#it is so impossible to make an ugly quilt i think

[krembearry]

I have been quilting so much my thumb is forming a dent from pushing the needle

[theskywaslookingback]

hands

“Somehow I thought the place would have been smaller,” Martin says, bag slung over his shoulder as he looks up at the cottage. “It’s nicer than I would have given Daisy credit for.”

Jon hums, pulling his bag out of the boot of the car they’d borrowed from Basira and letting the lid fall shut with a heavy thunk. The cottage sits nestled at the base of a large hill, surrounded by lush green grass and the last vestiges of summer flowers. Far off in the distance a couple of cows graze lazily, just small dark shapes in the dying sunlight. Bugs hum in the air around them. It’s small and quiet, just the kind of place Jon thinks Daisy might have liked, actually.

The cottage itself is stone painted a stark white, with dark blue, peeling shutters closed tight to the windows. One of the shutters lies broken on the ground, and the glass it had been protecting is spider-webbed with cracks. Two terra cotta flower pots sit on either side of the front door, both empty. There was no evidence that a welcome mat had ever been laid between them. To the left of the door was a box filled with what had once been firewood but was now damp with mist and rot. Jon shuddered to think about creatures they might find lurking in the bottom of that box.

“Charming,” Jon says, the corner of his mouth turned down in distaste. He finds the key in a false rock on the right side of the cottage, just where Basira had said it would be, and lets them inside.

It’s clear from the moment they step inside that Daisy had not visited this particular safe house in quite some time. The air inside the cottage is thick and unpleasantly cold, smelling of dust and age. Dust motes catch in the dim light of the bulb as Jon turns on the light, and he’s displeased to see cobwebs sitting stubbornly in the corners of the room. The wood floor looks old and worn, scratchy looking area rugs dotted along like haphazard patchwork quilt. Jon loathes to take his shoes off.

“Well,” Martin says from behind him, crowding in close, “at least the electric is working.”

Jon shoots a withering glare over his shoulder and steps inside, letting Martin close the door behind them. He drops his bag next to the uncomfortable mound of fabric that someone generous might have once called a settee and goes to check on the rest of the place.

Jon checks the taps in the kitchen and is relieved to find the water running. There’s an expired  box of Tetley’s in the pantry that will have to make do until they can make their way down to the village to do a proper bit of shopping, and a couple cans of peaches that might be passable as dinner or breakfast if he can convince Martin to eat them.

He can hear Martin moving about in the sitting room, the creak of the windows and shutters as Martin pushes them open to get the place aired out a bit. “Might be a bit chilly with the windows open,” Jon says.

“There’s a radiator,” Martin replies, “I’ll see about getting it on.”

“Right.”

The hall light flickers when he turns it on, but it gives him enough light to see by. The cottage itself has only four rooms - kitchen, sitting room, one bedroom, and one bath - and Jon can’t bring himself to be surprised that the only bed appears to be a full size. He checks the dresser drawers and finds them empty, thankfully, no nesting mice or other visitors.

The bed is a utilitarian thing. One pillow, though he’s frankly surprised it even has that, white sheets with tight tucked corners, and a navy blue duvet. Jon pulls it off the bed to shake off the dust and sneezes, his eyes watering. He opens the single window with a little difficulty, having to stand on his tip-toes to get it all the way open, and unlocks the shutters. Night has settled quickly over the little valley, but the moon is bright and nearly full, pouring silver light into the room.

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to.

Jon clears his throat, the tips of his ears burning a little. “Any luck?”

Martin jerks a little, swinging his head up to look at him. Jon feels his mouth go a little dry at the sight if he’s honest. Martin’s dark hair sweeping over his forehead, those sleeves rolled back on those thick arms. He likes the look of Martin at work, those calm dark eyes fixed on a problem that Jon knows he’ll find a solution for. Martin sweeps his eyes over Jon, head to toe, before looking back at the radiator. “I don’t know what Daisy did to this thing, but I think it’s well and truly dead.”

“Did you try plugging it in?”

Martin gives Jon a glare worthy of one of his own and Jon feels his lips turn up into a grin without his permission. “It’s a gas radiator, Jon.” He sighs, “Hopefully the gas is just turned off and it’ll be an easy fix, but we’ll be stuck without it tonight.”

“That’s...not ideal.”

Martin hums in agreement.

Silence settles between them, a not unwelcome weight that Jon’s been getting used to the last few days. “Tea?” Jon asks after a moment for lack of anything more helpful to do.

“That would be lovely, actually. Did you find some?”

“Daisy had some in the pantry, it’s likely ancient, but--”

“Tea is tea.”

Jon wrinkles his nose but doesn’t outwardly disagree.

“I’ll just get some things put away then,” Martin says, picking his bag back up off the floor. “Do you want me to take yours?”

“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”

“Alright.”

Jon finds Daisy’s kettle under the sink and starts to wash it out when he hears Martin say something from down the hall. He turns off the water. “What?”

Martin appears in the entry, biting his lip. “There’s er, there’s only one bed.”

Jon furrows his eyebrows. “I’m aware. I saw the bedroom, Martin.”

“Yeah it’s just--“ Martin trails off, his cheeks flushing. “How are...how are we going to sleep?”

Jon remembers the two days they’d spent in his flat, sleeping in the same bed, their hands tangled together even when sleeping because the thought of being separated was too much to bear. But that had been right after Jon had walked Martin out of the Lonely, so he supposes those were extenuating circumstances, Martin needing an anchor to find himself again. It should be a relief that Martin feels safe enough to want a little distance again, but mostly it just sets off a dull ache in his chest.

Jon feels a sharp pain in his jaw and realizes he’s been clenching his teeth and makes an effort to relax, though his shoulders feel pinned next to his ears. Jon goes back to washing out the kettle, filling it with cool water to boil. He avoids Martin’s eyes and says, “I think there might be some spare linens in the closet. I can take the couch.”

Martin shifts, the old wood floor creaking under his foot. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Jon shrugs. “I’ve slept on worse, when I do manage to sleep. It’ll be fine Martin.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Jon says with a finality he doesn’t feel.

He finds a couple of mugs in the cupboard that he rinses out before filling with water and letting the tea bags steep. He brings the mugs back into the sitting room and sets Martin’s down on the table. He takes a sip of his own and grimaces. It’s vile, but far from the worst tea he’s ever had so he makes himself drink it.

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom  and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.

“Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.

“I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway.

They drink the rest of their tea in silence. Martin volunteers to do the washing up while Jon gets his own things put away.

Martin has left him half the dresser for his clothes and made a space for him on the bathroom counter. It feels almost too intimate, their toothbrushes resting side by side, their clothes in the same drawer. Jon tries desperately not to think about it as he changes his clothes for bed and rifles through the little linen closet for a set of sheets.

He finds a set of dark gray sheets and a threadbare red throw blanket that he drags back out into the sitting room. The settee is as uncomfortable as it is ugly, hardly more than a couple of boulders masquerading as a sofa; Although, Jon has spent many a night sleeping on the floor or bent over his desk at the Archives, so maybe he has no real right to complain.

Martin turns off the kitchen light and waits awkwardly for him to finish, hovering around the edges like he wants to say something but doesn’t have the words. “Are you going to be warm enough?” He finally asks, eyes locked onto the throw blanket. The fabric is almost sheer in spots from wear and dotted with holes along one edge.

The chill is almost impossible to ignore, but Jon just shrugs, a jerky up and down motion of his shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, if you’re--“ Martin bites his lip, “Okay. Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Martin disappears into the bedroom, turning the hall light off, and Jon lets out a shaky breath when he shuts the door behind him with an audible click.

*

Moonlight seeps in through the open windows, the chirp of crickets ringing along the countryside, a chill settling across the fields as if to prove winter will be along soon. Even in his long sleeve and trackie bottoms, two pairs of socks pulled up over his feet, Jon shivers. He keeps staring at the ceiling, tracing along crisscrossing cracks with his eyes. He kicks his feet and wraps the blanket further up his shoulder and tries to relax. The walls creak and shudder, old pipes groaning and settling inside the wall. Jon throws an arm over his eyes and tries not to think about it. He’s almost asleep when he hears the floorboards start to creak, the soft padding of footsteps coming from the hall.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is soft, a little strained and raspy like he’s anxious, “Are you still awake?”

Jon sits up, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “Yes, I’m still awake.”

“Oh,” Martin says. Jon can’t quite see him, can just make out the shape of him, long legs and broad shoulders. His arms wrapped around himself like he can’t keep warm. “It’s...it’s cold, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Might--” Martin clears his throat, “Might be easier if we slept together, yeah? Until we get the heating back up.”

“Are you--” Jon pauses, picking at a loose thread on the blanket, “Would you be okay with that?”

“Would I?” Martin blurts, “I, uh, would you? Be okay with that?”

“Of course. We shared before.”

“Yeah we…” Martin takes a step further into the room. The edges of him blur just a bit, and what Jon can make out of his face looks exhausted. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t, it--” Jon chokes on his own honestly, the lump of it hard and solid in his throat, “It’s okay when it’s you.”

Martin’s mouth drops open into a little ‘o’, a shocked exhale of breath coming from him.

Jon immediately wants to take it back. It’s too much, Jon knows, he’s always been too much at exactly the wrong time. He curls his fists into the blanket pooled at his waist, fighting back the sharp wave of panic that ‘this is it, this time he’s ruined it for good’.

“Okay,” Martin says softly, his lips turning up into a small smile that’s both soft and a little sad, “come on then, maybe we can still get a few hours in before sunrise.”

Jon swallows hard. The panic sits there in his chest, silent and waiting. “Okay,” He chokes out, “alright, let me just--” He gets up and takes the blanket with him, just to have something to do with his hands and follows Martin into the bedroom.

It’s just as cold in here as the rest of the house, but the way Jon’s fingers are trembling has nothing to do with the cold. He picks the side closer to the window, if only so he has something to stare at when he can’t sleep. Martin curls up next to him. The bed is so much smaller than his own back in London. Martin has to draw his legs up just to fit on the mattress, too tall and wide for the little bed. Jon fits just fine, but he’s a little worried about rolling off the mattress during the night. They’re perched precariously, sharing the same pillow, Martin’s warm breath at the back of Jon’s neck.

Eventually Martin sighs. “Here,” He says, shuffling a little behind Jon, “Can I--?” He hovers his hand over Jon’s waist.

It doesn’t-- it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that the bed is too small for two grown men, despite one being below average height, and it’s cold besides. That doesn’t stop Jon’s heart from beating hard and loud in his chest though, as he slowly nods.

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold.

“Alright?” Martin whispers.

“Yes.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.”

Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache.

“Night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Jon is sure there’s no way he could fall asleep like that, pressed so close to Martin that he can feel the warmth of him all along his body, but eventually he does.

[READ THE REST ON AO3]

[beclynn-herondale]

The roommates

(p.s. they are usually lively but can be the most angsty babies.)

A fun fact about Céline: she makes the best cookies. Michael and Luke refuse to eat any other cookies but hers. Céline was surprised because no one had ever enjoyed her baked goods before. She makes the boys cookies often.

-

“Healing is such an ugly thing. They never tell you how painful it is, how angry you'll be, or how you'll like there wishing for it all to go away. The mixed emotions that combat inside you. The lost years you'll never get back. But you just keep going, anyway. Healing is not as beautiful as they make it out to be. My heart is tired and it hurts.” - Céline

A fun fact about Michael: he's an excellent cook. He spoils his friends with good food. "I put love and soul into my food." he says. If only Robert realized all that free food wasn't just him "being nice" Lightwood men, am I right?

-

“I watch him be oblivious to how I feel, and I say 'It'd okey.' But it's not okay. How can someone be so blind to something so obvious, unless they know and just don't care. Or maybe he's just an idiot. I don't know why I continue to love someone like him. I know I deserve better, but I just love him. Maybe I'm the coward for not coming out and saying it.” - Michael

A fun fact about Luke: he plagiarizes the things his friends say and puts them into his stories. Poor Michael will never live down do many things he said. Céline is careful about what she says. And poor Luke is just a struggling writer, the mutual feeling is real.

-

“It's a constant battle between wanting someone and knowing you can't have them, because if you ever made a move on them you'd be betraying your best friend. And so you lay there in your own heartache. And I feel left behind, but she was never really mine to begin with. So, what right do I have to be hurt?” - Luke

The lone wolf (kinda)

She just does her own thing.

A fun fact about Amatis: she lives in New York, she moved there after she turned eighteen. Wanting to finally live her life for herself. She's journalist there. Her and Luke often talk about writing together.

-

“I raised my brother all on my own, I was only a child then myself. But I had to do it. And if you're asking me if running away the second I turned eighteen was selfish of me? No. I don't think it was. I wanted to finally live my life. I never got to live my childhood, I wasn't gonna let my adult years slip through my fingers just the same. Luke will understand one day, if he doesn't already. He knows how much I love him. And he knows I needed to be free.” - Amatis

The Herondale cousins

They hate each, but they love each other. does that make sense? (Yes they grew up together in this au. And yes Rosemary puts Stephen in his place a lot.)

A fun fact about Rosemary: she wants to travel all over the place and learn new things about other people. She just wants someone to do it with her. Sadly no one wants to go on a travel adventure with her. at least, not yet.

-

“We're all a product of the environment we were raised in. My cousin is a prime example of that. I'm a product of my own. And at the end of the day, we have to ask ourselves who we truly want to be. That takes letting go, but most of us don't have the strength to let go entirely. Because we're afraid. we're afraid that if we let it go we'll lose the one thing we truly know. And being lost terrifies people. I wish to be lost.”

A fun fact about Stephen: when he was little he wanted to be in a band. He loves music that much. He also makes quilts often and donates them but you didn't hear that from me, he prefers to be seen as a badboy. (p.s. don't tell Imogen.)

-

“My parents made it impossible to ever be fully honest with them. In their attempt to raise an overachieving son, they raised a liar who dreams of getting away from them. All my life I've longed for the day I finally moved out. And even when moved out I still was held captive by their expectations. Why do you think my mother took the position here? So she could keep an eye on me. Make sure I'm not messing up.”

(art by Cassandra Jean, I used the ones who had art cause I liked the way it looks.) (characters belong to Cassandra Clare, I'm just using them in my story and adding to them.)

Tag list: @khaleesiofalicante @chibi-tsukiko @spotsandclawsthings @megs-readstoomuch @magnus-the-maqnificent @replayfootsteps @my-archerboy @jazzkaurtheglorious @simply-ellas-stuff @bookfast-at-tiffanys

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

WELP here it is, my totally self indulgent reader x binsung fic that has developed into so much more than I expected!! thank you lovelies for hyping me up to write more of this story ily!! hehe we are indeed in for a spicy, angsty, and fluffy time!! You can read part 1 here

Part 2  

Paring: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst, 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!jisung, rapper!changbin, artist!reader, established fwb!jisung, explicit language, oral (f receiving), that good, good makin’ out,   sub!reader, cockydom!jisung, on that note, jisung being horny as hellll, the cutest bestfriend!felix there is, changbin’s flirty ass, a sprinkling of angst, ro being in her fanfic writer element uwu 

Word count: 3.1k

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

[00:19] 

han jisung: you like the performance? 

you looked stunning. 

where did you go? i couldn’t find you. i even stayed after. 

[00:28] 

me: oh really? just for me? 

han jisung: you left something at my place last time, I was going to give it back to you. 

me: that’s why you wanted to see me? i don’t believe you. 

[00:36] 

han jisung: are you doing anything right now? 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Against the heat of your sweating body on the matted quilt, a winter chill seeped in through the wooden windowsill, dusty with age. Had you not been burning with heat, you would have been freezing. Fistfuls of the quilt filled up your hands, and your fingers dug into the fabric hard enough to make your nailbeds change color. You hadn’t even noticed that you had been slightly grinding into his mouth. 

“you taste so good baby,” Jisung’s breath swirled into your swollen clit.

A tiny squeak escaped your lips at the sensation.

Both of his arms had curled under your legs to pull them farther apart, lending his nails to dig lightly into your skin. He chuckled out pridefully onto your sensitive bud, the vibrations heightening your arousal. Jisung kissed gently into you with the luxurious sounds of your excitement and his saliva mixing on his lips. His eyes held a mischievous green haze as he would look up at you with his big brown eyes, flattening out his tongue to lick at you in thick, agonizing lines. At last, he would suck and on your clit, flicking his tongue around it sporadically, as if he was giving every nerve ending his complete attention.

The way that he would suck on your clit was unreal.

As if to balance yourself, you raked one of your hands instinctually through his nearly black strands.  

“Ji--” You choked out half of his name, too weak to summon the rest.

You were impossibly close. With eyes scrunched up a little, they rolled up from his taunting gaze to your ceiling.

On the shitty paint job up there, there was a crack. It was an ugly crack at that: the kind that was browning from water damage and segued into other tinier veins. Your apartment was old anyway. It wasn’t uncommon for old apartments like that to have cracks in the ceiling.  

You hadn’t really recognized it before.

Why haven’t I noticed that before?

“fuck, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Mmhm.” You focused back on his lapping tongue, feeling the tension build once more. “ ‘M close.”

Jisung quickened his pace, sucking harder and rubbing the tip of his tongue over your mound. You could even feel the little haughty smile on his mouth when your hips jerked up toward him.

As you neared your orgasm, memories fogged your eyes, you let them roll over and over, relishing in how good it had all felt. Suddenly you wanted nothing more than to feel filled up hopelessly deep inside.

“f-fingers” Your whispers begged.

Jisung obliged, sliding his index and ring in to pump in and out of your walls.

Perhaps you had made it up to feel better than it was in your head.

You came a couple minutes after, limbs shaking under his teasing while he helped you ride out your high, tongue still circling around your clit. Shallow inhales filled up your lungs as you calmed your body.

You didn’t remember it feeling like that...you remembered it being...unreal.

Jisung lead kisses up your stomach before giving a couple fleeting kisses to your breast, smug as he always was.

“-Felt good?”

Little aftershocks still tugged at your body. “...As always Ji.”

“Mm. Good.” He beamed widely with the pearly white grin that had drawn you to him in the first place. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Jisung tugged his boxers down, letting free his properly hardened member, veiny and tip dripping with his eager pre-cum. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

Jisung prowled over your body, stretching out your legs up in front of him.

Your thighs shook in his hands.

“Jisung, wait--”

“--What is it?” Worriedly, his eyes widened looking down at you.

“...can we give it a sec? Can you give me a sec?”

His puzzled expression gave you his answer.

“I just fucking came Ji, can’t you give me a damn minute to settle down before we go at it again?”

His mouth formed a little “oh” then he slid down to lay beside you, brows crossed slightly. “...you’ve never asked for this before.”

“just shut up and kiss me alright?”

Jisung nodded, bridging the gap between your faces and the mess of pillows under your heads.

When Jisung wasn’t trying to fuck you, he was actually a decent kisser. Against your better judgement, there had been times when you would let your mind linger over these kisses that you had wished he had given you more of. His mouth was warm, and tasted slightly of your arousal from before. Jisung’s tongue asked for permission on your bottom lip, which you granted entrance. He leaned himself further into you, moaning breathily into your mouth. Just because you liked how he would whine for you, you pulled at his lip with your teeth.

You don’t know why your eyes had opened, but there it was again. The crack.

How long had it been there?

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“I just can’t believe you, Y/n.”  

Felix’s voiced echoed though the empty alley, your favored shortcut to campus. Dumpsters covered with snow lined the road riddled in potholes. In each hole, melted snow had leaked in to turn to ice once more. Felix had already slipped three times. Both of your arms linked together to make him feel better.

“How many times are you gonna make me apologize? It ended up being fine anyway.”

“When I say to text me when you get back, what are you supposed to do?”

“Text when I get ba-- “

“--Text when you get back!!!” The little puffball on Felix’s hat bounced in his frustration. “You couldn’t even text me to tell me that something had happened? Do you know how nervous I was?”

“Felix, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Does that do it?”

Your adorable companion grimaced at you, unamused. “I just think that I’m more astonished that you actually stayed over. What the hell did he offer to you? Food? Money?”

“Felix!!” You shoved him away from your body in your dramatic shock. “How dare you think that I would stoop that low!”

“...Well...”

“HEY!”

“You know how I feel about Jisung.”

“He’s not Jisung...that’s for sure.”

“You know about them Y/n. You yourself have said that they’re all the same.”

“Cocky, overzealous dickheads who know exactly what to do with their mouths?”

Felix rolled his eyes coupled with an annoyed groan under his breath. “You know that’s not what I mean.” He huffed out his breath into the freezing air. “His presence didn’t nauseate you?”

“I was tired. I honestly don’t remember falling asleep, I only remember waking up before the sun came up and leaving.”

“-Didn’t even say goodbye? See you again? Your phone number?”

“I don’t plan on seeing him again.”

“You don’t?”

“He...looked at me weird.”

Felix let out a flabbergasted pshhhh, which turned into a startled little gasp when his foot caught the ice. As always, you were there to catch his falls.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That he looked at me weird! What the hell else is it supposed to mean?”

“Care to expand?”

It had been four days. Four days that had felt much longer than four days. Four days since he had looked at you like you like you were the only person to ever live and breathe. You knew what was in his eyes. It was something you hadn’t truly felt on your body for a long time.

“You’re perfect.” He had said to you, barely knowing more than your name.

In your lusty haze that night, you had said something about being all his.

You barely knew more than his name.

In the days after when you recalled the whole night, searching for answers to why you had said what you had, no explaination pieced together. You hadn’t belonged to anyone in such a long time, and you certainly didn’t belong to him.

He had asked to know you better, but you kissed the words away on his lips before he could say any more.

Your body shivered placing the memory of his fingers tracing up and down your back as you had studied his features, the two of you still connected.

You turned to your friend, “No. Because there isn’t anything more to talk about. He looked at me weird, and I’d rather not see him again.”

“~Oookay then~” Felix nuzzled into your arm. “You working today? Can you make it Chan’s after? We’re gonna play some Smash and there’s a new DLC!”

“-Can’t make it, I’ve got some projects to work on.”

“School or the other kind?”

“Both. My new paper should be coming today.”

“Suit yourself...but we’ll miss youuuu.” The peppy blonde squeezed hard where he held onto you, only to have his feet fall out from under him on the ice.

You quickly softened his fall, holding his body up before his butt would hit the concrete. “I don’t think that I’m the one that you should be worrying about ‘lix.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

From your favorite corner of the library, the sun would shine the brightest at sunset, and luckily, often your scheduling would let you see it. Sometimes you liked to think that you owned it in this little corner on the fourth floor. Better yet, it was situated near the stacks of old newspapers and periodicals so seldom did this corner see anyone else other than you.

The shelf was nestled near to one of the floor-length windows which overlooked the skyline. At this time of year nearest to the aftermath of Christmas, the city lights were still peppered with greens, reds, yellows and blues. You thought to yourself that there was nothing more magnificent than the way the sky would fade from the color of blood oranges to the depths of the ocean with the dawn. You had painted it nearly a hundred times, but each time you were left unsatisfied; it was impossible for your hands to recreate something so unique.

Standing this close to the glass, you could feel the winter cold emanating off of it.

“--Beautiful right?”

His voice had startled you, and for a moment you had thought that you had imagined him.

“‘Kinda thing makes me wanna write.”

He walked up right next to you, hands in his pant’s pockets. A billowy looking black hoodie wrapped around his body and his gaudy silver chain peeked from under his collar. You shouldn’t have expected him to look directly at you. He still wouldn’t give you the pleasure until you demanded it.

Silently the two of you stood watching the sun dissipate beyond the horizon for what seemed like hours. Just as you remembered, his massive aura was nearly suffocating. There was something new however: the scent of rosemary and cedarwood which hung around him.

At long last, he muttered, “You didn’t give me a chance to see you off.”

You swallowed dry. “What are you doing here?”

“You gonna answer my question first?” From the corner of his eyes, his stormy pupils teased you.

“You first.” You straightened yourself best you could.

“My roommate goes here. I was looking around for him. Your turn.”

Changbin took his hands out from his pockets to intentionally twist the silver rings around his fingers.

“I work here.” You answered, opting to finesse your way out of answering his question by answering yours.

“Huh. You’re a librarian?” He scoffed out a single laugh. “Why do I find this slightly ironic...considering where we met.”

“I just move stuff around. Ever heard of a part time job?” You clenched out the words between your teeth.

“Oh believe me, I have. Got a few myself. It’s what I get for choosing music over school.”

“How honorable.”

“I’m a man of honor...as you know.” His eyes finally cast down at you.

Frankly, your memory must’ve been shit, because he looked even more unreal than you remembered.  

“Actually, I’m kind of glad that I ran into you here. What a coincidence, huh?”

“--Sure.” You quipped.

Changbin tilted his head with a growing smirk. “Knees feeling better?”

“They’re fine.”

“Good thing that I was there to help you.”

“You don’t have to pretend like you’re talking about my knees Changbin.”

You turned to walk away, only for him to twist himself around into your path.

“You’ve got me.” He rose his arms up in defeat. “Since I didn’t get your number, I didn’t get the chance to tell you--” Changbin’s body mass leaned ever so slightly closer to you, his dark eyes glossing over with that same confidence that he held so naturally. He breathed into your ear, “I really enjoyed our time together.”

His words send a shiver down your entire body that you prayed he didn’t see. You took a hand flat to his chest to remove him from your space.

“D-don’t you have a roommate that you should be finding?”

“Libraries are big places. Plenty of places for me to get lost...”

