#like sure there are occasions to change like fucking prom or whatever

[whatbigotspost]

“This look is so versatile! It easily transitions from day!!! to night!!!”

So? Literally all my clothes do that 😂 stick around and see it in action! Watch me just not change, there…life hack for $0.0

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 6: Inferno.

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CW: explicit language and content, multiple whumpees, torture, captivity, conditioning, noncon touching (non-sexual), implied noncon (sexual), dehumanization, electrocution, shock collar, beating, gaslighting, manipulation, restraints, extreme control of food/exercise for appearance, mention of passing out/vomiting due to exercise/restricted diet, controlling whumper, multiple whumpers, possessive whumper, masked whumper, letmeknowifimissedany

The next day, I wake up before August. He’s starfished on his back, feet, and one hand hanging off the bed. He looks even younger asleep, with freckles scattered across his nose, long eyelashes, and not much facial hair for a man who hasn’t had the chance to shave in a handful of days. The stubble that is there is even lighter than his hair, tending toward blondish rather than auburn. He sits up ramrod straight and groggy as hell when the keyring clangs against the outside of the metal door.

“Let’s go, Princess,” one of the goonies drones as he opens it. It’s Darius, but for some reason, he’s wearing a ski mask.

Weirdo. Did you just come from robbing a bank?

Maybe the mask means they’re planning to let August go, a good thing. I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone, but I still feel a bitter pang of jealousy. I don’t look back at him as I walk out.

Wyatt is waiting for me in his office, upstairs. He’s already cleared his desk for me. There are gauzy curtains in front of the windows so I can’t see the view but I always look forward to the daylight. Today, it’s muted like it might be overcast or raining. I strain to listen to see if I can hear it on the windows.

“Come here,” he says, standing and patting the desk in front of him.

I walk over, trying to read into his expression and tone. It’s never easy to tell what I’m in for because he’s so calculating. I don’t think I’ve ever once seen him lose control of himself in all these years. I sit up on the desk. He steps in between my knees so we’re eye-to-eye, tucks my hair behind both ears, and puts his hands on my thighs. Close enough that he can inhale every minute expression on my face and in my eyes like I’m shotgunning him.

“How do you like your new roommate?” he asks.

I’d shrug if it were allowed. There’s a remote to the collar in the pocket of his blazer. Instead, I just blink at him. Does it matter? Either way, he won’t be around very long.

Wyatt nods like I really did just answer him. “He made some poor choices last night. You were perfect, putting up with all of that.” He lifts his hand to the side of my neck, thumbing the collar through my shirt. “A little healthy fear will set him straight. I bought a new belt just for the occasion.”

Christ. I work to keep my face neutral.

Beatings have never been his M.O. with me. Except to make sure the silence was deep enough that not a damn thing earthside would illicit a fucking peep out of me, but he made it a point not to leave scars. He wants my body as perfect as my behavior. Otherwise, it’s all about the mind for this lunatic. Patient enough to find the trigger that will have me agreeing all on my own. He feels powerful, and I guess he is, for knowing just how to frame things, pinpointing what I want and need, even if I don’t realize.

“When it turned out he’d be staying longer than intended, I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. He’s just too perfect,” Wyatt purrs.

What the fuck does that mean?

Wyatt stays silent and goes on reading my face while my thoughts snowball.

Shit. Why are you smiling at me like that?

Finally, he seems to have his fill of my reactions and squeezes my thigh. “It’s been quite a while since you took that many shocks, Emmy, and I can’t have you being stiff later,” he tells me, then pulls a tablet out of the desk drawer. “Do a yin yoga class—you haven’t eaten enough for anything else.”

I dip my head once in a nod.

He runs his thumb along my jaw before moving so I can hop off the desk.

The yoga is part of a whole distorted regimen. Wyatt wants my skeletal frame toned and flexible. “Not just skin and bones,” he says, but then goes on feeding me one meal a day. There’s no way he doesn’t calorie count the shit out of everything that passes my lips to elicit what he wants but it’s never enough to truly exercise on. He’s had me try other things but I’d just pass out or throw up and he wasn’t willing to adjust the input to equal the output. I love the yoga anyway.

The clothes he has me wear are skin tight and all black because boy does he love to watch me move. “You’re so graceful,” he’ll croon, admiring his maintenance of my figure. In the beginning, I wasn’t flexible enough for his liking, so he’d push me in the stretches until I thought my muscles would snap. Sometimes he’ll have some look-the-other-way woman come in and wax every surface below my neck so that in a black yoga bra and practically-underwear shorts, I shine. Then, he’ll have me to do all sorts of other things.

—

When I finish the video, an hour long, he waves me back over. He’s been watching me the whole time, a serene look on his face. He has me sit in front of him on the desk again. Prefers me up here, all within reach and eye-level. Carlos brings in our lunch in paper bags. It’s an endless rotation of delivery and takeout here. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a kitchen. Wyatt passes me a compostable bowl with a plastic lid. He knows this is one of my favorites.

I narrow my eyes.

The shit-eating grin comes back.

I don’t turn down the food though, despite the twisting in my stomach. Hunger strikes result in having a tube shoved down my throat. After all, my body is his wonderland. He eats a burrito, reclined in the chair with his feet on the desk next to me. Sips Coke out of a glass bottle and passes it to me. Purses his lips while he watches me hold it by the neck and take a swig before I hand it back. It fizzes down my throat sweetly.

Fuck, what is he planning?

It’s not strange to eat together or share a drink, but there’s something in his eyes today. An extra sparkle of anticipation. Last time he was like this, I wound up hanging from the ceiling for half a day. Contorted by silk rope knots into a goddamn living chandelier. The goonies had express permission to carry me after that one on account of my limbs turning to pins-and-needles jello.

After I finish eating, he tells me to find a book to pass the time. “I won’t have you getting sick later,” he says, pulling his phone out, dismissing me.

I move my ass before he moves it for me even though my sense of dread is deepening. I’ve made a fair dent in his library by now. Naturally, being a psychopath, Wyatt is well-read and intelligent. Lots of philosophy, social theory, plenty of psychology (but I feel like those must be a trap so I avoid them), books in other languages, and classic literature. I find it a little one-sandwich-short-of-a-picnic-basket that he wants his effectively-mute captive to also be well-read but it’s beyond me to try to understand his depraved logic.

—

When he’s decided it’s time, he stands and walks over to where I’m curled up in the armchair by the bookcase. “Let’s get you ready,” he says, holding out his hand and leading me over to his desk.

My pulse hammers in my throat.

He picks up a crisp sopping bag, pulls out folded black clothes. I usually change after I shower but it’s always a roll of the dice with Wyatt, especially in this kind of mood. I’m surprised when he starts putting the clothes on over what I’m already wearing. It’s baggy sweatpants and a hoodie—also black—and then some sneakers. I can’t remember the last time I wore shoes. Next, he pulls a little case out of the bag and opens it to reveal earbuds.

Oh, hell. Not again.

We’ve done this before. He took me out to some fluorescent superstore, spread his goonies around on video calls to record me, and sat in the fast-food restaurant with his laptop. Read me a shopping list and watched me sweat through it. I nearly had a conniption at the register. It was one of three times he’s ever taken me out.

Wyatt smirks at the misgivings playing across my face and passes me an elastic for my hair. I pull it all into a low, tight bun and then he uses first-aid tape to secure the headphone inside my ear. I’d never dream of removing it myself, and he knows that, so whatever is about to happen to me puts it at risk of falling out. I haven’t felt this scared in a while and it’s making him smile even more.

I know being hopeless but no longer frightened provides an irresistible challenge. It’s not like I can help being resigned to his life for me, exactly as he intended. He doesn’t want me shitting-my-pants-afraid. It’s not about that. He could have made me vacant, and not just silent if he’d wanted but there’s a thrilling risk to pushing me. My psyche is his game of Jenga and he never loses. He knows how to manipulate, balance, and finesse every piece so that I’ll only ever wobble, dangerously close to collapse but always just shy, leaving him infinitely validated. So, I know he’d never put me in a position to truly break but I still fear the magnitude of the wobble. And the duration.

Wyatt has handed me gloves and is now holding up the last item from the bag. A clown mask.

Oh, god. Are we actually robbing someplace?

If I weren’t wearing so many clothes, I would be convinced I was in for some twisted, kinky shit, especially with these gloves. He ties the mask securely behind my head and I’m already sweating under the foamy rubber just imagining silently holding someone up. With a loaded weapon in my hand.

Fuck, Wyatt. Seriously?

He traces his fingers down my arms, pulling up my hands and helping me off the desk. Holding my arms out and looking me over like he’s seeing his prom date’s outfit for the first time and just knows that he’ll get to take it all off later. He drops my hands and pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over my head.

“Perfect,” he purrs and leads me down the hallway toward a door I haven’t entered in a very long time. I’m wearing too many clothes for what that room is usually used for. I hope.

Wyatt moves in front of me and pulls me close so our noses almost touch, lowers his voice in a way that is far from soothing. “If I’m not happy, with any aspect of your performance, I will personally tenfold it. Understood?” He searches my eyes one at a time. Left to right and back again.

I nod, stomach already somewhere by my feet.

He leaves me in the little hall, alone. There’s a yellow light bulb underneath a metal cage on the wall.

Sonofabitch. I’m terrified.

Naturally, I don’t move until Wyatt's voice comes over the headphone in my ear. “Go in. Close the door behind you.”

Calm down, Emma, you just have to survive this one thing right now. How bad can it be?

I take a deep breath and open the door, step in, and close it softly behind me, not sure what is waiting for me since it’s dark. My eyes don’t have time to adjust before the lights flick on.

All my blood runs cold. This is undeniably the ninth circle of Hell.

Wyatt lets me stand there, frozen, and unable to pull air into my lungs, for more than a few of my stuttering heartbeats before he finally gives me my next command,

“Emma, pick up the belt.”

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Taglist: @deluxewhump

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄2

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

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

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: We vibing these two bad boys so here’s chapter 2. Be safe.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

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

The dress was plain, but you were certai, nice enough for the occasion. You didn’t expect Loki’s approval, that was a rarity, but you were content in your malicious compliance. The long burgundy crepe was held up by thin straps and hugged your body enough not to be entirely baggish. You wore a thin black shawl over your shoulders as you hailed a cab and gave the closest intersection to the underground club.

You hadn’t been this dressed up since your regrettable prom night. Then you were still naive enough to dream about a Lizzie Maguire fairytale. You hadn’t even been arm candy that night, you had merely been a ploy to make some other girl jealous. You’d left early upon the realisation. ‘Fuck ‘em’, your dad had given his usual snipe and since your inner monologue tended to echo him.

A decade later, a little more than, and your cynicism had aged like a stringent and oaky whiskey. You hooked the strap of your small beaded clutch around your wrist as you got out of the cab and peered down the street. Streetlights illuminated the smoke blowing up from the sewer and distant neon light stared back at you from the end of the block.

You would appease Loki and whatever game he was playing. You knew his moods, his tricks. He grew bored often and quickly flitted to his next delight. You suspected he was merely reminding himself of his power after a near disastrous war. And you, too.

You descended the iron steps and knocked on the painted door. The tiny slat slid open and a muffled din wafted through. “Slate,” A voice cut through the night and you replied swiftly, “Pyramid”. A heavy lock turned and you were let into the dark corridor.

You’d been here once before. You were sixteen, your father had been with you. He’d played a game of Hold ‘Em with Diablo and won a few times too many. The two of you had barely escaped before the droopy-eyed owner caught on. That was long ago and yet, nothing had changed.

There was a thick velvet curtain at the end of the hallway. The doorman escorted you to it and pulled it back to reveal a bright room full of men in tailored suits and women draped off their arms like peacocks. You shook your head and stepped through. You needed a drink. You needed an excuse to turn back. But you went on.

Loki was slender but tall, a few inches above most men. You saw him amid the crowd, a snifter held to his nose as he inhaled the scent of the dark liquor. You passed a man in a crushed velvet jacket and his eyes caught yours. His arm was around a slinky redhead distracted by another boisterous guest. He winked and you scowled.

You wove through the bodies and appeared at Loki’s shoulder.

“Where do I get some of that?” You pointed to his glass and he looked down his long nose at you. If he was surprised, it was hard to tell. Only the slight part of his lips cracked his stony veneer.

“Darling, I’d stick to the wine,” He preened.

“Darling?” You scoffed. “You know my name.”

He smirked and turned to you entirely. He was overt as he looked you up and down and touched the fabric at your waist.

“I thought I said to wear something nice,” He muttered. “At least I can see your eyes.”

“You told me to wear a dress. Should I have gone with the black victorian number?” You challenged.

He considered you as his smirk fell.

“Kitty has found her claws,” He taunted. “Best she keeps her growls to herself.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” You said. “Tell me you couldn’t find a better date among your harem.”

“Harem? You make me sound a king,” He mused. “As you are so generous to yourself. This is not a date, darling.”

“Then what is it? Is it really necessary for you to wag your--”

“Watch it,” He warned as he pointed his long index finger at you. “You’re not playing at this anymore. You are made or you are burned. There is no in-between.”

“I tend to doubt your concern for my standing so long as my work benefits your own,” You said. “So forgive my suspicion.”

“Your father was on the scene, he made a name, as detestable as it is, and your grandfather has not been forgotten either,” He said. “We are both a part of this city’s legacy.”

“Mm,” You arched a brow. “I still don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you will.” He shrugged. “But best to start thinking for yourself before another does it for you.”

You squinted and looked around. A woman in a feather dress carried a tray of tall wine glasses. You preferred another taste but you would settle for the pale chardonnay. You beckoned her over and took one as Loki perused the room.

“Is this all you do at these things?” You sipped. “Coil like a snake in the corner?”

“I observe. I learn.” He grinned. “And the snake does not bow to the mice, rather they cower before him.”

“Poetic,” You said dryly. 

“Well,” A deep voice came from your left and you looked to the man you vaguely recognized. His golden brocade was embroidered with dragons; a gaudy Oriental knock-off. Finely tailored but still ill-fit to his person. “Is that Georgey’s girl?”

You greeted him with your usual straight-lipped stare. You batted your lashes sharply and he chuckled.

“I remember you,” He carried on. “You’ve grown.”

“As have you,” You gestured to his stomach, poorly hidden beneath the gauche jacket.

He laughed even louder and turned to Loki.

“I did hear you had the bookie’s daughter,” He boomed. “I wouldn’t trust that ilk to keep my books but call me prudish.”

“Don’t you worry, I wouldn’t touch your books over my father’s dead body,” You snorted. “Even I couldn’t untangle that knot with a blade.”

“Oh, I see,” Diablo shook his head. “The mouth on her.”

“Yes, rather endearing, isn’t it?” He sneered.

“Not sure anyone else would agree,” Diablo said. “The prettier one’s are much quieter.”

“Yet--” You began.

Loki raised his hand to silence you. You clamped your ships and your nostrils flared in anger.

“Let us excuse ourselves,” Loki gestured Diablo away. “And discuss in private, yes?”

“Best while everyone else is distracted,” Diablo replied and peeked over at you. “I dread our next meeting.”

“As do I,” You assured him.

Loki looked at you from the corner of his eye as his lip curled. He directed Diablo away from you and you watched them go, a smirk slowly spread across your face. You never wanted to make your father proud but he would’ve been beaming. 

You finished your drink and searched for a table to dispose of it. You set it down carefully on a tall corner table and slipped your shawl down around your elbow. You glanced around. You thought of fleeing as Loki was distracted but you knew he wouldn’t forget you. In fact, it seemed he had grown intent on you for whatever reason.

A shadow blotted the edge of your vision and you turned to greet your assailant. You were slightly surprised to find Bucky Barnes closing in. He smiled and tilted his head as he stopped before you. He wore a deep violet jacket over navy trousers, his eyes shone in the contrast.

“I wasn’t sure you got my invitation,” He said.

“Invitation?” You shook your head. “What--”

“Loki, he-- I mentioned I’d like to see you again,” He said staunchly. 

“What?” You scrunched your brow.

“I like the colour,” He admired your dress. “But I think a different cut might suit you better.”

“Oh, I didn’t take you as a purveyor of fashion. Well, nothing beyond a g-string and stilettos.” You huffed.

“Ah, I run a pretty classy joint,” He winked. “My girls have nothing but the best, even if it isn’t much.”

You pushed your shoulders back and looked around once more.

“Well, I was not told my presence was at your whim,” You said. “In fact, my being here is entirely undesirable.”

“If I had my way, sweetheart, you’d be doing a lot more than just standing here in that pretty little number,” He snickered.

You looked at him sharply.

“I need a drink,” You stormed off in search of the girl in the feathered dress.

You sensed him following behind you but ignored him. As you made to swipe a glass from the tray, he reached around you and grabbed it first. He caught your hand before you could take another and drew you back to him as he placed the slender flute into your hand.

“I wasn’t done, sweetheart,” He closed your fingers around the glass. 

You were livid. Had Loki brought you here to whore you out? Another pawn to secure his peace?

“Loki’s my boss but he is not my pimp,” You pulled away from him. 

“I didn’t say that,” He said. “I didn’t think it, either.”

You flicked the glass at him so the chardonnay splashed across his front and dripped down his face.

“Not interested,” You snarled and swept away with the empty glass.

“Sweetheart,” He sang from behind you. “I wouldn’t do this.”

“Get away from me,” You rushed away from him towards the door. “If you see Loki, tell him I’ll see him at the shop. To be frank, I don’t care either way.”

“We can just talk,” He purred. “Come on. You haven’t even given me a chance.” He caught your elbow and turned you back. “No other girl has ever thrown her drink in my face because if she had, I’d break hers. Now, I have no intention of hurting you. You see, I will look past your little slip.”

“I came here for business, or so I was told,” You said. “I am not interested in talking to you about anything beyond that.”

“Is this about the boss, hmm? This has nothing to do with him or our relationship, if that’s what you think.”

“I think you are all the same. You all just like to poke and poke and poke at each other until guns come out.” You said. “And I’m not going to be a part of whatever you two are doing.”

“Your loyalty is admirable, especially around here,” He kept hold of you. “Loki doesn’t even know what he’s got.”

“Let go,” You ripped your arm away. “I am not interested in being a comare. Especially yours.”

His brows lifted and slowly he smiled. His blue eyes twinkled and he wiped away the last of the chardonnay with his sleeve as the rest soaked into the front of his jacket.

“Comare… noooo.” He coaxed. “No, you’re not that type.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from him. His arm shot out and he planted his hand against the wall to block you. You sighed and crossed your arms.

“Look, I know you, you’re just like the rest of them. You don’t like being told no. Little baby.” You snarled. “But I don’t like to repeat myself. So--”

“There you are,” Loki called from behind you. Bucky pushed himself straight as you looked over your shoulder. “Barnes…” He lifted his chin as he approached.

“Loki,” Bucky’s jaw squared. “I was just getting to know your little secretary, but she’s not very chatty. Hasn’t even given me her name.”

Loki snickered and peeked over at you.

“Don’t be rude, darling,” He said. You bit down and looked at Bucky and stiffly recited your name. He smirked. “She’s shy, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bucky countered. “I feel like you’ve been sneaky, hiding her away.”

“Well,” Loki’s arm slowly snaked around your waist. “I thought we agreed to keep to our own territory.”

You went rigid and tried to pull away. Loki tightened his hold and kept you against him. Bucky watched you squirm and his thoughts wrinkled his forehead.

“And I thought we were just becoming friends,” Bucky returned.

“Allies,” Loki corrected. “Have I not been peaceable?”

Bucky poked his cheek with his tongue as he glanced over at you. You stared at him blankly and he nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He cleared his throat. “Both of you?”

“Of course,” Loki spread his hand over your hip and squeezed. “You know where to find… us.”

