the Alexa on the coffee table responded, Cyrus bopping his head to the rhythm. Just as the song reached the chorus, Cyrus’ phone buzzed, and his heart felt like it stopped.

[Not-So-Scary-Basketball-Guy: yeah sure, im down for that. be there in like 10]

“Oh my gosh,” he uttered, almost paralyzed with shock. TJ actually wanted to hang out with him? How? Why? Before he got too lost in his train of thought, Cyrus hurried around the lower level of the house to organize everything a little. He adjusted the pillows on the couch, arranged the chairs in the dining room to be just so, and then advanced towards the kitchen to get ready for breakfast.

“What do sports people eat? Kale?” Cyrus wondered aloud, looking through his fridge as well as his pantry. “TJ’s just going to have to suffer next game because we’re making pancakes,” Cyrus decided, getting out the ingredients for his famous Chocolate-Chip Strawberry Pancakes. He made them every year for his birthday, as well as his parents’ birthdays, and they were always a hit. To speed up the work, Cyrus pre-diced all the strawberries into small pieces, and ate a few in the process. In the middle of his preparations, the doorbell rang, and Cyrus nearly dropped the bowl of strawberries on the floor he was so startled. Wiping his hands quickly on a towel, he rushed to the door as to not keep TJ waiting.

“Hey,” Cyrus said, awkwardness creeping into his voice as he tried to find something for his hands to do. “Come on in, Not So Scary Basketball Guy,” he joked, cracking a weak smile and stepping aside for TJ to enter.

“Oh, so now we’ve added ‘Not So Scary’?” TJ teased, taking off his shoes at the front door, “Thank goodness I’m not terrifying anymore,” he added, flashing a smirk of a grin as he shut the door behind him.

“Oh c’mon, you’re all bark and no bite,” Cyrus reminded him, crossing his arms in defense. His stomach growled and it sounded like there was a dying whale trapped in his gut. “And that means we should start making breakfast,” Cyrus mentioned, mildly embarrassed, as he led TJ into the kitchen. The countertop had all the ingredients for pancakes neatly organized into a small corner, and all the utensils were by them, ready for use.

“I’m really hoping you’re not going to make me eggs or something healthy like that,” TJ warned, taking a seat and propping his elbows up on the countertops.

“Whaaaat?” Cyrus drawled, happy he didn’t find kale in the fridge, “No way...Jose,” he added. Of course Cyrus would quote a musical, being the theatre nerd that he was. “Only pancakes, of course. The breakfast of champs!” Cyrus proclaimed, slamming his fist on the countertop, wincing in pain.

TJ laughed breathily, pushing his blond locks back. “Don’t hurt yourself before the food is made, Underdog. Afterwards, as long as I have my pancakes, you have my permission to roll down the stairs,” he joked, his eyes smiling along with his lips.

Cyrus merely rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “Okay, okay, I see how it’s gonna be,” Cyrus snickered, his eyes narrowing and his lips pulling into a devious smile, “you want me to slave away and make you pancakes?” he sneered jokingly, nearly dissolving into laughter.

TJ shrugged, looking down at the bowl of strawberries. “Basically,” he replied, popping a few pieces in his mouth, smiling while he chewed.

“Alright, well let’s make this a little more interesting, shall we?” Cyrus suggested, waltzing around the kitchen mischievously. “How about a challenge, oh competitive one,” Cyrus quipped, glancing at TJ, “you and I are gonna have a pancake battle. And if, or should I said when I win, you have to buy me baby taters for a week,” Cyrus said. “You in?”

TJ looked up at Cyrus and smiled, the shorter boy starting to wonder if this was such a good idea anymore. “You know what? Yeah, bring it on,” TJ accepted, cracking his knuckles, “And when I win, you need to come to my basketball games for a week, with those megaphones,” TJ dared, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms and legs. Nevermind the fact that TJ had never in his life cooked anything other than eggs (which he burned, by the way); he wanted to win.

“Deal,” Cyrus confirmed extending his hand for TJ. They shook hands and only then and there did Cyrus realize how soft TJ’s hands were. He didn’t expect from someone who probably lifts weights and handles a basketball all day.

“Alright, Underdog,” TJ started, carefully tugging his sleeves up to his elbows, “let’s do this thing,” he added with his signature smirk, the one that looked like he’d punch the living daylights out of you.

“On your mark, get set, bake!” Cyrus cheered, rushing for the ingredients. He’d made the recipe a thousand times (well, more like 15) so he knew exactly what he was doing, expertly measuring the dry ingredients, and combining them with the wet, tossing in strawberries.

TJ, on the other hand, had literally no idea what he was doing, so he tried to copy what Cyrus was doing. When Cyrus added some white powder (baking soda, he later learned), TJ would try to do the same. What he couldn’t properly see, he would eyeball the amount; unfortunately, this lead to him adding ¼ cup of baking soda. TJ lunged for the flour, accidentally knocking it down in the process, and a cloud of flour formed, looking like it was snowing indoors, as well as outdoors. After the cloud had settled and the boys had finished their coughing fits, they looked at each other and laughed, doubling over.