He advanced again, cupping a hand to the side of your face and rubbing his thumb into the soft of your cheek.

There he was, looking at you again like that. Had it not been addicting, you would have been terribly annoyed by it now.

Changbin tilted his face nearer, his lips just barely grazing over yours. Something about his scent made you feel like you were enchanted.

“Have you been thinking of me as much as I have of you?”

He sucked in a sharp inhale, then sealed your lips with his. He took both sides of your face in his hands, holding on you with such a dire grip it was as if he felt like you would melt into nothing in his hands. Every run of his lips over yours was different from the last; but the way in which he poured himself into it all was the exact same. He used his full weight to push the two of you into the metal shelf, bracing the back of your head so you wouldn’t get hurt. Changbin pressed his body into you fully, nearly engulfing you with his broad chest. There was nothing else in his kisses besides pure, unadulterated desire.

Four days since he had kissed you. Four days that had felt much longer than four days.

Hesitantly, your hands twitched at your sides, deciding to hold him back. You hadn’t noticed, but his own hands had fallen from your face to cascade down your arms to wrap them around him himself. Under the fabric of his hoodie, you could feel every single curved muscle. Before you could explain it, your fingers traversed all around the expanse, drawing in all the pieces that your brain hadn’t thought to commit to memory. The second that you did, he smiled into your mouth.

“So you have.” His husky tone spilled into your ear after he gently broke from your lips.

Changbin moved to kiss at your pulse at your neck, leaving you to tremble under his fluttering movements. Your teeth bit into your lip as to not produce a sound; your fear of someone walking round the corner only made you more anxious and thrilled. He pulled the collar of your sweater down to increase the pressure of his mouth, drawing little whimpers from your throat.

“Changbin, what are you--”

Before he could do any more damage, he pulled back, putting your collar right back in place. Between the two of you, your exasperated little gasps filled the air. Slowly, he run his thumb over your slightly swollen lips.

“I meant it, I’d like to get to know you more.” He swept your hair back with a couple fingers.

“I was planning on not seeing you again.” You gathered up your will again.

Changbin tsked, “That wasn’t how you kiss someone you don’t want to see again.”

You pulled his hands from off your face. “I should be going. And you should too.”

“You’re unbelievable.” He scoffed with disbelief.

You really were. Just from kissing him, you had felt how inexplicably wet you had become. Every part of your body ached for just a little more, and you could have it. But you wouldn’t let yourself. He didn’t own you.

“Need me to show you to the stairs?”

“No.” He spat out the word. “Don’t walk away from this.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“I thought that I just made myself pretty damn clear.”

“--As did I.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Changbin strode up to you, the little thin chain on his pants swaying.

“Give me your number.” He said in earnest. For once, you saw his confidence falter.

“I said, I don’t plan on seeing you again.”

“--Then I’ll give you mine. You don’t even have to use it and I can’t reach out to you, how’s that?”

“You’re acting like I’ll want to.”

He exhaled out cooly, “Why the hell else would you kiss me like that?”

Why did you kiss him like that?

You reached out from your back pocket to slide out your phone. “Don’t expect anything. I’ll probably just delete it after long.”

He typed in the numbers, then grinned, announcing, “I doubt that.” Once done, he pulled your collar back up just a little bit higher to fix how it had become askew on your frame.

He sighed with finality, toying with his rings once more. “I think that I’ve been lost in here long enough.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

[01:47]

han jisung: are you doing anything right now?

Your pencil clicked down to your desk with a wooden little thunk. The state of your room was a mess; not like he would have cared. Back at your desk, you glanced down at your unfinished sketch and the scattering of watercolor paintbrushes and paints. During the late hours of the night, your brain would get hazy, and your inhibitions would likely smear like the little pools of blue watercolor accidently spilled on your desktop.

Your tired fingers typed out the word “no.”

Outside of your tiny window dusty with age, you could still see a bit of the twinkling of lights on the cityscape. During the night, they looked like a rainbow of stars reflected upon the night’s ocean.

Your tired fingers deleted the word “no”, then opened a new message. For a moment, you hovered over the keyboard.

[01:49] CB

You really were unbelievable.

me: are you doing anything right now?

[operationcavill]

Just Fun

I’ve pictured a younger Henry x Y/N while writing this, but as always, please imagine whatever you please 🖤 This contains sexual content. Please do not read if you are not a fan of explicit material.

Henry wakes to the sound of a faint clinking and a smile on his face. The sun is peeking through the window and he can smell Y/N’s perfume. He turns where he’d hoped to find her sleeping, but he sees her sitting on the bed buckling her belt. “Why you always leave like that?”

Henry wakes to the sound of a faint clinking and a smile on his face. The sun is peeking through the window and he can smell Y/N’s perfume. He turns where he’d hoped to find her sleeping, but he sees her sitting on the bed buckling her belt. “Why you always leave like that?”

“What do you mean?” His arm wraps around her waist and his head rests on the pillow she was laying on just moments before, “Henry,” Her voice was a bit groggy and he loved that.

His hand rubs her stomach gently. “I mean; why don’t you ever stay with me?” She sighs at his question. She doesn’t want to give the answer; she doesn’t want to give anything away. “Am I that boring that you can’t even stand to sleep beside me?”

He feels her back straighten, as if she was suddenly tense. “No, I think you’re great. You’re fun. I just don’t wanna make a mess of something fun, you know?” Henry feels something inside him fall.

“So, it’s just fun for you?” Y/N adjusts her bracelet and clears her throat. No, it’s not just fun. It’s almost everything. She feels Henrys arm slip from her waist, immediately missing the warmth. She went into this for a good time, they both did, but when Henry started showing any other signs of affection or suggested dinner or a movie, she felt a ping in her chest. She felt it whenever he smiled or said even said hello.

She hangs her head and stares at her knees. “It’s a lot of things, that’s the problem.” He watches her abruptly get off of the bed and shove on her shoes, tripping and cussing her way down the hall as she walks off.

Henry throws off the sheet to go after her, not a care that he’s completely naked. “Y/N, wait,” He hears his front door open and his heart beats faster. “Y/N!” As soon as the door slams, her eyes pool with tears and Henry sluggishly walks back to his room. He flops down so hard that it hurts his back, what hurts more is that his eyes go straight to her necklace on the night stand. He takes it and twirls it in his fingers before putting it around his own neck.

As Y/N drives home she’s tempted to turn back around and tell him how she feels. She won’t, though. She’s too prideful. Henry’s voice calling out to her stings her ears and the lump in her throat has become unbearable. When she reaches her apartment she struggles with the lock, her teary eyes are blurring her vision which only makes her more frustrated. She finally enters and her roommate, Nora, jumps as she takes in Y/N’s appearance. “What’s wrong?! What happened? Are you ok?” Nora’s job was to take care of others. She was a nurse who works crazy hours and still made the time for their venting sessions.

“I’m fine. I just wanna go to bed, it’s late. Or early, or whatever.” She tries her best to hide her little sniffles but fails miserably.

“Y/N, it’s 4:43 am. Too early for bull shit. Come on, sit down. I’ll get coffee.” Nora sits her down on the couch and throws a quilt at her. She arrives with too mugs, hers being quite larger than Y/N’s. “Spill it.”

Her exhale is shaky but she explains the night before, trying not to get worked up again. “He called me around 8, asking me to meet him for dinner. I told him I’d meet him at his house instead. I could hear it in his voice, you know? That’s what’s so shitty. I think he feels the same way,” her voice breaks but she continues, “but I can’t tell him. I see him lying there and it’s like, I feel myself getting ready to explode. I just keep leaving him and I can never look at him when I leave because if I do, I won’t leave at all. I would stay there, I would stay there and tell him that I love him and risk losing it all.” Y/N looks back to Nora, who’s eyes have gone wide.

She takes the mug from her and sits it on the table. She grabs her hands, making Y/N look at her. “I’m not going to tell you to tell him but I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t. Maybe you just need some time away from each other to be sure what it is that you’re feeling.” Y/N nods and gives her a sad excuse of a smile.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed. Call me on your break?” Nora doesn’t further pry the conversation but promises that she’ll call. She looks in on Y/N before leaving and finds her asleep with a disgruntled look on her face. Her sleep is dreamless, restless. Every fifteen minutes she tosses and turns until she lies flat on her stomach with her eyes fixed on the clock. With her vision focusing in and out on the numbers, her mind goes back to Henry. Not that he wasn’t on her mind already but he was there, clear as day as if he was in the bed with her.

So many questions float through her brain, so many emotions. Why was she such a coward? Why couldn’t she just stay, just sleep there and wake up to him? Y/N is torn from her thoughts when her phone rings. The vibration on the wooden table makes her groan a ‘Hello?’ into the device. “Well, I guess you’re still in bed then?” Oh, she forgot Nora was going to call. “Jenny and I are gonna go out tonight and you’re coming with us. She met this guy at like, a spinning class or something and he asked her to meet him but she doesn’t want to go alone, so I got dragged into it. Meaning you are too.”

“Why does that mean I have to go? I don’t want to. I wanna stay here.” Her ear is filled with sighs and what could only be described as the kind of scolding that your grandmother would give you. “You can be such a dick; you know?”

Her roommate rolls her eyes even though Y/N can’t see her, “Yeah but so can you. It’ll be fun, we’ll have some frilly drinks and stuff.” Once she has Y/N agree she gleefully announced she’ll be home soon and hangs up the phone.

Y/N looks at the clock once more and decides she can wallow for a few more hours. She pulls the covers closer to her body and rolls around until a comfortable position is found. In what seems like the impossible, Y/N actually falls asleep.

Henry, however, hasn’t slept a wink. He can’t. How could he? He’s been playing with that necklace for hours now and he hasn’t stopped thinking about Y/N. She should be beside him right now, her cold toes poking at his legs. He blinks hard to try to relieve the tired burn of his eyes. Henry thinks if he can stare at the ugly dots of the popcorn ceiling just long enough, he may finally doze off.  He finds himself questioning the night before. He could’ve flat out told her he wanted whatever it was that they did have, to be more. He might even have said that he loved her. Why did he have to go get himself in this mess? And what did Y/N mean when she said it was a lot of things?

Buzz. Buzz. His feet sprint to his phone in hopes that it's Y/N but to his dismay it's a text from Jack, asking him to come out tonight. He responds that he doesn't think he's in the mood, which in turn makes his friend call in order to convince him. “Come on. Just stop by, drinks on me, aye?” He’s silent for a few seconds before finally giving into Jacks offer. Henry throws his phone back on the bed and walks to his bathroom, grabbing a towel on his way.

The hot water hits his chest and he sighs. He lets the water rain over his head, making his long hair cling to his forhead. Henry opened his eyes and focuses in on Y/N’s necklace. It sways back and forth, back and forth. His mind goes to the night before and he pictures her moving on him, for him, just like that necklace; back and forth. She dug her nails into his chest and his into her hips, her chest moving just out of reach in front of his face. His hand moves to his dick, now hard and begging to be touched. He moves slowly, just like she would. He thinks about that dirty image and replays it over and over until her mouth pops into his mind. Those lips wrapped around him, “Fuck,” She always moved her tongue in the best way, swirling it around and if he was lucky, licking him clean. He closes his eyes and continues to move his hand. Even though Henry has just started; he’s already finishing, gritting his teeth and grunting.

—————

“You look so good in this that it’s actually stupid.” Nora zips up Y/N’s dress and fluffs her hair. Before she can turn around to talk to her, she’s rummaging through her closet flinging shoes around until she finds the perfect pair. “These!”

Y/N dodges the heels and throws a pillow at her careless roommate, “Try to kill me, why don’t you?” She picks up the shoes and flails them in the air before flopping on her bed.

Nora just rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Shut up, put the shoes on. Cabs gonna be here soon.” Once she leaves the room, Y/N wiggles on the heels and involuntarily extends her arm to her desk to grab her necklace.

“Shit.” She looks in her unmade bed, under it, under the desk and even the bathroom but the necklace is nowhere to be found. Nora finds her on her hands and knees with her head under the couch.

She snickers at her and pokes her butt with her foot, “Y/N, did you pre-game? Are you already drunk?”

“What? No, I can’t find my necklace.” Then it clicked that she left it at Henry’s, “Fuck a duck.”

Nora laughs, “What?”

“I left it at his.” They sigh in unison and Y/N gives Nora an upset look. She pulls her up off the floor and drags her to the door.

“I bet it’s in the car. We’ll look for it in the morning, let’s get outta here and have some fun!” The ride to the spot was proven difficult for the driver, with the two in the back singing very loudly to a song that he doesn’t know, he was more than glad that they left him a nice tip.

Upon entering, the duo searches for their friend who seems to have not arrived yet. They order drinks and sit at the end of the bar. “So, where did she meet this guy again?”

Nora takes a drink before answering, “She told me she met him at a spinning class. Which is weird cause I’ve gone to that class and there are zero guys. His name is Jake, or jack or something.” They both laugh and Nora suddenly waves, “Oh, look! They’re here.” Before Y/N can turn, she notices her friends face fall.

“What? What is it?” Nora just makes a funny smile, just like she makes when she’s uncomfortable. She finally turns her body on the stool and her eyes meet Henry’s, causing him to freeze in his place. Her feet meet the floor and Nora grabs her wrist. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, Ok?”

“If you don’t come back, I’m kicking your ass later for lying to me.” Y/N reassures her that she’ll come back and heads to the bathrooms. She ignores the half-drunk girls and makes her way to the sink, looking at herself. She adjusts her dress and fixes her hair.

Back at the bar, there’s an awkward silence between Nora and Henry but she breaks it, “Okay, Cavill. Let’s get to it.”

He cuts her off with a nervous laugh, “You know, you can call me Henry.”

She gives him a blank stare and sports no amusement, “Listen up, Cavill. Y/N is my best friend so I’m obligated to tell you to get your shit together and tell her how you feel. Seriously, whatever you two have, talk about it.”

“Well, it’s not exactly easy when she’s sneaking out of the house every five-seconds.” He downs the rest of his drink and places it on the bar.

Nora guffaws and thinks she needs about 3 more drinks to get through this conversation. “You ever think to go after her, you freaking idiot.” Then it clicks, he was too worried about bothering her to go after her but was that what she really wanted?

Henry nods at the bartender for another round then returns to their conversation, “So, should I like go get her?”

“Sure. Good a time as any!” Nora pushes her empty shot glass away and laughs, “…I’ve had too many, startin’ to yell.”

“Well, Buzzed Nora is enlightening. Fingers crossed, eh?” Henry makes his way to the tiny hall where the bathrooms are located. He knows she’ll be right pissed with him waiting for her but Nora got him all determined and okay, a little nervous.

Y/N checks her ass out in the mirror and sighs, getting the attention of a girl applying lipstick. “If you’re worried about your ass, don’t. That dress is incredible.”

She is taken aback a bit but giggles, “Thank you. You look incredible yourself.” After a small chat, she leaves the bathroom feeling a little more confident and convinced that she’ll just ignore Henry the rest of the night. Her plan comes to a screeching halt as she finds him leaned up against the wall in front of the door. “Shit.”

Henry raises his eye brow, “Nice to see you too, Y/N,” She gives him a pathetic excuse of a smile and slowly begins to walk away from him but he follows. He gets close enough to stop her and to her disappointment, right in the middle of what looks like a sea of dancing bodies. His arm slips around her front and pulls her to him, “Always running away. I would complain a lot more but you’ve got such a nice ass.” He knew how to get under her skin, she abruptly turns and scowls. “I’m kidding, kind of.”

She shakes her head to get her hair out of her face and avoids his face, “I have to go find Nora.”

“Ah, but you don’t. She knows we’re gonna talk.” Y/N makes a mental note to get back at her but the thought fades when Henry kisses her cheek and her hand flies to his chest to stop him. A familiar glint dangles from his neck and her brows furrow.

Her fingers pull the charm from the necklace out of his shirt and he gulps at the feeling of her touching his skin, “Why are you wearing my necklace?”

“It was the only part of you that stayed.” Suddenly, she feels closed in and hurt all at once. That risk-losing-it-all feeling washes over her and she tries to brush past him, but his arm catches hers and he leads her to a dark secluded nook, where only a few people who are much too into their drinks and own conversations.

The close proximity of their bodies makes her heart race and the soothing touch of his hand on her back is almost too much, “Let’s go back to the bar.” She catches his eyes and he gives her one soft kiss before getting even closer.

“I may not know what’s going on in your head, but I know that when I do this,” He pulls her to him, looking her right in the eye, “you start to breathe heavy.” Henrys mouth moves closer to her ear and a hand slaps her backside causing her to moan, “and when I do that, you purr like a fucking kitten.” Her nails dig into his bicep and she attempts to turn her head away from his, but his hand moves to her jaw in order to keep it in place. “No, no, Look at me. I’m not finished.” Y/N’s eyes find his and she knows she has no chance. “If you wanna leave, fine. But not until I’m done talking.” His hand slips under her skirt and his chest connects with hers, pinning her to the wall behind them. Henry’s mouth moves to her ear as his hand ghosts over her panties.

Her teeth bite into her bottom lip in order to stop herself from groaning but she fails. “Now that I’ve really got your attention, I’m gonna start.” His lips barely touch the shell of her ear and she shivers. “I wake up every day wishing you were in my bed. You see, we have these incredible nights together where I get the privilege of making you moan for me, come for me.” His hand moves her underwear to the side and a finger teases her. “I get to do this to you, I can get you wet but I can’t get you to say you love me.” Henry lets the word slip from his lips and it travels through her ear then all the way down to the pit of her stomach.

Another moan escapes her but not only is it filled with pleasure, it’s filled with a new kind of desperation. “Henry, this isn’t fair.” He was being relentless. His fingers play with her clit and she can feel his heart beat, “This is, this is mean.”

This time Henry groans, “If you’re gonna pretend like all you want is a good fuck, then I have news for you; you’re a bad liar. Do you really think I don’t know? I see it every time you run off from me. I wake up feeling like it’s gonna be the day you tell me you love me and I finally get to say it back. Can you imagine how far you’d run if I said it first? ” His voice is low but his finger still moves. Her hand moves to the back of his neck and her forehead rests on his shoulder, “Not letting me love you? That’s mean.”

She’s overwhelmed in every sense of the word. Her body is hot yet she’s covered in chills. “It’s not that, god…it’s not that simple.” His pulls her closer and inserts two fingers inside her. “Oh my god, we have to go.” Henry smiles against her ear as her hips move forward. His fingers curl and she yelps loudly but his mouth lands on hers to silence it. She has no fight left in her. Her body loosens and their lips press harder together. Henry gets carried away and moves his hand faster. “There’s too many people…Someone will see.”

“No one’s looking at us. Maybe I should make you come right here. If that’s all you think you want from me, I might as well give it to you. That all you want from me? You want me to make you come? Huh?” He can feel her squeeze on his fingers, “I told you, you were a bad liar. Tell me the truth. Tell me what you want.” He moves so that they’re face to face again. “Hmm?”

Y/N clutches his arms and an angry look covers her face. “This is the worst way to get me to tell you I love you.” Henry smiles widely and releases his fingers. She hates how cute that smirk makes him. “What?”

“Gotcha,” He grabs her hand and pulls her away from the corner, through the club and out to the parking lot. He opens the car door for her and rushes to the other side. She can’t believe how fast this moment is passing. He had her up a wall only a few minutes ago and now they’re zooming towards his house.

Henry is still grinning and it further pisses Y/N off, why is he being such an idiot? “What are you smiling about? Where are we going?” He keeps his eyes on the road and continues to shifts gears.

“You told me you loved me and we’re going home to celebrate.” Her mind drifts off and her words from earlier shake her brain. She did it. Fuck, she said it.

Her voice is quiet and confused, “Celebrate?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m fucking crazy for you.” Even with him saying how he feels, she can’t help but think none of it’s real. Henry could be lying, there’s always a chance. “I love you.” There it is, it’s out in the open and Y/N kind of feels dizzy.

She’s not sure what to do, what does she say? Does she say it back? “Um…I, well, me too.” They hit a stop light and Henry cheeky grin falls.

He sighs, “Why won’t you say it? Said it before.” He doesn’t sound annoyed or disappointed, if anything he sounds a happy.

She plays with her fingers as she whispers, “I don’t know.”

He playfully returns the whisper, “Liar

She whispers even lower, “I love you.”

Henry now yells and actually makes her smile, “Baby, I can’t hear you.”

“You heard me.” Y/N shifts in the seat, adjusting her dress.

“Afraid not,” Henry accelerates, taking Y/N by surprise and falling back into the seat.

She sighs in annoyance, “I love you.”

“Good.” She stares at him blankly as his smile returns. She has no idea what else to say at the moment. All she can do his stare at Henry and that cute dimple.

——————

Y/N and Henry sit in his kitchen, her on a bar stool at the island and him at a table in the corner that he’s never actually been used. She fixes herself a glass of water and brings her fingers to her neck, forgetting that there’s no necklace to twirl. “It’s weird not wearing my necklace, weirder seeing it on you.”

Henry pulls the necklace out of his shirt and smirks at her, “Well, maybe if you didn’t run out of here so damn fast you’d still have it.”

Y/N scoffs, “How long you gonna hold that over my head?”

“I won’t, but you can’t pretend that there’s nothing to talk about.” He untucks his shirt and leans back into the chair, “I’m ready for whatever you want to throw at me. Whatever dumb reason it is that you think I’m a liar or using you, throw it at me. I’ll be right here saying the same thing; I love you.”

She groans quietly and looks down at her cup, “Why are you so straight forward?”

“Why aren’t you? You can fuck me like you love me but can’t say it?”

She begins to twirl her cup so she can distract herself from how good he looks, “Henry, don’t be rude to me.”

“It’s true, Y/N,” His eyes narrow and his voice lowers, “why can’t you tell me what you want?”

She takes a sip and taps her nails on the counter, “I want my fucking necklace back.” He smiles and cocks his head to the side. She looks down her dress and smooths it out, “Did I spill it?” Henry shakes his head and bites his lip. “What?”

“Come here,” She sighs before walking over to him and stops just at his knee, allowing him to stoke her skin. “You upset with me?” He looks up at her and gives her a slight pout when she doesn’t answer. His hand moves to the back of her knee and pulls her forward so she falls into a straddling position, “I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses her shoulder and up her throat, “You can have it back but you gotta earn it.”

His hands fall to her backside, pulling her hips to his own. “Earn it?” He knew just what to do to get her worked up.

“Mhmm, I’ll give it back if you tell me what you want.” He nibbles on her skin and she moans. “Pretty little kitty.” His nickname causes her to moan again. “Come on, what ya want?”

Her thighs squeeze around his torso and he closes his eyes, “I want you.” A small chuckle leaves his lips and she really wants to kiss him, she has to.

She tries to kiss him but he playfully dodges it, “I know you want me but that’s not what I want to hear.”

“I want you to want me, I want you to love me.” She brings her forehead to rest on his and he kisses her deeply. Her hands rake through this hair and her hips jolt to his. He bunches the fabric of the dress in his hand, groaning and growing harder.

He hoists her up, her legs wrapping around him as he makes his way to his bedroom. She unbuttons his shirt while he carries her, her mouth leaving small kissing in his neck every few seconds. “’ L‘Show you how much I love you, then I’m gonna do it all over again in the morning. Just fucking wait.” He falls on top of her when he lies her down on the bed, loving the loud of her giggle. He takes off the necklace and places it on the nightstand, “More than earned it.”

Henry takes off his shirt and gets down on his knees, pulling her thighs to the edge of the bed. “Oh,” Her skin erupts with goosebumps as his fingers glide up her leg to pull down her panties.

“May I eat your pussy, with love?” He sings the last words and if she wasn’t so turned on she would hit him on the side of the head.

“Henry, if it proves my love at all, it’s that I don’t mind you saying dorky shit like that.” Both of them smile but Y/N gasps when she feels the warm air on her. He begins to give her small kisses, knowingly teasing and further frustrating her.

He pushes the dress to her waist and locks his arms around her thighs, finally giving her a full lick. “Didn’t know you could get so wet, love.” He continues licking, kissing, and sucking, oh the sucking, on her clit until it gets even more sensitive and swollen. “Such a tasty little cunt, innit?” He sucks on it loudly making her yelp. “And you make the cutest noises.” He licks lightly again but grabs her hands and brings them to her center. “Spread yourself open for me.” She obliges and widens her legs as well. He peppers kisses all over her and watches her contract. “I  love this pussy.” Her legs shake and her hands grab his forearms.

“Oh my god,” Henry smiles into her, she can feel it. He was always so good at this, always so good with his mouth and always a tease.

“That’s my girl,” He then rubs her clit with her own finger and kisses her inner thigh, “I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.” God, why was he like this? His cheek rests on her thigh and two fingers enter her while he continues to use her hand. He knows how to read her; he knows that what she wants: she wants it to be dragged out. She was silent other than her whimpers but that was all he needed. His fingers stop just so he can feel her pulse around them, then he kisses her thigh before curving them just right. Henrys hand leaves hers but orders her, “Don’t stop playing with yourself.” He brings his now free hand to his jeans, unbuttoning them and tugging them down just below his bum.

Henry’s dick had gotten so hard that he had to let it out, he just had to give it a proper squeeze as well. He stands, removing his fingers and making sure to look her in the eye as he licks them clean. He smiles at the fact that she’s still rubbing herself in a little circle. “Take your pants off.”