“I do,” Bucky affirmed and turned away.

You watched him go and wished you had more wine to throw as you stared at your empty glass. You tore away from Loki and jabbed his arm.

“What the fuck was that?” You snapped.

“That, darling, was how you play the game.” He grinned.

“You’re disgusting.” You glared at him.

“Oh, I wouldn’t deny that but you see, that man, oh, he is a tough nut to crack but I’ve finally found something he wants.” He said. “Something he really wants, not just some stretch of land.”

“No, no,” You spun and set your glass down. “No, I will not do this.”

His heels clicked behind you as you closed the distance to the curtained door. He shoved you through and pulled the velvet back into place as he grabbed your wrist.

“You will do whatever I want you to do.” He lowered his voice as his shadow loomed over you in the dark corridor. “You are good at what you do; your numbers, and I am sure you will recall a little jot in your margin. That one marked with the star.” He squeezed your wrist. “That’s you, darling.”

“Me?” You sputtered.

“Diablo, along with Viscardi, old pals with your father.” His other hand played with the strap of your dress. You gulped at the latter, the name of your father’s killer. “That bounty was not just for old Georgey, that was for every drop of his blood left. You…”

“No, no.” You said.

“I paid that bounty. I still pay it and it keeps you alive and in my pocket, until I should need you and your time has come.” He taunted.

“I don’t--”

“My father always said the best investments are people.” He touched your neck and tickled. “They are the most useful tools in this business. The most profitable.” He drew away and stroked your chin. “Know your worth, darling, and you might just prosper from it.”

[laguera25]

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 9

November 14th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was looking at herself in the mirror.  

She wore a beautiful, shimmery navy blue dress she thought completely colour-appropriate for the occasion and used the same pair of heels she wore to prom to complete the outfit.  She’d taken an Uber though the walk would have only been seven minutes (she didn’t want to do that in heels) to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Wellington Street, where the dinner was taking place in the Wellington Room.  Many of the official guests were already there: Kyle and his wife Shannon; Peter, his assistant; Brandon and Laurence and their wives; Cliff Fletcher; Brad Lynn; Leanne Hederson; Hayley Wickenheiser; Mike Babcock and his wife; all of the Leafs community representatives who just happened to be Leafs alumni.  Then, all the big wigs from MLSE there: the entire Board of Directors, Larry Tanenbaum included; and the entire “Leaders” team anybody could see on the official website.  The people that she didn’t recognize she could only assume were the major donors – the reason they were all there.

John and his wife Aryne thankfully saw her almost immediately and hugged her, keeping her company until Brendan arrived.  He had texted her that he was two minutes away, and when he did, she went to meet him at the door.  He exited the town car with his wife Catherine, looking absolutely glamourous.  Lou waved at her from the front seat.

“Hello Aberdeen,” Brendan smiled as he approached her, his wife’s arm tucked into his.  

“Good evening Mr. Shanahan.”

“Brendan,” he quipped.  “Aberdeen, I’d like you to meet my wife, Catherine.  Catherine this is Aberdeen, my executive assistant.”

“Hi Aberdeen,” she smiled widely, extending her hand to shake.  “It’s so nice to finally meet you.  Brendan has told me so much about you.”

“Only the good things, I hope,” she joked.

“Brendan can only say good things about Etobicoke girls,” she winked.  “You look fabulous, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you!”

The three of them walked through the foyer and up the stairs together, with Catherine almost immediately seeing someone she knew, letting go of Brendan’s arm and going over to say hi.  “Do you want me to get you anything?  A drink maybe?” Aberdeen asked.

“Not right now.  I just need to know where my wife and I are sitting.”

“We’re at table one, just to the right of the stage,” she informed him.  “We’re with Kyle and Shannon, Peter, Masai and Ramatu, and Larry and Judy Tanenbaum.”

“Perfect.  Thank you.  And the prizes are all here?”

“Yes sir.  If you go into the Wellington Room they’re all along the wall like you requested.”

“And my speech?”

Aberdeen tapped at her clutch – a borrow from Kasha.  “Right here.”

“Good thing I always keep an extra one,” he said, tapping his chest to where his inside pocket was.  He let out a breath.  “Everybody here?”

“Seems like it, but I know we’re still waiting for a few more people.  I haven’t seen some familiar faces.”

“Okay,” he nodded.  “Well, feel free to mingle, Aberdeen.  This is a good opportunity for you to meet people.  When we’re all seated for dinner, I’ll let you know if you need to do anything – if that.  Just enjoy your time.”

She was a bit taken aback by that statement.  “W…what?  But I’m on the clock.  You said so yourself.”

Brendan laughed.  “I want you to mingle and have fun.  Network a bit.  I know all of these people.  I don’t need to be reminded of who they are,” he explained.  “There’s only a hundred or so of them anyway.  The Night With the Blue and White in January – that’s much bigger.  This is child’s play.  So have fun,” he smiled at her.  “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go find my wife.”

“Okay sir.”

“Brendan,” he looked over his shoulder slightly as he walked away from her, approaching his wife who was chatting with an equally glamourous looking woman.

Aberdeen didn’t know what to do with herself.  He wanted her to network?  Not work?  Really?  She tried to find a familiar face in the crowd, but John and Aryne were speaking to another couple, and even Peter, Kyle’s assistant, was engrossed in a conversation with Leanne Hederson.  She felt awkward approaching them even though she knew Leanne and spoke with her on multiple occasions.  Being in an office was one thing, but in such a formal setting like this, the vibe was much different.  

“Girl Friday?” a voice asked from behind her.  

She closed her eyes and immediately cringed.  Turning around, she saw Ethan Baker standing behind her.  She tried not to vomit in her mouth.  “You really need to stop calling me that.”

“You got an invite?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked.

“I thought this was only for important people,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.  A waitress approached them with some flutes of drinks, and Aberdeen took one, knowing she’d need alcohol to get through whatever conversation she was about to have with Ethan.  Ethan took one too, taking a quick sip.  “Thanks, Ethan.  I can always count on you to bring me back down to earth when my head is getting too big,” she quipped.

“You look good though,” he said.  

She furrowed her brows; she didn’t know a compliment was capable of coming out of his mouth.  “Uh, thanks?”

He gave her a very obvious up-down, taking her all in.  This was getting more awkward by the second.  Was he already drunk?  He focused in on her arms.  “You have tattoos?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why haven’t I seen them?”

“I guess you weren’t looking.”

Ethan furrowed his brows.  “Has Brendan seen them?”

“Of course he has.  It’s not like they’re offensive.  They’re lines from poems,” she said, almost immediately regretting it.  She knew she was going to have to explain them at one point or another, but she wanted to prolong that as much as possible.

“What are they?” he asked, turning his head to the side as if that would give him a better look.

She sighed.  “The one below the right elbow is the last line from the poem Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson – ‘to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield’,” she said, flashing the delicate ink quickly.  “And the one below the left elbow is from the Roman philosopher Seneca – ‘we are waves of the same sea’.”

He squinted at them, taking in the information that she was telling him.  “They’re a bit dumb, Brendan Girl.”

Aberdeen’s breath hitched in her throat.  She didn’t need stupid idiot Ethan Baker to approve of her tattoos by any means, but even unacknowledging them or changing the subject immediately afterwards would have been nicer.  He had no idea what they meant to her; no idea about their significance.  And now, he even gave her another stupid nickname.  Even stupider than the last.  “Wow, you really know how to charm a girl, huh?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“And all this time I thought you just watched video playback all day.”

“More important than getting coffee, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hey, Aberdeen!” a voice suddenly called out from across the foyer.  Both Ethan and Aberdeen looked to see Jason and Jennifer Spezza approaching them.  Aberdeen had never been so happy to see his goofy smile in her life.  From behind him, she saw William wearing a perfectly tailored three-piece blue suit.  God, they fucking matched.  Of all colours he had to wear tonight…

“Hey Jason,” Ethan said, trying to take over, even going so far as extending his hand so Jason could shake it.  

Jason completely ignored him as he leaned in to give Aberdeen a quick kiss on the cheek.  Aberdeen eyed William standing behind him as he did so, who was looking down at Ethan’s hand.  “Aberdeen, you’ve met Jen at the SBA,” he said, motioning between her and his wife.  

“It’s so nice to see you again, Aberdeen,” Jen smiled as she gave her a kiss on the cheek.  “I love your dress.”

“Oh, thanks Jen!” Aberdeen smiled, patting it down slightly, suddenly a bit self-conscious.  Much like Aryne Tavares and Catherine Shanahan, Jen looked absolutely glamourous and flawless.  Aberdeen, on the other hand, felt like she stuck out like a sore thumb.  She was appropriately dressed, but these women just exuded a confidence and elegance she was sure she didn’t have.  At least yet.  She eyed William patiently waiting for a greeting and decided to indulge him.  “Hi William.”

“Hey Aberdeen,” he said, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.  “Do I look good?”

“You look like you should be in an Abba tribute band.”

Jason, Jen, and William laughed at her comment; Ethan did not.  He had never been in on the joke.  “Well, we match,” William commented, eyeing her body in the dress.

“You know what they say…great minds,” Jason quipped.  

***

The dinner was going off without a hitch.  She sat in between Brendan and Peter at the table, looking out onto all the guests seated at theirs.  Brendan made a nice speech before dinner, as did Larry Tanenbaum.  They had a champagne toast and were served a delicious appetizer.  Aberdeen was looking forward to the incoming filet.  She excused herself from the table to go to the bar, wanting to grab a ginger ale before the main course.  She wouldn’t drink in front of Brendan, despite his insistence that it was okay.  

As she waited, she saw Ethan approach the bar too, but she tried to ignore him.  He ended up standing right next to her, so interaction was inevitable.  She truly wondered why he wanted to interact with her so much if all he did was put her down.  It was clear he had a sick ego, and that putting people down fed that ego.  But why did he pick on her?  And did he pick on anyone else?  Maybe people in his own department?

She decided not to say hi to him – not to start an interaction at all.  Maybe he’d ignore her and be on his merry way.  But as with every interaction with Ethan, that would not be the case.  “You having a good time at the table with the big boys, Brendan girl?” he asked, leaning one arm against the bar.

“It’s fun,” she nodded her head, trying to say as little as possible.

“I still can’t believe you’re in that position.  That he hired you over some of the more qualified people that applied,” he shook his head.

How the hell did he know?  How the hell did video analyst Ethan Baker know any of the other candidates who applied to the posi—oh my God.  ‘Oh my God’ Aberdeen thought to herself.  He applied to the position.  He knew who the other candidates were because he applied to the position and didn’t get it.  Brendan hired her instead.  That’s why he was the way he was with her.  “Why is it so unbelievable?” she asked, now having to mask the fact that she knew why he was always being a dick to her.

“Do you even know, or did you even hear of who Larry Tanenbaum was before you worked here?”

“I’m sorry, but did we all not watch him lift the Larry O’Brien in June?” she asked.  “Do you honestly think I’m that dumb?”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.  I just think you’re unqualified,” he clarified, because that made it so much better.  “It’s a great job.  I just hope you know how lucky you are.”

“I do,” she said.  That was all she heard since she started this job.

“And besides – it’s a good thing that your friends with the guys now, you know,” he said, the jealousy coming back in his voice.

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “It makes the job easier.  Maybe one of them will take pity on you.  You’ll never survive Brendan,” he said matter-of-factly.  

Her mouth dropped.  She’d been surviving so far, albeit with some hiccups along the way…what made him think she would never survive Brendan?  “E…Excuse me?”

“You seem nice…smart,” he said.  “You can’t do that job.”

The bartender finally placed her ginger ale in front of her – and thank God he did, because she’d had enough.  Fuck him.  Fuck Ethan Baker.  “Gotta go,” she mumbled, turning on her heels to leave.

“Bye Brendan Girl.”

***

“It was so nice to see you, Aberdeen,” Jennifer Spezza hugged her one last time as Jason waved at her from the curb.  She was still inside, keeping warm; he was out on the sidewalk, hailing a taxi.  “You’re getting an Uber, right?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Aberdeen nodded her head, flashing her phone.

Jen looked towards William.  “And you’re staying with her until it comes?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded his head.

“Good,” she said definitively.  She pushed the door open with William’s help.  “I’ll see you soon, Aberdeen.  Stay safe!” she called out as she ran as quickly as her heels could let her towards the taxi.  Jen sent one final wave as the taxi drove away, leaving Aberdeen and William alone.

Will was, of course, the first to look at her.  “How far away is the Uber?” he asked.

“Two minutes according to the app,” Aberdeen said as she glanced at her phone.  

“And you don’t…I mean, you don’t want to walk home?” he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.  

“Not in these heels,” Aberdeen giggled.  “My feet are already killing me.”

“I could carry you.”

Aberdeen gave Will a look.  “We’re not going to do that to your back.”

“Come on,” he smiled mischievously.  “I bet I could do it.”

“Too bad we’re not going to try,” she said, glancing down at her phone again.  “We should go outside to wave the car down.”

William opened the door for her, and they walked out together.  Aberdeen looked to her left to try to see if the car was coming.  William was only looking at her – how she looked between the street and her phone to see if the car was getting any closer.  How her hair blew in the wind of the night.  “Tomorrow’s going to be the last time I see you for two weeks,” he said, his voice low.  He tried to imprint how she looked right now into his mind so he could remember it on the road trip.  

“I know.”

“Did Brendan tell you why he wasn’t coming with us?” he asked.  

“No.  But it’s probably because it’s too long to be away from his family,” Aberdeen said.  “His kids are his life.  He wouldn’t miss a school function or any of that.”

William watched as she waved down the Uber, who pulled up to the curb.  He wanted to get into the car with her.  He wanted to go back with her to her building, no matter how short the ride was.  Just to be able to stare at her a little bit longer.  Just to spend more time with her, since he wasn’t able to spend all the time he wanted to spend with her tonight.  “I’m going to miss you,” he said.

He could see her bite her lip.  She looked up at him, her hand already on the handle.  “Will…”

“Aberdeen?  Aberdeen is that you?” a voice rang out suddenly, interrupting the moment.

Aberdeen and William looked to their left.  A man was standing in a stylish peacoat, his group of friends continuing to walk ahead of him at a slower pace.  He had a bewildered look on his face, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  William looked down at Aberdeen.  She looked like she’d just seen a ghost.  “Zane.  Hi.”

“Oh my God.  Didn’t think I’d ever catch you outside the Ritz Carlton,” Zane smiled, approaching closer to them.  “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good,” she gulped, trying to clear her mind of all the memories that were popping up.  She felt William’s hand on her back and it brought her back down to earth.  “William, this is Zane.  Zane, this is William N—”

“Zane Kennedy,” he interrupted her, shaking William’s hand almost too enthusiastically.  “Aberdeen and I dated in university, but we’re friends now.”

Aberdeen wanted to protest.  They weren’t friends.  They were the furthest thing from being friends.  They’d barely spoken since the breakup, since he was such a jackass about it and broke her heart.  She hadn’t been with anyone since – well, besides William.  That’s how much it affected her.  And she was sure William was the only person capable of helping her get over him.

“You don’t say,” Will said, his tone slightly sarcastic.  He looked down at Aberdeen and didn’t see any friendliness in her eyes.  He only saw contempt for the statement Zane just made, which made William know he was lying.  

Zane focused his attention back to Aberdeen.  “What are you doing out here?”

“I…I just came from an event,” she said.  She felt William’s arm snake around her waist even more, making her shiver.

“An event?  With the bank?  Or did you finally figure out what you wanted to do?”

Now she was getting angry.  She always knew what she wanted to do; he just didn’t think being a writer was a serious career choice.  She mustered up all the confidence within her.  “No, not with the bank.  I work for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

Zane was taken aback at the news.  “The…Toronto Maple Leafs?” he asked.  “Like the hockey team?”

“That’s why she was going to introduce you to William Nylander before you interrupted her,” William piped up, smiling slightly.  

Zane was smart enough to get the hint William was making.  He smiled.  “You know, I thought you looked familiar,” he told William.

“You’ve probably seen me on TV once or twice,” Will quipped.

Zane could tell where this was going.  There was a lot he could have said to Aberdeen, but with William there, he decided against it.  He did have to admit one thing, though.  “Well, you look good Aberdeen,” he said, licking his lips quickly.  

William could feel a rush of irritation and impatience coursing through his veins at Zane’s comment.  “She does, doesn’t she?” he asked rhetorically.  “She looked even better inside without her coat on, but only us lucky ones got to see that,” he said, staring directly into Zane’s eyes.  “Now if you don’t mind, I have to make sure she gets home safe, or else I’ll have to answer to Brendan Shanahan and to Jennifer Spezza, and, well – between you and I – I’m more scared of Jennifer Spezza.”

“That’s cool,” Zane said, backing up.  “Have a good night, Aberdeen.”

William opened the car door behind her as she watched Zane rejoin his friends who had been looking on at the interaction.  She shuffled into the backseat, watching as William waved dramatically at Zane before getting into the backseat beside her.  “It’s a very quick drive, I know.  But I promise I’ll tip you a lot,” she said as the driver signalled to merge onto the road again.

She looked over at William who was still seething slightly at the comments Zane made.  She was realizing a lot of things lately, and here was yet another one: no matter how hard she tried to suppress what was happening between them, she would still have feelings for William, and he would still have feeling for her.  It was inevitable.  Nothing could stop it.  She could say anything, do anything – it didn’t matter.  William was competitive.  William was persistent.  William was determined.   William was…William.  It would be hard, she’d give him that – because absolutely nothing could happen while she was working for Brendan and the Leafs – but she could finally admit to herself, at least, that there was something there.  Something that William absolutely refused to hide.  And in him refusing to hide it, it just made her own feelings bubble slowly towards the surface, like lava oozing out of a volcano.  

But nothing could happen.  Not now, if not ever.  Regardless of how William felt.  Regardless of how she felt.

“You dated that guy?” William asked, his voice breaking her thoughts.

“Yeah.  For most of third year university,” she admitted.

“He’s a bit of a dick.”

She laughed.  If William could ascertain that after a minute long conversation, she could only imagine what opinion he’d have of Zane after an entire conversation.  “You’re telling me.”

“Why’d you guys break up?” William asked.

She gave him a look.  He just had to know.  He just really had to know.  “We outgrew each other.  He also didn’t think writing was a serious career path.  He told me I should consider a Master’s, or go to law school like him,” she explained.  “He was the one who initiated the breakup, saying that he wanted to take the last year of university to, like, be one with himself and figure out if law school was really for him.  But a month after we broke up, he was hooking up and dating this girl we knew, Alessia – a total smokeshow but dumb as a rock.  Anyways, judging by his pretentious jacket, he got into law school.”  She paused, considering the timeline of the events.  “I think it was just three weeks, actually.”

“You deserve better than that,” William said after a moment of silence, digesting her words.  He wanted to stop the Uber so he could run back to Zane and punch him in the face.  He couldn’t believe someone would have the gall to treat her like that.  And then to see her in the street and approach her like an old friend?  How dare he.

“I know I do,” she said as she looked out the window.

William took a few deep breaths as he looked at her, wanting to say so many things but unable to decide exactly what to say.  She still looked so beautiful and he didn’t know how to use his words.  He was so desperate; so desperate to touch her even though he knew she’d flinch away; so desperate to kiss her even though he knew it was wrong.  He didn’t know how he was going to last two whole weeks without seeing her when she’d become such a staple in his life.  He had to physically restrain himself from placing his hand on her arm.  “Can we FaceTime when I’m gone?”

Aberdeen whipped her head to look at him.  From the look on her face it was as if he just proposed they elope in Las Vegas.  “Will, no.”

“Aberdeen, please—please—”

“No way William.  No way.”

“It’s not like you’re going to be at the office when we do—”

“Will, that’s…that’s really inappropriate.”