“You look like Frosty the Snowman!” TJ snorted, ruffling the flour out of his own hair. “Here, let me,” he started, brushing through Cyrus’ hair, Cyrus shutting his eyes to block out the flour, as well as to not embarrass himself in front of TJ. He kept his eyes closed for a few more moments, before opening them, the light a little brighter than he remembered.

“It appears you may not be as talented as you thought, Kippen,” Cyrus chuckled, setting his bowl of pancake batter by the griddle, already smoking from the heat. Muttering something under his breath, TJ grabbed his bowl of what one could consider pancake batter, and set it on the other side of the griddle. TJ’s batter looked much lumpier than Cyrus’s, and it didn’t have as many strawberries or chocolate chips, since TJ ate most of them before he started. Cyrus poured a few ladles of the batter onto the griddle, the sound of them hitting the metal filling the air. TJ attempted to replicate what the shorter boy did, but the pancakes ended up being misshapen, and he burned almost all of them. The boys stacked their pancakes on plates, and set them on the table, both of them looking at them for a while.

“Well,” Cyrus said, feeling mildly bad for TJ, “I, uh, do you wanna try mine?” he asked, pushing the plate towards him. TJ pushed his plate of pancakes towards Cyrus, the look on his face one of fear.

TJ took a bite of Cyrus’ pancake, and you could practically see the serendipity rush into his body. “Good lord, Underdog,” TJ started, finishing the rest of the pancake in one swift bite, “open a breakfast business,” he complimented, grabbing a second pancake. “Now you have to try mine,” he urged, munching on Cyrus’ pancakes.

Tentatively, Cyrus grabbed one of TJ’s pancakes; it was soft to the touch, but one side was almost completely burnt, and it felt quite dense. He took a careful bite and immediately regretted it. Waaaay too much baking soda, he thought to himself, trying to smile. “Mm, it’s uh,” he mustered, faking a smile, “an interesting flavor...and texture,” he added, forcing himself to swallow, shuddering.

“I know that it’s garbage, don’t even try,” TJ corrected, Cyrus immediately dropping the act.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Cyrus admitted, quickly pushing TJ’s pancakes aside and stuffing one of his own into his mouth, visibly relaxing.

“Guess you won,” TJ muttered, defeated, “just let me know when you want baby taters,” he added, getting up to leave.

“Wait!” Cyrus exclaimed a little too excitedly, grabbing onto TJ’s sleeve to try and pull him back, his face heating up. “I-uh, you know, I could showyou how to make pancakes, you know, better ones?” he suggested, letting go of TJ’s shirt and fiddling with his own.

TJ knitted his brows together in confusion. “You seriously want to teach me , TJ Kippen, kitchen disaster, how to make pancakes? ” he questioned, crossing his arms.

Cyrus felt himself shrink into his own body. “Uhm, yes?” he squeaked meekly, clearing his throat to sound more confident. “Uh, I mean, s-sure, if you’d like to. Anyone can cook. Says so right in the movie Ratatouille,” he mentioned, testing the waters with a weak smile.

TJ thought it over for a few moments, before grinning. “You know what? Sure, let’s make some more pancakes. Anything is better than those ones,” TJ muttered, pointing to the stack of monstrosities that were TJ’s batch of pancakes.

The duo got to work, Cyrus reading off the proper measurements to TJ, and TJ following the directions exactly. This time, thankfully, none of the flour spilled on the ground. By the end, TJ had a luxurious batter ready to be made into pancakes. He spooned the batter onto the griddle, and waited until they were ready.

“Okay, I think they’re ready to be flipped,” Cyrus informed him, handing him the flipper for the pancakes. TJ tried to flip the first one, but it ended up folding in on itself and turning into a pile of batter.

“Told you I couldn’t do it,” TJ sneered, putting the flipper down in frustration. Cyrus walked up to him slowly and took it into his hand.

“Here, let me help you,” Cyrus suggested placing TJ’s hand near his own and walking over to the griddle. Gently, he helped TJ slip the flipper under the pancake, and successfully flip it on the other side.

“See!” Cyrus chirped, not letting go of the flipper, “I told you I could teach you,” he added with a knowing smile. Glancing down at the flipper, he tore his hand away, feeling tingly on the inside.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Underdog,” TJ scoffed, placing the flipper down, and breaking the pancake that they had just made in half, handing one half to Cyrus.

“Mm, see? So much better!” Cyrus exclaimed, swallowing the rest of the pancake. “You may not be half bad at this, Kippen,” he chuckled, taking a seat on one of the kitchen stools.