He smiles again, “Take your dress off.” Both rush out of their remaining clothes and Y/N moves to the head of the bed. He swings his leg over her torso so that he’s directly in her face, “Hands up, open up.” Her arms rise and he grabs hold of them as he enters her mouth. The feeling of her wet mouth is unexplainable. She was always able to get him so deep in this position, he’s forever thankful for that day they googled ‘Fun Sex Positions.’ Her palms lay flat on his chest as he thrusts slowly into her mouth. “mmm, so good at that. Wanna know a secret?” She makes an attempted to nod but fails, “I thought about you sucking me off this morning, had to come all by myself, love.” He pulls himself all the way out of her mouth and drops her hands. The sight of her wiping her mouth is enough to make his dick jump. “I think you owe me one.” He pulls her legs down the bed so she’s flat on her back, smiling when he hovers over her.

“Oh, I owe you one?” He smiles but pretends to be serious.

“Mhmm, so, I think you better stay right here and make it up to me.” Y/N giggles at his dramatics and widens her legs to accept him. He doesn’t enter her right away. He instead flips them over, Y/N now on top of him. “Come on, love. Make it up to me.”

She sinks down on him and leans forward to whisper, “I’m not leaving in the morning.”

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message or ask!]

@igotkatiepowers  @xxxkatxo  @lunedelorient  @heartfelt-pen​ @omgkatinka​ @viking-raider​ @summersing69 @littlefreya​ 

HAPPY HUMP DAY! I hope everyone enjoys the rest of the week.

[vinylhazza]

I don’t know if this is something you would want to write for? but what about gray meeting your niece for the first time?

do you know how honestly excited he would be? 

maybe your sister is a single mother and you go over every weekend to have a sleepover with the little one just to give her a break and mommy time so she can unwind from a long workweek both at home and at the firm. you know she needs it more than anyone with the hellion that your niece is. you know where she get’s it but you wouldn’t dare say that to your sister. 

these sleepovers usually consist of you dragging all the blankets (fuzzy, knitted, sheets, comforters, quilts, etc.) in the house to the tiny living room, making a fort with the three dining room table chairs and the couch, collecting all the fruit snacks, popcorn, kapri-suns and m&ms you can find in a ten mile radius, and watching every disney movie you can before little two year old Alliana falls asleep. most of the time she falls asleep within the second half of the third movie but sometimes the little trooper fights her way to a fourth. you play with her head of curly hair when she truly can’t be bothered to shut her eyes and that usually does the trick (something that’s worked since birth).

it’s been your routine since she blessed your formerly dull world. boy did she have a character from the very start (similar to yours which your sister complains about daily) and you honestly could say you have never loved a tiny human more. she was your little bundle of joy, a happy surprise that shocked both you and your sister after her split from her ex. He was a good guy for the most part, or so you thought: kept his mouth closed when he should, talked politely to your mother, put on the perfect “boyfriend” role. played the game exactly how he wanted to get what he wanted before he left and took everything he could and more. it was only until your sister butt- dialed you in the middle of a heated argument that went to far that you realized the happy go lucky couple posted all over facebook was anything but happy. a lie within lies, a brave face for an ugly truth. she had always been stronger than anyone gave her credit for. 

only a few weeks later and you were sitting on her bed waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom with those plastic sticks that would tell her whether she would soon become a mother. a single mother no doubt, considering her fuck-head of an ex made it clear in the conversation you’d unwillingly listened to that he was cheating on her with the floozy little waitress he’d met at a bar with the boys. he wasn’t fit to be a father nor did he want to be. he announced he would be leaving, and since that day, neither of you had seen him since. he didn’t just leave his girl  behind, he left his child. 

you’d never forgive him for what he did to your sister, but what you would do is be the best most loyal sister and aunt you could be. you’ve made good on your word too, helped whenever you could, treated Alli like your own. you didn’t ask for anything in return, only more time. there was simply never enough time. especially with both of your parents gone, grandparents out of the picture, you knew loss all too well. you refused to let your niece or your sister suffer anymore than they have. 

which is why telling grayson of your annual sleepover was such a big deal, a big enough deal that you couldn’t and wouldn’t cancel. 

“i know you probably don’t want to be babysitting,” you’d start to apologize immediately after remembering it was in fact Wednesday. your sleepover night of every week and you’d already decided on Aladdin for the movie. 

“i don’t think you realize how much i love kids, i told you it’s fine.” his honesty was endearing to say the least, even if you still felt a twinge of guilt beneath the surface, “in fact it’s more than fine. you never shut up about this little girl and i have been waiting for the time i finally get to meet her.” 

“i know i’m just-” you huff through your nose “i’ve never done this before.”

none of your boyfriends had ever met alliana. it was an unspoken rule you’d made for yourself that not one romantic interest was to meet alli until you deemed them worthy. you’re not sure at what point you made the mental decision that grayson was worthy of meeting the ray of sunshine that was your niece, but you found yourself tidying up the house before you could even stop to think of what it could mean for your future as well as hers. you were such a large part of her life and you didn’t want to let her down. she meant to much and so did grayson. 

in a matter of months grayson had taken your heart captive in the purest way. he knew you had your mind set on things bigger than the juvenile goals of an average 20 year old. he knew you’d packaged up all the qualities you’d deemed unworthy to a romantic partner and hid them away until you couldn’t help but let them slip away one by one. he’d fallen hard for you, and you were more than willing to reciprocate those feelings. feelings you weren’t too familiar with, but welcomed nonetheless. 

candle lit dinners, baths, and picnics in the park. movies with no sound, lipstick stains, hickeys impossible to cover. the feeling of his hands slipping over your skin, his lips eager for a kiss of any kind, the king encouraging words he’d give you any time he’d see your scowl you wore when you got anxious. all things that made you fall in love with grayson dolan. it was in many ways unconventional and unexpected, but you’d never want it any other way. 

which is why you nodded when he squeezed lovingly at your should, “breathe baby. this is a good thing remember? you’ll see. she’ll love me.” he smirked at that, confident in his skills with children. 

[artificialqueens]

Duality, Chapter 3 (Crygi) - Metaluna

Chapter summary: *Stefon from Saturday Night Live voice* this chapter has everything, awkward morning afters, time jumps, anniversary sex, and fluff

A/N: I am SO sorry that I keep forgetting to submit to here, especially if you only read fics on here, but as a reminder all of my fics on ao3 (this has two more chapters oops)

When Crystal woke up, there was a quilt delicately draped over her body. The events of the previous night were foggy. As she thought about it further, she wasn’t sure if she was remembering correctly. Crystal remembered going home with Gigi, and remembered having sex. Amazing sex. But, halfway through, she could have sworn that Gigi bit her leg, and upon thinking even further, could have sworn Gigi said she was a vampire.

Impossible.

Crystal sat up and looked around. It was still dark outside, meaning she could probably step away, unnoticed, and could try her best to forget about the fact she may or may not have slept with a fucking vampire. She carefully put her dress on, looking at the torn-up thong on the ground, with a sigh. It was her favorite. Crystal realized Gigi was nowhere to be found, but the door was shut, and she could see the light coming from underneath.

Crystal knew her plans of sneaking out without Gigi noticing were slim, but she tried to formulate a game plan. She looked out the window, but then remembered they were on the third floor. For a second, Crystal tried to determine how injured she would get if she jumped out of a third story window.

There was no other way than to just walk through the front door. It was a one-night stand, what did Gigi expect?

She slowly opened the door, and saw that Gigi was sitting on the couch, petting a cat, watching a movie. Crystal knew it was stupid, but she tried her best to sneak behind Gigi, who appeared to be engrossed in the movie

Gigi turned her head as Crystal swore silently. “You’re awake.”

“Uh-huh. I was just leaving…”

“Why?” Gigi asked, genuinely curious.

“You’re joking, right?” Gigi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a lot of one-night stands, do you?”

Gigi shook her head.

“Well, generally, one doesn’t stay and chat afterwards. In fact, ideally, the person who the apartment doesn’t belong to can wake up before the other person, and can leave, never to be seen again.”

“What do you remember about last night?” Gigi asked.

“I remember you tearing my thong off of me. I remember that the sex was incredible . But, I remember something weird… But I probably just had a dream or something.”

“What do you supposedly remember?”

“You had… fangs… You asked for me to consent, like, a lot, which is great. Consent is key. Anyway, you said you were… a vampire. Which, like, isn’t possible. Vampires aren’t real.”

“They’re not?”

To Crystal’s surprise, after Gigi smiled as two fangs slid down from where her canines were.

“What the fuck?” Crystal whispered.

“If you’d like, I can make you forget about everything. This past night, my vampirism, me as a whole…”

Crystal bit her lip as she weighed the pros and cons. The pros included she’d forget about vampires existing. The cons were that she’d forget quite possibly the best sex she’d ever had, and that she’d forget about vampires existing.

“No…” Crystal trailed off.

“Are you certain?”

Crystal shook her head. “But uh, I think I’m going to leave to process this.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Do you uh, want my number? Honestly that was great sex. I’m down to fuck again.”

Gigi smirked. “I’m glad to know that it was good. I’ve unfortunately been in about a twenty-year dry spell.”

Crystal was taken aback. “When I process this can we maybe talk? About… things? If you want? Or you can just fuck me again… If you want.”

“Are you serious?” Gigi asked incredulously. “You’re asking me to fuck you again when you passed out once you came last night?”

Crystal flushed. “You’re right. Do you want my number or not?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Gigi said, petting the cat next to her as she handed Crystal her phone.

As Crystal handed back her phone, Gigi stifled a laugh. “Your name is not Crystal Methyd.”

Once again, Crystal flushed. “My parents hate me… Anyway. This was… something. Call me. If you want. Or don’t. I’m sure you’re busy… With whatever it is you do.”

“Servicing dead bodies?” Gigi smirked, repeating Crystal’s comment from the previous night.

“Yeah. That. Okay, bye.”

Gigi didn’t know how a human was going to react when told they just had sex with a vampire. She thought she was going to have to glamour the girl, thinking that she would be traumatized. To Gigi’s surprise, Crystal not only was calm about the entire situation, but also seemed intrigued. Again, proving Crystal was not like other humans.

Akasha meowed as she rubbed her head against Gigi’s hand.

“I know, Akasha. For the first time in nearly a century, I’m at a loss.”

In an attempt to get her mind off of Crystal and the events of the night, Gigi decided to watch The Lost Boys . She began thinking more about Crystal, not realizing that the movie had ended.

Shutting the TV off, she looked at her phone. It was still on the contacts screen. Crystal wrote her name as Crystal Methyd with the blood drop emoji after it. She decided to text her so Crystal could save her number, at least that’s what she told herself, even though she didn’t fully believe it.

Hello. This is Gigi. I just figured you would want to have my number, too.

Checking the time, it was only five in the morning, meaning Crystal was probably asleep. Considering Gigi drank enough blood to nearly kill Crystal, she more than likely would need to sleep it off.

To Gigi’s surprise, Crystal texted back ten minutes later.

oh hi! it’s good to hear from you! tbh i thought you were gonna ghost me

Gigi wasn’t sure why Crystal didn’t capitalize anything in her sentences. Why wouldn’t anyone use proper grammar? It’s not like it was hard.

Are you feeling okay? You should probably get some sleep. If I’m being honest, I took a little bit more blood than I intended. Heat of the moment.

omg i cant believe a hot vampire almost killed me purely from being too horny. anyway yea i just happened to wake up for a sec and saw the notif

I… honestly don’t know how to respond to that, because you are 100 percent correct. Which I hate.

lmaoo usually i take at LEAST two days to text a girl, and at minimum three to ask her out. but, do you wanna meet up later?  

Gigi was genuinely shocked at Crystal’s confidence.

That sounds wonderful, I had nothing planned today.

how about the park? what time is good for you? also wont you like burst into flames or something if it’s daytime?

…I don’t sleep. Also, you can’t believe every myth about vampires you hear in popular culture. I don’t particularly enjoy the sun, but I’ll be fine.

omg, good to know.  so, i feel really tired which now i know is because your horny vampire ass lost control. can i text you when i wake up?  

Gigi rolled her eyes.

I’m choosing to ignore the middle part of that sentence. Yes, text me when you feel up to it.

Part of Crystal didn’t want to text Gigi once she woke up. When she thought about the fact that she had sex with a really fucking hot vampire, she couldn’t believe it. It sounded insane. Another part of Crystal wanted to text her back asking her to Men in Black her so that she couldn’t remember the night. The last part of Crystal wanted to text Gigi back, talk to her, and hook up again. The sex was incredible, and she felt selfish for falling asleep before she could fuck her back. It was only fair for them to hook up at least one more time.  

She wasn’t going to do it. She was going to just try to forget the one-night stand and go on with her life. Crystal had work to do for the museum, especially if she was going to impress her boss, Sasha, enough for a promotion. Becoming the creative director of the Chicago Museum of Visual Arts was more important than sex could ever be.

Just as she decided she wasn’t going to meet up with Gigi, she overheard her roommates argue about dishes. It wasn’t arguing, it was more of a screaming match. Crystal rolled over in bed and used her pillow to muffle the sound, which didn’t work.

She sighed as she picked up her phone.

hey! just woke up, i feel like i have the world’s worst hangover. anyway, do you wanna meet up in like an hour?

Gigi texted back quickly. Crystal was always impressed with the perfect grammar and capitalization Gigi used. Who had the time for that? Definitely not Crystal.

Yes, that’s the after-effect of having been fed on, unfortunately. I hope that it was worth it, though. I’ll see you in an hour.

Usually, Crystal was an extremely confident person. She had to be in order to move up at the museum as quickly as she did. But, while she was getting ready to meet with Gigi, she felt like crawling into a hole. Everything in her closet was suddenly ugly, and every way she did her makeup looked bad.

Eventually, Crystal gave up and wore minimal makeup and a flannel.

The park was walking distance from her apartment. Since it was September, the city was cooling down, not enough to be freezing, but enough to need a jacket. Crystal thanked herself for wearing a flannel.

Because she lived so close to the park, she got there before Gigi did. She almost sat on a bench directly in the sun to warm up, but then remembered Gigi saying that she didn’t like the sun, so she decided on a bench under a large tree.

Crystal checked her phone. It was noon. Where was Gigi?

Just as she started to feel discouraged, her phone vibrated.

Hello, sorry. My cat decided to vomit on my rug, so I had to take care of it. Be there soon.

Gigi made good, and showed up to the park ten minutes later. She found Crystal, and sat down on the bench next to her.

“Is your cat okay?” Crystal asked.

“Yes, she’s fine.”

“Good.”

There was an awkward pause.

Gigi began running her fingers up and down the necklace she was wearing. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I don’t really know where to start,” Crystal said.

“Nothing is off-limits, if it gets too bad I’ll just glamour you, and we can start over.” Gigi waved her hand in front of Crystal’s face.

Crystal didn’t say anything.

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” Crystal could appreciate a dry sense of humor, but damn. “Okay, first question. Do you do that with all the people you… eat?”

“Well, to start, I don’t eat people, I feed from them. Secondly, no. You’re the first.”

Crystal felt an odd sense of pride. “Really? Why?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Gigi admitted. “I don’t know what came over me. Usually, I bring people back to the funeral home, feed off of them, kill them, and dispose of the evidence.”

Crystal was shocked by how freely she was talking about murder. “Oh! That’s another question. Why do you work at a funeral home? Like, why work at all? Don’t vampires just brood about their existence, or something?”

“It may not seem like it, but brooding for nearly a century gets old after a point. Back in the eighties, I decided I was too bored brooding, and a funeral home just seemed like a good fit. Having the blood from the bodies is a plus, too.”

“Wait. How old are you?” Crystal asked.

“I was born in 1905.”

Crystal was shocked. “I know I like older women, but goddamn.”

“Thanks,” Gigi said dryly. “If it makes a difference, I was twenty-two when I transformed.”

“Well if you look at it like that, I’m older than you. By four years. Random one, but can you read minds?”

“I can’t personally, but it’s possible, yes.”

“Wait, what?”

“Vampires can form a psychic bond between themselves and a human, but it’s not very common. I don’t personally know any vampires who have done it. We tend to not get that close to humans, myself included,” Gigi said looking away from Crystal.

“Next question. What was so different about me? Like, you say you don’t get close to humans, but here we are, in the middle of this park, talking about how you’re…” Crystal realized she raised her voice a little too loudly causing a woman who was walking her dog to look at them.

“A funeral director?” Gigi said, trying to recover. “I’ve tried racking my brain around everything that happened, and I have no idea why I took you back to my apartment, and I don’t know why I let everything else… unfold.”

“Oh,” Crystal said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Not that I regret it, not by any means.”

“You did say you lost control in the heat of the moment. Let’s just say that I’m so intoxicatingly attractive, you had no choice but to be engrossed by me.”

Gigi rolled her eyes. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“Can you turn into a bat?”

Gigi sighed and rested her head in her hands. There was something special about this girl.

One year later

Crystal rubbed her hands together as she blew in them in an attempt to create heat. It was late, past midnight, but it was she and Gigi’s favorite time to walk in the park. It was almost always empty, which they appreciated.

“It’s so cold,” Crystal complained. “You’re lucky you can’t get cold.”

Gigi rubbed her own hands together and rubbed Crystal’s upper arms.

“Stop! You aren’t helping. You’re always cold, and you’re making it worse.” Crystal led the two of them to a bench.

“This is the bench where I told you everything,” Gigi mused.

Crystal rested her head on her girlfriend and smiled. “I can’t believe it’s been a year.”

“Happy anniversary, darling,” Gigi said kissing Crystal’s forehead.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

Since there wasn’t an official date that Gigi and Crystal started calling each other girlfriends, they decided to go with the date Crystal learned everything.

“You were just complaining about how cold I was, and now you’re pressed up against my body.”

Crystal held her hand up as she shut her eyes. “Shh, don’t ruin the moment, babe.”

Gigi rolled her eyes as she held Crystal’s hand. “I never in my undead life thought that I would be in love with a human.”

“Not trying to be gay, but I’m so proud of how far you’ve come this past year.”

“How so?”

“Well, the second time that we hung out you went on a tangent about how you hated basically ever human you’ve ever met but me. Oh, and in general, you’re just a lot nicer to humans that aren’t me. Like, remember that time we went to the mall and that lady cut you off and you looked like you were going to kill everyone in the mall? Like, fangs out and everything?”

Gigi rubbed the smooth pendant of her necklace. “I don’t recall what you’re talking about.”

“Liar. You’re playing with your necklace. I know you, baby.”

Pursing her lips, Gigi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You do.”

“Crystal! Fuck! ” Gigi moaned as she reached climax, her hips rocking as she sat on her rightful throne, Crystal’s face. As Crystal skillfully flicked her tongue over Gigi’s clit, it took everything in her power to not crush her girlfriend’s face with her thighs.

Coming down from her climax, Gigi  adjusted herself so that she was straddling Crystal.

“Do you want to go for round six?” Gigi’s tone was innocent, but her smile was sinful.

Crystal shook her head. “I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Gigi said as she laid her head on the pillow next to Crystal. “I love you, darling. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary,” Crystal said tenderly kissing her girlfriend.

Gigi bit her finger and drew blood as she rubbed it over Crystal’s neck where she’d fed from which caused the puncture marks to disappear as if they’d never been there. “I know you like having the marks on your thighs.”

“They’re like souvenirs!” Crystal said happily tracing one of the marks on her left thigh.

“You are so strange.”

“You love me.”

“You’re right,” Gigi said, kissing her girlfriend.

Crystal yawned. “How much blood did you take tonight?”

Gigi looked away, licking her finger.

“Baby!” Crystal whined.

“You certainly weren’t complaining when my head was between your legs, darling. Especially during round three.”

Crystal yawned again, nestling into Gigi’s arms. “True. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Gigi usually only waited for Crystal to fall asleep before she went into the living room. But, Crystal looked so peaceful so she stayed a little longer, just taking in the sight of her beautiful love. Eventually, she carefully crept out of the bed and kissed Crystal’s forehead. Ensuring the blankets were on just as Crystal liked, Gigi quietly shut the door.

It’s not that Gigi particularly liked watching TV and movies as much as she did, but she had nothing better to pass the time. Scrolling through Netflix, she settled on The Haunting of Hill House.

Silently critiquing inconsistencies in the funeral home in the show, she heard Crystal open the bedroom door.

“Darling? Could you not sleep?”

Crystal didn’t reply, but instead ran into the bathroom and shut the door. Gigi heard Crystal turn the bathroom fan on. Try she may, Crystal couldn’t silence the sound of her vomiting from her girlfriend’s heightened hearing.

Gigi knocked on the bathroom door lightly. “Crystal?”

No response.

“Crystal, are you okay?”

Crystal only groaned in response.

“Can I come in?”

No response.

“I’m coming in.”

Gigi had seen a lot of things in her life that should have made her sad that didn’t. Seeing her love laying on the bathroom floor resting her head against the toilet seat was extremely upsetting. Crystal groaned again, which caused Gigi to kneel down by her.

Stroking Crystal’s hair, Gigi said, “What do you need me to do?”

Crystal groaned again before looking at Gigi. “Heidi was out sick with the flu the other day, and I’m just remembering now that we shared a sandwich.”

“Oh, darling, that’s probably why you’re so exhausted.”

“I’m sorry I blamed you,” Crystal mumbled.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Gigi effortlessly picked Crystal up and carried her to bed.

“My hero,” Crystal said, swooning dramatically.

“Do you need anything?”

“Water.”

Rarely did Gigi use her vampire speed. Most of the time, it wasn’t necessary, especially recently. But, this was necessary. She returned before Crystal could blink.

“That’s new,” Crystal said as she graciously took the glass.

“I don’t do that often. It’s not needed.”

“Getting your girlfriend water was a circumstance of needing to become The Flash?”

“Yes,” Gigi said as she got into bed with Crystal and covered them with the blankets.

Crystal sat the glass on the nightstand as she fell asleep in her girlfriend’s loving embrace.

It took Crystal barely ten minutes to fall back asleep. It was six in the morning, and Gigi knew she wasn’t going into work. She had a sick girlfriend to take care of.

Gigi scrolled through her contacts until she found Jackie’s number.

Jackie answered the phone instantly. “Gigi? Is everything okay? Do you need me to come in early?”

“Everything’s okay, no not unless you want to. But that’s not why I’m calling. I’m calling because I have a very sick girlfriend who I need to tend to. I’m not going to be coming in today. Do you think you can handle yourself?”

“As long as there’s no one that needs any reconstruction work.”

It was enduring to Gigi that Jackie referred to the bodies as people.

Gigi sighed. “Okay, if that happens, call me and I’ll come in.”

“Tell Crystal I say feel better soon!”

“Of course.”

Now that work was taken care of, Gigi had to go to the grocery store. Before she and Crystal started dating, Gigi hadn’t stepped foot in a grocery store in nearly a century. In the past year, she’d become well-versed on where everything was kept. After picking up all the ingredients she needed, she returned home, hoping she still knew how to be a good little housewife-to-be.

Before becoming a vampire, Gigi already had an incredible memory. Vampirism only heightened it, meaning Gigi could remember almost every recipe that her mother taught her how to make. Even though Crystal didn’t cook often, she still had a nice collection of pots and pans.

Gigi was so engrossed in cooking, she didn’t realize Crystal had migrated from the bed to the couch.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Crystal asked as she sat up on the couch.

“You need to eat.”

“It’s only eight, and the last thing I want to do is eat.”

“It’ll take some time for the soup to cook.”

Crystal raised an eyebrow. “Baby, I love you, but you haven’t cooked anything in like ninety years, and now you’re making me soup from scratch?”

Gigi sat on the arm of the couch as she stroked her girlfriend’s hair. “I think that you’re forgetting I was in training to be a housewife.”

“God, I can only imagine how adorable you must have looked in a poofy dress and apron,” Crystal said before she fell into a coughing fit, somehow still managing to laugh.

“You’ve called me many different names this past year, but I think ‘adorable’ is a first.”

“Honestly, I’d pay a lot of dollars to see what you looked like as a human.”

Suddenly, Gigi got an idea. “Hold that thought.”

Gigi went into the bedroom and laid on her stomach. Using her phone’s flashlight, she first saw her and Crystal’s box of sex toys, but deeper under the bed was a much smaller box. Stretching as far she could, Gigi reached the box.

Before leaving the bedroom, Gigi made sure to take one thing out of the box before returning to Crystal.

“You said you wanted to see what I looked like as a human?”

Crystal nodded. “I’d literally pay to see it.”

“Well, pay up, love.” Gigi handed Crystal three framed photos from when she was a human.

“How did you get these?”

“A few months after I was turned, I snuck into my parent’s home in the middle of the night.”

Crystal gasped and put her hand over her mouth. They were definitely her girlfriend. Her facial expression mirrored when she had to interact with humans she found annoying. Gigi’s eyes were what were the most unmistakable part of  the photo. Even though they were in black and white, somehow Gigi’s eyes still had the sparkle that Crystal adored. Despite the photos being in black and white, it was still easy to see that Gigi was wearing light colors, something that didn’t normally happen.

The first photo was Gigi and a girl who looked just like her.

“Is that Nora?” Crystal asked. It had taken Gigi quite some time before she talked about her human life, but one night, Gigi and Crystal spent the entire night up until the early morning talking about her human life.

Gigi nodded.

“She’s beautiful.”

The next photo was a family photo. Crystal smiled as she saw that Gigi looked just like her mother. “You all look like each other.”

“That’s what everyone always told us.”

The final photo made Crystal gasp audibly. “Holy shit.”