“Aberdeen—”

“William—”

“Can’t you tell by now I don’t care that it’s inappropriate?” he asked.  His hand had inched towards hers and was merely centimetres away before he had the wherewithal to pull it back dramatically.  Not being able to hold her hand was absolute fucking torture for him and he didn’t know how he was going to survive it.

“Well can’t you tell by now I do care?” she retorted.  “It can’t happen Will.  There’s no way.”

He admitted defeat.  There was no way he would win this, no matter how much he begged.  No matter how much he tried to explain himself.  “I’m just gonna miss you, Aberdeen.  And I’m gonna want to see you.”

“I know you will,” she said.  “But it can’t happen Will.  I’m sorry.”

The Uber driver pulled up to the curb outside Aberdeen’s building, where William had dropped her off at almost the same time last night.  Aberdeen thanked him, getting out of the car.  William slid towards where she had just been and rolled down the window.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” he asked.  They were facing the Bruins tomorrow.  She needed to be there.  

“I’ll be there,” she said, unable to hold her smile.  “Get some sleep, Will.  You’ve gotta score tomorrow.”

“Only for you, minskatt.”

[solecize]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the boy you meet in detention, felix, doesn’t see colours. you want to gift his eyes with the kaleidoscopes and the rainbows of your world. the palette of your love story is supposed to bring together a work of art, but calamity lies beneath the canvas. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. felix x reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. swearing 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.8k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. do i actually ever proofread anything that i write? also yes this is really late oops anyways i’d appreciate any and all feedback, comments, speculations, etc. i just wanna hear that u guys are actually enjoying this <3 pls and thank you

ORANGE. | PART II - “THE BEACH”

you lived that sweltering summer to the tune of jim morrison and the taste of ocean breeze kissing the tip of your tongue. those moments played back at the back of your mind like a film reel, the rainbows and glimmering lights of it all with felix. before that, though, a dark shadow loomed over and stood firmly in your way. the first challenge you were forced to tackle before embracing your newfound freedom, was tackling graduation. 

everyone hated graduation, save for their own few moments of spotlight, before they were rushed off the stage and reduced to trying to not doze off for the rest of the ceremony. it was an event for the parents of said graduate, rather that the newly finished student themselves. maybe that’s why some people made such a big deal out of prom, claiming it as “their night” and the “pinnacle of youth” or whatever other bullshit your classmates wanted to spew out in order to convince themselves that spending hundreds of dollars on one night was reasonable. obviously, you had skipped. that also meant that today really was a true goodbye to the last four years of pure lunacy. 

“don’t you want to take pictures with your friends?” your mom had asked, after you finished posing for what seemed like an hour for pictures at the front of the school. 

a myriad of graduates and their families teemed along the sidewalks and the parking lot and even just a few feet away from yourself at the entranceway. there were the mandatory pictures with the parents, maybe some with a favourite teacher, as kids held up their awards and flowers with stretched grins plastered upon their faces. you weren’t one of them, though you did get one decent award and a bouquet of forget me nots to show for it. 

you shrugged. “nah. it’s okay.” at that, your mom proceeded to shrug and was distracted momentarily by a fellow pta mom, as they engaged in conversation about the terrible speeches that they were forced to sit through.

the four or so people consisting of people you once considered your “group” were taking pictures in the other direction, doing the stupid jumping in the air pose, as one of their boyfriends was dragged into capturing the moment on someone’s hello kitty cased iphone. you rolled your eyes at the sight. they were crying, something about how they were going to be friends forever.

“what a bunch of saps.”

whirling around, the one thing that wasn’t forced that day was the bright smile tugging at the corners of your lips upon the sight of felix. the chances of finding him before the ceremony were slim, as you had overslept and were basically heaved and yanked and hauled into your parents’ minivan to make it to the graduation. when you finally met once again, your heart began to stumble and leap. 

even despite finding the entire occasion a snooze, you felt a little bad about sleeping right after you were handed your diploma. you missed felix crossing the stage and receiving his own. however, no such disappointment shone in his eyes, which were smiling at you.

you snorted in response. “tell me about it.”

giving him a once over, felix looked.  . .good. you never saw him outside of school and thus, never saw him outside of the ugly polyester uniform that he had no intention of actually wearing properly. he’d abandoned his cap and gown at some point, just left in a grey button up and black slacks. his over the ear headphones still hung around his neck.

“congratulations,” felix said, shyly shoving his hands into his pockets.

you couldn’t help but smile wider. “same to you.”

the two of you had yet to cross paths again since that day in detention. it was almost as if he’d begun skipping class as much as you begun to do so towards the end of the year. maybe a little part of you tried looking for him—you weren’t going to ever admit that—when you poked your head inside the detention room some days hoping to see him or lingered around paradise ice cream a little too long. 

but, you didn’t see him. felix came and went as he pleased, like a ghost. nothing was haunting about that smile, though, as you melted a bit under the sun because of it. you’d never met someone so genuine. 

felix leaned against the wall, peering over at the crowd forming in the parking lot. “you’re not going to that beach party everyone’s talking about?”

he really did listen. you, on the other hand, had no idea about it. frankly, you didn’t care and felix caught onto that quickly with your silent, indifferent shrug.

“your mom?” he questioned and pointed towards her. it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance, as you took after her well.

you nodded in response. “where are your parents?”

“oh, they went back to work. always busy, they were only able to leave for a few hours.” that situation tugged at your heart slightly, trying to imagine what that would’ve been like for him. at least felix didn’t have to go through the mushy traditions. 

a stuffy dinner party was in the works for you later that evening, with your mother calling up just about every relative within two hours away to come and celebrate your milestone. you wanted no part in it, preferring to jump face first back into bed and waste the rest of the day away watching tiktoks. felix made a confused face when you mentioned that.

“i can see why you don’t feeling like celebrating,” felix said, glancing around the streamer decorated walls, trying not to feel tiny underneath the intimidating ‘congratulations graduates’ banner hanging from wall to wall. “when you’re stuck around this place for so long, you’re just relieved enough that you made it out of here.” 

you blinked at him and after a pause, let out a soft chuckle. he’d hit it right on the nail. you didn’t even realize that yourself. 

“honestly? i can’t stand being here for another second.” you sighed, trying to cool down the blood beginning to boil. your patience was ticking and it seemed like your mom wasn’t going to tear away from her conversation with the other ‘can i see your manager?’ pinterest-loving, wine-drinking moms. 

“so don’t.”

biting back a snort, it was obvious that felix was used to just not being somewhere if he didn’t feel like it. however, he had no idea that he sparked an imaginary lightbulb to shine above your head. your eyes darted over to your mother, as your confirmed her lost engagement in her conversation. she wasn’t going to budge anytime soon and that gave you an idea. 

felix noticed the flicker of change in your expression and raised an eyebrow. “what is it?”

a grin spread across your lips. “say, felix.” you dug into your mom’s purse, which she had abandoned for you to hold while she left to talk to the other mothers. it didn’t take long for you to find it and you giggled when you came in contact with the cold metal. with a swift pull, you dangled the keys to your mom’s minivan in the air. 

“uh, yeah?” he cocked his head slightly.

“you got your license?”

in retrospect, felix never actually answered the question. he only said that it’d “been a while” since he was behind the wheel, but that didn’t stop you from suddenly leading the way to the honda odyssey with scratched on the rear from your practice driving from when you began doing so. maybe you should’ve caught on that he either never had his license or was warning you of how fucking bad of a driver he was. but you didn’t feel like getting in the driver’s seat in favour of controlling the aux, so you gave him that responsibility.

“let’s go for a drive. you got nowhere else to be, right?” it was probably a little cruel to guess that felix was not invited to the aforementioned beach party, but you’d already spoken the words. 

felix gave a mirror of your indifferent shrug and you grinned wider. 

“you know how i feel already about those guys. drinking cheap beer around a campfire isn’t really my idea of ‘having the time of our lives,’ yeah?” he replied. 

you weren’t sure what exactly took over and possessed you to basically steal your mom’s minivan with somebody you barely knew. maybe it was because of that feeling, the carefree feeling that zipped and danced through your veins like a breeze the last time you hung out with felix. it was unlike anything else you’d ever felt before.

a hint of hesitance painted over his face. “um, so where are we going?”

“you go out often?” the question was blunt, but you couldn’t help but ask, considering the surprise he wore when you invited him out after detention.

felix smiled bashfully. “no.” that was all he said, as the two of you made your way over to the old odyssey. “will your mom be okay with this?”

“huh? oh, hell no.” yet, you still unlocked the car with a click and gave an under hand throw of the keys to him.

the wash of uncertainty lingered on felix’s expression, as you opened the door to the passenger’s seat. then, he met your eyes and something shifted within his muscles and energy. warmth formed at the eye contact, gifting him with confidence to proceed. 

time was ticking and you knew that the two of you had to back out of the parking lot as quickly as possible, in order to remain unseen and undetected by your mother. you reiterated this to felix and suddenly, you were wishing that you didn’t.

“watch out!” you hissed, as felix reversed and almost ran over a former member of the hockey team. the said male began cussing at the car, which only prompted felix to get out of the parking lot in even more of a hurry.

swivelling and swerving around some stray individuals and other cars like a madman, it was a wonder that the two of you made it out and onto the street in one piece. it felt as though your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and was threatening to burst out of your throat. your breathing paused for the entire time. 

worse than a goddamned rollercoaster.

“oops?” was all felix had to say, as innocently as possible.

you allowed yourself to breathe, finally. the car was on the street and you were alive. hysteria bubbled at the back of your head and you began to giggle uncontrollably. felix looked over at your, eyebrows knitted together, before he, too, burst out into laughter. 

the car stopped at the first red light and you nodded at something in the distance. “straight ahead and then onto the highway.”

“where exactly am i going?” felix gave you a side eye, as you began fiddling with my phone. he glanced at it and raised an eyebrow, watching you scroll through your favourite early 2000s throwback playlist.

“take the exit for the beach.”

felix’s eyes nearly leapt out of his skull. “uh, are. . .are we gonna crash that party?”

you froze midway through your motions and began laughing once again, uncontrollably. but, felix didn’t react and you realized that he was being serious. you cleared your throat and paused.

“no,” you responded, in awe that he thought you were that rebellious. frankly, it wasn’t just that, but you were never going to carry those kind of guts. “screw that party. i know another cool spot on the beach, it’s kind of like my hideaway.”

and like that, felix shrugged and returned to his usual carefree demeanour. you thought about how much you dug that about him. then, you promptly shut that thought down because it came out of absolutely nowhere. plus, the two of you were still sitting in silence. not for long.

you turned on “ms jackson” by outkast and the two of you sung along to it. every. single. word. at some point, someone rolled down the windows and the wind began roaring in your ears and through your hair, but the only thing you could hear were your voice, straining to be heard at the top of your lungs. 

as the opening notes of “get ur freak on” began, you looked over to felix. the curiosity you felt must have been pronounced because he cocked an eyebrow at you. you continued staring at him.

“why are you here? you’re awfully trusting,” you chuckled, as you caught eye of the upcoming exit you were meant to take. 

he made the turn. “i’m bored. like you said, i don’t have anywhere else to go.” felix’s tone was light, but you felt bad about the comment. “plus, i’m the one behind the wheel. if anything, you’re the trusting one, putting me in this position.” you managed to snort at that.

“what, i’m not scary enough that i could be leading you to some crack house?”

felix smirked. “aren’t you the girl who volunteers before school hours to help the lunch ladies? the one who exclusively wore pink butterfly hair clips for two years straight? the one who wrote valentine cards for everyone in homeroom last year? the one with a pikachu—”

“okay, shut up. that doesn’t mean shit.” you scowled and he laughed at that. you didn’t realize that he noticed all of these little things about you, considering you’d barely spoken for four years straight and you tried to ignore the butterflies taking flight in your stomach as a result. 

he said, “senioritis really killed your soft side, huh?” 

“just a little,” you admitted. or maybe you were tired of being the good girl that everyone wanted you to be. something in you must’ve changed, like felix said, after ditching your long time friends and beginning to do things like skip class and warrant detentions. at this point, you were in way too deep and clearly, you no longer cared. high school was a chapter finished and you were perfectly okay with that.

the next song that drowned out your surroundings, just as the smell of sea salt filled your senses, was “we could be so good together” by the doors. the song was definitely not on this specific playlist as far as you knew, perhaps it was slipped in by accident when you were downloading your music. regardless, you kept it playing and you saw the way felix began drumming his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel.

“your influence, by the way,” you revealed and he smiled just a little brighter, if that was even possible. 

he said, “you remembered.” of course you remembered the way he lost himself in this band that day in detention on his stupid first generation ipod. how could you forget?

eventually, the beach emerged closer and closer in your line of sight. the traffic grew heavier, as the sound of trap music overcame the bluesy twangs of the doors. you rolled your eyes; the rest of the kids from your school had caught up.

“take the left here.”

“isn’t it a dead end?”

you shook your head no, they had long since expanded the street a few years ago. thankfully for you, the extended pedestrian way gave access to one of the best hidden gems in town. he didn’t argue and followed the direction.

felix turned up the music a little bit louder, even though you were now a little bit farther away from everyone else now. “i’d never thought i’d meet anyone as annoyed by everyone else at school until you.” 

“yeah—wait, turn onto this path there, don’t worry about the trees—aren’t we just quirky and different?” you snorted.

although it was still a path nonetheless, it was a little bit cramped for the heap that was your mom’s car. a wrinkle formed in between felix’s brows and you tried to relax the atmosphere by continuing to mindlessly sing to the music. he nervously hummed along. 

he blinked rapidly. "it looks like there’s no end. . .”

lush trees stood firmly on both sides of the path, dangling branches over in a wispy pose. sunlight weaved in and out of every open spot, creating a storm of sun on your surroundings. the taste of sea salt continued to dance in the air, though, dispelling any thought of suddenly finding yourself in a mystic forest. in the distance, underneath the voice of jim morrison, the sound of ocean waves commanded your ears. the car lurched up, tilting ever so slightly up to indicate the uphill drive. 

“why are you avoiding your parents?” felix asked out of nowhere, glancing at you and trying to not appear nervous at the path. 

“because today sucks. i don’t get the big deal.” you shrugged. “and honestly, i’m just a little bit overwhelmed.” your life had been moving in the fastlane for so long and upon the sudden closure, you ached for just a moment of relaxation. 

felix responded, with a thoughtful gaze to the distance. “yeah, i guess you’re right. same thing every year, just a new class of idiotic seniors forced out into the world on their own.”

eventually sunlight transformed from small dots leaking in from the weaves of branches and leafs into a full glaze from above. darkness disappeared and you were treated with a kiss of the bluest sky your eyes had ever laid eyes on. the tranquility came to an abrupt stop due to felix’s unpolished brake. he was in shock and that sacrificed your back because the two of you hurled forward in the sudden movement.

“sorry,” felix said, but neither of you chose to make a joke about his driving when this beautiful of a distraction presented itself in front of you.

the engine was killed and the music paused in one swift second. felix wanted to drink up his surroundings as much as he could. the two of you were perched on the top of a small hill, overlooking the rest of the beach from the height. even though you still remained on the same earth and balance as the people down there, it felt like you were far above. 

he managed to sputter out a low whistle. you grinned in response and hopped out of the car, trying your absolute best to refrain from stumbling in your heels. upon meeting the fresh air, you took a deep inhale.

“where the hell did you find out about this place?” felix looked around, eyes wide as he took in the view. 

you were not going to expose the fact that you were taken here the first time by a boy that wanted to hook up with you. he’d parked at the top of the hill, just as the two of you had just done moment before, hoping to get lucky before you swore at him and demanded that he brought you home. oh, freshman year. 

“i have my secrets,” you exchanged that embarrassing memory for what you hoped was a mysterious smile. “it really is beautiful, though, right? i feel like i’m on top of the world. the sky is clearer from up here and the ocean is, like, so goddamn blue. . .”

it was then when you remembered who you were with and your jaw snap shut after those words. 

he couldn’t know how blue the ocean was. felix probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for your sudden reaction, but he only shook his head with a smile at your sheepishness. “it’s okay. don’t be embarrassed, people forget.” a lie, you guessed, as he’d mentioned so few people knew about his sight.

a weight of gloom settled at the pit of your stomach, but you pushed the feeling aside. he trusted you with the knowledge of his condition and you forgot to consider it. you bit your lip, raining down on the apologies, to which he just waved off. 

the male kicked a loose stone off the hill, watching it fly across the air and rocked into the deep, icy waters. “it’s really is beautiful, anyway. thanks for bringing me here.” 

“actually, you did the driving,” you grinned. “but, this isn’t all. you still trust me?” 

felix looked at you with a questioning regard and you took that as an answer. you had to swallow some fear down and the next thing you did surprised even you. you held out your hand and after a beat, he took it and intertwined your fingers with his.

his hand was warm and molded with yours to perfection. his skin was soft and pillowy, as if they’d been waiting for you for years to grasp. upon the grip, your hands became one and you wished to the clouds that you’d never have to let go. you took a glimpse of felix’s expression and you wondered if he felt the same way, trying to read the small small forming on his face and the light tint of pink glowing on his ears. 

then, you remembered what the hell you were doing and snapped out of your daydream. he locked the car for you and you led him down the hill, just a few feet back from where you were parked. there, you tugged him towards the smallest of entryways in between two trees, having to duck underneath some branches and step over some bushes to get through.

the path from there was clear, as shades of creamy corn coloured sand roughened up against your shoes and you dared to not sink into the ground with each step. it was one, steep trail that led straight into the land below, with waves just about stirring up against the sand. there was not much room to walk and you had to walk in front of felix for the two of you to fit. 

“hold on,” you said, as you wiggled out of your already dirty graduation gown, which you realized you should have abandoned at the car. you left to to lay on the ground, losing interest in it. 

felix gave you a once over. “that’s a nice dress.” did he just check you out? 

when you woke up that morning, almost afternoon, you were ill prepared for the day ahead of you. you jumped into the quickest shower of your life and nearly broke your fingers trying to braid your hair in record time. there was no room for daydreaming about what you were going to wear and you figured that it was going to be hidden underneath your graduation gown, anyway, so you grabbed the first thing in your closet, which was a yawn of an orange bridesmaid dress from a past wedding. it was a boring, floor-length with a sweetheart neckline and a semi-modest slit running up the leg. you’d ripped off the hideous bow on your way down the stairs, after not bothering with any makeup and from there, was hauled into the old minivan because you were already late. 

“what?” you laughed. “i hate this dress. i put on the first thing i saw and unfortunately, it was this abomination.” you thought your tone dripped with hatred, but felix didn’t look convinced. 

you climbed up onto some large rocks that marked the end of the path and tried to keep your balance. felix helped you steady yourself, hand still grasped in his and the other holding you by the waist. at that point, you’d also kicked off your nude pumps in favour of actually being able to stand. 

felix helped himself up on the rock, following your motions, and hopped over the rocks with you. you grabbed a handful of the tangerine fabric and pulled it up, at least caring enough to make sure that it didn’t get wet. the two of you landed together, just before a darkened entrance into a cave. the entry was concealed from the main beach, far too tucked away at the corner at every angle and only visible from hopping over the rocks.

“what colour is it?” 

the question was sudden and you gaped, as if you forgot how to speak. “huh?”

“your dress. what colour is it?” felix wasn’t even focused on the cave, his eyes still locked on you.

“it’s orange,” you told him. he nodded, his gaze not leaving, as if he were trying to memorize the sight. you frowned and put your free hand to his arm, beckoning him to continue following you. 

squeezing inside of the compact entryway, the two of you were introduced to the interior of the same golden sand that brushed against the waterline in a narrow opening at the very base of the cave. another gap was framed higher up, a bigger outlet that allowed most of the sunlight to stream in. 