“Mm-hmm,” TJ murmured with a tiny smile, sitting by Cyrus in one of the other stools. The boys ate their pancakes in relative silence, save for the hum of the heater. When they were all gone, the boys leaned back in their seats, letting out simultaneous sighs of satisfaction.

“I, uh,” TJ started, hopping out of his seat, “I wouldn’t want to overstay my visit,” he added, almost inaudibly, but Cyrus caught it. Was TJ actually capable of saying something, dare he call it, polite? Cyrus scrambled to get out of his chair, taking a step towards TJ.

“You’re not overstaying your visit, dude,” Cyrus reminded him, looking up at the taller boy, “ I asked you to come over, remember? I mean, you can leave whenever you want, but I’m not gonna kick you out. Besides my parents won’t be home till late, so you’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he offered kindly.

“Oh,” TJ said lamely, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Thanks,” he added after a slight pause, unsure of what to say.

“So, what do you wanna do? We can watch TV, or, I mean, if you’re still hungry we can eat something else. We have leftover matzo soup, but I wouldn’t recommend that,” he suggested.

“TV sounds nice,” TJ agreed, and went to take a seat on the couch, slumping down in his seat and putting one leg over the other. Cyrus made a comment on how that was bad for his back, but TJ just shrugged it off and flicked through the channels, finally settling on watching Family Feud.

“Legs! Just say legs, my gosh,” TJ said exasperated. The question asked about what body parts men might describe as “long” on a woman, and the second person had just said forehead.

“You’re really into this, huh,” Cyrus observed, glancing over at TJ. His face was slightly red from yelling at the TV, his knuckles losing color as he gripped the edge of the couch.

“It’s not my fault I can’t handle their stupidity,” TJ half-joked, before his smile faded, “Can’t even handle my own stupidity,” he added, biting down hard on his lower lip, ignoring the TV for the first time.

Cyrus frowned, feeling his heart audibly break for TJ. They both knew that TJ has dyscalculia, but that didn’t mean that he was any less of a person, or rather, a student.

“TJ,” Cyrus said softly, shifting slightly towards him, “you’re not stupid. So you need some help with math, so what?” he added, TJ’s gaze not leaving the ground. “You’re not stupid, and you never were, TJ,” Cyrus continued, tapping his fingers on the edge of the couch. What had started out as an innocent hangout had turned into a more serious conversation about TJ’s “stuff”. Cyrus hadn’t noticed through all his therapeutic messages, but hot, angry tears were streaming down TJ’s face.

“Stop,” TJ croaked, and Cyrus immediately turned his attention to TJ, seeing how upset he was. “Let’s face it, Underdog,” TJ muttered, his voice breaking when he spoke, “I’m pathetic. I mean, look at me,” he added with a squeak, peering at Cyrus. His face was pale, his cheeks wet with tears, and his eyes were red and puffy. He looked so...defeated.

“You’re not pathetic, TJ,” Cyrus assured him, pondering as to whether or not he should give him a pat on the shoulder, “emotions are normal to have and to show. I am literally a walking sack of emotions,” he joked, earning a small chuckle from TJ. “But seriously, don’t beat yourself up like that, man,” Cyrus warned him, giving a gentle pat on his shoulder to cheer him up.

TJ shrugged, pulling his sleeves down and wiping his tears, trying to make himself look more presentable. “Thanks Underdo--Cyrus,” he edited, smiling weakly, “for not, you know, freaking out and not thinking that I’m stupid,” he added, the episode of Family Feud coming to an end as the clapping faded. Cyrus just nodded, happy that his friend was feeling a little better.

“I actually should get going, this time,” TJ told Cyrus, standing up, “I have basketball practice soon,” he said, advancing towards the door. Cyrus followed him to say his goodbyes.

“So, uh, I’ll see you later?” he asked, unsure if TJ would want to hang out with him again, judging by today’s events.

“Of course, dude. Remember, I owe you baby taters for a week,” TJ reminded him, slipping on his boots. He opened the door and was greeted by a flurry of snowflakes, littering his hair.

“Oh, wait one sec,” Cyrus sputtered, rushing towards the closet and pulling out a black beanie. “Take it...it’s cold outside, and it’s snowing,” he observed, handing the beanie to TJ, who took it and adjusted it on his head.

“Thanks,” he mustered, his smile evident in his crinkling eyes. “I’m, uh, I’m free later today, say around 6?” he suggested, already on the other side of the threshold.

“Yeah, sure! That works,” he chirped, bubbling up inside at the fact that TJ actually wanted to hang out with him again.

“Cool. Thanks for having me. I’ll see you later,” he concluded, giving Cyrus a small waves before heading out the door and braving the cold and the snow. Cyrus watched as the little white speckles dotted the black beanie that TJ sported. Once he was out of sight, he shut and locked the door, and took a deep breath. Today is going to be one hell of a day, he thought to himself, sitting on the couch and watching the next episode of Family Feud.