Crystal wasn’t entirely sure if she was seeing what she thought she saw. The man in the photo with Gigi, who she presumed was her fiance, was a face she’d seen in her middle school history books.

“What?”

“You were engaged to James Rossini?” Crystal asked incredulously.

Gigi nodded.

“Did you know he was one of Chicago’s biggest mobsters back then?”

Gigi shook her head. “He and his father were always very secretive about what they did for a living. Nora ended up marrying his cousin. He mainly kept the books and didn’t kill anyone, which is why you’ve never heard of him.”

“God, I can just see you as a fancy schmancy mob wife, babe. In a huge mansion surrounded by nice things,” Crystal said.

“Well, now I buy myself nice things,” Gigi said looking around their apartment.

Crystal couldn’t stop staring at the photos. It was as though she saw a side of her girlfriend that she never thought she would ever get to see.

Crystal managed to doze off again, but was woken up by the sound of the oven timer. She peeked over the couch and saw Gigi was smiling at the photos before she got up to check on the soup boiling on the stove.

Every so often, there were moments where Crystal could see her girlfriend’s vulnerability. They were extremely rare, but when they happened, it was as though she was looking at a different person. Gigi’s coldness towards most people was an act that Crystal could see right through, even if Gigi wasn’t aware of it.

“Are you hungry, darling?”

“A little,” Crystal said sitting up on the couch.

Gigi brought over a bowl and the ginger ale that Crystal swore could cure cancer.

“I used to make this all the time when my family members were sick. I’m sure it’s not nearly as good as it was when I used to make it regularly.” Gigi took the seat on the couch next to Crystal.

Crystal blew on the soup on her spoon to cool it down. She was nervous, since she had absolutely no idea what to expect. Gigi watched in anticipation as Crystal had her first bite.

“Oh my God, babe, it’s so good.”

Gigi’s face lit up. “Really?”

Crystal nodded. After finishing the bowl and setting it on the questionably assembled coffee table, she kissed Gigi. “I’m glad you can’t get sick.”

“Me, too.”

“I love you, my good little trophy wife.”

Gigi rolled her eyes. “I am not.”

“Wife” was a word that Gigi never thought of when she looked at Crystal. Anytime it would come up on accident, the subject would be changed.

“You’re pretty good at taking care of the living, too,” Crystal mused. “Who would have thought?”

“Not me.”

In that moment, Gigi swore her life was perfect. If only it would last forever.

[talesfromthefade]

Fenris x Anders (Act III, “My Mage” verse), for @dadrunkwriting​ & @sulevinblade​

Fenris makes his way up the staircase, pausing for a moment at the threshold to a room fit to burst with seven years- a lifetime’s- worth of memories. A life he’d never really thought to look for, much less expected to find. Freedom beyond the kind that had come from escaping Danarius, or even after his former master’s death. And love, the elf thinks, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as his eyes land upon the sheets and quilt, still rumpled from where he and Anders woke and worshiped one anothers bodies only a few hours ago.

The smile turns to a frown, brows furrowing beneath snow-white hair as he notices the hastily packed satchel leaning against one of the bedposts. After years on the run, becoming used to packing up and leaving at a moment’s notice, Fenris hasn’t bothered to put much stock in sentimentality or possessions. The elf supposes although Anders has never been especially eager to talk about it in anything more than a passing and flippant sort of manner, he and his mage are much the same in that respect. Aside from being able to wake up beside him every morning, very little change was required to facilitate this next step in their relationship when Fenris asked Anders to move in with him. Anders brought everything he owned and wouldn’t need at his clinic in a single trip.

Still, over the last few years, few in number though they were, Fenris had grown used to seeing his lover’s things spread out and interspersed among his own. Seeing it all collected, tucked away like this, it’s suddenly easy to recognize how and why the sight had comforted him- Anders feeling safe, at home with him, even in as unlikely, as accursed a place as this house.

Fenris isn’t stupid, it’s not escaped him that Anders has been keeping things from him. Has ceased to speak about mages and their rights, or the Underground, as often as he once did. The elf is still cautious, will probably never entirely trust or extend just any mage the benefit of the doubt, but he’s been… tolerant of his mage’s interests and politics, he’s tried to be supportive where he can be, dropping any pretense of real animosity towards him shortly after they acknowledged their mutual attraction to one another. Kirkwall has never been friendly towards its mages, but he knows its become even less so in the last few years, and he knows it’s taken its toll on Anders, and the spirit he carries within him, even if they aren’t talking about it much.

The elf’s been trying to think of ways to draw his lover out again, get him to open up. To let him know he’s seen the way he’s begun walling himself off, without shaming him for it, and maybe, help him dismantle it. He thought he’d have more time.

“Out,” Fenris growls at the nearby refugees as he stalks into the Clinic a short while later, the brands on his skin glowing a little as anger and frustration bubble up inside him. The few patients and individuals hanging around don’t need to be told twice. It’s far from the first time the grumpy elf has been seen around the clinic or in the company of the Darktown Healer, but his expression and the enormous broadsword he carries on his back generally are enough to keep any of Anders patients from getting too close or speaking to him.

“Fenris.” The mage sounds… nervous, and Fenris doesn’t like the way those handsome amber eyes busy themselves avoiding his. With effort, as the last patient leaves, closing the door behind them, the elf unclenches his balled-up fists and rolls his head from one shoulder to the other with a long, slow breath to release the tension he’s carried in them since Hightown. Anger feels safer than the fear and anxiety seeing his lover’s things all packed up did, but it probably won’t get him the answers or results he wants.

“Amatus,” and Maker, if it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make his entire chest ache to call him that in the face of so much uncertainty, with the knowledge this man, this mage he’s given himself over to could hurt him, could destroy him far worse than Danarius or Hadriana ever had the power to. It is, what he is, however, whatever follows, and the term of endearment seems to take Anders sufficiently by surprise to draw his wide-eyed gaze to Fenris’ once more. “Tell me why your things are packed up. Please,” he adds, no longer caring how weak or desperate the plea might make him sound. He is. He’s losing him, and he can’t lose him. Not without at least putting up a damn good fight.

“Fenris,” Anders chokes tearfully, shaking his head. “Love, I-” the healer whispers, words so soft, little more than an exhale, the might be missed if the elf weren’t hanging on every syllable. 

“Tell me what to do, what you need,” he presses.

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Do you still love me, Anders?” Fenris asks, closing the distance between them until he could reach out and touch him, but holding himself back. Anders laughs, as though the question is impossibly ridiculous, but it’s shaky, still overwrought with emotions he’s yet to give name or voice to. “Do you love me,” the elf repeats, needing to hear his response.

“Yes,” Anders nods, fixing his eyes to his lover’s green ones, though Fenris can tell it’s an effort not to look away again. “Yes, of course, I do, Fenris. But I-” he begins.

“Do you want to leave me,” the elf interrupts.

“No.” The word is almost swallowed by a sob but bursts forth without a moment’s hesitation, and Fenris can’t help himself, can’t hold himself back from him any longer, reaching out to clasp his lover’s hands before pulling Anders into him, willing his body, despite its slightly shorter form to wrap entirely around him, to hold and shield him from whatever threatens him, threatens them now.

“Then it is that simple, mage,” Fenris insists, forcing his voice to be as calm and steady as the hand that reaches out to carefully brush strawberry blonde hair back from Ander’s lightly stubbled cheek. The healer shudders beneath his touch but doesn’t flinch away, burrowing into his chest and wrapping his thinner arms back around him instead. “Anders,” Fenris whispers softly, clinging back just as fond and desperately. “My mage,” the elf continues, pressing a feather-light kiss to Anders’ temple. “My Amatus.”

“Fenris-” Anders shudders once more, slowly peeling his face from the elf’s chest to look up at him, eyes brimming with fresh tears and uncertainty. “I’ve done something- something I can’t take back.”

“Do you want to? Take it back?”

“Yes. No. No,” he corrects himself, shaking his head. “No, it was the right thing. The only thing. But I- I’m not sure you won’t hate me for it, and- and if I see the other side of it, I can’t stay here.”

Let someone, let anyone try to take this man from me, Fenris thinks, momentarily tightening his grip on his lover as a hand gently coaxes his head to rest in the crook of his neck and he presses another soft kiss to the top of his head. “I think we’ve proven by now I could never hate you,” the elf replies, a small flicker of hope, of a smile creeping back in. “Not even when I was trying to. I’ve no desire to start now. After every ugly and difficult trial you have seen and supported me through, is it so difficult to believe that I might want to do as much for you?” Anders shakes his head but doesn’t look up or muster any reply. “I am yours, Amatus,” the elf whispers, the words and warmth of his breath caressing the healer’s ear. “Wherever you go, I remain at your side.”

“You can’t promise me that,” Anders whispers with a convulsive shudder in his lover’s arms.

“And yet,” Fenris smiles softly, “this is me doing just that.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” the mage protests.

“Perhaps,” Fenris nods. And there was a time when that very thought would have terrified him. When the idea of trusting any mage with so little information would have horrified him. It isn’t without at least some anxiety now, but nothing so much as the thought of losing Anders. Danarius’ mansion in Hightown, what scant things he or Anders collectively own or share, all of it can be lost, replaced or rebuilt, but Anders, what the pair of them have, Fenris won’t rest in his efforts to defend and to keep it, even if that fight is against his lover’s own doubts and insecurities. “But I know you’ll have done what you believed was right, that you’ll have acted with your heart.”

“That’s enough,” Anders ventures cautiously, and Fenris nods, pulling him as close as he can without hurting him.

“I love that heart.” Anders laughs softly, a little less hollow than before, like some small part of him believes him, or wants to, and Fenris feels the walls his mage has worked so hard to build up these last few months give just a little. The battle’s far from over, but Fenris thinks as Anders finally lifts his head and the healer lets his mouth seek his, it’s a decent start.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - #59

         WELL. It's been about a donkey's age since I've been able to update this. Normally I'd apologize for the wait…but…well, honestly, I've been beating myself up enough as it is and it's not like it happened out of the blue. Kinda-brief update for anyone wondering:            I've warned about an impending grief hiatus since my uncle Bob's cancer diagnosis, and the hiatus came to pass in December. Uncle Bob finally lost his fight to cancer after two years of treatment and fading. The end came on rather suddenly but after the deathwatch he went peacefully and without pain. His death really messed me up, especially since I was already suffering from depression. Our first Christmas without Bob was also our last Christmas with Granny Chance, his mother and my grandmother…she suffered a massive stroke in January and died soon afterward. In the space of a month, my family and I lost two members, one right after the other. In a word, the whole situation has been FUCKED and it's still not completely over. There are good days, and bad days…and, to quote a certain Del Toro film, "Then there are the really bad days." Between those, we're all slowly working our way through the fallout and healing process.            This chapter is the first I've been able to finish since SEPTEMBER, largely because all of my stories are currently in plot-required angsty-dramatic phases and I CANNOT WRITE SAD SCENES when I'm depressed. It's entirely IMPOSSIBLE, they always come out farcical or they just don't flow. It SUCKS. TBH, I don't know for certain if I'm going to be able to catch up to my previous writing abilities or pace anytime soon but I'm certainly going to try. Also, quick note if you're reading this on Tumblr – they recently enacted a WORDBLOCK LIMIT on text posts of 100 blocks. Yeah. We're now limited to 100 paragraphs including the title. If the chapter's low dialogue and has no notes, that's fine, but if not? Well, we're just screwed because THIS ONE ran 86 ¶s WITHOUT the notes, glossary, and pre-story stuffs. I'm not sure yet how I'll be handling that limit for good, whether that means posting links to sites without the bullshit limits, posting long chapters in pieces, or linking to the separate posts with the notes and glossary, but I'll figure it out in time. For now, I’ll be including the NOTES at the end and you can find the GLOSSARY at FFnet or AO3.  Check out Spotify for a playlist centered on this arc - features suggested listening for this chapter and the next few, and much, much more.         Lastly, I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone for their patience and understanding, and give a shout-out to some wonderful people who've made this new chapter possible. This chapter is dedicated to Wolf, Newt, and Ihlni for their invaluable support and kind words – to my hubby Cold for letting me ugly-cry on him without complaint and never failing to remind me that life has to go on – to my ma-in-law for teasing me about earning a nasty hangover instead of acknowledging that I looked like death-on-the-rocks and was obviously crying before I answered the door – to my mother for being a bloody SAINT and to my father for intentionally being an asshole when someone to fight with was just what I needed – to Wanda Farmer on AO3 and vbt22220 on FFnet for their encouragement in reviews, the folks on Tumblr who offered kind words when I needed them most, and to all you wonderful people who've stuck by me, read my stories, and are still reading after all this time. Above all, though, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of Granny Chance and Uncle Bob – may they ever rest in peace.

Suggested Listening: Fuel "Hemorrhage [In My Hands]," Paramore "The Only Exception," Prince "Purple Rain," Survivor "I Never Stopped Loving You" 

 59: A Matter of Honor

The Lair, November 19th - around noon

Donatello wasn't known for being a fool; regardless, he felt rather foolish anytime the obvious failed to register until it was staring him in the face. This was just such a time. He didn't recall sequestering himself in the lab much less falling asleep at his workbench, but the proof was self-evident: a crick in his neck, a strand of insulated wire still stuck to his drool-sticky cheek, and sweat-smeared glasses half off his face. It took a moment of tired lip-smacking and searching to comprehend the facts—ah, right, he pulled an all-nighter to complete the vital signs monitor for Kimber's visit. From what he could see, the device was, indeed, completed. Too tired to consider the absurd picture he must make, he peeled the wire trimming off his cheek and set it aside.

What woke him? He searched his memory, found nothing, then turned to more closely examine his surroundings. A plate of now-cold PopTarts and a cup of coffee (helpfully covered with a cracked saucer) waited a safe distance from his elbow. Right - it was Saturday. This time last year he easily lost track of the days between all-nighters and the sleeping-binges that always followed them. Now he had a weekly reminder in the form of too-sweet coffee and half-burned pastries, courtesy of the confusing woman whose scent still clung to his skin. How blessed he felt in this moment…

The moment ended with a familiar sound—a sleep-slurred phrase he could recognize anywhere but never quite understood. Ya been away too long he got, and he recognized the terms sook, e'en, and nip though he wasn't fully certain of their context.* Beyond that the half-Celt tucked into the cot may as well have been speaking Greek for all he knew. The oft-repeated tease fell short in a particularly nasal snore. Donnie hoisted himself out of his chair with a chorus of protesting joints and slowly rounded the workbench. Silently, he regarded his sleeping woman, soaking in all the silly little details that caught his eyes—the freckles spattered across her skin, the flash of faded ink peeking up over her drooping neckline, the stubborn silver cowlicks sticking up at odd angles from her loosely bound hair—anything to remind himself she was still alive.

He shook his head in weary defeat. A full week after their desperate flight from Willsdale and every time he woke he still half-expected to find Amber cold to the touch, lifeless and painted in blood. Perhaps, he considered as he gathered her in his arms and made his way to their bedroom, this was one scar which would only be healed with time. Perhaps, he considered as he lay her across the neatly tucked quilt and curled up behind her, he could only conquer his fear of Amber's death by focusing on her life. Even as he tugged her flush against his plastron and groin and nuzzled into her neck, he couldn't erase the memory of her: bruised, bloody, and broken, and rapidly fading in his arms. He shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath of her scent.

She wasn't dead, she was alive now…it was enough…right?

Red Fern Florist, Noon

Normally, Red Fern Florist was a calm place – a quiet and classy establishment that just so happened to be run by people who didn't care about being quiet or classy. This, alas, was not a normal day, not even in the slightest.

Abilene Whitaker manned the register, eyes focused somewhere beyond the neon-streaked pages of her textbook and not registering a word. The backroom echoed with near-constant racket—crashes, curses, objects falling or being thrown… Abby sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dragged herself off of the barstool to investigate. Sure enough, Mercy was stocking the shelves a tad too roughly…if by roughly one meant throwing the bags of supplies around like a spandex-clad steroid junkie at a WWE grudge-match smackdown.

"Alright, that's enough," Abby snapped at her blonde subordinate; Mercy froze, embarrassed grey-blue eyes meeting Abby's over a lean, hunched shoulder. "You've been stomping around and slamming things all afternoon. What on earth could be so horrible you've gotta torture the mulch?" Mercy cringed, fixing guilty eyes on the bag of mulch in her grip. Caught. "Well?" The blonde uttered a sound halfway between a groan and a growl, snorted, then slid the bag onto its shelf with more care than necessary.

"My man's ex is comin' by tonight," she admitted under her breath. "She's stayin' a few days."~

"WHAT?!" Abby squawked in protest. "He's bringing his ex over?! Aw, Hell naw! Girl, you drop that boy before I find him and punch him in the man-fritters!" Man-fritters?** Mercy couldn't help it – she sniggered at the visual – but her laughter faded into regret when she registered the rest of Abby's threat.

"No can do," she sighed, "it's kinda unavoidable." Abby crossed her arms, scrunched her lips into an almost exact replica of Leo's 'pissy leader pout,' and waited for an explanation. Mercy rolled her eyes, spearing her fingers into her hair and yanking. "Kimber…well, she's like me an' Amber," she explained under her breath. "Remember I told ya Amber…uh…went home for a few days? Well, she almost…um…didn't come back. Bitch-nipple's comin' over to see how long any of us can stay home without that happening. She invited herself, we voted, Raph lost, she won." Abby took a moment to let that sink in.

"Your guy tried to vote her off the island?" A grim nod from Mercy. "They broke up before she left, right?"

"…and she left before he an' I met," Mercy added even as she rolled her eyes.~ All the code-talk really got on her nerves but they had to be mindful of the security cameras. Abby leaned against the doorframe, lean shoulders at a sharp slant, and hazel eyes puzzled behind her fuchsia-streaked hair.

"You think she wants him back?" she asked quietly. "He won't…" She sucked in a nervous breath. "What if she tries to win him back?"

"You're kiddin', right?" Mercy scoffed. "He dumped her! He's been angsty as fuck over breakin' her heart, yeah, but I know'im—she could make all the moves she wants, he ain't gonna budge."~ Not to mention Kimber's still dead she added in her own head then shook it. After all, she was dead, too. The whole situation stank like a crappy soap opera. "I trust'im, Abbs," she added under her breath. "Raph chose me, not the Jersey-Devil-wannabe…jealousy's pointless when I already know the end result, an' that end result is he's with me."

Abby watched her a moment, scrutinizing and studying; just as suddenly as she issued the threat against Raph's genitals, she smiled. "You're a strong woman," the neon-haired clerk remarked lightly. "I ever heard one of Cherie's exes asking to stay, I'd bash the twat's teeth in. You need anything, you give me a call, alright?" Mercy nodded, halfway between a cringe and a grateful smile, and went back to the stocking. "So how are things going between you two, anyway?" Abby added taking up her share of the lifting. "You never bring him by, you never tell me much about him…how's he treating you?"

Mercy paused, brow furrowed, and scrambled for an answer that didn't make her sound like an absolute sap. She couldn't find one. "He makes me wanna listen to Faith Hill, watch him sleep, an' punch his ex in the teeth," she grumbled. The heat in her cheeks went nuclear at Abby's excited squeal.

"Oh-em-GEE!" the younger practically shrieked. "You love him!" Mercy shot her a sour glare.

"Woman," she groused, "shut yer ass – the bullshit's leakin' out."

The Lair, shortly after dusk   -   00:00:00  

Two weeks ago, Kimber Bryant faced down Leonardo and demanded the opportunity to make right the trouble she caused his family. Now she stood in the hallway, practically quaking in her mud-stained canvas sneakers, unsure how to proceed. It didn't exactly help that Leo was still glaring at her from behind and her other escort, Donatello, kept fiddling with the tablet strapped to his left forearm.

"Now remember, you've gotta keep the leads from getting tangled," the genius rambled without ever once looking at her. "A little perspiration shouldn't cause any unwanted interference—I insulated the outer casing well to deter any outside condensation or humidity finding its way into the monitor's internal components but there are limits." Kimber rolled her bottle green eyes over at Leo in hope of rescue from Donnie's babbling but received only a glare. "It's not fully water-tight," the genius continued with a shrug and 'meh' expression, still without even glancing her way, "so we'll need to cover it with a water-resistant dressing when it comes to bathing but other than that it—"

"Today, Donnie," Leo grumbled. The younger startled out of his thoughts, fingertips still poised on the holographic chart projected over his tech-tab. He blinked a few times in rapid succession as though refreshing his memory then turned to Kimber in question. From the looks of it, she seemed ready to chew her ankle off to escape the lecture. She really was so very different from Amber…how could they possibly be the same person underneath it all? Could a person's history and past choices really have that big an impact on their personality and attitude?

"Uh…right," he uttered with a wince. "Anyway, it's natural for your core temperature to fluctuate a certain amount over the day but if it drops too low, I'll get an alert. We may not have much time to get you back…so…" he trailed off in hopes she'd pick up the slack.

"Don't get comfy," she finished sourly. "Yeah, I got it. Git lawst."~ He crinkled his nose at her demand but said nothing; instead, he rolled his eyes in defeat and took off toward the lab.

"Remember our agreement," the eldest warned under his breath as he shouldered past her. "You have one chance, and you're to stay—"

"I got it, I got it," Kimber snapped in response. "Go dig t'at stick out'a ya ass before it gets stuck up t'ere."~ Other than a deep-chested growl of warning, Leonardo said nothing—he just stormed past her to some destination she didn't care to know. Rolling her eyes at his attitude, she made her way toward the light at the end of the hallway. The closer she came the more clearly she heard a familiar voice—a voice that still haunted her fondest dreams and worst nightmares.

Familiar laughter led her into the living area where two people were cuddled up on a lumpy sofa. The larger wore a familiar boyish grin that stole the breath right from her lungs. In her grip, the duffle-bag strap slid loose—sweaty palms, she realized. A fluttering, weightless sensation filled her veins—oh, no… 'Gawd dammit…why've I gotta still love'im?'~ She choked around the damned butterflies doing barrel-rolls in her gullet. Steeling her nerves, she shook off her mushy thoughts and turned the corner. 'It don't change nothin'—dead's dead, an' he never chose me anyway. It's better t'is way.'

Raphael…he looked so much the same and yet so different. His eyes shone with laughter where they once burned with distrust; his posture was relaxed where he always kept up a front before. Tucked into his side and 'narrating' the boxing match with absurd faked voice-overs was a tall, lean woman with short messy blonde hair. Kimber's lip ached to curl in a sneer as the blonde loosed a raucous laugh but she fought it back—Raph wasn't hers. If this…this woman in his arms was enough for him…well, she'd respect that. She only ever wanted to see him happy and by God, she'd do so, no matter how much it hurt.

One moment, everything in Mercy's world was perfect. There was a decent match on TV, Raph had 'bullied her' into not-cuddling with him, and for the moment they had no other obligations. As it always seemed to, though, everything fell apart in a single breath…a breath that carried a perfume of vanilla, sugar, and musk. The smell wasn't entirely unpleasant but it was strong enough to make her sinuses burn and her head hurt. Why must so many people marinate themselves in perfume and cologne?

As Mercy and Raphael turned to greet the newcomer in unison the arm around her waist slackened—bright golden hazel eyes widened—full, scarred lips fell slack in dismay. Those lips formed a single word—a name Mercy spent hours cursing that afternoon—but no sound came forth. Torn, she held her silence, eyes darting from Raphael to the stranger and back again almost desperately. She knew this moment would come, she just didn't realize how much she'd want to scream obscenities when it did.

The stranger broke the stare first, bottle-green eyes flustered behind their impeccable smoky eyeliner. She reached up to her modest neckline, grabbed at the pair of worn metal dog-tags at her chest, took a deep breath, then looked up again with a weak smile. "'ey, Raphie," she murmured in a voice still thick with smog. "Long time no see, huh?" The hulking mutant couldn't even get out a single word; he just nodded, his chin and lips unnaturally stiff. Even as he stared down Kimber Bryant he clenched his fingers even tighter to Mercy's waistband. Mercy glanced down at the sight of his three-fingered hand anchoring her in place by a belt-loop. Just that morning, she woke up with that hand tangled in the hem of her nightgown anchoring it at mid-thigh. She had nothing to fear.

She pried Raph's fingers loose, stretched an imaginary crick from her neck, and rolled off the sofa to her feet. "I'll catch up later," Mercy remarked with an entirely faked smile and made her way to the side door. "Compost prob'ly needs a turnin' 'bout now."~ On the way past, she silently took in what details she could, mentally comparing them. The other woman was her height but beyond thin and into skinny. Her hair was coarse—naturally red from the looks of it but with a texture similar to unraveled jute twine. A sharp glance told Mercy the other had practically no ass; no competition there. She rolled her eyes, punched in the security code to pass through, then let the door drift shut behind her.

Before she could get anywhere a pair of large, powerful hands snatched her by the shoulders, spun her about, and pinned her to the tunnel wall. "Why you leavin'?" Raph demanded sharply. His voice was barely below a shout but as so often before, Mercy saw underneath that posturing—she saw the suspicious shimmering in his eyes, the nervous tic in his jaw, the vulnerable hunching of his shoulders, and the lurching of his throat and plastron from frantic heaving breaths. Fear was the one thing he really had no reason to feel in this case but it was written all over him. She cupped his squared jaw, thumb tracing the scar splitting his lip.