“wow. just wow.” his hand squeezed yours just a little bit tighter, even there was no need to hold each other, now that you arrived at your destination.

you couldn’t help but notice the little things now. there were little fragments etched into the walls of different mineral colours, from the deep maroons and the slate greys and the rare navy blue. the small waves rushing in shone just a little bit differently depending on where you stood, just a little bit brighter or darker either way. even in the sand, there were bits of ivory for every handful of gold. they made the sight all the more gorgeous and felix couldn’t experience that. 

he noticed your sudden daze, staring off into the larger outlet and your mind miles away. that’s when you were hit with a wall of cold water, hand released from felix’s and your entire left side endured the splash. you gasped, whirling around to see him with an mischievous glint in his eyes. with the addition of a soaked arm sleeve.

“felix!” your jaw dropped and he responded with yet another splash. 

this escalated into a full on splashing match, until the two of you were completely soaked. your hair was dripping wet and felix’s sneakers were probably ruined. 

you also somehow also ended up tackling him to the ground.

that resulted in the unexpected position of being on top of him, as the two of you gasped to catch your breaths in between your hysterical bubbles of laughter. it took at least five minutes minimum before the two of you were able to inhale properly again. 

that didn’t mean you moved from your position, though. neither did he. felix wore a lazy smile and brushed a piece of wet hair out of your face.

“you ruined my dress. not so pretty now, huh?” you teased.

felix replied, “you said you hated it, i was just tryin’ to help you out.” he then paused for a moment, stumbling over his words. “plusimeantthatyoulookednice. notthedress.”

you weren’t sure if you were normal because you managed to actually understand his jumbled up words. you laughed off the blush heating up your cheeks and finally pulled yourself up, trying to hide it. sitting up, the two of you gazed up at the sky through the main gap in the wall. 

for the nth time that day, you decided to say “fuck it” and swallowed down your nerves. felix sat up, awkwardly running his hand through his grown out hair. he looked at you, seeing that it appeared as though you were struggling to say something.

“what’s wrong?”

you managed to choke it out. “can i kiss you?” some sort of monster, one that was definitely not you, had overcome your being because you were in shock that you actually just said that.

felix nodded without hesitation, which put you into even deeper of a shock. you didn’t even notice that you were already slowly leaning in and he, too, as he reached out to lightly touch your cheek as he did so. 

from a distance, the sound of music and laughter dallyed and with every passing second, a new wave of water rushed in. the smell of salt and summer lingered about. your orange dress was doused and at some point in the psudeo fight, your once tightly wound braids broke free into loose waves. none of it mattered when felix pressed his lips against yours. they were just as soft as his hands. 

[lightsupinthenorth]

For the prompts, 46 + 91? 🙏❤️💕

Thank you so much for sending these sweetheart <3

I hope you’ll enjoy ;)

46. Dance with me + 91. That’s in the past

 If he had imagined how prom would go at the beginning of Junior year, Steve would have seen himself as Prom King, dancing  with whatever beautiful girl had been elected Queen before the admirative and envious eyes of their classmates.

 But Steve never imagined what Prom would be like, then, because he never thought he had to imagine it. It would just happen, and it would go swimmingly, because he was the King of Hawkins High and that was how everything went in his life, at that point.

 He had not foreseen that his entire kingdom would come crumbling down as it had. Gone were the ‘friends’ that acted as subjects, gone were the invitations to every party, gone were the popularity and the privileges it had brought.

 Nancy was gone, too, though it had more to do with Jonathan being a way better fit for her, and less to do with Steve’s eviction from his throne.  

 If anyone had predicted this to Steve the previous year, he would have laughed, not believing a word of it. And if he had believed it, because of some uncanny proof that the prediction would come true, he would have been terrified. He would have hidden it, of course, but the fear still would have been there, in his heart, making his chest tighten and his breath shorten.

 Thankfully, it had come out of nowhere. If there had been signs, Steve had not noticed any of them. And he was grateful for that, for his cluelessness. Because, worrying about his fall from grace would have been worrying about nothing.

 Because the fall had meant nothing, in the grand scheme of life. Sure, it had stung to see the ones he considered his friends abandoning him as soon as popularity had, changing his status from royalty to nobody. He had soon realized that he was better off without them, though. They weren’t real friends. They weren’t real, period. They only cared about appearances, and Steve strangely had no fuck to give about those anymore.

 He ended up going stag to the prom, and he wasn’t even ashamed of it… of third wheeling Nancy and Jonathan, his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Despite the less than ideal circumstances, they turned out to be better friends to Steve than his followers ever were.

 So, when he went outside after chatting for a while and drinking some punch, he didn’t do it out of humiliation or self-pity. He just left to get a break, maybe smoke a cig or two, and let Nancy and Jonathan have some time on their own. They were too nice to ask for it, but Steve knew they’d be glad to be free of him for a moment

And maybe, just maybe… a small part of Steve needed a break because he couldn’t take staring at Billy Hargrove from across the gym, which had been tackily decorated for the occasion as it was every year without fail.

 Billy had come in with Tina on his arm. He had been wearing a dashing suit, complete with a bow tie and everything, but he had ditched the jacket barely ten minutes in, and the bow tie had closely followed. When Steve had last thrown a glance in his direction, Billy had been looking flushed, with his curls in disarray, his sleeves rolled up and half of the buttons of his shirt undone.

 How was Steve supposed to endure such a sight? It was straight up cruel. So, he decided to go somewhere he couldn’t see Billy anymore. Somewhere he could ignore how weak he was for the other boy.

 He had barely lit his second cigarette when he was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps. He had chosen to go all the way around the building to be left alone and, obviously, it was a failure. But Steve had dealt with failure plenty of times before. One more time wouldn’t kill him.

 The fact that the intruder was no other than Billy Hargrove might do the trick, though. Steve really was the luckiest son of a bitch out there, these days... He sighed, bracing himself for Billy’s teasing (which would undoubtedly happen any minute).

 “Hey Harrington, can I bum one?” He asked, pointing at the pack of cigarettes laid on the floor, next to where Steve was sitting with his back against the brick wall and his legs bent at the knees.

“Sure, help yourself.” Steve replied, tearing his gaze away from Billy as he brought his lighter to the cigarette hanging from his mouth.

 After all, Steve had been adamant about not looking at him, and he ought to stick with that. For his own well-being.

 Anyway, Billy had just come here for a smoke. Now that he had what he had been looking for, he would be on his merry way.

 Steve thought he had Billy figured out, but he was proved wrong a second later, when Billy sat down next to him, holding his now lit cigarette in his left hand. He was so close that Steve could feel the heat of his body against his side and smell his strong cologne. It didn’t smell the same as it usually did. Maybe Billy had another one, one he reserved for special occasions. It was a strong scent, but Steve liked it. It had character. It suited Billy.

 “Why are you out there all alone, Pretty boy?”

 “I just wanted some fresh air.” Steve answered lamely, trying to focus on the smoke filling his lungs and not on Billy’s overwhelming presence.

 “I’m not sure smoking and fresh air are compatible, princess.”

 Steve shrugged. “Let’s say I came here for the peace and quiet, then.” He said, turning briefly toward Billy to give him a pointed look.

 Let him believe Steve didn’t want him there more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.

 Billy just blew his smoke in Steve’s face, like the asshole he was.

 “You want peace and quiet… On prom night? Where has King Steve gone?”

 Steve scoffed.

 “You’ve got some nerves, asking me that. As if you didn’t know.”

 Billy knew better than anyone where King Steve had gone. He’d been the one who had dethroned him the second (at least that was how it had felt like) he had set foot in town. The golden boy from California. He could drink more and quicker than Steve, he was better at basketball, he had more muscles, and he had a bad boy look that Steve and his polo shirts were no rivals for. Steve had not stood a chance against him. He was fine with it, though. He was not jealous. He knew what it was like, being King, and it wasn’t as nice as everyone made it out to be.

 “Do you miss it, being King?” Billy asked, stubbing out his cigarette on the concrete ground.

 “That’s in the past.” Was all Steve said to summarize the train of thought he had just had.

 He had not pulled on his cigarette in a while, preferring to watch it burn, the tip of it glowing brightly in the darkness.

 “Mmh… I guess it is. Though I bet half the chicks in that gym would sell their mother for a dance with you, King or no King.”

 “They wouldn’t need to go that far. Just asking would do.” Steve replied, choosing not to dwell on the fact that Billy was complimenting him, in a way.

 “And no one did?” Billy asked.

 “No…” Steve sighed, not because he was disappointed he had not been asked to dance, but because he was bracing himself for the mocking Billy would surely unleash upon him.

 “Well, it’s their loss.”

 Steve turned toward Billy again, surprised. Shocked, even. He wanted to try and decipher Billy’s expression, but Billy was facing forward, the sky was pitch dark, and the deem light filtering though the high windows of the gym barely changed anything.

 “What about you? What are you doing here with stupid old me when you should be dancing with your stunning date?”

 Steve had paid more attention to Billy than he had to Tina when they had made their entrance, but he wasn’t blind. He had noticed how gorgeous she was in her bright red gown. How could he have not, when she was the one who had won Billy’s favor.

 “I just wanted to chill.”

 Steve refrained from pointing out that “chilling” was very similar to “peace and quiet”, which Billy apparently found unfitting for a King.

 “Besides… Tina isn’t the one I want to dance with.”

 “Why did you ask her to be your date, then?”

 Steve frowned.

 “I didn’t, she was the one who asked me actually.” Billy supplied.

 Steve rolled his eyes. Details.

 “Well, why did you say yes instead of declining so you could invite who you really wanted?”

 “’Cause that person wasn’t an option, pretty boy.”

 Billy was now fidgeting with a button of his shirt, which threatened to come undone. He’d end up half-naked if he weren’t careful. Not that Steve would warn him about that risk. He wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 “Bullshit. I’m sure anyone would have said yes.”

 Steve wouldn’t usually have complimented Billy so freely, afraid that it would be too telling. But Billy had said something in the same vein to him a few minutes before, so Steve deemed it acceptable.

 “Mh, I’m not so sure. It’s too late, anyway.”

 “No it’s not! The night is far from over, you could still ask your crush for a dance. Tina will probably be mad at you, but she’ll find a replacement, I’m sure.”

 Steve didn’t know why he was encouraging Billy to go after someone that wasn’t him. Maybe he simply wanted to see Billy happy, for a change.

 And yeah, maybe he had only used the word “crush” in the hope that Billy would roll his eyes and deny having a one. But it didn’t work, anyway: Billy didn’t deny anything.

 Something even better happened, though. Something so amazing that Steve was barely able to register it, at first.

 Instead of getting all offended for being accused of harboring something as silly as a “crush”, Billy blurted out:

 “Dance with me.”

 Billy’s tone suggested an invitation to fight, more than an invitation to dance, so Steve thought he had misheard. It was the only plausible explanation, right? Billy Hargrove had not just invited Steve to dance, right?

 “What?” He said dumbly, eyes as wide as saucers, mouth agape.

 “You heard me.”

 “Uh… was that a rehearsal for when you really ask the girl you want to dance with? Because, if so, you should try going about it a little less aggressively…”

 “Don’t play dumb, Steve.”

 Steve was not playing, was the thing.

 “If you don’t want to, just say so. You don’t need to spare my fucking feelings, or whatever.”

 Billy had spit out the word “feelings” like he would have an insult, which was funny considering the actual curse he had used had sounded softer in his mouth.

 “I do!”

 “Right, I’ll just go back inside...” Billy managed to sound both angry and defeated.

 Steve’s brain nearly short-circuited from the confusion elicited by Billy’s reaction, but then he realized how what he had said might have come across.

 “I mean, I do want to dance!” He nearly yelled, holding back a retreating Billy by grabbing one of his shirt lapels.

 Billy froze mid-gesture and then got back to his initial position.

 “Oh.”

 He didn’t say anything else, and Steve wondered if he had broken him. He certainly hoped not.

 He got up and extended his hand to Billy.

 “May I have this dance, Your Majesty.” Steve asked.

 Billy probably didn’t need the stroke to his ego, but Steve provided it wholeheartedly, nonetheless.

 Billy didn’t answer verbally, but his hand taking Steve’s offered one was answer enough.

 Steve pulled him up and put his hands on Billy’s waist. Shockingly, Billy didn’t fight it, placing his arms around Steve’s neck and letting Steve lead.  

 The music from inside was reaching them, albeit faintly. Steve could also hear the entrance door slamming from time to time, as well as the loud voices and shrill laughter of the group of girls having a conversation on the other side of the building, but it barely registered to him.

 Every ounce of his attention was on Billy and how he felt against him. He had a lot of questions to ask him, but they could wait. Soon, too soon, the song they were dancing to would end, and then prom would end too, a few hours later. After that night, they’d have all the time in the world to discuss what exactly had transpired. For now, Steve wanted to enjoy every second he got to hold Billy in his arms and be held in return.

 When Steve heard the last note, he reluctantly let go of his dance partner, but Billy’s arms tightened around him, preventing him from separating their embrace.

 “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to miss the prom King coronation?”

 Billy would most probably win. It would surely make an impression (and not a good one), if he was nowhere to be found when his name was called and his presence required on stage.

 “I don’t give a fuck, Steve. Now shut up and get back to it.”

 “Fine by me.”

 Steve put his hands back where they belonged and smiled, delighted that the brief moment he had tried so hard to make the best of just got extended for an undetermined amount of time.

 The tempo of the following song was far too fast for slow dancing, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care. And, clearly, neither did Billy.  

 Out there in the night, they had their own rhythm, their own music, their own world.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xi

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xi: what kind of man

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~8.2k (I’M SORRY)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Gore/violence, Still Under The Influencer of drugs, uhhhh blood. There's a lot of mentions of blood and death and what have you. Elliot has a meltdown (surprise). Joseph is creepy (surprise pt. 2 electric boogaloo). People are confused about How To Feel. I don't understand how laws work and so I'm just literally out here trying my best, you know? Don't @ me.

Notes: I wanted to start off by saying THANK YOU everyone for your feedback! I was having a real hard time hitting my stride with the last chapter but all of your kind words has given me life. There's some still in these old bones yet and I really hope that you enjoy this one.

 Anyway I'm a clown and I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Joke's on you, it's always clown hour here! Thank you forever and always to @starcrier ​ for being the best proof-reader and somehow managing to make my incoherency readable?? Manageable??? You're an angel and ily! Also, @empirics ​, my writing aspiration forever, and @baeogorath ​ who makes me cry literally every time I read anything they have to say about my writing. Thank you thank you thank you!

John had never seen a person’s head blown in with a shotgun, and he wasn’t sure that he really needed to.

Ase’s blood had splattered when Jacob fired the shotgun at what he was sure could be considered point-blank range, the spray of it nearly catching them in the process. But no, it was mostly on Elliot, like she was some Carrie at her first prom, a real tried-and-true Scream Queen.

“I knew you’d find a way to fuck it up,” Jacob said, no absence of venom in his voice as he stepped away from Ase’s dead body like she was nothing—and sure, she was nothing, and John didn’t necessarily have any qualms with getting rid of her (he had blown a shell straight through her spine), but that wasn’t what was making him nauseated.

It was Elliot. Baby-blues eaten away by her pupils, blown wide with hallucinogens, drenched in blood, making a noise something close to a rabbit that thought it was going to die.

He didn’t have the energy to tell Jacob that the blow to her skull had been unnecessary, that there was no way someone could walk away from their entire stomach being blown through by a shotgun. That Jacob’s idea of “fucked up” was greatly, massively warped if he thought that Ase hadn’t been finished after shot number one. Even if he’d had the energy it wouldn’t have mattered, because the next words out of Jacob’s mouth were, “You put Faith at risk going back for her.”

The eldest Seed didn’t need to say what it was he meant; John knew. The words were “you put Faith at risk going back for her”, but what he meant was, Joseph’s going to be furious when he finds out.

“Get your pet,” Jacob bit out, “and let’s fucking move.”

John’s limbs moved of their own volition, kneeling down in front of Elliot and turning her face away from the grisly scene laid out next to her. If she recognized him, it didn’t show; she trembled, and her eyes never stayed fixed for very long, as though everything in the entire world was assaulting her senses at every second.

“Elliot,” he said, pulling her to her feet as the sound of voices rising in the distance peppered the air, “we have to move.”

Some kind of guttural sorrow welled up and out of her as he pulled her along and down the hill, her feet stumbling. Around them, the night hummed with gunfire and shouting. John was certain that he heard something like grief wracking the air at the hilltop above them, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back, afraid of what he’d see—that redheaded monster of Ase’s bent over her nearly-decapitated corpse, or worse: coming after them.

He kept one hand on Elliot’s arm and the other out in front of her case she tried to plummet headfirst down the hill—whether by chance or accident—and by the time they had reached the bottom, the strange agony sounds that had tried to burrow out of her had mostly ceased; her gaze was still glassy and dark, and there was an odd sway about her, but she looked only shell-shocked now.

Oh, John thought, absently, if that’s all.

Joey’s dark gaze darted between the two of them. He released Elliot to her without a word, his hand dropping from the blonde as Joey fussed over her. Faith swayed dreamily just a few steps away from Joey, humming a song mostly to herself; beyond her, Jacob stood, his arms crossed over his chest while he toted the shotgun in one of his hands, before he apparently got tired of waiting and grabbed Faith’s hand.

“If you want to stand around down here and chit chat, that’s fine,” he said, tugging Faith—clearly still drugged, clearly unaware of the carnage occurring around them—off to the trail that led away from the lake. “ We’re leaving.”

“Jacob—” John started. It was too late. The redhead had set for himself and for Faith a brutal and punishing pace to return them to wherever it was Joseph waited, and though he was loathe to admit it, Jacob was on the right track; pretty soon, the members of Eden’s Gate that had been sent up to wreak havoc on the Family would be dead, and he was certain that once Ase’s death was fully recognized, someone would want revenge.

“Are we going home?” Faith asked, giggling as she toddled after Jacob, barely able to keep herself upright. “That lady said John was going to come and rescue me.”

John’s chest tightened at the sound of her laughter. She was so completely unperturbed by everything—everything she had been through, had seen. He wondered how heavily they’d had to drug her, and if she would even remember half of it come the moment that she sobered up.

He exhaled, glancing at the top of the ridge above them where the lights of the cabins and flashlights and whatever-the-fuck-else those monsters had at their disposal glimmered.

“When,” Elliot said, the word grinding out of her mouth haltingly, “when... did Jacob-”

“Drink some water,” Joey murmured. She uncapped the half-drank water bottle and pushed it into Elliot’s hand and added, “And we’ll talk about it later, but right now we need to move, Elli.”

Elli, John thought, and felt a faint glimmer of amusement at the absurdity of such a soft, round nickname for a girl who was only sharp edges. Well, but she wasn’t so sharp now, was she? As he led them along the dark trail, her fingers brushing his on occasion, he would glance over at her and find her staring at him like he was a stranger, like she didn’t recognize him. Maybe she didn’t; he wasn’t familiar with the drugs they’d put her on, anyway.

“What the fuck happened up there?” Joey hissed, her hand firmly rooted in Elliot’s as she tugged her along—not unlike the way Jacob was pulling Faith. She had taken the water bottle back when it became apparent Elliot wasn’t interested in it. “Why is Elliot covered in blood —”

“She’s alive,” John snapped, “isn’t that what’s important?”

“I suppose you’ll be wanting a fucking award.”

“Stop it,” Elliot managed out. “Stop arguing. You both are so fucking loud.”