"I ain't leavin', ya meathead," she corrected as he covered her hand with his in a frantic grip. "You were friends, right? Ya never got to say goodbye. I've seen how this's been tearin' you apart an' I'm sick of watchin' it."~ Her lips curled in a tease but it was entirely true—she was beyond sick of having another woman in their relationship, even a dead one. "Ya need closure, I get that—I'm backin' off so you can get it. Got it?" Raphael said nothing—he just stared back, visibly searching her words for subtext. When he finally spoke, what he asked made no sense.

"Why?" he demanded in a near-deadpan. Mercy wrinkled her nose but before she could speak, he continued. "Why're ya testin' me like dis? What've I done ta deserve dat?"~

"Testin' you?" Mercy shook her head and scoffed. "I'm not testin' ya, Red," she promised. "I know you and I trust you—you're not about to cheat on me with anyone, much less a dead chick, right?" He shook his head in agreement and his eyes softened; he belatedly released her hand, choosing instead to cup her cheek.

"I wouldn't do dat to ya," he confirmed gruffly. "I'd never…I promised not ta hurt ya an' I meant it…but…" He faltered, flustered and struggling to find the right words. "Dis ain't right…ya ought'a be pissed at me fer even lettin' 'er come here…heck, if dis happened to any other guy, he'd get slapped fer lettin' it happen!"

"You're not any other guy," Mercy reminded shortly, "an' I'm not any other gal. Jealousy won't help anything, it ain't healthy, and you weren't too keen on her comin' over, to begin with. I've got no reason to be mad at'cha, an' especially no reason to hit ya."~ Her eyes drifted back toward the side door, now closed, and she sighed. "I don't like it," she admitted as her hand drifted down to his thick neck, "but I know you need closure an' I trust you enough to not interfere."

Raphael said nothing—what could he possibly say?—instead, he took a step back, eyes wide. This wasn't the first time she professed her trust in him, nor would it be the last, but this utterance seemed the most improbable of all. Wait…no, there was one other moment even more unexpected—a recent moment, the moment he first witnessed Mercy Ross fall apart at the seams, right there in his arms.#

Tousled blonde hair spilled across his pillow like scattered straw. Unpainted lips, swollen from friction, panted around gasping breaths. Work-roughened fingertips clawed at the equally tough skin of his bare scalp and shoulders as he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on her finally bared skin.

   "I trust you," she'd promised only moments before. "When are ya gonna start trustin' yourself?"  

   "Ya shouldn't trust me," he'd blustered, but despite his denials, he caved to her temptation. He knew from the first breath it would take weeks to clear her pheromones from his lungs; he'd never forget the taste of her or her keening cries of completion. When the madness left her eyes and the fire dulled in his blood, Raphael knew he'd never be able to see his Mercy the same, nor would he ever cease to be humbled by her seemingly unshakable faith in him—trust he couldn't recall doing a damn thing to earn.  

That July, Raphael took a chance on happiness in the middle of an open rooftop—a single kiss followed by countless more, all sound-tracked with heavy metal. Ever since then, anytime he fell to the temptation of Mercy's lips, he lost himself completely. He wanted her—he needed her—he craved her—she was the air he breathed, vital to his very survival and responsible for every beat of his heart. Far below the filthy streets, in a dark passage forgotten by the world in general, he stole her lips and breathed her in reverence.

He loved her—loved her beyond the limits of his fears and follies—and that was why she knew he wouldn't let her down.

"So you two, huh?" Raphael ducked his head to avoid Kimber's eyes, hoping she couldn't see the traces of stickiness at his lips or the tenting of his patched trousers. She said nothing, choosing instead to examine the worn red tweed of the sofa arm she perched on.

"What of it?" he retorted slumping onto the seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Looks like ya found a good one, 'at's all," she shrugged. He studied her silently a moment, searching for signs of deceit. In his heart, he knew this stranger was Kimber—his Kimber, the friend he threw away over his insecurities and fears—but her appearance was largely unfamiliar. Kimber was always on the chunky side of curvaceous but with an undeniable sex appeal. This new body was built like a scarecrow - all long limbs and frizzy hair - but underneath he could see the same sensual confidence Kimber had before she died. That sensuality was all Kimber - Amber lacked it completely, always coming across somewhere between odd and awkward. This woman, though visually unfamiliar, was definitely Kimber. Something in her eyes spoke of mischief…and regret. "Fer Gawd's sake," she swore under her breath and turned an acidic glare on him. He refused to meet it, locking his eyes on one padded and splayed knee. "I know t'a drill—I'm dead, not stoopid."

"Ya were never stupid, Kim, jus' stubborn an' naive," he protested but she waved him off.

"T'en quit lookin' at me like t'at." After a moment of resistance, he finally bit the bullet—he met her eyes. "Yeah, like t'at," the redhead grumbled, "like I'm gonna jump ya if ya take yer eyes off'a me or somethin'. I may be livin' in a homewrecker but t'at don't make me a homewrecker." This time, she was the one to hide her eyes.

A long, tense silence filled the room, broken only by the occasional sound from the Lab or utility room. In this unexpected but overdue moment, despite the drastically different appearance, Raphael saw Kimber as she was when they first met—not the over-confident temptress with the venomous smile and devil-may-care attitude but the lost, lonely, frightened runaway searching for her place in the world. Her new body was thirty-five if it was a year old, but she'd never looked more like a child to him than she did now. The night she turned Lefty and Northpaw over to the police and fell apart, Raph let the wrong head do the thinking and her heart suffered for it. So much heartache came from that one bad call—Kimber's death, too, was a result—how could he ever make it right?

"Rah-fay-el." The quiet – almost reverent – utterance of his name startled him from his brooding. Kimber faced the far wall but her eyes were locked on his askance. "Tell me t'a truth…did ya ever love me?" He blanched; she scoffed and picked at the faded red tweed covering the sofa. "I know we was close," she clarified in a soft tone void of accusation, "friends to be sure, but did ya ever love me like I loved you?"

He didn't answer—he couldn't answer, not around the painful lump in his throat. For so long, he wondered the very same. Loving Kimber, after all, would have made his betrayal a crime of passion rather than a bad move made in paranoid self-defense. Despite all his brooding introspection, though, he always came up with the same answer: he could have loved her, but he didn't…if he'd kept his head, maybe, someday, he could have loved her, but he didn't. "Exactly." Kimber's near-whisper broke his train of thought. "I knew ya didn't love me," she admitted even as her shoulders drew tight and her painted lips stretched in a sort of sneer. "I always knew it, I just t'ought…eh, no matter. I'm not gonna fuck up yer life again."

"I think ya got dat backwards," Raph pointed out dryly. "I fucked up yer life—I'm why yer…" He faltered, his throat clenching around the word as though to prevent him from voicing it. "Ya know," he settled for with a weak half-shrug, "like dis." Kimber watched him silently, eyes sharp enough to cut away his protective façade.

"Say it," she challenged. He flinched; she slid off the armrest and stalked over to face him, arms crossed in defiance. "Say it, Raph," she ordered, "ya know what I am—ya know t'a word, so use it. I'm…" She trailed off, one eyebrow cocked in expectance.

Raphael cringed. Of all the times he wished it was possible to completely withdraw into his shell, this was one of the worst so far. Weary hazel eyes drifted from Kimber's dirty canvas sneakers up her faded jeans and cotton blouse, up to her unimpressed eyes. "Yer…dead," he whispered as if confessing some great sin.

"Exactly," Kimber harrumphed and jabbed him between the eyes with one clear-lacquered fingernail. "Dead folks an' live folks jus' don't mix, ya muck-brained mawron.~ It wouldn't work an' I ain't about to waste my time tryin' ta make it work. Capiche?" He nodded, glaring up at her retreating back.

"Den why'd ya come back?" he asked, letting his hand fall back to his knee. "Dere had to be anutha way to test Don's theory, so why'd ya volunteer?"~ Kimber stilled in her pacing, carefully arranging her words before they could all spill out without concern for her feelings.

"I never got ta say goodbye," she admitted in a near-whisper, "not ta you, not ta Daron or Lefty, not ta anyone who mattered…but I've neva been t'at big on goodbyes anyhow, ya know?" Her voice cracked on the last words and she took a moment to compose herself. When she spoke again, she turned to the side as though watching him over her shoulder but her eyes remained hidden. "I made a lotta mistakes, Red—a lotta stoopid decisions t'at hurt a lotta people—an' much as I wanted to just stay dead, I lived ta regret every one'a t'ose decisions. T'at's why I came back…t'a fix t'a shit I broke an' atone for my sins. If t'at means stayin' here fer t'ree days while you an' Blondie play suck-face, so be it."

"Ya know you're puttin' yer life at risk, right?" Raph reminded, ignoring the suck-face comment. "Donnie ain't sure about da timing on dis thing, ya know. He an' the braided nutcase passed five days in her world but they weren't gone a whole three days, here. Who's to say ya'll have a full three days here? Who's ta say ya won't drop dead in an hour, or three hours, or even a minute from now?" He shuddered at the thought, his mind helpfully supplying several months' worth of nightmares to choose from, most of which ended with Kimber dying in his arms. "Ya froze, Kim, an' dat ain't an easy way to go; are ya really willing to risk goin' through it all over again?"

"It's my choice," she reminded with a stern expression reminiscent of an unimpressed schoolmarm. "No one asked me ta make t'at choice. Besides, see t'is?" She tugged her neckline aside to show him the small plastic device hung from her neck and the line of wire trailing down to her armpit. "T'is lil' t'ing's monitoring my core temp—we've got t'is covered. Trust me?"

Raph considered the plea a moment—for it was, indeed, a plea in every sense of the word—then gave a slow, reluctant nod. "I don't like it," he admitted in a throaty rumble, "but it ain't my job ta like it." There was much more to say, but for the moment, he hadn't words.

"Nope," Kimber agreed with a sly grin. "It's yer job ta help me give Daron a heart attack. What say we give'im a visit from t'a Livin' Dead Girl?" It was just a tease—just another excuse to ignore the elephant in the room—but for the moment, Kimber didn't care. She had more important tasks to focus on—messes to clean up, mistakes to correct, sins to atone for, and honor to regain. For now, the rest could wait.

  The Lair   -   00:35:00 and counting

Time stops for no man, people often said, and the same could be said for women. Never mind that Amber's cantankerous counterpart was staying in the Lair for the weekend…lurking around every corner…stinking up the place with her perfume…just waiting for a chance to bitch-slap Amber back into her place at the bottom of the food chain…

Amber shuddered at the thought and firmly shoved it into the back of her mind. Kimber Bryant made Amber all kinds of nervous but her presence didn't excuse Amber from her chores. There was too much to do—laundry to put away, studying to do, dinner to prepare— Something soft and furry brushed against her calf, startling her from her thoughts. "Right," she muttered as Kirk bypassed the laundry basket at her feet and hopped up onto Donnie's bed. "Gotta clean the litterboxes an' feed Kirkland too." After a mrrruhl of warning and a superfluous butt-wiggle said feline launched himself right into a pile of folded undergarments and began viciously mauling a sock big enough to double as an oven mitt. As he lay on his side, wrapped around the sock and kicking like a homicidal kangaroo, Amber sighed and shook her head in whimsical defeat. After how much she'd missed him she couldn't really be upset with the little murder-machine; cats, after all, would be cats, and socks could be darned.

"It's inevitable, Kirk," she teased as she hung a pair of patched canvas trousers in the frame-and-fabric 'closet.' "You're just gonna have to get used to sharing me with Donnie. I know I'm Mom but he's mine - you can't resent him forever." With an adorable cotton-muffled urrrr, Kirk glared at her over a mouthful of beige knit as if to say watch me. Ah, the jealousy of spoiled cats.

"Honestly, I'm lucky to have Donnie," she added to herself, doubts and worries filling her thoughts between wire hangers. Back before the dream connection was confirmed—before Donatello confronted her with his old Tonfa and confessed the name of her dead classmate—Amber could fool herself he wasn't the same Donnie she grew up with. She could tell herself that he didn't know all her dirty little secrets. He didn't watch her fall apart over the last few years of her life, partly from illness and her and partly from depression and apathy. He never heard how her poor choices in college may have led to the death of a classmate. He never knew she routinely slaked her carnal needs in impersonal encounters so her time with him in dreams could be focused on more important things than her hormones. If this Donnie wasn't her Donnie, then the mistakes of her past were only a secret to keep.

The problem was…now she knew this was her Donnie…and by the sounds of it, he remembered everything. Amber paused, fondling a strip of worn purple fabric. Even after countless washings, every one of those masks smelled strongly of his oddly comforting blend of coffee, machinery, musky exertion, and spice. "How can he even look at me, Kirk?" Amber murmured into the sweet-smelling fabric. "I screwed up with him so many times…I gave up on him, I – I gave myself up to other guys…how doesn't he hate me by now?"

This last question seemed the most perplexing. Sure, the purpose of those impersonal booty-calls was to shut up her hormones so her scant time with Donnie could be put to better use, but she always regretted them afterward. Regret, though, didn't count if a person intentionally committed the same crime over and over again, and she was guilty—guilty of closing her eyes, mentally replacing the other men with Donnie, and crying herself to sleep after they left. Regret was a weak word, really; what she felt wasn't weak. After all the time she spent hating herself for the infidelity, the idea that Donnie didn't hate her for it made no sense.

The dead silence tore her from her ruminations; odd, considering Kirk had a habit of 'answering' her every time she spoke.## After a quick glance at the bed, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The little furball was out cold, wrapped around her favorite bra and snoring into one generous cup. The battered sock sprawled on the floor half under the bed—the enemy was vanquished. Chuckling at the absurdity, Amber crouched to retrieve the sock but paused when she noticed something wedged between the mattress and box spring. A warped silver wire binding, traces of green beyond the rings…surely she was mistaken, but it wouldn't hurt to check…right?

Amber tugged the notebook loose and promptly cringed in recognition. It was her journal, the one she hadn't written in for months then misplaced. Why was it jammed under the mattress like a nudie magazine? Curiosity drove her to investigate and she quickly discovered the litany of notes scribbled upside-down in the back. She quickly lost herself in the writing—questions and memories, hopes and fears Donatello couldn't bring himself to share with her, all centered around their years apart. Though she didn't dig too deeply, there wasn't a single word of blame or judgment anywhere—nothing that indicated resentment or disgust. Amber almost missed the sheet of loose-leaf that slipped out and fluttered to the floor—almost. The pencil-scribbled contents might have made her stumble if she hadn't already seated herself before. "I met my lover in a dream," she whispered in recognition.^ "That poem…I thought I lost it...I guess Donnie found it?" Soon enough, she hit the final lines:

Mibbe someday he will see –     Someday the truth I'll tell. For now, I've only memories,     And dreams I shot tae Hell.

Or, rather, those should have been the final lines—they were the last she wrote. Someone, however, clearly thought the poem wasn't finished and added their own verse…in pen…neatly printed by a familiar hand straddling the border between calculating and persnickety. "No way," Amber muttered thickly as she scanned the added verse, wide-eyed and breathless. "Naw fookin' way!"~ No matter how she protested, the words remained clear, impossible yet obvious. Still marveling at their presence—and at the subtext—she never heard the soft ticking of a distant clock, or the even softer inhale accompanying.

Dreams can sometimes fall apart,     And memories can fade. The truth you shared can't change my heart…     Your lover-friend I've stayed…

I'll see you in our dreams.  

There was no stopping it, no holding back: Amber crushed the paper to her pounding heart in elation. He remembered. He understood. He loved. Perhaps, even…he forgave?

Sometimes emotions are too powerful for words; fortunately for Amber, squealing unintelligibly required none.

UP NEXT: (Currently in-progress)

Chapter List

- The vital signs monitor – At first I wasn't quite sure if such a device was on the public market, at least aside from 'smart' devices like FitBit and such, so I did what I do best: I researched the fuck out of it for funzies. Turns out there are more varieties out there than I expected, each monitoring different signs in different fashions and to different accuracy levels. Since Donnie's never been the sort to simply COPY others' ideas, we can safely assume he's combined the best of several devices. The result is a small electronic monitor [about the size of a 9-volt battery] hung from the neck by a lanyard, which measures core body temp by way of leads attached to an adhesive-backed electrode stuck in the armpit. We can also assume fitting the device on Kimber was incredibly awkward because she intentionally MADE IT awkward.

* Full statement including what Amber's snoring cut off: "Ya be'n 'way too long 'gain, ya sook—nae be'n by fer a nip'er a bosie. Wha's a lass ta think?" – This little bit of Scotchness is a routine in-dream tease from Amber. You've been gone [from our dreams] too long again, you old softy—you haven't even come by for a kiss or cuddle. What's a woman to think?

** Man-Fritters – Alas, I cannot claim authorship of this little snigger-inducing euphemism. That honor belongs to author Mimi Jean Pampfiloff in her Accidentally Yours series. While the first two books were pretty recipe [if you know what I mean] they were HILARIOUS recipes. I'm not ashamed to admit that the scene in the first one where the heroine belts out 80's pop hits to keep sane made me laugh so hard I spewed my tea, CHOKED ON IT, then spent the rest of the day CROAKING. It was WORTH IT. (That said, the author also used a lovely little nonsense-word coined by my IRL friend Autumn back when we were in high school but didn't notate it. I'd encourage Autumn to stop starting word trends without first seeking a copyright but that'd mean I'd have to pay her every time I stole her stuff, heh.)

Also: Abby has no accent. She's intentionally warping the Oh, Hell no! in hopes of showing Mercy just how upset the news makes her.

# Implied smut – The encounter referenced here didn't make it to in-story occurrence BUT it took place during the Absolutes arc, which took up too much time-and-space for the intended back-and-forth between worlds. It's written up and included in the "Gallery of Memories" as The Blonde and the Beefcake and it can be found HERE.) It's almost entirely lemon, BTW. ;P

## Kirk tends to 'answer' Amber every time she talks to him – I am SO not basing this on our cat Heiferlump. Nope, not at all! …fine. Yes. Heifer responds to EVERYTHING she hears, no matter who says it, and it's rare to find someone she can't bait into answering back. She's particularly adept at getting my father to argue with her and routinely tries to argue with the microwave beeper. O_o It's awesome.

^ The Poem, "Dream Lovers" – I've not posted the entirety of the poem in any chapters or even the GoM installment of the same name. NOW, however, you can find the entire poem in comic format HERE, on this story's Here on Tumblr, OR on DeviantArt. The comic includes Donnie's additions and a small blurb of backstory leading to this scene, and the Tumblr/AO3 posts include a glossary for the many odd words used in the poem. For convenience's sake, I've included the translation of the included verse below.

Again, since Tumblr’s decided to be an ass about wordblock limits, see FFnet or AO3 for the glossary if anything throws you off.

[thescholarlystrumpet]

All Through the Night Rated Explicit

Smutty one-shot for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January prompt: “I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight.”

Bae's nanny, Belle, harbors a secret and - she's certain - unrequited crush on her employer, Bae's father. But secrets can be tricky things to keep when people get trapped together by a thunderstorm, with no electricity and only one bed.

Bed-sharing!smut with some feels and added child!Baelfire cuteness bonus. Tropes abound!

A/N: Big thank you to @rumple-belle for both encouraging me to just go ahead and write this and for beta-ing it!

On AO3 HERE

“I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight,” Baeley asserted, holding up a corner of his quilt to welcome her under it.  

Belle bit back a smile at his earnest little face, completely unaware of dimensions and how she’d never possibly fit in the nook he occupied. A growing boy of six and a half, he’d be too small, himself, in a year or so.

“Well that’s very sweet of you but I’ll be just fine on the couch.” She smoothed the blanket up under his chin.

“Oh. Are you sure? It’s kinda lumpy.” The boy’s expression twisted with distaste.

Belle cocked her head to one side, “Are you worried about my comfort or does someone not want to sleep alone like a big boy? Is it because of the storm?”

Bae’s lips pursed. “Nuh-uhh. I am a big boy! I’m just being nice. You can sleep wherever you want.” he grumped, sounding oddly like his father in his rush of obstinate defensiveness.

Accustomed to her young charge growing more mercurial at bedtime, Belle gentled her tone. “I know you are, Bae. You’re growing up so fast! But even big boys can dislike big scary sounds like thunder. Even I get scared of it sometimes, you know.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “You don’t get scared of nothing.”

“Anything,” she corrected automatically.

“Anything,” Bae echoed dutifully. “Right?”

“It’s alright to be afraid, sometimes,” she assured him, rather than face more questions. If only he knew…

Sure, she was lying about the thunder. That hadn’t frightened her since she was younger than Bae. But Belle definitely lived with a large and overarching fear. One that consumed her thoughts and left her more than her share of sleepless nights. It was as adult a fear as she had ever felt: the fear of revealing her most secret heart to one who would surely reject it. Belle lived in the shadow of an undeniable and overwhelming attachment to the most unsuitable and indifferent man she knew  - her employer and Bae’s father, Mr. Gold.

Loving Bae was easy. Most days, when he wasn’t cranky from staying up too late, he was an absolute delight; sweet, intelligent, and highly inquisitive. He kept her on her toes and she treasured the way his eyes lit up whenever she helped him to discover new facts about salamanders or satellites or whatever new subject had caught his fancy that week. They went to the library every weekend so he could stock up on books for them to read together. Now that he was on chapter books, he would even insist on reading to her, at times. Bae was her little darling and she loved him unequivocally.

His enigmatic father, on the other hand, was another story. He should have been nothing more to her than the father of her charge, the man who signed her checks. He should have been a glorified roommate, since she’d finally agreed to move into their guest room after that messy break-up with Garrett left her homeless. He should have been a friend, co-parent, or mentor. He should have been anything but the object of her increasingly embarrassing fantasies, the one person in town whose very silhouette could make her heart jump into her throat, the man she couldn’t stop picturing as the quintessential part of her someday Happy Ever After.  

Belle had been raised on fairy tales. Or rather she raised herself once her mother passed away and her negligent father stopped even trying to be a parent. Belle had wanted that knight on a white horse so badly as a girl, as a teen, even into early adulthood. Unfortunately, in Storybrooke, there had only been Garrett and his gas guzzling car, and his possessive grasp, and his wandering eye.

Mr. Edmund Gold was certainly no Prince Charming but he had rescued her anyway, in her time of need. And his brusque manners weren’t so off-putting once she’d gotten to know him. He could be surprisingly funny, even charismatic when his guard was down. And the way he was with Bae these days was so alien from the way she’d first seen him (the way the whole rest of town still saw him), all warm affection and playful teasing. Belle liked to think she’d been an influence for the better in that regard.

It was just about three weeks ago, while Gold and Bae were playing, that Belle had first realized she was falling in love. In a moment of weakness, she’d let herself imagine what it would be like to have Mr. Gold look at her with the kind of affection he only ever bestowed on his son.

“Bae?”

The velvety voice of the man himself, broke Belle’s reverie. He stood in the doorway of the tiny room dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a shaggy robe, his long hair still damp at the very ends. He had a battery powered lantern slung around his wrist on a cord, the blueish light throwing his already striking features into a deep, shadowy bas relief.  

They’d been just coming back from the lake, the sun sinking fast toward the horizon, when they got caught in a sudden downpour. A streak of lightning lit the sky, followed in seconds by a roll of thunder. The raindrops felt sharp as needles against Belle’s skin, blown hard by the rising wind. Returning to town on foot, as had been the original plan, would be impossible. They made a snap decision to head to Gold’s cabin, instead. All three were soaked and shivering by the time they arrived. For a day that had dawned quite warm and sunny for fall, it had come to a rather miserable end.

Belle had ushered Bae into a hot shower to warm his numbed fingers and toes while Gold attempted to build a fire. Unfortunately, the wood was all damp and refused to catch. There was a single electric space heater that helped a little, but was useless once the electricity went out. Bae’s room wasn’t too chilly, small as it was, and the boy was packed in with as many blankets as he could tolerate.

“Papa!” Bae threw back the quilts and blankets to extend his arms toward his father.

Gold looked askance at Belle. “He’s still up?”

Belle blushed and rose from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting. “We were… just talking about the storm.”

“Is that so, son?” Gold perched on Belle’s abandoned seat, bracing one side with his cane as he hugged Bae back thoroughly with his free arm. “I hope it’s not too loud out there for you to get some sleep.”

Bae shook his head, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion. “Belle is scared of the thunder so I said she could sleep here with me. Is that okay?”

Gold chuckled and ran his fingers over a cowlick in Bae’s dark curls. “Well, I don’t quite think there’s room for her here, but I’ll make sure she stays safe and dry, alright?”

“Okay. So she can sleep with you, tonight?” Bae asked, settling drowsily back against his pillow.

Gold made an indecipherable sound at the back of his throat before turning his head to cough politely into his forearm. Belle’s cheeks burned, the air suddenly thick in her throat. There was a moment of stark hesitation before Gold leaned in to kiss Bae’s forehead.

“I know you’ll sleep like the dead once you settle down. Just all this excitement keeping you up. Close your eyes,” Gold ordered softly.

Bae obeyed.

Belle could tell him something a thousand times, cajoling and convincing, occasionally even bribing him to do it. His father need say it only once. Such was the kind of quiet power Mr. Gold could exude.

Belle would never admit it aloud but she’d had more than one little fantasy feature Gold giving her orders of an entirely different nature. She closed her eyes and rubbed the spot just between them, above her nose. It was an entirely inappropriate thought to be having at this time. Gold was probably a little peeved at her for not getting Bae properly settled. This was the third time father and son were saying good night, Bae having bounced up and out of bed twice to ask Belle for another story.