Joey’s lips pressed into a thin line. They ducked into the treeline far below Sacred Skies Camp, picking their way as quickly as they could through the underbrush, but the journey was slow and arduous; guiding Elliot through the trees had, in the last twenty minutes, become no easier than guiding a toddler. A blind, deaf toddler, who spared no interest in staying upright, and also had a metric fuck ton of psychotropic drugs in her system.

The walk there seemed to take much longer than it had going up, but John was sure that was his own adrenaline crash happening. He’d been stressed—about getting Faith out, about what he’d find, if he’d find anything at all or if they’d have done away with Elliot seconds after getting her.

Fuck . The thought filtered through his brain with dismay at the realization that he had been worried about her. Jacob was right; he’d really only needed to get Faith. But Elliot had been—she��d gone in there for them , and Joseph wanted her alive, and—

“Tired,” Elliot said, her voice hoarse and cracking with exhaustion as she took agonizing step after agonizing step. “I’m so tired, J—”

“I know,” John and Joey said, both cutting Elliot off and overlapping each other at the same time. Of course, John already knew what it was like to handle Elliot like this. They’d toddled through one field with Elliot clutching him like an anchor, drugged to the gills, once already; this was new territory for the other deputy.

Joey gave him a dark, turbulent look—the kind that implied murderous intent—and John turned his attention back to the task at hand: getting the fuck out of there.

As soon as the truck came into sight, running with the lights off, John let himself breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn’t thought Jacob would really up and leave them, but it also wasn’t impossible that he would have insisted and said fuck off if Joseph had protested. His eldest brother had been notorious for pushing back, for picking fights, and maybe—just maybe—he was pissed enough to follow through this time.

“About time,” Jacob said from the driver’s seat. Joseph did not give his input, which only served to further John’s personal unease as he opened the tailgate of the truck. Joey climbed in first, swaying just a little. He’d noticed that her pupils looked blown, too, though not quite as much as Elliot’s, so it must not have been fully out of her system yet.

John glanced up the hill absently. The sound of Eden’s Gate members still echoed. Not quite done yet, he thought absently, and then said, “Alright, Deputy, let’s get a move on.”

“Too high,” Elliot sighed, and he wasn’t sure if she meant the tailgate or herself. John turned her around from trying to clamber into the back and gripped her hips; her hands fluttered unsteadily before holding onto his arms.

“Don’t throw up on me,” he said.

She looked tired. Each second her eyes spent open seemed to demand more and more energy from her. “Expensive shirt, huh?”

“That’s right.”

He hoisted her into the back of the truck; she sat on the tailgate for a second only, and swayed forward like she was going to tumble right off; she steadied her hands on his shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt and bleeding warm against his skin.

“You did it too fast,” Elliot muttered, her voice verging on spoiled brat. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, John climbed in after her as she scooted to the farthest spot away from the tailgate. Jacob didn’t wait for the tailgate to close before he pulled out of the brush; the truck hit the dirt road with a heavy thunk that had his teeth rattling around in his skull. Fucker, he thought, slamming the tailgate shut before the dust kicked up beneath them.

Elliot had her back pressed against the window into the truck. Blood covered her face and matted strands of her hair where they’d stuck to her cheeks; the vicious edge to her was dulled, whittled down to the bone until she was just a small girl folded up into the side of Joey Hudson.

When her eyes had fluttered shut and the night had settled a chill over them, Joey’s gaze flickered across John for a moment before landing on his face. She was silent, studying him—in a most infuriating way, wordlessly —before she finally said, “What happened?”

John glanced out at the Montana wilderness stretching out behind her, late into the night; he thought about the way Elliot had balked at the sight of the treeline, like there was something in there only she could see, something horrible.

“Well, the boys and I thought it’d be a nice night to go out,” he replied flatly, cocking his head before looking at Joey. “It’s been a while since we’ve done anything fun, you know, so it was nice to get the gang all together again for a little fun .”

The brunette’s expression flattened. “The devil rebuking sin.”

“I shot the psycho and I got Elliot out of there,” John bit out. “What did you expect?”

“You, to leave her,” Joey snapped. “That’s what I would have expected out of you.”

The words shouldn’t have stung. They were coming from Joey Hudson, after all, the only person that Elliot really cared about and so clearly the only person that John could use against her. But these facts were minor details to him now, carefully pinned out somewhere in the back of his mind—always accessible, but no longer important. Hudson had stopped being very important at all when she stopped being something to dangle in front of Elliot. Now they stung for a different reason, something that John couldn’t put his thumb on.

That’s not very true, something in him said, rattling against the bones of his rib cage. You know exactly why that bothers you.

“Well, that’s on you, isn’t it?” John replied, keeping his voice sickly sweet. “I’ll have you know I took very good care of your hellcat.”

“Yeah,” Joey ventured dryly, “having her shoved into a cult that shot her so full of poison it was coming out of her eyes really showed some TLC.”

“I’m sure she told you the plan was different,” John bit out.

“She tried. Which is why I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all, Seed.”

Though Joey’s voice was soft so as not to rustle Elliot, it was pounding with venom. Hatred. That was to be expected, he thought; after all, in the short time that she’d been his ward, he’d done his very hardest to lure Elliot in with her fear and then passed her off almost immediately to Faith. But still, the wording struck him—it was the same sentiment that Jacob had flung in his face after blowing Ase’s brains out.

You put Faith at risk going back for her.

I’m wondering why you even fucking came back for us at all.

It was never the plan to save Elliot. It was always: get Faith, get out, and if you can get the deputy too—sure. Why not? She’d be indebted to them. Even more so if they got Joey out with her. But Faith should have been the absolute priority first, and he’d left her down at the lake to go back up into the middle of a firefight to get Elliot and Joey out.

If we’re partners, you have to trust me.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much,” he managed out, trying to keep his voice as clipped as he could. “Normally, when people are rescued, they’re thankful. ”

“You did kidnap me,” Joey snapped, “so you’re closer to us being equal than my being grateful, and even that’s pushing it. I just don’t know if the rescuing still counts as a good deed if you only did it for yourself.”

John stared at her, eyes narrowing and jaw setting, tense and tight until pain radiated up into his skull. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Deputy Hudson —”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Elliot stirred, eyelashes fluttering. She coughed into Joey’s shoulder—the gesture not lost on the brunette, who grimaced a little—and when her eyes landed on John there was an eerieness about them, like she was trying to pull him open and peer inside, peel back the vibrating tension and hostility that Joey Hudson’s interrogation brought of him.

“What?” John asked, barely masking his irritation. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, but it did because he couldn’t get the way she’d said, John? out of his head, small and wounded so very afraid, with Ase’s blood drenching her.

“Just trying to figure out which John you are,” Elliot replied, her voice slick with exhaustion and the words rolling out of her mouth in something close to a slur. They sent an uneasy jolt through him. It was the drugs, surely—she probably said all kinds of weird shit while she was high. He didn’t know what she was seeing, anyway.

(—fucking hate you, John Seed, John Duncan, whatever the fuck your name is, whoever the fuck you are—)

The blonde sighed again. The breath sounded like some kind of exertion for her; she squirmed and tried to get more comfortable against Joey’s shoulder, the blood on her face staining the forest-green of the deputy’s shirt. John’s head ached. The memory of Joseph, silent while Jacob debated the logistics of getting a killing shot through Elliot, flickered through his mind, venomous.

(—should see yourself whenever Joseph says anything. You practically fall over to kiss the ground he fucking walks on—)

“Well,” he replied, settling more comfortably in his spot across from the two women, “let me know when you find out, why don’t you, Rook?” He let his head loll back against the lip of the truck bed, a dark, cloudless night spreading out above him. He wanted to brush aside the way Elliot looked at him, but he had learned long ago that was the quickest way to underestimate her.

“I’m just dying to know.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The truck came to a halting stop. John hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until the strange inertia-pull of the truck stilling rustled him from his sleep. It was hard to say how long they had been on the road, but if he had to guess—and, taking into consideration how Jacob liked to drive—he’d wager it had been only thirty minutes.

Across from him, Elliot was awake, murmuring something to Joey that he couldn’t hear over the sound of the engine giving one last kick before Jacob turned it off. There was a higher clarity about the blonde, now, one that implied that sleep had done her well—though the pupils of her eyes stayed wide, there was now a sliver of baby blue that he could see, if he looked close enough.

He grimaced as exhaustion burned through his body, and for a brief second, their eyes met; like before, they pried at him, tried to see something that maybe he didn’t want her to. 

As he lowered the tailgate of the truck and slid out, John turned around and instinctively reached to steady Elliot as she tried to climb down.

“I’m fine,” she said, more biting than he anticipated. Just coming down, John thought absently, his hands only remaining in the air for a second after her assertion before dropping to his sides again.

“Oh, yeah,” John replied, “I forgot that you’d rather I let you eat shit than keep you from falling over.”

She’s always been willful, he mused. The thought occurred as though John had known Elliot for a long time. In a way, he supposed that he did; fuck, he’d tried every goddamn trick in the book to lure her in, and she’d still spit her venom into her walkie at every chance she’d gotten. There was nothing that John didn’t try and dig up, nothing that he hadn’t racked his brain for in the brief moment that they’d visited all those years ago. And still— and still, and still —she—

“Hudson,” John said, offering his hand to her because he was a gentleman and certainly not because he enjoyed the way the gesture made her squirm.

“Fuck off, John,” Joey replied tersely, sliding off the truck bed as well. John smiled dryly.

He said, the needling coming to him like second nature, “So nice to have both of you here at one time. It’s what I always wanted, you know.”

Elliot shot him a look, one that sucked the wind right out of his sails. It was a wounded look, like he had suddenly reminded her of the things he had done, and John felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. He didn’t know why the words came out—a force of habit, maybe, or the way that Joey Hudson’s animosity (and closeness ) to Elliot made his hackles raise. As though Joey’s presence made a choice immediately clear for her, and she chose Joey.

The clench of his jaw sent pain radiating up into his skull. He thought that things had been much simpler pre-Joey Hudson, and he was regretting having helped her.

“I knew you’d come and save me,” Faith said, her voice breaking him out of the turmoil of his thoughts. She smiled at him, and it would have almost been endearing if her pupils weren’t absolutely blown to hell, reminding him that they’d probably done more than just drug her with some weird hallucinogen—the way she’d been acting when he’d seen her on the road had been something more akin to the kinds of things Faith had partaken of before.

He reached up, pulling her into a one-armed hug. “Yeah?” he replied. “You listened to those crazies?”

“They’re not crazy,” Faith sighed. Her voice bloomed with something like affection, and when she looked at him, there was a startling clarity about her expression—keen, and a little sly. Not so innocent, our Faith, he thought absently. “Just different, John. And you came, didn’t you?”

A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. John glanced away from Faith, his gaze meeting Joseph’s from where he stood in front of the car; per usual, his expression was unreadable, obscured behind a mask of tranquility that provided no insight on what his brother was thinking or feeling.

“Go on,” John said, patting Faith’s back, “get some sleep. You’re going to feel like hell in a few hours, you know.”

She laughed, like maybe she didn’t quite hear what he actually said, and slid out of his half-embrace to wander around to the front of the car where Joseph was waiting. He turned his gaze away, swallowing back the feeling that he’d somehow failed a test—something that only Joseph knew the meters and results of, that he’d have to sweat until he found out about.

Elliot had already started walking away with Joey, taking her back to the same bunkhouse that she’d been holding up in prior to their little excursion. They spoke in low voices to one another; Elliot’s expression was even soft, softer than it had been when he’d found her sobbing into the grass in the field, when she’d been terrified out of her skin. Softer than when she’d had Ase’s brains splattered all over her.

John sucked his teeth, pushing the tailgate of the truck up until it latched. The adrenaline crash was starting to hit him hard, now. Every muscle in his body ached with the effort of moving, as though they’d all tensed and held for hours at a time; maybe they had. Gunfire and screaming still echoed in his head, while corpse after corpse, and Ase’s shattered head, lingered just behind his eyelids. They didn’t bother him, these images of glory and gore—but he couldn’t shake the way that Elliot had looked at him from the ground, drenched in blood, terrified.

Terrified of him.

“It’s always going to be like that, you know.” It was Jacob’s hard, steely voice that pulled him now, like his siblings wanted to take turns interrupting his train of thought. “She’s always going to pick Hudson over us.” His brother leveled him with one swift, hard look. “Over you .”

“Funny,” John muttered, “I didn’t realize you were a psych professional, Jacob.”

“Faith could have died because you went back for that girl,” Jacob bit out, his voice low but vibrating with something more venomous. “I know you know that, you aren’t stupid. And you went back for her anyway. So—”

“So, what?” he interrupted, trying not to let the frustrated venom from watching Elliot take Joey’s hand and walk off bubble out of him. “Faith’s alive, that crazy bitch is dead. What else do you want?”

“For you to get your shit together,” Jacob snapped. “Like I said, I know you’re not stupid, but do yourself the favor and prove it to me anyway. That girl —”

That girl, Jacob said, like the words didn’t suddenly fill John with some kind of poison. The eldest Seed gestured toward the bunkhouse, where inevitably, Elliot and Joey were conspiring; to leave, to kill. At this point, John wasn’t sure, and he didn’t think that either would surprise him.

“—is nothing. Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for us.” Jacob’s words were hard and cold. He gripped John’s shoulder and added, “Don’t let nothing fuck everything up for Joseph.”

That’s what it really boiled down to at the end of it all: that Joseph had seen like he always did, because nothing went without Joseph’s seeing, and maybe he wasn’t sure that Elliot was really worth the trouble anymore. Before, Joseph had wanted her to add to their little collection of misfits, just like he’d added the sheriff’s receptionist, just like he’d picked up Faith when she was Rachel, just like when he let Jacob tap into the worst parts of him for use, just like just like just like . Joseph was hard-pressed to find a vicious misfit that he didn’t want for himself, and Elliot Honeysett had been no different.

But a hard-to-break will cost time, and resources, and maybe with these locusts in their garden, that just wasn’t going to cut it anymore. Not for Joseph. Not right now. Where was this, anyway, back at the start of it all? Back when John had wanted to do things his way?

“Whatever Joseph’s opinion on the usefulness of the deputy, Burke’s gone,” John said after a minute. Jacob’s hand still sat heavy on his shoulder; he passed a hand over his face and sighed. “That marshal, the one that was—”

“I remember.”

John grimaced. “He was with Faith, and Hudson, but he wasn’t at the camp that I could see.” He paused again. “Jacob, if he got out and he made it out of Hope County, he’ll be a problem.”

The red-headed nodded once, brisk. “A big fucking problem.” Another pause, and then: “Tell me you’ll get this whole issue with the deputy wrapped up.”

John’s jaw clenched. Tell me you can do this, Joseph had said. Tell me you’ll get this whole issue wrapped up. Hadn’t he proven he was capable of handling her? Hadn’t Joseph himself said that?

“There’s no issue,” he replied flatly, stepping around Jacob and heading to the church. “Never was.”

“Good.”

It was easy to say, and harder to believe. He knew—the rational part of his brain, somewhere inside of him—knew that he was jealous of Hudson. That he knew exactly what Hudson thought of him, and he hated that someone who hated him had Elliot immediately trailing after her like a puppy, as though the last three days—all of those moments hadn’t meant—

And what was he supposed to think, then, about the way that her lashes had fluttered when his fingers brushed her skin, the way the heat crawled under her freckles when he slid into her planetary pull? That it was just—passing? Nothing?

Does it matter?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  

Elliot was having a hard time.

That was to say, there were a lot of conflicting emotions that were welling up inside of her, crashing down like tidal waves. Normally, she’d be able to bottle those pesky things up and bury them deep inside her, to access later (which could be minutes, or days, or years—whenever); but with the drugs still wreaking havoc on her, she felt like all of her normal defenses were crashed and battered, maybe even beyond repair. Maybe even permanently decimated.

It was lucky that she had Joey, she supposed as she closed the bunkhouse door behind them, letting the noise of it soothe her over-worked senses; lucky, because Joey had always been her lighthouse in the times that she needed it the most.

“We have to get out of here,” Joey said, and the words immediately exhausted Elliot further. She took in a long, suffering breath and sat down on the edge of one of the bunk beds, rubbing her hands against her face. She was far from out of the woods; she thought maybe she was starting to come down, or even crash, because it felt like electrical pulses kept ricocheting through her body and they wouldn’t stop.

Elliot managed out, “I’m in no shape to go anywhere, Joey, you know that I—”

She saw the look on Joey’s face. Distress. John had kidnapped her, and terrorized her with whatever it was he had originally planned to do to her, and now they were here, in the compound, where it had all began. And yes; John had kidnapped Joey, and her, and yes, he was a fucking psycho, and—

And yes, he knew her well enough to shove a cigarette in her hands when she was stressed, and he didn’t complain when her nails dug into him when she thought the world was going to split in two around her, and yes, he did come back for her when he didn’t have to, and yes and yes —

‘And yes’ what? A nasty voice inside of her head said. A man so much as looks at you and all of a sudden you’re on the other side?

“I can try,” she offered weakly. “I can try, if you want to go now, but I don’t know where Boomer is and everyone from Hope County is—hopefully—already gone. I don’t have anything.”

When the words came out of her mouth, she felt the last thread holding herself together snap. I don’t have anything, the words echoing hollow inside of her, reminding her that everyone was gone, maybe they were dead, that she didn’t know where her dog or her mama were and maybe that meant that she didn’t have anything left inside of her, either, nothing left to give. That she had scraped and scraped to the bottom of the barrel and now she’d have to start breaking herself into pieces to have anything worthwhile to give anyone.

“I don’t have anything, Joey,” she said again, her voice wobbling and wet and fuck, she hated it so much, the burning of her eyes stinging against blood and viscera collecting in the tears. “I don’t, I’m sorry—I’m really sorry—”

Joey crossed the small space of the bunkhouse to crouch in front of her. She pressed her hands into Elliot’s shoulders, and she was saying something, but Elliot couldn’t hear it over the pounding of blood in her head.

She pressed the heels of her palms against her eye sockets, but the gesture brought no comfort; each time she closed her eyes, she kept seeing Ase, skull caved in. Surely, one shot had been enough? Surely, the second shot to her head was just—

Just John being himself.

“God, he fucking—he mutilated her, Joey,” Elliot managed out, her voice breaking on something like agony as the panic started to set in. Her hands trembled and she pushed the hair from her face, a movement that she was sure was just packing the dried blood in. She couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything; everywhere she looked, she thought she could see the dark flicker of Ase’s clothing, the haunting corpse come to finish what she started. “She was dead—all of her, just falling—spilling out of her, like she’d been gutted, and I thought that he was done, and we’d go home, but then he shot her again—God, fuck, Joey, she’s all over me���”

“Hey,” Joey said firmly. “El. Take a breath and look at me.”

“I am.”

“A bigger breath,” Joey insisted, taking her hands away from her face and pulling her to a stand. “Just one.”

She did. I see, she thought and failed. I smell, I hear, I feel, but nothing came. She was drowning in it, whatever it was; Ase’s blood and guts on her, the memory of her glassy eyes as Ase reached for her, the feeling of Kian’s hands on her neck, the horrific monster lurking in the woods, and…

“Take another,” Joey reiterated. “Just one more.”

Elliot knew this trick. It was the oldest trick in Joey’s book. Just ask for one, and then just one more, and then just one more, until she was breathing like normal. She did as the brunette bid her anyway, and because her normal grounding methods had failed her, she instead thought, I’ll just count to ten. If I can make it for ten more seconds… And then another ten…

“You’re still sweating hallucinogen,” Joey murmured, squeezing her hands to help bring her back down. “You should take a shower. Come on.”

The journey between the main room of the bunkhouse and the felt both like it took years and happened without her knowing, as though she’d blinked and suddenly found herself standing in the bathroom, the fluorescent on the ceiling digging into her irises.