They hadn’t brought his reading material for a day by the lake and the only book Belle had on her was definitely not child friendly. Instead, she’d told him variations on fairy tales that her mother used to tell her, personalizing lead characters with traits Bae would recognize as his own.

Two such stories in, Belle had felt herself being watched. She’d looked up to find Mr. Gold’s eyes fixed on her, his expression intense and unreadable. Bae had also noticed his father and gotten so excited to share Belle’s stories that he leapt out of his blanket nest and it took several minutes to ease him back into it.

Third time, it seemed, was indeed the charm. Bae’s face had gone slack, his breathing even, as his father rose slowly from the bedside.

Gold inclined his head back toward the living room and the two of them adjourned, shutting the door to Bae’s room to just a sliver. He hated when his door was fully latched.

Belle shivered in the main room of the cabin, the higher ceiling and poorly insulated windows making it much draftier than either bedroom. She didn’t have a change of clothes, but luckily Gold had found a spare pair of fleece pajama pants and a sweater. The clothes smelled musty and were comically long in both arms and legs, but she was grateful enough to be dry that she didn’t complain. Gold was similarly outfitted in his spare pajama pants and a T-shirt with that ugly, tattered bathrobe thrown atop it for warmth.

Belle turned to face Mr. Gold, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset at having to put his son to bed a third time that night. She had no real defense for not putting her foot down. The truth was, she spoiled little Bae like he was her own. She’d never really been a nanny before this, and now she was starting to understand that perhaps she ought to have stayed a babysitter and part time librarian instead. It was easier when there were dozens of children to mind. With just one to focus on - and one she already adored - her judgement could get a little clouded. Then again, Belle could see such a world of difference from the unhappy child Bae had been a year ago. It was little wonder that she couldn’t help but indulge him.

Mr. Gold had been rather stiff with his son when she first met them both, as though he feared the child would break if he handled him too often. Mrs. Gold had only recently left and it was clearly a sore spot for both father and son. Bae was pale and entirely too serious for a five year old child. Gold was distant and uncertain in his attempts at showing affection. He’d apparently only hired a nanny to provide supervision and enforce the house rules, seeming genuinely confused the first time he came home to find the two of them crawling around on all fours, pretending to be dinosaurs.

Early on, he had even reprimanded Belle for letting Bae “take advantage” of her “tender nature.” She’d have taken the latter part as a compliment if it weren’t for the way he frowned when he said the word “tender,” almost like it was a dirty word. It was one of the few times Gold had really gotten her goat. Children needed tenderness, she told him, emphatically, to be reassured that even when they were naughty, they were loved. She’d let everything she’d been holding back up until that point pour out of her: how lonely Bae was, how he longed to spend time with his father, how difficult it was to be a child expected to behave like a small adult. Gold had listened to every word she’d said with a grave expression. Belle feared for her job by the time she was through, but she could not have stayed mum if her life depended on it. She should have known even then that she was already too far gone. Gold had been silent a long time before simply nodding and dismissing her from the room.

She’d spent a week on tenterhooks, flinching every time he addressed her. Yet he never reproached her for her tirade, or even mentioned how inappropriate she had been to lecture him in his own home. That weekend, however, was the very first time Gold stayed home from work and went with them to the park on Sunday. Bae had been overjoyed for the chance to play with his father and it quickly became a new part of their routine. Gold could still be prickly at times and Belle had learned to read when he was getting overwhelmed so she could step in and distract Bae with another activity. Overall though, the relationship between Bae and his father had grown in leaps and bounds - much like the youngster himself, who seemed to shoot up like a weed in the sunshine.

After that, Belle had also been a lot less afraid to speak her mind, when it counted.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold,” Belle began, noting how heavily Gold leaned on his cane, his shoulders slumped with weariness after such a long day.

He waved his free hand. “It’s no matter. He’s had a lot of excitement today, it’s only natural he’d have trouble settling down.” He limped to the couch and lowered himself gingerly. “I, on the other hand, may need to sleep through the next century just to recover,” he smiled thinly.

Belle returned the smile with a tired one of her own. “Well, Rip Van Winkle, I have a feeling a certain human alarm clock won’t let that happen any time soon.”

He gave a short huff of amusement. “Just as well, not really sure I’d like having a long, white beard just yet.” Gold ran a hand down his very clean shaven face.

“It was good enough for Gandalf,” she shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her forearms for warmth.

“Ah, now there’s a fashion icon worth emulating,” he replied dryly. His brow creased. “You must be freezing. My apologies. Let’s get you to bed.”

Belle blushed again at his words but he didn’t seem to notice as he was focused on standing up. He inhaled sharply, swearing under his breath as he heaved himself to his feet. Belle flew to his side, attempting to help support his bad side but he waved her away.

“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped, wincing again as he tried to take a step forward.

Belle frowned. “I know… but, it’s been a long day and I thought…”

“I don’t need a nurse, Miss French.”

Belle sighed. She was exhausted too but it wasn’t in her nature to stand by and let someone suffer. Even if they were being a pratt about it. “Well that’s good because you’d be a terrible patient. Now, do you want a hand or would you rather be stubborn and suffer?”

His lips thinned as he gave her a hard look. When she returned it, flatly, the corner of his mouth quirked upward for just a moment before he looked away. He cleared his throat. “There’s, ah, there are some extra blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed. I was… going to fetch them.”

“Okay then. I’ll be right back.” Using her phone’s torch function, she went to the aforementioned chest and threw it open. Inside was a mess of fabric, tarnished silver, and and what she really, really hoped was not a giant spider web. She tried not to think about that last part as she reached in and fished around for something that felt blanket-y. She pulled out two swaths of scratchy wool, grimacing at the way they felt in her hand. After a few more minutes, she determined they were the only passably blanket-like things in the pile and closed the trunk.

She returned to the living room to find Gold on the sofa, bent double to massage his calf. She held up the hunks of tartan patterned wool. “Did you mean these?”

He looked up, quickly pulling his hands from his leg, fingers flexing in the open air before settling in his lap. “Yes. Those would be the ones.

Belle bit back a face of disgust. She didn’t fancy sleeping under these harsh, dusty things but beggars couldn’t be choosers and at least she was dry. She set one down to shake out the first.

“Ahhh, Mr. Gold?”

“Hm?”

She held up the blanket - what was left of it. “I think you might have a moth problem.” There was a gaping hole in one side and several smaller ones dotting the rest like Swiss cheese.

Gold’s face fell. “How about the other? Let me see…” He started to stand and reach for it, grunting and swearing again, then muttering an apology for swearing as he regained his seat. Belle handed him the first blanket and picked up the second. Unfurled, the second was almost worse than the first; nearly as much hole as blanket.

Gold’s jaw went still and tight as he stared at the woolly remains, nostrils flaring.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle eased onto the seat beside him.

He swallowed audibly and spoke without turning to look at her. “Mothballs. They told me I’d need mothballs. When I put the blankets in the trunk, I forgot.” He ran his hand over the tattered cloth in his lap. He looked at at her, almost unseeing. “They’d be very disappointed.”

“Who?” she asked, softly.

Gold’s mouth fashioned the tremulous ghost of a smile. “My aunts.”

He looked smaller than usual and rather lost in the thin, pale light of the lantern. Belle was overwhelmed with the urge to pull him to her, to rest his head against her breast and stroke his hair. Instead she gripped his upper arm, very lightly, just a little touch to know she was there, that she cared. Gold looked at her hand on his arm as though he’d forgotten he was capable of being touched.

Belle leaned in just as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. He was oddly beautiful in his sorrow and she was immediately ashamed for thinking so.

“They… they meant a lot to you,” she surmised.

Gold met her eyes, again, his own dark and fathomless. He nodded. “They were all I had,” he stated simply. “And these,” he indicated the blankets, “were all I had left.”

Belle knew it was just the storm and the quiet dark, just the exhaustion setting in and tearing down both their walls, but she didn’t care. She was fully and brilliantly alive in this moment, only inches from the man she loved, and he was being more candid with her than he’d ever been before. She might never get another chance to be with him like this, again.

“I know what that’s like,” she admitted.

“Do you?”

Belle nodded. “When my mother died, I was left on my own. All I really had were her books. They became like friends, cold comfort for a lonely little girl.” She huffed a small laugh at her own self pity. “When we moved, my father made me choose only one favorite to bring with us. He said we wouldn’t have room in the new place. One out of a whole library. I thought he was so cruel for that.”

“He was.” Gold agreed solemnly. “Monstrous.”

Belle paused, uncertain if she was being mocked, but Gold’s frank expression didn’t change. She allowed herself a small smile. “The joke was on him, though. Rather than work in his flower shop like he wanted, I got a job at the library after school. So I could read all my favorites as many times as I liked.”

Gold gave a low little chuckle. “I always knew there was something of a rebel in you, Belle French.” His voice was a low rumble, accent deliciously thick, the ‘r’ rolling off his tongue in a way that made her want to chase it with her own.

His breath was warm as it wafted across her face, still smelling sweet from the lemonade she’d brought to the lake. She tilted her face toward his just a fraction more and his gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth and then back. A crack of thunder sounded, so close it may have well been in the room, and Belle shivered.

Gold pulled back, blinking rapidly, “I… I think I ought to get some rest.”

Belle deflated against the couch cushion. “Oh. Oh, right. Well, uh, at least let me help you.”

His brow furrowed. “Help me what? I’m already here.” He indicated the couch. He hoisted the holey blankets over his lap. “These are… less than expected but they will suffice for the night.”

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “You are not sleeping on this lumpy couch with barely enough blanket to cover one limb at a time.”

He pursed his lips, “Miss French….”

“Mr. Gold….”

“Well, where on earth should I sleep, in your expert opinion?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “In the bed.” She stood, grabbing his cane from where it had fallen to the floor. “Don’t be such a fussbudget. Come on, I’ll help you into the bedroom.”

Gold made a blunted noise of outrage. “Do you think I’d be such a negligent employer - nay gentleman - as to let you freeze to death out here on the couch?”

“So, what? You’d rather martyr yourself for my comfort?”

“Yes!” he splayed his hands in exasperation.

Belle paused in her efforts to get him to take his cane and stand. “That’s… sweet. In a misguided sort of way.”

Gold’s eyes scrunched closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes, with his forefinger and thumb.

Belle sighed. “Look, I know the mattress isn’t huge but it’s bigger than Bae’s bed so I think there’s plenty of room for the two of us to share.”

Without moving, Gold made the same strangled sound as he had before at Bae’s similar suggestion that they share the bed. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose before opening his eyes and removing his hand. “I hardly think that is… appropriate,” he said, without much conviction.

“Appropriate is in the eye of the beholder and the only one to behold it would be the six year old who suggested it in the first place. I think we’re on safe territory, Mr. Gold.”

It rankled her just a little that he was being so dense about this. In a little over a year, he’d barely just begun to treat her as a human being, let alone any kind of companion. Tonight he’d been so open, almost easygoing, or as easygoing as the Town Misanthrope got. She’d started to think maybe there was a chance… the way he had leaned toward her, the way he’d looked at her just moments before… that perhaps her attraction was not wholly one-sided. If that was the case, why wouldn’t he want to share a bed?

He licked his lips and, without a word, held out his hand. Belle placed his cane into it. He leaned on the cane, but did not object again as she came around to his bad side and helped him rise. Leaning on her and the cane, he limped into the bedroom.

She helped him get situated before crossing to the other side and sliding under the heavy quilt. The bed was chilly and also covered in a layer of dust (Belle made a mental note to send a cleaning service out once they got home). The blankets were unevenly distributed and sheets twisted down at the foot so she found herself sitting up and running her hands along the edges to try and fix them.

Gold shifted uncomfortably beside her as her wandering hands brushed his legs once, and then a second time. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“They’re uneven,” Belle groused, tugging at a sheet.

“Good God, woman, relax. You are off the clock. I am not Bae and I can fix my own blanket,” Gold snatched it out of her hands, rolling onto his side, away from her.

“Well, at least Bae knows how to share properly,” she replied, snaking an arm over his shoulder to pull the blanket back. “You’ve got the long end and if I don’t flip it, we’ll both have cold feet!”

He resisted for a moment before releasing it with a grumble. Belle set them to rights, smoothing the sheets up and blanket down. Gold was curled in a tight, unmoving ball and she made a face at his back.

At last she sank into the mattress, her body relaxing. She closed her eyes and let her mind meander through her day. It had been a beautiful day at the start. Gold had taken them out in a rented motorboat and shown Bae how to fish. They didn’t catch anything but that hadn’t been the point of the exercise. Bae had happily listed every fish fact he knew while his Papa listened attentively, and Belle had wished she could take a surreptitious photo. Gold looked ten years younger, lounging in the sun with his boy, relaxed and thoroughly happy. He’d even smiled at her a few times, in the brisk distracted sort of way he occasionally did these days.

Once they got back to shore, Belle had taught Bae how to recognize edible berries and they’d collected handfuls to add to the picnic lunch she’d packed. Belle kept stealing glances at Mr. Gold over Bae’s curly head. It was just so rare to see him out of a suit, dressed as he was in jeans and long sleeved shirt. The suits were always lovely and well tailored, and gave her plenty of thoughts about slowly unwrapping him like a present. Dressed down he seemed… human, like his sharp edges had been filed down. He’d caught her looking more than once, and they’d both quickly looked away.

Now she could feel the warmth of his body beside her, seeping into the sheets. She breathed out heavily through her mouth, fighting down the urge to snuggle up behind him. It was ridiculous, feeling this way for a man who could be so infuriatingly opaque. One minute they were swapping childhood stories and he looked very much like he wanted to kiss her. The next he was a human boulder, shutting her out in every way possible.

She must have drifted off at some point but a crack of thunder jolted her awake. She and Gold had rolled closer in their sleep, he on his back with an arm flung over his head and she on her side, facing him. He must also have shed the bathrobe at some point because he was only in the T-shirt now. There was barely enough light to make out his facial features but it occurred to her that he was smiling softly, unselfconsciously. She pulled herself up onto her elbow, cupping her cheek in her hand.

What would it be like to wake up like this and belong in a bed together? To lean in and kiss him awake? To have a playful little tussle before stripping each other bare and making love ‘til morning?

He made a soft little sound and Belle fancied that he was agreeing with her fantasy.

“What do you dream about, Mr. Gold?” she whispered, lowering her head back to the pillow.

Another little sound, low and masculine, greeted her query but then he fell silent and Belle fell back asleep.

The second time she woke, the rain had stopped and the moonlight shone strongly through the window. Belle had curled into Gold’s side, one arm slung over his waist. She held very, very still, listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear. Despite the rain and the dust and the old fusty clothes, she swore she could still smell a hint of his cologne and she inhaled it deeply, trying to commit this moment to memory. The arm beneath her had fallen asleep but she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She felt a rush of warm breath against the top of her head.

“Belle.”

His voice was more air than sound but it was loud enough in the now-quiet early morning.

Feeling guilty of trespassing, Belle began to shrink in on herself. Until she realized he’d used her first name. Gold had never called her anything but “Miss French” or, rarely, “Belle French”,” never just Belle. She loved the way it sounded on his lips.

“Yes?”

He released another, shakier, breath. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“I… I need you to move.”

Disappointed, Belle began to slide her arm away when she realized that it had not been, as she thought, at his waist. Her arm had extended across his belly at an angle toward his hips. So as she began to roll away, her hand skimmed across… oh. Oh.

They both froze.

Belle moved first, lifting her hand away and pulling herself up on her other arm, tingling with pins and needles, to look at his face. Gold was wide eyed and slack jawed, his lips parted as he seemed to be taking one very deliberate breath after another. He studied her with an expression that bordered on fear.

Belle gathered all her courage, though her mind was sluggish with sleep and foggy with pent up desire.

“Is that… Is it because of me?” She lay her hand on his chest, noting how his heartbeat had accelerated.  

“Belle,” he whispered again, almost a whimper as he added, “Belle, please…” His eyes roved her face in the moonlight, asking a question he could not seem to form with words.

“Please, what?” Tentatively, ready to pull back at any sign she was unwelcome, she slid her hand downward, toward where she’d felt him hard and straining beneath the sheet. “Is it… I want to touch you, Edmund. May I?” Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears and her pulse seemed to have relocated itself to the apex of her legs. She’d wanted him so badly for so long and it seemed like she must be imagining this happening, even now. It took every effort to keep her hand from shaking.

He shuddered just slightly as she said his name, his eyes closing briefly before reopening on her face. “Why?” His tone was incredulous.

Belle hiccuped a giddy little giggle. “Because I’ve wanted to for months? Because if I’m just dreaming again, I don’t want to waste it? Because… because you’re finally letting me? Pick your reason, Mr. Gold.” Seeing the look on his face, she self-corrected, “Edmund.”

He made a needy little sound at that and lifted the hand that lay between them to stroke the side of her face. “And how do I know I’m not the one dreaming?”

Belle smiled gently, leaning toward him until her mouth just barely hovered over his. “Only one way to find out,” she breathed. Her eyes shut, she made a silent wish before closing that infinitesimal space and kissing him. For half a second she feared he’d push her away but then the hand at her cheek slid into her messy curls, his fingers tangling between them as he held her fast. His other arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, lips parting to allow the tip of his tongue to dart between them.

Belle met that volley with a flick of her own tongue and Gold moaned into her mouth, tightening his grip. She slid down the bed, needing to be even closer, flinging a careless leg over his hips. And oh yes, there he was, pressing hot and insistent against her inner thigh. He ground himself against her as he devoured her mouth, the hand not buried in her hair tracing her waist and hip like he was learning every curve by heart.

She snaked a hand upward, running her fingertips through the baby-soft silver hair at his temples. She’d always wondered if it would feel as good as it looked and it absolutely did. They broke apart from kissing only to gasp for air, Gold breathing half a swear word into her shoulder as she moved to straddle him completely. Belle nipped at his earlobe as she centered herself on the rigid line of his cock, bringing both knees forward to gain friction where she needed it most.

His lips found purchase along the long column of her neck, trailing biting kisses up and down its length as she shivered with pleasure and shimmied her hips against his. His hands traveled down to grasp her arse and squeeze. Belle hummed her approval and he did it again, the tips of his fingers sliding to the crease at the back of each thigh, agonizingly close to her heated core. She was embarrassingly wet already, her panties sticky and clinging, twisting with her increasingly desperate undulations.

Growing frustrated with the many layers between them, Belle sat up.

Gold’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked up at her. “Is, ah, is everything….?”

“Oh God yes,” she nodded. “Just... too many clothes, don’t you think?”

Gold made a low sound of agreement, a smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “Whatever you say, Miss French.”

“Mm, can I get that in writing?” she teased. “And I thought we were on first name basis, now.”

He looked down. “I’ve never been fond of my first name.”

“Oh.” Belle bit back a frown.

“But I like it when you say it.” He met her eyes again, his tone the quiet, confessional one he’d had on the couch earlier that night. “I… like a lot of things when you say them.”

Belle felt herself melt a little inside and dipped down to press her lips to his. He kissed back hungrily and it was all she could do to pull away long enough to tug off the loose sweater. They teased and tasted one another until they were both breathless and she touched her forehead to his.

“I’d like to see you,” he murmured.

Happy to oblige, Belle kissed the tip of his nose and sat up again, feeling his cock twitch against her.

He inhaled deeply, “Fuck. You’re…” His hands shaped her waist, gliding over her ribs to cup each small breast, the nipples already pert with arousal and the chill air. She trembled as he flicked his thumbs simultaneously under their sensitive undersides before then running a thumb over each nipple. He shook his head, hair fanning on the pillow below him. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

Belle blushed deeply, the color running from cheeks to chest.

Gold continued caressing her nipples with his thumbs until she was squirming, little mewling noises escaping her involuntarily. With a hand at her waist, he wordlessly directed her to lower one breast over his mouth, using his lips and tongue tease her as his other hand moved down toward the juncture of her thighs. She shifted her hips to allow him better access and he slid his hand beneath the elastic band of her borrowed pants, finding the soaking gusset of her knickers with his fingertips. He groaned at this discovery, the sound reverberating against her breast. Belle turned to allow him access to the other breast and gasped as one knuckle slid deftly along her cleft.

“Less clothes,” she mumbled, moving off of Gold to shuck her pants and underwear. Before she regained her place atop him, she tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, giving him a meaningful look.

He frowned. “Are you certain?”

Belle raised both eyebrows. “You ask that, now? Maybe I should remind you what you do to me, Mr. Edmund Gold…” Kneeling on the bed, the cold causing gooseflesh on every exposed patch of skin, she pulled his hand between her parted thighs. His fingers just barely skimmed her nether lips, coming away glistening with her arousal. He stared at them, spellbound before returning his gaze to her face. The pure adoration in his eyes was enough to leave her momentarily stunned.

She choked back an unexpected lump in her throat before gingerly reaching for his shirt, again. “Yes?”

Gold nodded, allowing her to help him sit up and divest himself of both shirt and pants. The moment they were both nude, he hauled her atop him and fervidly captured her mouth. She kissed him back with equal exuberance, rolling her hips as her slickness coated his erection. The blunt head nudged her clit and she made a needy, throaty sound that Gold eagerly swallowed. He bucked his hips beneath her, hitting the same spot again and Belle pulled back with a swear on her lips.

“Please, no more teasing… I need you,” she pleaded, almost mindless with the steadily building ache at her core. She ground herself against his cock, the head nearly slipping inside her.

“I don’t have any…” He forced the words out with some difficulty, his thighs below her tense, the muscles strained and quivering.

“Protection? It’s ok. I’ve got an IUD. And I’m clean.” Raising herself up and wrapping a hand around his shaft, she bit her lip and looked down at his face. “Please, Edmund?”

“Fucking hell, Belle,” he rasped, gripping her hips with both hands, nearly hard enough to bruise. As he lowered her hips, she guided him inside her, both hissing with pleasure as flesh met flesh, wet and hot and oh so deliciously ready. Inch by inch he filled her, her inner muscles already clenching and fluttering, until he was fully seated.

“God, you feel fucking amazing.’ His voice was almost a growl, hands still at her hips as she adjusted to the feel of him inside her.

Belle leaned in to kiss her way up his jaw to his ear. “You do too.” She canted her hips, rising up just a little before sliding back down, then repeated the motion. He rolled up and into her downward movements, echoing and answering the language of her body. “So good…” she crooned, as they began to establish a rhythm of short, sharp thrusts.

Gold’s breathing was harsh and ragged, his parted lips brushing her neck, her shoulder, her ear, whatever they could reach. Belle ducked her head to kiss his cheek, his jaw, nipping playfully at his earlobe and at his voluptuous bottom lip as heat began to spiral up her spine and down her legs. Conscious of how quiet it was without the storm, Belle held back the moans and half formed words that kept bubbling up, bursting to escape in shuddering gasps. She was getting close, slipping a hand between them to press at her sensitive little nub and riding him faster. Every fiber of her being was focused on their joining, on the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, his hands moulding to her flesh as he hit all the right spots within. Her peak hit her suddenly and with a blinding force. Gold’s dull nails dug into her skin as her pussy milked him hard. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder to muffle his moans as he reached his own completion.

Belle grasped his face between both hands and kissed him soundly. “That was worth waiting for,” she murmured against his lips.

He made a sound of agreement, pulling out of her reluctantly as she moved to lay on her side. “I’m only sorry I ever made you wait, sweetheart.” His tone was half amused bewilderment, half pillow talk.

Pulling the blankets up, she tucked herself against his side again, his arm curling automatically over her shoulders - as though they’d done this a million times. “Apology accepted. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I like when you say that word, too. Again.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I mean it.” Belle tightened her arm around him, kissing his chest, just over his heart, in reply. Cocooned in his warmth, she began to drift off, noting that they probably had very little time left before dawn. It wasn’t light yet but she could almost feel the morning coming on.

Drowsily, he added. “I did dream of you, by the way. Just like this.”

Her heart gave a powerful thump in her chest and she tilted her head up to share a sleepy, lingering kiss. “Me too.”

[jaeminlore]

courage » jeno

find part one here

prompt: he’s been appointed your head guard and the two of you try once again to foil your mother’s plan of marrying you off to someone words: 4476 category: royalty!au, fluff a/n: hey sorry i haven't updated in awhile. i hope this will make up for it. i need to do royalty aus for the whole 00 line tbh

- You peaked your head outside of your door, noticing the plum cape of your head guard. Your kingdom's coat of arms stared back at you, a black dragon shooting red flames at whatever invisible attacker was presented before it. "Jeno," you hissed, "is the coast clear?"

He turned around, his freshly dyed hair startling you once again. You still couldn't get used to the contrast as opposed to last year, when Jeno had his natural black locks. Now it wasn't just his hairstyle that had matured, but his entire physique and personality as well. He had worked hard to get the position of your head guard, which thrilled you to no end. Your best friend becoming your head guard had to be the best thing to happen to you this year. The worst thing would have to be the fact that your mother still insisted on you getting married. You had managed to avoid her so far, but your luck was quickly running out as your mom announced all the lords of your kingdom eligible for your hand. Now there was no way out, as your mother would pick her favorite lord and announce him your fiancé. The whole thing wasn't something you liked very much because all you wanted to do was have fun. Especially now that you had a friend like Jeno to hang out with. The two of you loved hanging out around the castle, or down at the old tower. It was now like a little clubhouse for you and Jeno, and the two of you liked hiding out there for days at a time, just to ignore the hawk-like eyes of your mother. Jeno loves grave, "Why, Your Highness? Do you need help with anything?" You caught the concern in his voice and laughed. "No. I mean, yeah. Nothing serious. I just need help picking out what dress to wear tomorrow when I meet all the lords." Jeno made a disgusted face. "Why would you want to look nice for them?" "I don't," you said, "that's why I need your help. Tell me which one makes me look the least attractive." Jeno agreed and made his way into your bedroom to see practically your entire wardrobe spread out on you bed. You grabbed a pile of dresses and disappeared behind the dressing screen. Dress after dress Heno declined, saying you looked far too beautiful to deter any lord from your affection. "What about this one? Please tell me it's ugly because it's my last dress." You stood out from behind the screen and looked at Jeno's reaction. His gaze skipped to the ground, almost shyly as he tapped his foot. "Not that one. It's the prettiest." You ignored the butterflies in your stomach. "Well they can't all be beautiful. I have to wear one." "What if it's not the dress that's beautiful?" Jeno tried, his eyes lost in yours as you struggled to answer him. He seemed content with your reaction, a small close-lipped smile adorning his face. His hands were folded in his lap, and you caught him fiddling with the ring you had gifted him on his eighteenth birthday. The emblem you had engraved into the ring was a design of your own, and it stood for friendship, loyalty, and courage.

You wished you had the courage to say what you were thinking. To admit to Jeno that you sometimes thought of asking him to marry you. You thought of telling him that the day you had finally chosen to go to your mother about it was the day she announced you'd be marrying a lord. You wanted to tell him that you were too late, and that you were sorry. Instead, you went behind the dressing screen and got back into your pajamas. "I'll figure something out tomorrow. Go get some rest, Jeno." "Alright, just let me know if you need anything." If there was ever a night to get sleep, it was tonight. You bid Jeno goodbye and climbed into bed. To be quite honest, it was always hard to sleep when Jeno was your night guard. You didn't like going to bed knowing he had to keep himself up all night. Even now, you felt a bit guilty for making him leave. It took about thirty minutes before you gave up on sleeping alone. You grabbed a quilt and wrapped it around your shoulders, making your way outside of your bedroom. Jeno started when the door opened, his hand immediately going for his sword, as he always did when he was frightened. You giggled, "Are you ever going to stop doing that?" He let out a forced laugh and looked down at you. Now content, you simply stood beside him in the dark corridor. "Y/n, you have a big day tomorrow. You should get some rest." You shrugged, "Maybe the dark circles under my eyes will keep the suitors away." "I doubt that," Jeno muttered. "You should sleep for yourself, if not for tomorrow. I don't want you falling over in your porridge because you're too sleepy." You shuffled just a few steps to the side, until your shoulder bumped against Jeno's armor-clad arm. "The truth is, I feel guilty about sleeping when you have to stay up all night." Jeno began to smile, and you felt something warm inside of you when he let out a breathy chuckle, dropping his gaze to the floor shyly. "I'm out here so you can sleep, Princess. Are you going to make all my efforts futile?" Instead of answering, you slid down the wall and sat down on the cold floor. "Let's play 'in the future'" "What's 'in the future'?" Jeno asked. He gave up on trying to get you to go back to sleep. He was more interested in whatever game you had just made up. "I play it when I'm in boring meetings," you said, "I just pretend that it's the future, and I name all the things I'm looking forward to. For instance, in the future, I will be a queen who takes care of her people." "I get it: in the future I will be captain of the royal guard." You clapped joyously, "Exactly! My turn now. In the future, I'll get out of this marriage thing." Jeno began pacing the corridor, doing his royal duty as he kept you entertained. "In the future, I'll marry the one I love." There was emotion behind his words, and your interest was peaked. "Do you love someone?" Jeno stopped, and his expression told you that he hadn't been expecting a reply from you. "Oh, well, I mean . . . sort of? It's kind of impossible for us to be together so in an ideal future, it would be possible." The way Jeno's eyes lit up as he talk made you a bit jealous of the unknown person. In your ideal future, Jeno would talk about you that way, and his eyes would only see you. You felt selfish wishing he would love you the same way you loved him. Still, you let it go. "I hope it will be possible for you, Jeno. Whoever you're talking about must be lucky to have you love them so much. Do they know?" Jeno looked at you, and his eyes seemed to be telling you something you couldn't decipher. "No. In the future, I will be courageous enough to confess my feelings." "You really aren't that courageous for a knight," you mused, "How can you become captain of the guard if you can't even confess your feelings?" Jeno shrugged and gave you a half-hearted smile. "I think we both know I'm not the bravest knight." You pointed finger guns at him and winked jokingly, "but you're my favorite!"

With a chuckle, Jeno shook his head. "You need to go to bed, Y/n. I'll get you in the morning." You decided to obey him, since he was right about you needing your rest. Although you didn't want to marry any of them, you also didn't want to appear grumpy in front of the lords. They would be serving you when you were queen, so their first impressions of you were still important. By the time morning came around, you were very thankful for what little rest you had gotten. Jeno had already taken his leave, as he would get a few hours of sleep before returning to your side. For now, you needed no protection. You simply had to get ready and visit with the lords. Dressed in the dress Jeno had chosen as the prettiest, you did your own makeup and hair. Some of the maids of the castle came in to assist you by making your bed and fixing up your room as you got ready. "Will you miss this room?" one of them asked. "Once you're married and move to a bigger suite?" "I won't be moving," you said. "Of course you will," the maid insisted, "you'll get a new room, a new wardrobe, a new guard: all the things a new bride should get." You put your brush down. "A new guard? What's wrong with the one I have?" "You and your current guard are very close, we know. Still, you need a guard prepared to take care of only you and your husband. Sir Jeno has proven his loyalty to you, but many lords of the court still have a problem with him." Before you could stop yourself, you rolled your eyes. "Well guard or not, he's still my best friend. He'll always be around me. Are the lords prepared for that?" "They are, Your Highness. I am not sure if they will like it, however." - The breakfast table was rather formal for your taste. Usually, you spent your mornings with Jeno and his friends. Mornings with them were usually filled with laughter and forgotten table manners. Mornings with Jeno made you feel like a normal girl, and not a princess being pushed into marriage at only eighteen years old. This morning however, Jeno was resting before fulfilling his knightly duties around the castle. You'd see him again tonight, assuming your mother didn't already choose another guard for you. Without knowing it, you huffed aloud at the table. Each lord turned to look at you, the first to speak being Yuta, an extremely flirty lord who managed foreign affairs. "What's wrong, Princess?" His voice had a different tone to it than Jeno's did when he called you princess. You clenched your fists under the table. This was all so annoying and horrible. You gritted your teeth, since your mother was watching from the head of the table. "I'm fine, Lord Yuta. A bit tired, is all. Nothing to worry about." His smile was truly beautiful, still you couldn't help but compare it to Jeno's. In fact, throughout the entire breakfast you found yourself comparing each of the lords to Jeno. None of these men could ever compare to your best friend. You ate your breakfast gloomily as you watched the lords interact with one another. You could see your mother giving you disapproving looks from across the table, but you ignored them. The clock couldn't strike ten o'clock quickly enough. You couldn't wait to head down to the practice arena and see Jeno, who would have just woken up. You could imagine him now, both his sleepy smile and bedhead prominent. The thought made you anxious to get out. "You'll have to excuse me," you said to the lords, "I have a previous engagement that I simply can't get out of."

Your mother pursed her lips. "You will choose a lord to eat lunch with, one to eat dinner with, and one to walk in the garden with tonight." You stared at each of the men, all looking at you in expectation. Your mother was planning dates now? "Fine. Yuta at lunch, Johnny at dinner, and I'll walk with Doyoung." The three chosen men grinned in satisfaction. Those unchosen seemed a bit put off, but they quickly began to smile when your mother assured them they'd get alone time with you the next day. "Good day," you bowed to each of them and left. As soon as you reached the hallway you bolted, your heels click clacking against the stone floors. The air outside was refreshing compared to the stifling dining room. You could hear shouts of harmless insults and friendly banter in the distance, a clear sign that the knights of the kingdom were practicing their fighting skills. Within the past year, more boys Jeno's age had passed from squiredom to knighthood. This made Jeno happy, as now he had friends other than the older men that disliked Jeno for his relationship with you. You walked into the practice arena to see Donghyuck and Mark throwing jests to each other as they fought on horseback. Actually, it was Donghyuck throwing jests at Mark while the latter simply laughed at his own expense. Figuring Jeno was still in the armory, you entered the shed-like building and searched for your friend. There he was, just as you predicted, half-heartedly shining the weapon that lay across his lap. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. His movements were slow as he worked, his messy hair falling over his eyes. "My mom is making me date them," you said as a greeting. Instead of his usual smile, he looked up with a frown adorning his features. "You're going to hang out with a random lord? Alone? Aren't they a lot older than you?" If you were overthinking it, you would've detected the hint of possessiveness in his voice. But you weren't overthinking it, so you answered casually, "Yeah, which sucks. If I don't do it my mother will get upset. Maybe after my walk with Doyoung, we can go to the tower?" Jeno's frustrated features melted into sympathy. "Of course we can. That bed's a lot more comfortable than the knight's quarters." "You just miss the bed!" you teased. Gesturing for him to move a bit, you scooted up right beside him until your thighs and shoulders were touching. You didn't notice Jeno tense as you leaned forward to examine his sword. "And your sword isn't even dirty! You're just wasting time!"

"I'm tired!" he protested, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. "Jaemin kept me up all night." "Oh, did you visit him at the clinic?" "Yeah," Jeno answered. "He'll be as good as new in a few weeks. Anyway, he was too excited about coming back that he couldn't fall asleep." You lulled your head to the side until your cheek rested on his head, "Well, if we're super quiet about it, we can sneak to the tower now. I don't have to go on any date and we can just sleep the day away." Jeno lifted his head to look at you, "Won't your mother be angry?" You gave him a cheeky grin, "When is she not angry with me?" - As soon as the two of you climbed up the tower, Jeno plopped onto the large bed and breathed a sigh of satisfaction. "This is the life. Y'know, I might like to be king just for the accommodations." As much as you longed to grab him by the shoulders and tell him you wanted him to be your king, you withheld. Did he not see the longing glances you sent his way? Did he not see how you dropped everything to be with him? "Well when I'm queen I'll make sure everyone in the castle gets better accommodations. How's that?" You were turned away, so you didn't notice the slight frown on his face once he realized you didn't take his hint. "Wonderful, I suppose. Now come snuggle with me. It's cold up here." "Doesn't heat rise?" you asked him as you lifted the covers and crawled under the warm blankets. You turned over until you were facing Jeno, and he you, so that the two of you were merely staring into each other's eyes and struggling not to laugh. Jeno crossed his eyes, earning himself a giggle from you. "This isn't snuggling, Y/n." "This is how we always sleep," you answered, a bit confused at what he meant. "I know," his voice lowered into something soft, and you weren't sure why the butterflies in your stomach suddenly attacked. "I just thought we could be different . . . just for today." His hand lifted, and you felt the rough pads of his fingertips brush your hair behind your ears. "Different, how?" you asked, your voice coming out a bit too squeaky for your liking. You felt your cheeks heat up. Jeno licked his lips and his gaze darted around the room. "Well, um, you can use my chest as a pillow. I can h-hold you?" They weren't butterflies this time. Instead, it felt as if warm syrup was spreading throughout your veins. You desperately wanted to give in to his offer and simply forget about your duties for awhile. On the other hand, you knew this would make you fall even more in love with the knight. Your lovesick side won out as you muttered a small "okay." Hesitantly, as if you were afraid Jeno might suddenly retract his offer, you pressed yourself against his side. Your head fell to his chest, and you were pleasantly surprised to hear his heart beating abnormally fast. Perhaps he felt the same as you, and was just better at hiding it. His hand dropped to your waist, his fingertips slowly tracing the curves of your torso. Unsure what to do, and what was going too far, you lay your arm across his middle and hugged him as you tried to go to sleep. The warmth emitting from his body was comforting. "I don't want to get married, Jeno," you whispered into the afternoon, wondering if he was even awake to reply. Soon you got you answer, in the form of his quiet "I don't want you to get married either."

- You felt like a pig for slaughter. Returning to the castle had to come eventually, and with it the inevitable chiding of your mother. However, you didn't think she'd do it in front of the lords. The sympathetic gazes of the nine lords was almost comical as your mother reprimanded you. "Of all the stunts you've pulled, I really didn't think you'd go as far as abandoning your royal duty. Is that how a future queen rules?" "No, Your Majesty," you spoke lowly, your head bowed in shame, "but—" "Did you think it was okay to disrespect the lords who have taken time away from their duties to visit you, only to be stood up?" "No, but—" "Did you think sneaking off with your best friend wasn't going to make me angry?" "No, but—" "Did you think—" "— I'm in love with Jeno!" you blurted, shocking both your mother and the lords around you. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your chest, like a thousand worries had just been vanquished because you had finally told the truth. Yuta caught your eye and grinned. The action urged you to continue, "I have been for months. H-He's my best friend and I can't see myself being with anyone but him my entire life. I'm sorry I haven't told you before, but I was afraid of you forbidding me from seeing him again. I have to tell you that I can't marry any of these lords, because my heart already belongs to someone else." Your mother frowned, and reached out to straighten the collar of your dress. "My darling, royal marriage is not about who you love. It's about who can help you keep your kingdom and take care of your people. It's strategy." She looked apologetic, and you could've sworn you saw her eyes water. "Jeno's too young. He's too immature when it comes to the kingdom's safety. He has no idea how to run a kingdom like these lords, or even the older knights, do. I'm sorry, but you can't marry Jeno and that's final." Any words that came out of your mouth were as incomprehensible as your thoughts. For some reason, you had been thinking that your mother would give you her blessing. You thought she might see where you were coming from. But she still saw the world through political glasses, unable to see that Jeno could learn how to run a kingdom. If he wanted to, that is. "I understand," you said. Then you lifted your head and struggled to smile, "He probably wouldn't accept my feelings anyway."

Once your mother seemed appeased and left, you bowed to the lords. "I am sorry for being inconsiderate of your feelings and wasting your time. I hope you'll forgive me and accompany me to dinner tonight." - Awkward wouldn't even begin to explain the atmosphere in the dining room. For some reason, Yuta was the only lord who arrived at dinner. He was busy buttering a roll, so he didn't see your worried features. "Shouldn't we wait for the other lords?" you asked. Yuta smiled widely and shook his head. "Nope." "But they aren't here." "Yep." "Well ... do you know where they are?" Yuta took a bite of his food. "I know exactly where they are." You waited for him to tell you where they were, but he never did. "So..?" Yuta ignored you and instead continued to eat his dinner. At the rate he was downing his pasta, you would've thought the lords of your kingdom never got anything to eat. He finally faced you, a wicked grin on his face. "They're with Jeno." You suddenly bolted up, "What? Why? Are they going to tell him?" "It was my plan," Yuta explained, "We all agreed that if we came together and offered to teach Jeno the things we know, your mother should give him her blessing. Smart, right?" He leaned on his palm and winked at you. "Does he know, then?" you whispered. "Does he know what I said?" "No," Yuta answered, this time looking gentle, "We haven't said a single word about you. We're just telling him that we want to teach him. We sort of got his knight friends to help us." "No," you moaned, holding your hands over your eyes. "Those boys can't keep secrets!" "Not even for the benefit of their friend?"

You glanced in the direction of the window, where the practice arena was, "I don't know." - The darkened sky was lit with millions of bright stars, shining a path for everyone in the kingdom. You stared out your open window from your bed, wondering what you were going to do about your predicament. As far as you knew, Jeno had no idea. How far would that last, though? It was like you could hear his breathing through the walls. He was on night shift again, pacing in front of your door in case any intruder decided to pay a visit. You had been listening to his footsteps for hours now, struggling to gather the courage to speak to him. You wanted him. You didn't want a lord or a prince or a king; you wanted Jeno. You wanted Jeno because he was someone you trusted. You wanted him because he was selfless, and brave in his own unique way. He was down to earth, and got joy out of simple things like making someone smile. He was all you wanted and needed. A knock sounded at your door. Perhaps it was morning already, and time to get ready for breakfast. You struggled to make your voice sound groggy, as if you had just woken up. "Come in." The door creaked open, and none other than Jeno himself popped his head through, "Usually you're snoring by now. What's up?" "I don't snore," you protested. "Don't you?" Jeno chuckled to himself before sitting at the end of your bed and staring outside. "The stars are beautiful tonight," he said. They're nothing compared to you, you wanted to say. Your voice got caught in your throat, so it ended up coming out in a strangled cough. "Are you okay?" Jeno patted your back firmly, "What did you do, choke on air?" You glared at him, receiving only a smile in return. Then you watched as the boy in front of you slowly turned serious. "I have to ask you something." "Shoot," you said, although the nerves in your stomach nearly prevented you from doing so. "The boys told me something pretty interesting," he began, stopping only to run his hand through his hair. "Well, it was just Donghyuck. Mark and Renjun tried to stop him." "What did he tell you?" His eyes were so beautiful. Your found yourself always loving the way the dark color nearly blended into his pupils. He blinked. "He told me you were in love with me. He told me that's why all the lords suggested I be tutored by them. He said if I did, I might get your mother's blessing." "I'm so sorry," you said, "They're just feelings. I-I'm sure they'll go away. I hope this won't change anything between us." Jeno leaned his body closer to yours until you could count every single eyelash of his. "Actually, Y/n, this changes everything between us." He kissed you then, his lips surprisingly smooth against yours. His touch sent a plethora of fireworks into your belly, and muddled all of your thoughts. You gingerly reached for his face, hoping to keep him there with you for just a bit longer. He pulled away, then gave you one more shy peck, then finally backed up a bit. "I want to marry you, Princess. It doesn't have to be any time soon. I know we're still young and immature, but I want to spend the rest of my life with my best friend by my side. I want you." "My mother," you explained in a rush, "she won't let me marry you. I told her yesterday and she said I have to marry someone with enough knowledge to run a kingdom." Jeno smiled at you, his teeth on display as he replied, "That's why I accepted the lord's offer. Then, I went straight to Her Majesty and asked her that if in due time, I earned enough knowledge for the kingdom by her standards, I could have your hand in marriage. That is, if you'd let me of course. She might have agreed." Unable to contain yourself, you attacked Jeno in a hug, the two of you flopping into a heap on your bed. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you," you whispered, squeezing him tightly. He bent down and kissed your nose, "And I love you." »the end«

[bts-jimin16]

❄Baby It’s Cold Outside ~ SeokJin❄

Staring at the icy glass only three inches away from your face, watching as your warm breath melt the frost that had formed over the period of twenty minutes you’d been looking mindlessly at the outstretched white covered landscape in front of you. Looking at the calming flakes of frozen droplets of water fall for so long made you wish you could watch every single glistening crystal. Maybe if you focused enough you could see the delicate intricate design that each unique snowflake had, maybe it’s impossible but wouldn’t it be fascinating if you could. 

Sighing contently, pulling the softness of the ugly sweater themed quilt further up to cover the exposed skin leading up to your neck, enjoying the warmth it brought you continued to imagine what it would be like to be outside. The cold air nipping at your sensitive skin as you got to feel the tiny crystals melt on the tip of your nose as if Jack Frost was nipping at it. You always enjoyed the snow and the season as a whole, liking the feeling of the tips of your fingers become almost numb as you wrote your thoughts in the already fallen snow. 

The idea became even more tempting each second that became history, the temptation to skin your boot covered feet into the white cast that had built up as the hours passed, the temptation to stick your tongue out to catch the flakes that were still making their journey to the covered ground, the temptation to remove your mitten to scribble your unspoken thoughts and dreams in the freshly fallen snow. 

But you couldn’t, you couldn’t go out and make your hallucinations reality for the hands that gently slide their way around your tiny waist to pull you into the embrace of their owner. Even though you longed the snow, you longed the warm and tingling feeling that erupted inside your stomach when a certain person touched you more. Sinking into his welcoming warmth you looked up at your boyfriend through your eyelashes as your face stretched into a genuine smile. Your eyes danced across his face, taking in each perfect feature that you would never get used to. His eyes did the same and your heart leaped the second his face mimicked yours. His smile could melt all the snow that had been outside along with all your worries and insecurities that you couldn’t escape. Maybe you were a tad held over heels for him but you didn’t think you could go back on these feelings even if you wanted to and you didn’t. The things you felt when he was around was overwhelming and you loved every second of it. Seokjin was your everything and you couldn’t imagine your life before he was a part of it.

“What are you doing” his voice was soft and calming, matching the slowly falling snowflakes opposite the frosty glass wall. You were so captivated by the way his lips moved to form the words that made goosebumps form on your slightly chilly skin it took you a while to realise you were just staring and he was waiting for your answer. 

“Uh…I’m just…watching the snow fall.” you manage to mumble trying your best to prevent your voice from going up an octave at his close proximity. You were with Jin for a couple of months and you didn’t think you would ever get over used to it, used to the feeling that developed in your stomach every time his skin brushed yours or the tingles that followed.

“That sounds fun” he chuckled destroying the last bit of your heart that was still beating. Even though he was being sarcastic he had no idea that his words couldn’t be truer. This was one activity that you always found yourself coming back to, it was captivating to watch the snow, it cleared your mind and put it to peace from your usually jumbled thoughts. 

Sighing, enjoying the feeling of Jin’s arms around your slightly chilled body, you turned back to the window, the glass not as transparent as a few minutes ago becoming frostier by the second. Not being able to see outside as clearly as before only made you want to leave the confines of this house to feel the chilliness of the snow.

“I want to go outside” you blurted out, not being able to resist the call of the mesmerising falling crystals from the matching white clouds that covered any blue visible in the sky. You turned to see a very confused Jin, his gazed was filled with a little of concerned clearly thinking that you had to be a little out of it to want to go out in this weather. But you couldn’t care for how cold outside would be, you wanted to go outside.

“But baby it’scold outside” he reasoned gently rubbing your cold face with his warm thumb to remove an eyelash that adorned the apples of your left cheek. You stared at him with pleading eyes hoping he’d give in to you like he usually did but it wasn’t working like you’d wish.

“Let’s just stay inside and cuddle” he cooed “Let’s me keep you warm” and the temptation that hunted you for a while melted like the droplets of frozen water that landed on the glass that kept out most of the cold. You loved to be outside and experience the snow and the relaxation it brought but you loved being in the arms of the one you loved even more.

“Ok” you replied almost instantly making that smile you loved more than anything take over his gorgeous features. 

He pulled you even further against his body if that was even possible and slowly moved both of your bodies to lay on the sofa. You rested your head on his slowly heaving chest with your hand resting in a loose fist next to his neck. You listened to his calming heartbeat as yours slowed to match his. His warm breath fanned across your exposed cheek making it warm as you fought to keep your eyes open. Being this close to him, with his body against yours couldn’t compare to the love you had for the snow. Everything was perfect, the snow that fell right outside that naturally decorated the surroundings to the sound of Jin’s heartbeat and light breathes that lulled you to sleep. You couldn’t help the contented sigh that escaped your lips and the smile that matched exactly how you were feeling in this moment. It was perfect.

I really can’t stay, But baby it’s cold outside, I’ve got to go ‘way, But baby it’s cold outside.

Word count : 1,094

~ Admin Nish ♡

[secondlookblog]

The Cowboy is Dead and the Clown Will Claim His Throne

It all started with a tweet. My brother, Moses Mascuch, @mosesmyshoe, college sophomore and sartorial tastemaker-- quote: “trend prediction: we are close to - may have already reached - peak saturation of the cowboy aesthetic. predict a dropoff soon. what’s next: who can say, but I’m putting my money on clowns...” (hyperlink is mine). Knowing Moses, this tweet was 80% a joke, but jokes aside, he’s onto something. 

Consider: Maximalism, poofy sleeves à la MaisonCléo, acid green, slime green, Millenial Pink, this Rachel Comey FW19 hat, these Rosie Assoulin shorts,  La Veste (mixing loud prints, gingham, stripes, cloth buttons), pom poms, glitter, @beerbottles_chainsaws, Sir Babygirl, the Jacquemus micro bag. WE ARE CAREENING RAPIDLY DOWN A CULTURAL HILL, GAINING SPEED AT A RATE FASTER THAN WE CAN THINK, AND I DON’T BELIEVE WE EVEN REALIZE IT, BUT AT THE END OF THIS LINE IS...THE CLOWN. 

If the sartorial cowboy is a reaction against the impotent simulation of life in the digital age, a harkening back to a function, quality, artisanship, and tactility, as well as a wry mocking of the fascism of the Trump era, then the clown is what we turned to when we looked in the mirror and instead of this we saw this and this staring back at us. That’s when we knew: we will never return to austerity and restraint; we are a frivolous, emotional, overstimulated nation trying to go viral; we’re boo boo the fucking fool. We are all, at our core, waiting to be revealed for the frauds we are-- children in adults bodies, facing a fucked up future that we are woefully unprepared for. Those among us who lead the cultural flock are already embracing this helplessness as an epic cosmic comedy: we are not the heroes we need us to be-- we’re clowns. 

Cheer up. The clown can be cute, nay, downright joyful! The clown is a mishmash of everything that’s making us happy. It’s a walking Instagram feed. The clown wants to be liked, and so it trades in delight. Yes, it’s desperate for attention, but try wearing a ruff and a cone-shaped hat covered in pom-poms and you too will know the joy of having all your cards laid out on the table. 