Her gaze flickered up to the mirror hanging over the sink. The person that looked back was a stranger to her; blood splattered every inch of her skin, matted in her hair, staining her in dark, carmine gore. Elliot thought about the strange voice in the woods, crackling and snapping and trying her on for size as it slid under her skin.

As the glass of the mirror seemed to pulse and stretch, the sound of running water snapped her attention elsewhere, hands limp at her sides. Joey pulled the knob that turned the water into a shower and said, “Okay, Elli, you call if you need me.”

“Okay,” Elliot murmured tiredly.

“Okay,” Joey repeated, watching her for a moment. And then she pulled her into a tight hug, and whispered, “For the record, I never doubted you’d be able to get me out. From John, or from the other place.”

The words didn’t offer her any comfort, but they were nice, nonetheless. She nodded her head and waited until the brunette had left the room before she started to undress, her movements methodical but unsteady; it wasn’t until water hit her skin and she saw the streams of thinned blood touching down on the floor of the bathtub that she finally felt some relief.

Even if it was only a little.

I don’t have anything, she thought tiredly, her eyes closing as she ducked her face under the stream of the shower. I don’t have anything left. What am I supposed to do now?

She had Joey. She didn’t have any idea of how to find Boomer. Hope County was gone, if they were lucky, and dead if they weren’t. She hadn’t heard from her own mother in--weeks? Or was it days? How long had this been going on?

It felt strange, to not be able to trust her own memory—to not know when the last time was that she got a full night’s sleep, or the last time that she curled up in her own bed, or the last time that she spent doing something that she enjoyed. As Elliot scrubbed the blood off of her face and out of her hair, staining her fingernails rusted-red, she thought that the idea of continuing on , of doing more, was so very exhausting.

They didn’t hurt you? John had asked, his fingers brushing the bruises on her throat where Kian’s fingers had gripped. It bothered her, when people touched her—grabbed her like they owned her, like she wasn’t in control of her own body—but when John did it, it was different. Even when he’d dragged his finger under her collarbone and said, I think it’ll fit nicely right here, don’t you? Just over your heart.

John was only doing what he was meant to do all along: draw her in, keep her there, and Ase’s gruesome death was just a reminder of the person that he really was. She had forgotten that.

But she wouldn’t again.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The night felt sticky, sitting like a second skin on him. When John stepped into the church to find Jacob and Joseph talking in low voices, he felt a strange sensation prickle down his spine. It was anticipation, he realized, nearly a moment too late; by the time he was bracing himself, Jacob had turned and walked out the side door, leaving himself and Joseph alone.

“How is our deputy?” Joseph asked, his voice light and mild. John tried to lessen the tension in his jaw.

“Which one?” he replied dryly. “She’s fine.”

Joseph said, “You were worried about her.”

“Well, I did work really fucking hard not to kill her,” he bit out, and then sighed at the way Joseph’s brow arched, a visible change in his expression even in the dim, intimate lighting of the chapel. “Look, Jacob already gave me the whole speech about—”

“I think you’re doing a great job with the deputy,” Joseph interrupted, firm but not unkind, “and I want you to continue.”

John stopped. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash, or the way that he’d come into the conversation at what appeared to be the end of it, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what Joseph was telling him; especially after what Jacob had said to him.

So he said, very intelligently, “What?”

“Our friend the marshal got out,” Joseph supplied. “Hope County has evacuated, if they’re lucky. But you know, John, even if they come for us—even if they arrest us—there are…”

A pause lingered between them, just long enough for something close to dread to knot and writhe between his ribs.

“... ways,” his brother continued, placing each word meticulously, “to make a legal case like this one fall apart.”

I don’t know what you mean, John wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out of him. If Hope County was on the run, they might not ever look back; if the U.S. Marshal brought his buddies back, that would make Elliot the key witness in their case, while the other members of Hope County and the Resistance were…

“It’ll be all of them testifying against us,” John said after a moment. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but—”

“You can convince people not to talk,” Joseph replied. He paced away from the table at the center of the chapel’s front room, absently scratching at his jaw, as though he were only just coming up with this idea; John knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t ever the case with Joseph. Nothing went without careful deliberation. “There are particular brands of persuasion that work better than others. But we’ll need more than just silencing our neighbors. We’ll need…”

Positive testimony, John thought, when the words didn’t come out of Joseph’s mouth.

“Yeah,” John murmured tiredly. “I know.”

“Good.” Joseph gave him a small smile. He reached out, gripping John’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, John.”

He stared at the wood paneling of the floor. Maybe he was tired; maybe it was the exhaustion from the last few hours, but Joseph’s words didn’t strike the same match in him that they had before. If Joseph noticed—and he almost certainly had—he didn’t let it show; rather, he let the distance between them grow, hand dropping from his shoulder as he walked for the door.

“You were going to let Jacob kill her.” The words came out of John’s mouth before he could think to stop them, before he could say to himself, it’s not worth the fight. He’s your brother, John. He gave you everything. Don’t you always say that you waited your whole life for something to say yes to?

He felt, more than he saw, Joseph pause in the doorway leading out of the chapel. A strange silence stretched between them; it was one where John thought he might have felt the scrutiny of his older brother’s gaze on him.

And then, in a voice casual and light, Joseph said, “You’re tired, John. You’ve had a long day. Get some rest, won’t you?”

John was tired. Tired enough to think that he might fall asleep standing up if he wasn’t careful. “You’re right,” he said after a moment, turning his head to look at Joseph over his shoulder with a small smile. “I will.”

“Goodnight, John.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Night passed more quickly than he would have liked. By the time morning had arrived, he thought maybe his conversation with Joseph was a dream; that he’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe some of the Family’s weird drugs had rubbed off on him while he was in there.

By the time early morning had rolled around, he’d dragged himself through a shower and into cleaner clothes. He half expected to find the bunkhouse completely vacated by Elliot and Hudson by the time he walked out with an armful of clothes, pleasantly surprised that Elliot was leaned against the door. Smoking, naturally.

“You look more like yourself,” John said as he approached. Her gaze flickered over him absently. She looked tired, but had since washed the blood and guts off of her face and out of her hair; as she took a drag of her cigarette and tapped the ash out of the end of it, her eyes turned away from him. Weird, he thought. He added, “I know you’ve got the whole blood-stained look, but I thought you might like to get into some clothes that are a bit cleaner.”

Elliot smoothed her boot over some ash on the ground, waiting for a heartbeat longer than normal before she said, “Thanks.” She sounded sour , like John’s mere existence was a chore for her, and not the way that it had been before—like she really meant it.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, watching her curiously. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, and the sickly rasp in her voice—it had probably felt nice to be high in that regard—she looked clear-headed. Normal. “How are you feeling?”

“John,” Elliot sighed, “let’s not.”

“Fine,” John snipped. “Where’s Hudson?”

“She went to walk the perimeter to try and call Boomer,” Elliot replied tiredly. “And then we’re leaving.”

Fuck, he thought, remembering his conversation with Joseph. Fuck fuck fuck. “Well, isn’t that lovely.” The biting venom welled up in his voice. There was a strange panic setting in now. She wouldn’t look at him, not for longer than a second, and her tone rang hollow and empty. He swallowed thickly, teeth clenching as he continued, “And how do you intend to leave, then? On foot? You sure seem like you’re in peak physical condition to be walking cross-country, Elliot. But I suppose if you have Hudson, then it won’t matter, because Hudson rescued you from those cultists and—”

“I don’t know, John ,” Elliot bit out, a real flex in her voice this time. It was comforting, to have her be anything—anything but ambivalent, anything but absent from their conversation. “I think I could get pretty far if I decide to start blowing people’s fucking skulls in with a shotgun, don’t you?”

John stared at her. “Pardon?”

“Oh, fuck off,” the blonde snipped, dropping what remained of the cigarette and stomping it out with her shoe. “Don’t give me your fucking clothes. If I change out of these I might forget that you splattered me with that woman’s brains.”

She turned and opened the door to the bunkhouse, going to close it, but John shoved his foot in the doorway to stop her, tossing the clothes onto the bed the second he got inside. 

“I didn’t ,” John seethed. “Maybe you were too fucking high out of your mind to tell—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Elliot’s voice was flinty. “It completely slipped my mind that you’re incapable of taking responsibility for yourself. Remember, John, that time you rubbed it in my face that your fucking family made me into a murderer? Because I do, and the pure fucking irony —” She jabbed a finger into his chest, the anger seeping out of her now. “—of you trying to make me feel like shit for killing your idiotic little cultists and then obliterating a woman’s skull onto my face is palpable!”

“Are you deaf?” John snapped, snagging her wrist before she could turn and try to walk somewhere else again. “I didn’t shoot Ase in the head, Jacob did. I put both my fucking hands on you to get you off the ground. How am I going to do that holding a fucking shotgun, Elliot?”

“I don’t know!” she replied furiously. There was a reckless, high-color in her cheeks, her voice cracking and breaking on something that John couldn’t quite pin down, couldn’t quite get his hands on. Even now, he thought, even when she was spitting her venom she was so — 

“I don’t fucking know, John, you do—crazy fucking things all the time,” she insisted, and there was an uncomfortable wobble in her voice as her lashes fluttered. “Half the time I don’t know which John is going to open his fucking mouth—I don’t know if it’s—if it’s the John that kidnapped my best friend or if it’s the John that… That can be… With me, he’s...”

Her voice trailed off, weaker now, her fire spitting furiously as it tried to stay alight. John’s fingers loosened around her wrist, but didn’t let her go.

“There’s only one John,” he said, and his voice came out hoarse. “It’s just me.”

“I hate you,” the blonde managed out weakly, her lashes dark with unshed tears, soft and doe-like. “I’ve never—”

“Elliot,” John, tugging on her wrist, pulling her forward until she was in his space, until he could feel the warmth of her body and smell the wild on her—pine trees and ash and the mild shampoo she had used, “you’re going to have to come up with a new slogan that you actually believe.”

“John,” she tried again, and she was soft, soft and tired, “please, I’m—so tired of trying to figure you out—”

He closed what little space remained between them to kiss her; for a second, her entire body tensed like an animal ready for flight, stony and immovable against the affection, but he let her wrist slide from his hand, concerned that any moment he might spook her, that she was frozen because she was deciding when to run.

Her wrist slipped through his grip, catching at the base of her hand. She knotted her fingers into the front of his shirt and when his hand came up to the slope of her jaw, she leaned —like a flower to sunlight, blooming under his touch, just like that. Just that easy. John’s other arm slid around her waist to tug her up closer, and her mouth parted against his like instinct, like it had never not been this way between them.

The moment stretched; reality swung back in, the warmth of her mouth against his leaning back until a bit of space stretched between them. Not a lot, just enough for their noses to brush, and Elliot said, “I don’t know which—”

“I told you,” he replied, threading his fingers through her hair, “there’s just the one. This one, El, me. I want—”

“John,” she started, her voice overlapping his, "tell me that you're not lying when—"

He went to say, I want you to stay, I want to kiss you again, you hellcat, I’ve wanted to kiss you for days, but he didn’t get the chance because the sound of Joey’s voice outside the front door had broken the magic of the moment.

“Elliot,” Hudson called, “guess who I...”

The door opened, followed quickly by a scattering of dog nails as Boomer came racing inside. Without a second thought, Elliot had crouched down to wrap her arms around the dog John immediately took a step back and cleared his throat, feeling as though he’d been caught-out. Maybe, in a way, he had. He wouldn’t have cared, if he didn’t think that the idea of Hudson catching them would have made Elliot bolt instantly.

I should have kissed her again, he thought absently, watching Elliot fawn over Boomer with the kind of delight that she reserved only for him, her lips kiss-reddened. Before Hudson.

“He must have followed you here and waited,” Hudson said, looking at John with a narrowed, suspicious gaze. “Everything okay, Elliot?” she asked, even when she was looking at John. “I heard arguing.”

“Fine,” Elliot insisted, crouched on the floor to get as close to the Heeler as possible. “Everything’s fine. John was just—”

“Just dropping off some clean clothes for the deputy,” John interjected, despite the anxiety he felt sliding around inside of him when Elliot looked at him. The flush in her cheeks remained, and he knew that it wasn’t just anger there, anymore. Not really. 

Joey crossed her arms over her chest. “Great. So you can leave, then? We’re done with you.”

We’re, she said, like she spoke for the both of him, both herself and Elliot. We’re, like just seconds ago, John hadn’t been thinking about the way Elliot’s breath hitched when his fingers brushed her skin.

“Sure thing,” he drawled, taking a few steps toward the door. He almost walked right out the door, even with his hands itching for her again, but he stopped. I should just say it, he thought. I should just out it right now.

“What is it?” Joey prompted, her voice hard and flinty.

Elliot wouldn’t ever forgive him if he did.

“Nothing,” John replied after a moment. A little smile ticked the corners of his mouth upward, and for a second his gaze met Elliot’s. “Hope you get some well-deserved rest, you two.”

The brunette watched him with a dark, inscrutable gaze, and he stepped out of the bunkhouse, letting the door swing shut behind him. For just a moment, he paused outside the door; long enough to hear Joey go, “What was that about?”, and he started off across the yard.

Not done with me yet, deputy.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #346

“i was in a car crash (or was it the war?)  /  but i’ve never been quite the same”

Do you take lessons for anything? No. Has something really heavy ever fallen on you? Not to my recollection. If you wear makeup, what colors do you usually wear? I don't wear makeup frequently whatsoever, but if I do put some on, it's always black. Does your shower have curtains or a glass door/wall? Curtains. If you have more than one pet, do they ever get jealous of each other? Well, one is a snake and one is a cat, so no, they don't. Is there a room in your house that you don’t like going in? No. Do you remember the last question you were asked? What did you answer? Well, besides in this survey, Mom asked me if I wanted some shrimp she didn't finish. A true stunner, but I didn't want anymore. Besides salt and butter, do you put anything on your popcorn? Nothing other than what was mentioned. Are you lonely? To be totally transparent, I'm extremely lonely on multiple levels. What’s your favorite magazine to read? Don't have one. Do you like pineapple? Yeah. But keep it off my pizza. Have you ever seen fireflies? Yeah, they're common in the summer here. Have you ever trespassed? Not to my knowledge. My sister, neighbor, and I regularly visited this shack as kids, just exploring and checking stuff out, and someone eventually did approach us and tell us to leave, but idk if anyone ACTUALLY owned the property? We never saw any signs. Do you tell your parents where you are going? Yeah; if I live with them, they have the right to know. Do you agree with the notion that all people were created equal? Yeah. Do you raise your hand or participate in class? I did. Do you like visiting the mall? Why or why not? Not really, no. Too many people, too many stores I don't care about, too much walking. Have you ever purposely hurt an animal? I've given pets a pop when they've done something wrong, but seriously hurt, fuck no. Would you ever see a therapist? I've seen a therapist consistently since the 6th grade. Are you afraid of heights? Yes. I used to not be, but it's a fear I've developed over time for no apparent reason. Are you afraid of the dark? No. Are you a jealous person? I was literally just thinking about this yesterday how much I hate how I've developed a jealous and envious side. It's not a feeling I used to experience like at all, so it's very uncomfortable to feel. When is your birthday? February 5th. What are you listening to right now? A John Wolfe playthrough of The Sinking City. It's really interesting and is making me wanna read Lovecraft books, haha. Have you ever been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing? Probably at some point. Are you still friends with someone from kindergarten? No. What is the most important thing to you? My mental health. Do you like whip cream? NO. The taste is fine, but I can't handle the texture of it. Are you close to your mother? Very. Are you close to your father? Yeah, but not as close as I am with my mother. Do you walk around bare foot when you're at home? Or do you wear socks? Yeah, I stay barefoot. Do you like chocolate popsicles? Yessss, I love them. Would you ever be your school’s mascot who wears that costume? Ew, no. Would you rather see the Great Wall of China or Big Ben? Probably the Great Wall. Have you ever written a poem? I've written loads. Would you ever be a tornado chaser? FUCK no. Never, ever, EVER. what is your favorite thing to eat with bbq sauce, if you even like that stuff? I hate barbecue sauce. Your parents tell you that this summer, you get to pick the vacation. Where do you plan to go? As a family? Maybe Alaska. What do you think is a good theme for a prom? Um, maybe princesses and princes? It sounds cute, leave me alone. Have you ever had to do a class in summer school? No. Do you get nervous when you go to the doctor? About what? Not very, but somewhat. I'm always terrified to get on the scale and am also afraid I'll find out I have diabetes with how heavily it runs in my family, and I'm not exactly healthy. Have you ever been to the rainforest? No. As cool as it would be, I would neeeever manage. The humidity would murder me. Have you ever created a website? Yeah, a few. Ever thought about writing a book? Yeah. Have you ever had a dream where you killed someone? I don't think so, but I have nightmares ALL the time where I'm fighting to defend myself. Do you ever make up stories in your head and wish they come true? Daydreams? Oh, yes. Which is worse: stuffy nose or runny nose? STUFFY. Having a runny nose surely isn't fun either, but at least you can have tissues handy. Which is worse: Sick to your stomach or sore throat? 100% sick to your stomach. I do nooot respond well to stomach pain. Do you think your last relationship was a disaster? Not at all. Have you ever solved a Rubik’s Cube? No. Who do you think is the easiest to talk to? Sara or Mom. Would you consider yourself to be emo? I don't care for stereotypes, I'm whatever. Do you have a favourite metal band or do you not like metal? I love metal, and my favorite artist is of course Ozzy Osbourne. What is your current desktop picture? My favorite picture of my late dog Teddy. Thick or thin blanket? I like thick ones. Cozier. Who are your favorite bands? Everyone knows my #1 is Ozzy, so I'll list some of my others that just fall behind him (in no order): Metallica, Otep, Marilyn Manson, Korn, In This Moment, Powerwolf, Motionless In White, Rammstein, A Day to Remember, Cradle of Filth, Mother Mother... There's a lot, really. How do you mark through your word search puzzles? It depends on what I have at my disposal, really. I think typically I would just circle the words with a pencil, but I'd prefer to use a highlighter. Have you ever sewn something? No. What did you eat for dinner last night? Mom made shrimp scampi with a side of white rice. It was delicious. Ever been grounded? If so, for what? Yeah, on multiple occasions. I think the longest was when I ran away from home. Have you seen all of the Jaws movies? No; I've only seen the first one with Tyler. I did, however, have the video game as a kid, and I LOVED it. I could never beat the final stage, though. :( When was the last time you played cards? (not on the computer) Months ago with my niece. She was hooked on playing Uno with me because I always let her win. Have you ever drank cherry Coke? Omg yes, I LOVE it. Have you ever had a black eye? No. Have you ever eaten a bug? No. Do you like pranking people? No. Did you ever take a cooking class in school? No. Do you celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? No. Do you use Skype? Only to talk to Sara. Have you ever participated in local magazine cover girl searches? Definitely not. Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress? No. Is your ex sexually attractive to you still? Two are. Describe the most romantic moment you’ve ever had. I'd rather not because it'll really set off my PTSD. Have you ever cheated on a test? Nope. Have you ever been to couple’s counseling? No. How often does your employer ask you to work overtime? N/A Did you often read for fun when you were a kid? I read A LOOOOOT as a kid. I was a total bookworm. When was the last time you were scared? Excluding in nightmares that I don't remember, uhhh probably back when my PHP therapist surprised me by whipping out a poem I'd written and sharing it in front of the whole group. It wasn't the "bad" kind of scared, but I sure did feel fear. What’s your favorite song by Rihanna? "Disturbia" has always been #1. There's this '80s synthwave remix of the song that I adorrrreeee. Can you speak binary? Nope. Would you rather live somewhere that had hurricanes or tornadoes? I've dealt with hurricanes all my life and they don't terrify me NEARLY as much as the mere idea of a tornado, so. Have you ever had a pet that you disliked? None that were mine personally, but coincidentally, I didn't like two dogs my little sister had. The first one was just mildly annoying, and as much as I hate admitting it, I literally hated her last dog. When was the last time you saw hail? Maybe like... a month ago or something like that? Time is kinda blurry for me on this. We had an absolute downpour of hail one morning, then just... nothing. What is on your mind right this second: I have this at-home sleep study tonight and I'm pretty much obsessing over "what if I don't have a nightmare?" when, for ONCE, I want/need myself to. To be real, I don't know exactly what will change in my life if I do have a sleep apnea diagnosis or something that we're not already doing, but. Mom more than anyone just wants professionals to see that something is seriously wrong and needs fixing. Have you ever given a nickname to your pet(s)? Both have them, yeah. I think I call Venus "Miss Venus" more than her real name, then she's also "baby girl," "pretty," "beautiful girl," etc. I call Roman just "butt" a lot, haha, then there's "son," "Mama's boy," "bud"... When was the last time you shaved your legs? Not since last October. Nobody sees my legs, so I just don't care. Do you ever try free samples at the store? Sure, if I'm actually interested in the food. Do you like boys with long hair? That's actually my preference. Do you like rootbeer? It's not insufferable, but I'm not really a fan. What is the best fast food place, in your opinion? Sonic. Do you have faith in yourself? What a question to end it on, 'cuz I don't have a fuckin' clue these days.