I think there might be redemption in the clown. Isn’t it, in some ways, the return of the repressed? We can stop acting like these walking superegos and let excess and emotion and desire come to the fore. The clown is a trickster of sorts, refusing to play by the staunch rules of respectability, delighting in contradiction and elusion, frightening because he is so unpredictable, so impossible to pin down. He is uniquely resistant to authority; consider the trope of the terrifying clown, like the murderous clown panic of 2016. The clown is both dangerously brazen and yet impervious to capture. We are haunted by those qualities (literally haunted, the fear of clowns is pervasive in our culture) because they threaten the very systems of authority that are the underpinnings of our culture, not just the police and the law, but authority writ large-- patriarchy, racism, hierarchy in general. The clown, a derivative of the court jester, is actually the foil to the dictator: in popular lore, the jester is always getting the better of the King. 

So actually, maybe we do need clowns. Maybe cowboys are false heroes, enforcers of a bygone era of paternalism, a self-appointed police force tasked with patrolling the liminal spaces of our territory and weeding out the “Other” as they encroach. Maybe the clown is the antidote to politically-constructed division-- laughing at the systems of authority which create these hierarchies to confine us in and dousing their faces with their squirting flower. I think we instinctually know this: think about the reaction to the new mascot for the Philadelphia Flyers, Gritty. Gritty is a clown! And immediately he was deemed a hero of the proletariat and a “nonbinary leftist icon.” And yeah, much like the tweet that started this whole cowboy vs. clown thing, it was mostly a joke. But I still think we’re onto something. 

It’s cats playing musical instruments. It’s like the ur-garment for ugly novelty librarian sweaters. In terms of chic-ness: the ruffle at the shoulder, the ruff just generally (I think I’m going to buy a ruff), the hat with pom poms. And, as they say, IT HAS POCKETS. 

Harlequin is the next big pattern I’m calling it now. 

In  case you weren’t convinced. 

I would wear this blouse. 

I’m loving the white stockings with the black lace up. 

I too aspire to wear a portrait of a goose on my shirt. Loving the mix of patterns and colors-- red, lavender, and orange together feels very current. Doesn’t this feel Rachel Antonoff-esque to you?  

Mood. 

Ok this is giving me all the quilted, applique, cecilie bahnsen, ulla johnson, romantic vibes that are sprouting up right now!!! 

[apostateangela]

Death and Consequences

Religion provides answers to the hard questions:

Who am I?

Where did I come from?

Why am I here?

Is there anybody out there?

Where am I going after I die?

As humans we struggle with our worth and connections in this world.

I am no stranger to self-loathing and loneliness.

Some of those feelings have been fertilized by the Mormon cultural and theological structure as well as my abusive husband.

But I do not think I would have been exempt from them without those influences.

I believe I would have still struggled with my worth and my place in the universe.

Most people seem to.

The LDS church has fairly beautiful answers to these questions, like most ecclesiastical faiths.

I am a child of God.

I lived with him before I was born.

There is a plan created by God and His son Jesus Christ whereby I can learn, grow, and find happiness in this life and go to live with Him in the next.

God is out there and cares about me individually and I can pray to Him and receive comfort, help, and answers in the midst of this brutal, lonely life.

Life does not end.

When I die there is something else, an extensive afterlife where I can live for eternity with my loved ones.

So even though I struggled with the parameters of the church, these carefully constructed, multilayered answers to life’s impossible questions created more of a comfort and stability than I realized.

In fact, they were my gravity.

Now that I no longer subscribe to these parameters, I find myself both adrift and bereft.

You can survive adrift fairly well.

The creation of new gravity lies in meeting your needs with something other than God.

I am lonely?

I make friends.

I take lovers.

I go get my nails done so someone will hold my hand.

I wonder about my purpose here on earth?

I create purpose by pouring myself into my career as a teacher and try to make a difference in the lives of young people.

I write and paint so as to leave a mark of some significance on this planet.

I seek to love people and animals and places in hopes of that large and powerful love doing both.

I try not to worry about the past, pre earth or otherwise.

My future exists in hours and days and sometimes weeks and months.

My mind rarely considers eternity.

Until it sucker-punches me out of nowhere.

Death does that:

Death sneaks up on you.

Death is ugly.

Death is brutal.

Death doesn’t play fair.

Death is Eternity’s thug, pack of thugs really.

There is no end to their creativity and pain.

Religious answers seek to leash these hellhounds, or at least muzzle and blind them so as to provide some kind of extension that cancels out an end.

It’s a distraction really; the more details created the more high def the distractive picture.

Mormons paint a multileveled detailed version of the afterlife.

There are 6 different places you can go after you die.

With so many places, the belief deepens--distracting from the grief--at least some of the time.

Here’s what Mormon’s believe:

After death your spirit/soul goes to a kind of way station (named Spiritual Prison and Spiritual Paradise) to wait for Christ’s second coming and the following final judgement.

A basic Heaven and Hell scenario.

After the apocalypse and its fallout, the final judgement happens and you go to one of four places according to your actions during your mortal life:

Celestial Kingdom: Basically Heaven (there’s even tiers within this kingdom based on marriage and such)

Terrestrial Kingdom: Not a bad place. For basically good people who didn’t know any better than to be a Mormon and make the covenants.

Telestial Kingdom: Basically Hell, but like earth now--I imagine complete even with the Trump administration. No fire and brimstone bullshit. But it’s for certain commandment breakers: sorcerers, whoremongers, and adulterers. (sex and lies mostly)

Outer Darkness: Real Hell. Here you are forever cut off from God and anyone else you loved. It’s reserved for the Sons of Perdition and really evil murderous people. (I’m one of those, remember? Denying God anyway)

I only provide this brief outline to help you understand the layers and details that help Mormons in the processing of life and death. There’s so much more doctrine and symbology here, but it doesn’t really hold relevance to this post.

I’d come to some kind of peace in my shedding of the Mormon structure. I admittedly entered into perdition as I believe most of the principles of the LDS church to be oppressive, misogynistic, and harmful as evidenced by my own experience and it was important to write about it all. This public writing is an action against their God.

But for the most part my place in eternity doesn’t trip me up anymore.

What will come will come.

For me.

Then, the Dogs of Death came on and took someone from me that I loved deeply.

And I am undone, spinning in the savage vertigo that this depth of grief brings.

My friend, my mentor, my sister; my partner in teaching and philosophy and memory and poetry and quilting was gone.

She was full of light and the most beautiful person I have ever known.

Grace filled every molecule of her.

Cancer came and snuffed her out; little by little for years, and then suddenly altogether.

The pain I felt at her death was that of oblivion.

It was a different pain.

It was as if I had been shot full of holes and my hands had been cut off.

Even the pain I felt when my own grandmother had taken her own life did not compare to THIS pain.

Because THIS time, I was alone without any answers.

All I wanted was God’s hand to hold and a place for her to go so that I could clutch the possibility that I would see her again.

But there was nothing.

I sought it.

I knelt prostrate on the floor of the spare bedroom in my friend’s house, pounding my actual fists on the floor, crying out to God.

But to no avail.

I reached out with everything within me, like I’d been taught all my life, trying to find what I wanted so desperately.

Nothing.

I wanted nothing more than to go back to my constructed belief.

But there is no going back, at least for me.

For weeks after her death, even until now, I’ve asked myself the questions:

What did this mean?

Is there really no one there?

Is death really the end?

Is there really nothing else?

Ultimately, I can’t accept that.

Not because of the religious answers constructed for me.

But because of my actual experiences with the spiritual and metaphysical.

As well as the experiences of others whom I trust as both intelligent and reliable.

The new pain I felt at the death of my dear friend has caused me to begin a search for answers that resonate within me. Answers that I can construct FOR MYSELF, instead of those that others construct for me.

It is sure to be a lifelong search whose answers will only be truly realized at my own death.

Therefore, I am in no hurry.

It is too hard to rush to this kind of thing.

Beyond the fact that I shall never really and completely know unless I die,

the very process of searching hurts.

Every time I approach a potential piece of information, I have to dig up my pain and hold it in my ghostly severed hand saying, “What do I do with this?”

The experience is much like poking that beating question with a stick; it doesn’t accomplish much and is painful anyway.

But sometimes the stick is electrified, and the question does something interesting--reacting to the shock. That reaction then becomes information gathered and filed away in my brain and heart.

One such moment recently came in the form of a poem, my best and most loved language:

Pass On

by Michael Lee

When searching for the lost remember 8 things.

1.

We are vessels. We are circuit boards

swallowing the electricity of life upon birth.

It wheels through us creating every moment,

the pulse of a story, the soft hums of labor and love.

In our last moment it will come rushing

from our chests and be given back to the wind.

When we die. We go everywhere.

2.

Newton said energy is neither created nor destroyed.

In the halls of my middle school I can still hear

my friend Stephen singing his favorite song.

In the gymnasium I can still hear

the way he dribbled that basketball like it was a mallet

and the earth was a xylophone.

With an ear to the Atlantic I can hear

the Titanic’s band playing her to sleep,

Music. Wind. Music. Wind.

3.

The day my grandfather passed away there was the strongest wind,

I could feel his gentle hands blowing away from me.

I knew then they were off to find someone

who needed them more than I did.

On average 1.8 people on earth die every second.

There is always a gust of wind somewhere.

4.

The day Stephen was murdered

everything that made us love him rushed from his knife wounds

as though his chest were an auditorium

his life an audience leaving single file.

Every ounce of him has been

wrapping around this world in a windstorm

I have been looking for him for 9 years.

5.

Our bodies are nothing more than hosts to a collection of brilliant things.

When someone dies I do not weep over polaroids or belongings,

I begin to look for the lightning that has left them,

I feel out the strongest breeze and take off running.

6.

After 9 years I found Stephen.

I passed a basketball court in Boston

the point guard dribbled like he had a stadium roaring in his palms

Wilt Chamberlain pumping in his feet,

his hands flashing like x-rays,

a cross-over, a wrap-around

rewinding, turn-tables cracking open,

camera-men turn flash bulbs to fireworks.

Seven games and he never missed a shot,

his hands were luminous.

Pulsing. Pulsing.

I asked him how long he’d been playing,

he said nine 9 years

7.

The theory of six degrees of separation

was never meant to show how many people we can find,

it was a set of directions for how to find the people we have lost.

I found your voice Stephen,

found it in a young boy in Michigan who was always singing,

his lungs flapping like sails

I found your smile in Australia,

a young girl’s teeth shining like the opera house in your neck,

I saw your one true love come to life on the asphalt of Boston.

8.

We are not created or destroyed,

we are constantly transferred, shifted and renewed.

Everything we are is given to us.

Death does not come when a body is too exhausted to live

Death comes, because the brilliance inside us can only be contained for so long.

We do not die. We pass on, pass on the lightning burning through our throats.

when you leave me I will not cry for you

I will run into the strongest wind I can find

and welcome you home.

-----

Besides the crying part, this is where I am right now.

My first answer about Death lies here:

seeing my dear friend... in the faces, words, and voices of students she has touched, in the smile of a woman with a book in her hand at our coffee shop, in the kind touch of the nail technician who uses her eyes instead of language, and even in the handwriting of a well-crafted note of encouragement.

I feel her in the wind, ruffling my hair and invading my senses with the rich smell of baked beans simmering on the stove, with the perfect taste of an Almond Joy bar, and with the amber glow of an interesting and well crafted beer.

Add to that my desire to honor her belief.

My friend saw God everywhere.

She was an authentic believer, not a constructed one.

She had as many icons as her small corner shine could hold.

She sought God her whole life.

She herself, within many organized structures and outside of them.

We talked of it many times.

I wish she were still here to be my spiritual sounding board.

But she is not, at least not in the same way that she was anyway.

Her absence is both catalyst and quicksand, as I’ve already explained.

However, something I know well is that pain is usually required for growth.

So I will engage.

In my quest for the Collective Divine, I have much work to do: reading and listening and watching and traveling.

But like my darling friend, I feel God everywhere:

in beauty and tragedy, light and darkness, joy and sorrow.

I always liked the Mormon idea that we could become Gods someday,

it was my take on evolution.

And maybe this is how it will be; our energy rushing out of us EVERYWHERE to join the electric and become godlike.

My contained human mind and heart wants it to be more like it was when those I love were alive, whole and organized and accessible.

But if, after I die, I go out to join them in the wind and in everything around me, maybe that desire will be left behind with my body.

I don’t know.

The most painful part is not the unknown, but the known and lost.

It is the missing.

It is the wanting.

[sewingmachinesavvy]

Variable Speed Control Sewing Machines – What It Is and Why You Need It

Readers often ask me what is the one feature on a sewing machine that I couldn’t live without. It’s a tough question because modern sewing machines have so many bells and whistles. You can find a machine with hundreds of different stitches, embroidery, automatic buttons, drop-in bobbins, automatic needle threader (this is a close 2nd) and the list goes on and on…

But if I had to choose one I would definitely say variable speed control (also called adjustable speed control).

When I started sewing this was the one feature on my first sewing machine that I thought was brilliant and so useful for a newbie. Several years later and I am still in love with this feature and use it every time I sew.

A Foot Pedal vs. Speed Control Slider

Well, let’s talk about various ways you can control the sewing speed when you sew. This is important because you need to be in control when you are sewing or else you are going to have crooked lines, ugly stitches, and just an overall poor finished result.

Before the variable speed control slider you had a pedal. You put pressure on the foot pedal, which makes the sewing machine “go” or the sewing needle go up and down. And just like a car the harder you press, or the more pressure you put on the pedal, the faster your machine will sew.

My problem with foot pedals is they can be sensitive and it is almost impossible for me to provide a consistent steady pressure on the pedal while maintaining hand / eye coordination and focusing on the garment I’m sewing.

What typically happens when I use a foot pedal is I put too much pressure and my machine is sewing at light speed and then I ease off the pedal and I’m going too slow. It is back and forth.

I am not exaggerating and although some foot pedals are better than others, I could never find that middle ground of consistent sewing at a minimal speed or even at a s

low speed. This is where variable speed control comes in.

What is Adjustable Speed Control and How is it Helpful?

A machine with adjustable speed control will typically have a slider where you choose the speed that you want to sew – this can be as low as 50 stitches per minute on up to 1,000 stitches p

      er minute if your machine has the capacity for it.

You set your speed and press stars and your machine sews at that speed. If its too slow, adjust the slider higher. If its too fast, adjust it down.

This sounds so simple but I cannot stress how convenient and helpful this is.

Three Top Sewing Machines with Variable Speed Control

If variable speed control is a must have feature for you then you will be shopping for a computerized sewing machine (as opposed to a mechanical sewing machine) and this is because adjustable speed control is a feature where your machine will essentially sew for you at a determine speed set by you – this is an electronic feature – vs. a mechanical sewing machine that has no electronic components. I have an in depth article on the differences between a mechanical and computerized sewing machine  if you aren’t clear on it.

Here are three top selling computerized sewing machines with adjustable speed:

 Janome 8077Brother XR9500PRWSinger 7258

Built-In Stitches 30100100 Presser Feet Included4710 Easy Buttonholes686 Needle ThreaderAutomaticAutomaticAutomatic Slider Speed ControlYesYesYes Thread Tension Manual Manual Automatic Thread CutterNoYesYes Max Speed820 spm850 spm750 spm Weight18.2 lbs9.9 lbs14.75 lbs Average Rating (out of 5)4.64.64.4 Current Price

Janome 8077 Computerized Sewing Machine

A great sewing machine from the dependable Janome brand (pronounced juh-no-mee). This brand makes great mechanical sewing machines and their computerized machines are just as good.

What I really like about this computerized machine is its simplicity. With 30 built-in stitches it is not overwhelmingly complicated. It has a great variety of utility stitches, three styles of overcast stitches, and 2 blind hems for woven fabrics and knits and a handful of decorative stitches for heirloom sewing and a blanket stitch for applique. (30 stitches altogether).

And yes it has a variable speed control slider. Learn more about the Janome 8077 or purchase here.

  Brother XR9500PRW Project Runway Sewing Machine

With 100 unique built-in utility, decorative and heirloom stitches, the XR9500PRW Project Runway™ sewing machine is a feature-packed machine that can be used for embellishing clothing and home décor items to creating beautiful quilt designs. This is a computerized sewing machine and it has a large back-lit LCD screen for easy stitch selection.

This really is a great machine for all sewing levels. It is usable right out of the box so it is perfect for beginners. On the other end, more experienced seamstresses will appreciate all of the automatic features, including a speed control slider.

There is also a quilting table to accommodate your quilting or other large projects. See my complete in-depth review on this machine if you want to learn more or visit Amazon to purchase and check out reviews and additional specs.

  Singer 7258 Styling Sewing Machine

The Singer 7258 is one of Singer’s best selling sewing machines. It is a two time Consumer Digest award winner based on their combination of eight criteria: performance, ease of use, features, quality of construction, warranty, efficiency, styling, and maintenance and service requirements.

  This is a computerized sewing so it has an LCD screen with easy navigation keys to choose your stitch. You get 100 built-in stitches, which is plenty for any type of project a beginner can think of.

Since this is computerized it has more automatic and touch button features like a start / stop button and of course speed control. Learn more and compare pricing.

Final Word on Adjustable Speed Sewing

If you can’t tell by this article so far, I am a big fan of variable speed control when sewing. This is a must have feature for me. If you are brand new to sewing you can take my word for it or go to a local sewing machine dealer or craft store and try out a machine with variable speed control and one without. After trying out both types of machines I’m sure you will appreciate the control and flexibility that the speed control gives you.

from Sewing Machine Savvy – Best Reviews and Comparisons http://www.sewingmachinesavvy.com/variable-speed-control-sewing-machines/

[lindoig]

Days 113 to 119

From Hamelin Pool, we had an easy drive to Kalbarri, stopping to photograph flowers and explore the roadside on numerous occasions.  I really love those slow days when we take the time to just look at what is around us without worrying about where we are going to camp at night.  As it was, by the time we got away in the morning, it was afternoon!  We had to do some careful checking of a proposed itinerary for our trans-Asia trip next year and that took quite a while, including writing up the numerous questions and amendments we noted.

The van park was very crowded and it was hard getting on the site – and it was on quite a slope both front to back and side to side.  Whilst setting up, I was behind it fixing the stabilising legs in place (actually only one works) when the van rolled off the jockey wheel and started down the hill into the van behind us.  I put all my weight against it and stopped it whilst yelling to Heather to chock the wheels. Of course, no matter how frantically I yelled, she couldn’t hear me and the woman from the van behind came out to see what was going on – and she helped hold the van until Heather could get our chocks under the wheels.  It was a very scary minute or two and I could almost see our van knocking the one behind us off its perch and rolling down the hill domino-style.  The sites in most parks were designed when the standard van was a 12-footer and although ours is only 17’6”, some are 25 foot and more. It makes getting on the sites quite difficult and incidents like this are becoming more common.  We often see vans and cars positioned in what we think are dangerous situations simply because the parks aren’t designed for today’s bigger rigs.

Heather felt like a steak so we elected for dinner at the pub – and then it was lovely to have a long hot shower after 3 days without one!

Friday was a lay-day. As much as Kalbarri’s attractions beckoned, we needed to catch up with a lot of business matters, bring our blogs a few weeks closer to current and take further action to lock in our 2018 travel plans.  Late in the afternoon, we went out to the supermarket and had a drive around the town and the nearby bush, ending up at Red Bluff as the Sun sank behind some low cloud. As we looked out, we saw quite a lot of whales, probably at least a dozen or so in what appeared to be two separate pods a kilometre or so apart.  We saw one breach only a kilometre or less from the shore so we now reckon we have seen more whales this trip than we saw on our whole Russian Expedition – even if they were not much more than smudges on the ocean from the shore, instead of looking almost straight down on them from a ship.

It rained on and off all Friday night so it was a soggy job packing up to leave on Saturday morning. I was a little concerned that once I lifted the stabilisers at the back of the van and jacked up the front, the van might restart its journey down the hill before I could connect the car. Fortunately, our chocks held and we were able to set off with the caravan safely in tow.  First stop was for fuel – at a servo that had two rows of bowsers, one of which was obviously completely inaccessible for anything bigger than a family sedan.  We needed to enter the other lane so our filler was within range of the bowser and to do that we had to wait while two other cars fuelled up and left while Heather stood guard, not letting anyone follow them in to delay us even further. I manoeuvred the car and van in with a good deal of difficulty and topped up our tanks – only to find that it was absolutely impossible to drive through and out onto the road.  We hit one of the stanchions they had erected to protect the bowsers (very gently with minimal damage to the van) but I then had to reverse car and van out onto the road the way we came in – while Heather did her traffic management duties, stopping the cars on the main road so I could get out again.  I noticed that there were many deep gouges quite high on both sides of the driveway on both the entrance and exit pillars so there have obviously been a lot of caravan and truck owners who have learned that it is a very expensive way to buy fuel in Kalbarri!

There were a few more showers as we headed south, inhibiting us from stopping as often as we may have, but it was at worst a minor inconvenience.  We remembered enjoying Horrocks and Port Gregory last time we were in the area so we did the necessary detours to see them again and we reckon we would both like to spend a little more time in the area, especially at Port Gregory.  Last time we were in the area, we had good views of flocks of both banded stilts and red-necked avocets at Port Gregory.  This time, we saw some avocets – along with black-backed stilts and a couple of species of duck – but no banded stilts.

We rolled into Geraldton in mid-arvo and booked into a van park for one night only.  It was right on the beach so we had a look over the dunes to a fairly wild sea – then slunk back to the van as rain started threatening again. It was wonderfully cosy to be warm and secure inside, yet still able to hear the waves crashing 100 metres away. We could hear the waves a little at Kalbarri too, but not like at Geraldton.

A bit of heavy rain overnight, but we were very snug in our little mobile cubby.  It had been getting a bit cool overnight in the past couple of days so we had put our thick cuddly quilt on the bed and we enjoyed snuggling down while the rain rat-tat-tatted on the roof – like kids enjoying the rain on the tin roof when we were growing up.  Fortunately, it cleared up by morning so we had a drive around the town and then headed for the sand-plain country around Mullewa, Morawa and Mingenew. We stopped and explored numerous times and found some wonderful wildflowers (and four new birds), but not as many as we had hoped.  The guy at the servo in Morawa said this had not been a good year for wildflowers due to lack of rain so maybe, with the rain over the past several days, there will be more to see when we return to the area in 10 days or so.  But we did see 5 spider orchids and lots of cow-slip orchids where we had lunch and quite a few other things along the way, wherever we stopped to prowl around the bush.

We camped at Mingenew on Sunday night – a quiets caravan park surrounded by trees and I explored them fairly comprehensively, but unsuccessfully, looking for different birds.

Monday was a nice day driving and stopping numerous times looking at flowers and chasing birds through the bush.  We stopped for a couple of hours at Andanooka – the place with the best display of massed wildflowers I have ever seen – but it was when I was a young teenager and there were very few around this time.  We had a look around Three Springs and Carnamah – wheat-belt towns I loved as a kid – and then on to Eneabba – the first place they found shale oil in Western Australia, if I recall correctly.  We detoured to Leeman and stopped lots of times along the road and ended up at Green Point overnight.  We intended having fish and chips for dinner, but the fish and chips shop closes at noon on Mondays and the pub had sold out of fish that day anyway – despite their sign out the front advertising fish and chips for $12 – and when I asked them, they said that only applied to lunch orders, despite their sign failing to mention it.

Tuesday was another slow day, driving and stopping, walking in the bush, photographing flowers and looking at birds.  We called in at a couple of places I knew as a teenager and they gave me the creeps. I went fishing at Jurien Bay a few times with my brother-in-law Steve when we were teenagers – when there was a 5-metre jetty and 2-3 shacks.  Now there is several thousand houses, a marina with a few hundred million dollars of pleasure craft, a carpark for maybe 500 cars…….  Simply horrible – every aspect of it had irrevocably despoiled the natural environment I loved so much 50 years ago.  The following day, we saw Yanchep – another ugly sprawling city that I remember simply as Caves House and a rustic picnic area next to a small lake – our traditional family picnic location every New Year’s Day.  The underground caves were its only real attraction in those days and Caves House sold tickets and light refreshments and provided a modicum of high-priced B&B type accommodation – and there was a rough track down to the ocean beach. Now it is simply a gigantic urban monstrosity that I will avoid at all costs in future.

We stayed at Guilderton overnight – in a small quiet caravan park we saw on a previous trip several years ago and said we would come back at some stage.  It was quite delightful, overlooking the mouth of the Moore River about 100 metres from our caravan.  We liked it so much that we booked to come back for a few days on our way out on the Wednesday morning.

Perth, here we come. That was Wednesday and we took most of the day to travel the 60-odd km to Judy and Garry’s place (my sister and B-i-L). We just ambled along, stopping as and when we wanted so as not to arrive too early because we knew they would be out much of the day.

One interesting detour that day was to the Gravity Observatory.  We were there a few years ago and it is a fascinating place – a sort of Questacon/Powerhouse/ Scienceworks hands-on display focussed mainly on the science of gravity.  It has numerous outdoor displays (including a leaning tower equal to the height of the one in Pisa that allows patrons to replicate Galileo’s experiment by dropping things off the side) as well as several inside that anyone can play with.  There is also a fairly expensive paid display, but we didn’t want to spend the time to indulge ourselves in that one.

It was really wonderful to park the van in Judy and Garry’s driveway and enjoy all the advantages of their home as well as our own little mobile house.  And of course, it was wonderful to catch up with the family too.