[lonestarbabe]

Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter 6: Levitating (AO3)

T.K. feels a little better, but then he feels a little worse

Carlos

The tour had been going well to Carlos’ surprise. Carlos had thought that might cancel it and send T.K. to rehab after the disastrous interview with that bastard Jenkins, but after vowing to never leave his house again in a fit of humiliation and self-hate, T.K. came around and had been adamant about not letting Jenkins drag him down. The story had been all over for weeks, enduring longer than most stories about T.K. did. Judd had been especially anxious. He’d had to make a lot of calls for damage control, and even when the calls were done, Judd still worried about T.K.’s mental health. He insisted T.K. see someone about it and had sent Carlos to hang out with T.K. on several occasions when Judd had business to attend to or Marjan was at work. Marjan had been practically living there. For once, T.K. didn’t seem to mind the hovering.

T.K. hadn’t wanted to face the world, Carlos had decided that T.K. could lock himself in his mansion all he wanted, but he couldn’t lock himself away from the people who cared about him, including Carlos because somewhere along the way, maybe pretty much right away, Carlos had liked T.K. Sometimes, he’d liked him for unfathomable things. Yet, T.K. was one of those people who was fun to be around when he wasn’t getting high and fucking dudes who used him like he was a piece of meat. After a few days of warranted upset, T.K. decided to take charge of his life, and he had Carlos bring him to Judd for an action plan. T.K. had gotten so sick after that meeting; after a night of wallowing, he’d decided that he wasn’t going to touch substances again. He was going to cut them all out cold turkey, and while Carlos was skeptical, T.K. seemed resolved to do it. Maybe too resolved. I know better than anyone that people who seem better aren’t always better. Taylor wasn’t, and he was smiling more than ever.

Taylor was a completely different situation, and Carlos didn’t want to draw parallels where they didn’t belong. I don’t even want to think about Taylor.  He didn’t want to project his past issues onto T.K. because that would only prevent him from doing his job, but even so, he didn’t want to let himself get too comfortable. From a young age, when there was little that he could control, he’d learned that the key to having control was being vigilant, not having too much hope, and expecting the worst. It’s a sucky outlook on life, but it’s the only one that I’ve got. I just need to remember that T.K. is not Taylor. He’s just a client, a client that I have soft spot for, but I can’t act like I have any right to get too involved.

They’d only been to five stops so far, but T.K. had been a delight, which had made Carlos feel like he was an episode of the Twilight Zone because Judd had explicitly said that tour T.K. was a nightmare, but the tour T.K. he’d seen was eerily dreamy. Carlos had gone to Judd about it, thinking that maybe T.K. was only acting so strange because it was the beginning of the tour. As was true every time that he went to Judd, Judd had basically patted him on the shoulder and told Carlos that he was doing excellent work. He’d shrugged and said, “Maybe it’s the new therapist,” which was also weird to Carlos. T.K. had accepted Grace’s carefully compiled lists of therapists without even making a snarky comment. He’d said thanks and gave Judd a big smile despite the way his hands been shaking. Sometimes the scariest problems were the ones that you couldn’t see. I can’t protect him from things he doesn’t share no matter how hard I try.

Carlos was hanging out around T.K. in T.K.’s dressing room, and it wasn’t because he needed to be there. He had other security measures that he could tend to, but they had a whole security team who would make sure things were taken care of, and T.K. had asked him to be there. For whatever reason, Carlos couldn’t find it in him to say that he was busy or that he didn’t think it was a good idea to get any more buddy-buddy than they already are. He’d relented when T.K. smiled at him. How pathetic is that? Disarmed by a single smile. Carlos couldn’t help that a happy T.K. was kind of the best person in the world.

Some of T.K.’s friends were there too. Well, Marjan and some of her friends from work who had tagged along to see T.K. at the LA show. They all seemed like cool people. He and Marjan had already gotten to know each other, and she was a good influence on T.K. Paul and Mateo seemed like upright people too. They told a bunch of stories about the calls they got, most of them regarding idiots who got hurt or set accidental fires. Carlos had stories of his own to share, excluding any names of course. He hadn’t had a lot of gigs but any one of them came with a funny story or two.

T.K. quietly listened, looking at ease. He didn’t add any stories of his own, even at Paul’s prodding. “Come on, you’re like the most popular singer in the world right now, and you don’t have any good stories.”

Marjan rolled her eyes. “Don’t get him started. Once T.K. starts talking about himself, he doesn’t stop.”

“Hey,” T.K. replied lightly, “that’s not true.”

Mateo nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t heard him say one thing about himself.” It wasn’t that T.K. had been a silent wallflower, but Carlos had noticed it too. He said a lot without saying much at all. Sometimes, when he was feeling out of his element, T.K. would only give vague details about himself, and maybe it was because he had to be careful about who he told what, but Marjan’s friends were probably safe. If they ever blabbed, Marjan would probably make sure that they never spoke again. They seemed earnest too, and while Carlos couldn’t just look at someone and know that they were okay, he had a pretty good eye for people who just wanted something and those who were sincere. His dad had been the former type, so he knew a thing or two about people who were just nice when they wanted you to do something for them without returning the favor. Dad convinced me to miss my prom to help him with one of his schemes, and then he couldn’t even show up to my high school graduation.

“What can I say? I lead a boring life.” He slung his arm over Carlos’ shoulder. T.K. loved casual touches, and they drove Carlos crazy in an “I need more” kind of way. It would be so easy to get engulfed in the ocean that is T.K. Strand.

“Oh come on, Strand,” Marjan said. “Tell them about the time you spilled tea on the Queen of England.”

“Wait what?” Mateo asked, eyes widening. Carlos had heard that story once when T.K. was high. T.K. had been laughing his ass off and Carlos had just been trying to keep him from doing

Paul added in, “You really let us talk about a dude getting his junk stuck in a piece of wood when you spilled tea on the Queen of England.” He was laughing heartily at the thought.

“That story is a lot better than meeting a rich old lady. I’m pretty boring, believe it or not.” And I’m Swedish royalty. If T.K. was boring, Carlos’ job would have been a lot easier.

“It’s not as funny as that time you tripped going onto the stage at the VMA’s.”

“Marjan, did you really have to bring up my most humiliating moment?” By the way, T.K. was grinning, Carlos didn’t think he was all that humiliated by it.

Carlos nudged T.K. with his elbow, “You nearly fell off the stage Wednesday when you were singing Bitter Honey.”

“That was bad, but that’s not more humiliating than when you puked on stage?”

“I didn’t puke on stage. I went off stage.”

“Everyone could still see you, Strand.”

“I was what? Fifteen? I was doing my best.” Carlos couldn’t imagine being under the public eye at fifteen.

“Ouch. Fifteen is a hard age for everyone,” Mateo said.

“Being fifteen sucks,” Paul commented, a darkness in his eyes.

“It sure does,” T.K. agreed. Carlos nodded. A lot of shit had happened when Carlos was fifteen. A lot of shit happened every other year as well, but at fifteen things have a way of feeling extra shitty. Fifteen had been when Carlos had told his parents that he was gay, and honestly, nothing had changed. They didn’t care about him enough to care that he was gay. T.K. glanced at Carlos, looking nervous.

“I came out when I was fifteen,” Carlos said without thinking. It wasn’t like T.K. didn’t know that Carlos was gay, but they’d never much talked about gayness, so it felt strange to Carlos to talk about it, and maybe that meant that he wasn’t talking about it enough.

“I was eighteen,” T.K. said. Technically, T.K. hadn’t come out, he’d been outed by a thirty-year-old asshole who he’d been “dating,” Carlos used the word lightly because clearly a thirty-year-old with a fresh-faced eighteen-year-old doesn’t feel right. T.K. hadn’t even gotten his GED yet. The news about T.K. being gay had been everywhere. Even Carlos had heard about it, and Michelle always joked about his lack of pop culture awareness. “I don’t know if I could’ve handled being out at fifteen. My career might have plummeted.”

“When I realized I was bi a few years ago, I thought it was the end of the world. I thought that there was no reason to come out, but I’m so grateful that I had a best friend who shook some sense into me.” She gave T.K. a fist bump. “Now, I can’t believe I didn’t know I was sooner.”

“Accepting yourself can be the hardest part. My parents were very accepting of all kinds of people, so I think they would have been okay with me being trans, but even then, coming out felt like the worst thing in the world. My parents died before I told them, so I wish I’d been able to tell them, but it is what it is.” The conversation’s taking a dark tone, but T.K. seemed more interested in this than anything else.

T.K. gave a sympathetic look, face growing weary. “Sorry man, that sucks. It’s hard when you don’t have time to tell people what you need to say. I wish I’d been able to tell my…um… my dad, but sometimes life doesn’t give you that choice, and it never doesn’t suck.”

Marjan looked to Carlos, sagging slightly. She and Carlos are both concerned. They both know that the word dad doesn’t roll off T.K.’s tongue easily, and the feeling in the room shifts because of it. It’s gotten quiet and T.K.’s easy-going demeanor has receded just enough that Carlos is starting to feel anxious. One little thing can easily cause T.K. to spiral, and T.K.’s been okay lately, but he may be living on borrowed happiness. Don’t let this be an incident. Take charge of this before you lose control of the situation, Carlos. T.K. was getting fidgety, and Carlos was scrambling to find a way to calm him.

“Marj, don’t go all quiet on me. A little dead dad talk isn’t going to throw me over the edge.” Except it did last time his dad was mentioned. T.K.’s not angry, not right now, probably because Paul and Mateo were in the room, but his tone was too forced and sounds passive aggressively angry. Basically, everyone knew to dread carefully. I need to defuse this situation before it gets worse. If T.K. catches the uncomfortable glances that Paul and Mateo are sharing, he’ll freak out, so Carlos called T.K.’s name, making T.K. look over to him. T.K.’s eyes snap over, looking frantic.

“I know that,” Marjan answered, but she didn’t sound sure, and with all Marjan’s confidence, when she didn’t sound sure, she wasn’t.

Carlos made a show of looking at his watch. “You need to get ready for the show now. It’s getting late.”

Marjan caught on, and stood up, leaning down to hug T.K. “Teek, I’ll talk to you after the show, okay? Maybe we can meet up at your house or you can come to mine.”

T.K. nodded, calming at the touch of his friend. “Yeah, okay, we can do that.”

Paul gave T.K. a handshake. “Thanks so much for the tickets, man. We’ve all been curious about Marjan’s best friend. You lived up to our expectations.”

Mateo gave a wave. “Yeah, maybe later you can tell us the queen story.”

T.K. put on his fakest smile. “Sure thing, buddy.” Carlos could see that T.K.’s going to another place mentally, so he rushed the guests out, giving T.K. room to breathe.

Marjan lingered just a bit longer, giving Carlos a stern look, “Take care of him.”

“It’s my job,” he said.

“It better be more than that,” Marjan replied. It is. I’m probably in for a world of hurt, but I’d take care of him even if I wasn’t paid to do it. I want him to be happy, and I do my best to make him feel happy.

T.K

T.K. wasn’t as stupid as some people thought he was. He might have played stupid a lot because it was easier to get what you wanted when people thought you’re barely smarter than a pile of bricks. He’d gotten a lot of good info by acting dumb. Judd would tell him to cut it out. Marjan would usually let him get away with it just to see the amusing results that always came. Carlos would give a knowing look, not making a judgment in either direction.

Because he wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew what Carlos was doing as he swiftly moved T.K.’s guests out of his dressing room, and to his surprise, it makes him feel relieved more than annoyed. Maybe I’m a changed man, after all. Or maybe I’m just getting too attached. The new T.K. apparently is into letting people meddling in his life, and he apparently let his bodyguard be more than a nuisance who follows him around, and who could blame him? Carlos actually seemed to care about him. Like, he’d bring pink-frosted doughnuts in the morning just because T.K. liked them, and when Carlos brought them, T.K. liked them even more. It’s like the sprinkle phenomenon. Just like doughnuts tasted better with sprinkles, they tasted better when hot bodyguards hand-delivered them just because they were thinking about you.

It made T.K. feel pathetic that the doughnuts made him so happy. Carlos was just being nice because he was a nice guy, and doing nice things was just what he does. It’s not because I matter to him. He only cares because if something happens to me, he’s out of a job, and from what he’s said, this is the most prestigious job he’s had. I don’t want to ruin his career. He deserves a better client than me, though. Someone who isn’t a fuck up. He was probably just as nice to everyone else. I’m just too self-absorbed to notice that the world doesn’t revolve around me. But the doughnuts made T.K. feel special. Even if Carlos is just being nice. There’s something about little things like remembering someone’s name or bringing someone doughnuts. Those little things made people feel good even if they weren’t that big of a deal.

“I don’t need to start getting ready for thirty-minutes,” T.K. commented just to say something. He hated how he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. He babbled and yelled and sang just because he didn’t know how to shut up, didn’t know how to sit with the quiet, and not go crazy and therefore didn’t know how to control his mouth. Most of the time, his mouth was autonomous from the rest of him. I don’t know what the fuck I’m saying half the time. I’m just shooting the breeze until there’s no air left for anyone else.

Carlos gave an apologetic look, and it’s so cute. My heart might just melt if I’m around him too long. “Are you mad?”

“No, most people wouldn’t have done that though. They wouldn’t have even noticed that I needed a break.” He’s so nice. How can I be that nice?

“It’s my job to notice what you need without you having to say it.” That wasn’t in his job description, but T.K. wasn’t going to argue it.

“I don’t know why I’m so triggered by my dead dad. It’s been years.”

“There’s not a timeline on grief.” Tell that to his mom, who went back to work in two days and acted like giving T.K. a guitar would make up for not having a dad. Tell that to the psychiatrist who told him that he couldn’t grieve forever or the one who had told him that ten years was too long to still feel so bad. Honestly, everyone who told him to get over it was probably right. It wasn’t healthy to live in that day forever. To think about his father burning to death when it hadn’t even been the flames that had killed Owen. It had been shrapnel. But still, T.K. imagined skin being charred and falling from his dad’s body, and he just wanted the image to go away. He wanted to stop feeling so scared because that’s what he’d felt since 9/11, a hot fear that he converted into anger because he was too old to cry about how terrified he was. He remembered his mother telling him when he was ten that he was too old to cry about nightmares. He refused to cry about them after, even though he had to bite his wrist just to distract from the torment he felt. He learned to bring the feelings inward and to destroy himself for fleeting moments of peace.

“Yeah, but I can’t even say the word dad without feeling sick, and hearing it sends a fresh wave of guilt through me.” T.K had this stupid idea that if he hadn’t been such a brat the evening before 9/11 and kept his parents up until 3 am that his dad would have been better rested and would have been able to do his job better and not die. Logically, he knew that lots of people with kids who weren’t brats died that day. Lots of well-rested, unlucky people, but T.K was never able to shake the idea that his father’s death had something to do with him. He’d never confessed that fear to anyone, and maybe that was why it was killing him, draining him of his ability to keep his head in reality. He’d prefer his mind to float away. He loved the detached feeling of not being at all connected to himself, and as fine as he acted to anyone who glanced at him, he couldn’t stop thinking about oxy. It made him sick with yearning just to think of oxy or E or LSD, or K, or G or whatever other combination of senseless letters would let him out of his head, a prickly, electrified cage that made him feel small and claustrophobic.

“Guilt?” Carlos looked at him, face pinched. T.K. figured Carlos saw him as a puzzle. He wanted to know what T.K. meant because it was interesting in a perverse way. Everyone wanted to know why a man who had everything but a dad couldn’t get his shit together. Some people had less but had somehow managed to hang onto their sanity. They didn’t crave an oxy every time a pang of feeling clawed at their gut.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant sorrow.” T.K. didn’t think that he sounded very convincing, but Carlos wasn’t going to press it. It wasn’t his style. T.K. needed to focus on his show, and bringing up deeply rooted childhood issues wasn’t exactly going to make him feel energized. Though, to be honest, before all of this had happened, he’d been good about being happy. He’d been bubbly and fun and felt almost normal, but then in a snap, that bright, fun to be around self had shut off. It’s like I’m too different people. One who likes the peaks of roller coasters and another who likes the valleys.

“I still miss my dad,” Carlos confessed, and T.K. held his breath. The dead dad’s club is not a fun one to be in.

T.K. felt flushed. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.” It sounded so stupid to say. T.K. had always hated when people said that to him because it never made him feel any differently. Them being sorry couldn’t change his loss or even heal it.

“He’s not dead or anything. I just haven’t seen him in five years.” Carlos shrugged. “So, I don’t think he’s dead, but I haven’t talked to him in years, and cutting him off was something I had to do.” T.K. had to take a deep breath not to lash out. If his dad was alive, he wouldn’t ever stop talking to him. Even if he was the worse dad in the world.

“I know it’s not the same, but it sucks.”

“Then, why won’t you talk to him?” T.K. tried to keep his voice calm, but he sounded like an angry kid on the verge of a tantrum.

“Because as much as I love him, he can’t bring me inner peace. He only keeps me around when he needs something, so I decided not to make myself available, but I still miss him sometimes. He was mean and abusive, but he’s not like a villain you see on a TV show. He had good in him, even if it was just a very little bit. He used to take me fishing. I hated it, but I loved the time I got to spend with him. We’d fish, and suddenly, he’d become dad of the year. Then, we’d go home and he’d tell me I couldn’t do anything right.”

“I’m sorry. Sounds, dead or deadbeat, having a dad brings heartbreak.”

“My point is just that you don’t have to stop missing him. You don’t have to stop thinking it’s unfair that you don’t have him here. You don’t have to stop cherishing his memory, but you do have to learn to live with it.”

“Yeah, thanks, Freud.”

“I’m sure your therapist would say it better,” Carlos joked. T.K. felt guilty because he had taken the therapist list Grace had made for him and shredded it after one visit with the first woman on the list. He’d had video visits with her twice before deciding that he didn’t need that anymore. He started to feel better. The withdrawal symptoms had gone. He felt more in control of his life, so he’d decided that he didn’t need anyone doing a deep dive into his brain. He’d figured it all out himself. No professional needed. No AA, NA, or whatever other program was out there. All he needed was his guitar and to stay away from parties. There was a part of T.K. that knew he was being foolish. He’d gotten sober before like this when he just decided to stop and get his life together, but every time, when the going got tough, T.K. usually figured it was time to quit the good habits that made life bearable without the bad habits.

“Yeah, she’d give a bunch of psychobabble.” Dr. Aggarwal actually probably wouldn’t have done that. Despite T.K’s stubbornness, Grace’s search had been thorough and she’d chosen people who wouldn’t give psychobabble. Maybe I did do some research before I shredded the list.

“Are you okay with that?”

T.K. shrugged, “I’m getting used to it. I think this one is actually helping. It’s going to be a journey, but I think this might be something good.” He hated lying to Carlos. I’m such a dumb, jerk. But the truth wasn’t going to make Carlos feel better. It wasn’t going to change the situation. It wasn’t going to do anything but sit there like the biggest know-it-all in a room full of know-it-alls.

Carlos beamed, and T.K. wanted to disappear. I hate myself for being such a weirdo. I’m the worst person alive. Carlos deserves better than me. “That’s great. I’m glad you’re starting to feel better.”

The more T.K. lied about feeling better the worst he felt. “Yeah me too.” He forced a smile. “Me being better is only going to make your job easier.”

Carlos laughed. “I have a feeling that you’ll never make it too easy.” I can’t make anything easy. I always have to take the hardest route as if that will somehow cure all the awful feelings that I have when it does nothing but make me an angry wreck.  

“What would be the fun in that?” Carlos laughed again, and T.K. felt himself relax. T.K. thought that if a laugh could save a person that he’d be saved, but laughter couldn’t save him. It would be like using cough medicine for a bullet wound.

[strawberryjamsara]

For the character thing, the super pal trio? (+ Hordak)

Catra

Favorite thing about them: One of the most interesting and well written characters I’ve ever seen! No one word can sum her up because she is that complex

Least favorite thing about them: Maybe all the war crimes committed out of pure unadulterated spite. Oh yeah and her fan base but that doesn’t count.

Favorite line: “You made me this and you get to be the good guy?”

Brotp: Her and Bow would be such cute friends guys

Otp: I’m gonna be an unpopular opinion bitch and say that Glitra is currently my favorite Catra ship. Mostly because Catradora shippers are annoying.

Notp: Theres probably Catra x Hordak shippers somewhere out there

Random headcanon: She makes sure to cough up her hair balls onto the property of people she doesn’t like

Unpopular opinion: Y’all gotta stop acting like anyone who doesn’t think she’s an unproblematic angel hates abuse victims

Song I associate with them- Otome Dissection- Rachie

Favorite picture of them-

Soft

Scorpia

Favorite thing about them: She is... too precious... for this world!

Least favorite thing about them: I can’t think of anything to dislike about her! Uh... I think the other dresses she tried on before getting to the final one in Princess Prom suited her better! She should’ve worn the one with the bows!

Favorite line: “You’re a bad friend.”

Brotp: Her and Frosta are cute as hell besties

Otp: I know at this point scorptra is very unlikely to work out, but they’re so cute dammit! I want them to work it out! Please!

Notp: Hm... Entraptia seems a little iffy since Scorpia has a crush on Catra and Entrapta is a lot older than her

Random headcanon: She can’t play video games because of her claws but she loves watching people play

Unpopular opinion: The way the fandom treated Scorptra as bad to make Catradora look good, before season 3 even aired is horrible

Song I associate with them: Diary of Jane- Breaking Benjamin

Favorite picture of them:

Entrapta

Favorite thing about them: I relate to Entrapta as someone who struggles to make friends with people and feels insecure in my relationships

Least favorite thing about them: Okay, legit, I really don’t like the scene where Bow is getting through to her by telling her he cares about her and Adora just gets through to her by telling her about the first ones ship.

Favorite line: “I enjoy being your friend too.”

Brotp: Her and Scorpia are bffs for life

Otp: Entrapdak is pretty cute.

Notp: Anything with her and kids, do not want.

Random headcanon: She can, has, and will tamper with her own DNA on multiple occasions

Unpopular opinion: She’s the only member of the “princesses who got episodes recruiting” that I like

Song I associate with them: Everybody’s Lonely- Jukebox the Ghost

Favorite picture of them:

Hordak

Favorite thing about them: He’s Mukuro Ikusaba. Literally. He’s just Mukuro Ikusaba. Soldier attempts to win the unwinnable love of their abusive sibling and will do whatever it takes to get it, then falls for the first person to not be scared of them. It’s Mukuro!

Least favorite thing about them: I’m not gonna touch the controversy and instead I’ll just say, maybe we should see more of his backstory?

Favorite line: Okay I love the “I am a clone” line because I saw an edit that changed it to say clown instead of clone and I can’t stop laughing

Brotp: Does this loser have any friends?

Otp: Again, Entrapdak, it’s cute okay?

Notp: Catra x Hordak again

Random headcanon: His baby thing just clung to his leg one day and he decided to keep it.

Unpopular opinion: The people saying that they won’t show She Ra to their kids if he gets a redemption arc are so fucking ridiculous

Song I associate with them- Monster- Imagine Dragons

Favorite picture of them:

This looks like a fucking smug cat meme

[bangtann-bangdamn]

Chapter One

<Jungkook x OC>

Jungkook isn’t sure if the girl in his dreams is real or a figment of his imagination. Until their paths cross one fateful morning.

Warnings - Some swear words.

Mina

Mina wasn't sure what roused her. She had been lying in her bed, amid a dream that involved a talking llama, a boat, and some fireworks, when a voice at the back of her mind told her that she'd been asleep for too long and she was going to be late. Bleary-eyed, she raised her head from where she had buried it beneath her pillows and blinked lazily as she gazed around her room. Sunlight was streaming through her windows.

"Shit," She muttered as she jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over her duvet as it clung to her legs. "Shit, shit, shit," she continued as she raced across her room to where she had thrown her phone the night before. It sat innocently on her cluttered desk, except, as she pressed the home button it didn’t respond. She checked the plug, tears springing to her eyes as she realised that she forgot to switch the power on the night before. She groaned as she rushed out of her bedroom and into the kitchen and looked at the clock on the microwave.

8:28am.

"Fuck," Mina groaned out as she sprinted back into her room. She flung open her wardrobe and picked out the first top and trousers she could get her hands on; a white blouse with cherry blossom petals and ripped black jeans. She pocketed her useless phone, knowing that she could charge it at work, before making her way into the bathroom. 

One look at her reflection had Mina wanting to smash the mirror. It wasn't that she looked bad. In fact, her face looked semi-decent for once. She wasn't puffy from sleep, and all the early nights she had managed to grab had pretty much eliminated the need to cover up the dark circles. No, it was her hair that let her down. Her usually tamed wavy brunette hair was a rat’s nest on top of her head. It was certainly going to take more than 5 minutes to fix. Mina took a calming breath as she grabbed her hairbrush from the counter. 

She could do this. She could totally do this. The trick was not to panic. 

About 30 seconds into brushing, Mina knew she was screwed. So, she changed her plans and threw it up into a messy bun. It still looked like a mess, but at least, she reasoned, it now looked like it was on purpose. She brushed her teeth in record time, opting not to use mouthwash this time before hurrying out of the room.

She paused by the kitchen door to look at the time.

8:38am.

She might make it. Might. She slipped her feet into a pair of Converses, knowing her feet would hate her later but not really caring in that moment. She needed to be out, out, out. 

Mina never ran anywhere. That was one of her rules in life. Mostly because she hated the feeling of being breathless and she hadn’t seen the inside of a gym since she had left school. But, if asked, she would give a philosophical answer of 'if she has to race to be there, it’s not worth her time'. Which was great in theory. But with a boss like Hoseok, it was run or be fired. So, she made an exception that morning to sprint her normal 20-minute walk. Especially because  she quite enjoyed her quiet little retail job. It was a somewhat expensive boutique on a fairly quiet street. Which meant they never had many customers come through the door. Now, that may seem like the business was failing, but the truth was actually quite the opposite. Whilst the store never seemed to attract many customers other than the occasional student hunting for the perfect prom dress or socialite, the online store thrived and the shop acted as a warehouse for the online orders. 

In short, Mina was never short of things to do at work. 

She paused outside the coffee shop on the corner of the street to glance at the clock behind the counter. She had 5 minutes to spare. She smiled, deciding to treat herself, especially as she could see that there was only one person in the queue. Plus, she could grab a coffee for Hoseok and maybe, just maybe, he might let her leave a little early.

And on top of the needed caffeine, Mina mused as she pushed open the door to the café, the guy who worked the morning shifts was cute too. Instantly she was surrounded by the smell of freshly brewed coffee. If there was one thing she looked forward to every morning, it was this. She let the scent wash over her, breathing it in deeply, before moving to join the line. This was the part of her day that she would usually scroll through Instagram whilst she was waited. It wasn’t by choice either. Mina hated the fake facade people posted of their lives online, but Hoseok had the bright idea of putting her in charge of the shop’s social media account. It was the compromise she had made with him to spend a couple minutes a day scrolling through the feed and interacting with customers for the nice little bonus Hoseok gave her every month. With her phone dead in her pocket, she was given the rare opportunity to shirk her responsibilities and pay attention to the world she occupied. 

There was the couple sitting on the plush love-seat in the corner of the room, whispering what Mina could only assume were sweet nothings into each other’s ears as they giggled to themselves. She couldn’t decide whether the couple were still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, or if they were really that in love. She watched as they mauled each others faces with little regard to the general public and couldn’t decide which option was more disgusting.

Mina shuddered at their display of affection before moving her eyes away from them. It was, after all, inconsiderate of them to be shoving their tongues down each other’s throats when it was barely 9am. What happened to common decency? What happened to keeping some things behind closed doors?

Mina turned her attention back to the counter, wondering what was taking so long. She should have known it was all too good to be true. She should have clocked the unfamiliar face the moment she walked in, but she was preoccupied with her temporary freedom from her phone and delight in the idea of turning up to work on time and with coffee. If she had just glanced at the barrister, she would have realised that he clearly didn’t know what he was doing as he stuttered the customer’s order back, brow knotted in confusion. 

It was as if the universe wanted Mina to be late today, she groaned internally. But Mina couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. Everyone had to start somewhere, and this poor guy clearly didn’t have a clue what he was doing. She could see the tears forming in the corner of his eyes and Mina could have sworn her heart broke a little for him. The woman he was serving huffed in annoyance as she repeated her order for the third time. Mina wasn’t sure what she could do to help. She had come across ‘Karen’s’ before and there was little that would quell their thirst for blood other than asking to speak to the manager. 

Thankfully, they were all saved from the looming meltdown when a familiar face appeared behind the barrister. 

Namjoon whispered something into the barrister’s ear before taking his place behind the counter and handing the woman her drink and the words Mina knew all ‘Karen’s’ longed for.

“It’s on the house.”

The woman left without further comment, and Mina swore she saw the smug smile creep across her plastic face as the woman passed her. Mina pushed down the urge to stick out her foot and trip the woman as she took her place at the counter. 

Namjoon smiled at Mina, his gaze glancing at her haphazard outfit with thinly concealed amusement. He was the prettiest guy Mina had ever had the pleasure of meeting, she thought not for the first time as her gaze lingered on his adorable little dimples. She had imagined asking him out on several occasions but always ruled it out. After all, they had a good thing going. His coffee shop was almost always her first stop before work and he always gave her a discount for being a regular. If he rejected her, Mina knew she wouldn’t be able to show her face here ever again.

And who was she kidding - of course he was going to reject her. She could hardly string an outfit together, let alone a flirtatious sentence.

"What can I get for you, Mina?" Namjoon asked and all Mina could see were his damn dimples. The first time she had seen the cute little indents, she had to resist from leaning across the counter and taking his face in her hands just to hold his cheeks. The urge had never really disappeared completely, she thought as she set about drumming her fingers against the counter.

"Whatever has the highest amount of caffeine and you can make two of in, oh I don't know... five seconds?" Mina sheepishly returned his smile.

"I don't know about five seconds, but I'll make you two iced coffees. That’s five-thirty-five. Cash or card?" 

Mina held up her card and tapped it against the machine as Namjoon set about making her two drinks.

Who knew brewing coffee could take a lifetime?

By the time Mina was backing out of the store, she had less than a minute to make it to the other end of the street. It wasn’t impossible; she could do it. She just needed to not spill the drinks all down herself in the meantime.

"Bye, Namjoon," Mina called as she walked back into the door, using her foot to push it open. She wasn't looking where she was going as she left the shop for the street. It happened in slow motion. Her gaze was tearing itself away from those amazing dimples as Namjoon waved good, the door closing behind her. Her head was turning but it was already too late as she took another step and slammed straight into the chest of someone. She could feel the iced coffee splash out of the straw and down her hand, but thankfully that's as far as it went. She bit back her retort of ‘watch where you’re going’. She didn’t have the time to stop, nor the energy to get into an argument. She was seriously going to be late if she wasted one more second. So, she settled for throwing a quick 'sorry' over her shoulder as she rushed as fast as she could without spilling another drop of coffee. She didn’t hear what the other guy had to say, let alone to see if she had spilt anything on him. She simply didn’t have the time.

The bell to Hope Boutique rang out above her head. 

"I know, I know!” She called out into the empty store. “But I bring presents." She grinned sheepishly at the stone-faced Hoseok as he appeared from the back room with his arms folded across his chest.

"What time do you call this?" He asked, staring down at Mina.

Mina glanced at the clock. "I'd say I'm exactly on time?" she shrugged and offered him the iced coffee. He continued to cooly stare her down for a moment before taking the coffee.

"I'll accept the coffee this time, but you know my policy on tardiness,” he snipped.

Mina placed her coffee beside the till before making her way to the backroom to discard her bag. "Hey, considering how late I could have been today, just be impressed I'm here on time and with coffee." She turned to face him with a cheeky smile. She had worked with Hoseok ever since she finished her degree two years ago. At the time, Hoseok was still a start-up with a big online presence. Whilst she had grown close to Hoseok over the years, he was always clear that when it came to business - it was nothing personal. She knew Hoseok liked her and that awarded her some wiggle room when it came to his rules, but Hoseok was a tough businessman.

Hoseok rolled his eyes at her smile. “We had a surge of orders today, so I’ve had to call in reinforcements,” He barked as he made his way into the stock room. He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

“Oh la la, so I finally get to meet the new guy?” Mina playfully called as she walked back to the counter for her own drink. The store wasn’t the biggest shop in the world. It had a modest floor plan with a small changing room to the side. It’s selling point was the large space behind the counter���s wall, hiding the true size of the store with the make-shift ‘warehouse’. 

“Yes, so go easy on him. I don’t need you costing me another employee.” Hoseok warned her as she stepped inside the door of the warehouse, but there was no malice behind his words. She could see his silent laughter behind his eyes as he referred to the temp that had quit the week before.

“Hey, if she can’t take some friendly competition, she was never going to survive Seokjin. I was doing her a favour.”

Hoseok shook his head at her. “That’s beside the point. The point is, I would very much like to keep this employee for the time being. So, don’t scare him off.”

“Ai, ai, captain. Now show me these online orders!”

Jungkook

Jungkook would never admit this to anyone, but his favourite time of the day was when he was asleep. It wasn’t because he could finally relax after a long tiring day at work. Nor was it because he was in control of his dreams when he felt like there wasn’t a lot in his life he could control.

It was quite the opposite.

Jungkook didn't know where he was. He never did to begin with. Everything was always in darkness. No matter how hard he tried, there was nothing for him to see. He had tried looking down when the dreams had started, trying to find his hands or feet. Yet all he would ever see with darkness. He knew they were there. He could feel them. 

Then, as quick as the blink of an eye, he would be transported. He'd be hustled into busy streets, or quiet libraries, or packed classrooms of a school he didn't recognise. He'd take a minute to look around, more than aware that he shouldn't be there. It felt so wrong, yet… so right. He knew these weren’t places he had been to and thus had no way of conjuring them in his mind. And yet… here they were. Faceless people would wander past him, their conversations an indistinguishable mumble floating past him. 

Every time it was somewhere new. He had tried controlling them, but every time he found himself gazing at the scenery with awe. 

Today it was a busy street; one he recognised for once. On the corner, he could see the cafe where Namjoon worked and where he often found himself when he wasn't working or playing video games at home. It was quieter than normal with only a few people milling about and the sun low in the sky. Jungkook took a moment to watch as a couple of faceless people walked around him as if he weren't there. As if this was a video game and they were a couple of NPCs.

He never knew when to expect these dreams. He wasn’t sure what triggered them, nor if there were any reason to them. And yet, the days they appeared never failed to spark something inside him. And it was all because of her. His gaze darted along the street, searching for any hint of her presence. Any moment now and-

He heard her laugh before he saw her. Soft, musical, delicate. Could a laugh be delicate? He was certain hers was. 

She walked towards him slowly, talking to the faceless man beside her. Jungkook wondered who the man was, before shaking off the thought. This was just a dream. She wasn't real; just a figment of his imagination.

Jungkook turned to check his reflection in the store window, running his hand through his hair to make sure it looked good. Then he turned, putting his hands in his pocket and leaned against the wall so he was no longer standing in the middle of the path. He licked his lips as he watched her approach, taking a deep breath in hopes of steadying his racing heart. He tried to look relaxed; nonchalant. As if he weren’t waiting for her arrival. As if this was all a coincidence.  

He watched as she twirled a strand of her curly hair around her finger for a second before brushing it behind her ear. She smiled at her companion, small dimples forming and her freckled nose wrinkling just slightly as she shook her head as she laughed. 

Jungkook was certain that he could spend the rest of his life staring at her and never grow bored. 

Then they were upon him. Jungkook thought, just for a second, that she wouldn't see him. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. That she would keep on walking and he would wake in his bed with heart palpitations and the fear that he would never see her again. 

But she did. At the last minute, she turned as if there were magnets attached to her gaze that drew her to him. She stopped walking, eyes widening in recognition.

"Hello again," she said softly as she smiled at him. 

Jungkook felt his body relaxed as he returned her smile. 

"Surprised to see you here." Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he noted everyone but the two of them had disappeared, their faint murmurs that lingered in the air acting as the only trace that they were a part of the dream in the first place.

"We should probably stop bumping into each other like this," she laughed, tilting her head slightly as she took him in.

"But then I wouldn't get to see you."

He watched as her blush slowly crept up her neck. She looked away. "You don't even know my name."

Jungkook took a step forward and reached for her hand. They were small in his hands and impossibly soft. He squeezed them as he looked down into her eyes.

"How about we fix that. I'm Jung-"

"-KOOK." Loud pounding sounded at his door. "Jungkook, I swear to god dude."

Jungkook groaned as he rolled to the side of his bed, rubbing his eyes before glancing at his clock.

8:30am.

"Jungkook!" The pounding continued. 

"I'm coming," he growled as he got to his feet. He padded his way over to the door, adjusting his boxers to make sure he was covered before opening his door. "What?" He looked down to where his roommate stood with his arms folded across his chest. 

"Didn't you look at your phone last night? Namjoon called a band meeting this morning." Yoongi didn't wait for Jungkook to respond before moving down the corridor towards his own room. "You have five minutes before I leave without you."

Jungkook groaned again as he slammed his door shut.

He was going to kill Namjoon.

<- (x) Chapter Two>

AN: Thank you for reading. If you want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask - but fair warning. This won’t be updated very often. I’m a slow writer, and this was originally written last year. It’s also one of the experimental pieces I have in my WIP so... yeah. It’s going to be a play by ear kind of story. 

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: Like No One is Watching

Summary: Whenever Red gambles, Edge usually is the one losing even when he’s not the one betting against him. There are exceptions.

Pairing: Spicyhoney

Rating: Everyone

Notes:  I’m still recovering from surgery, queasy from the meds but I still craved some fluff. This is what y’all get stuck with.

Saturday was cleaning day in the Fell household and normally Red helped. Grudgingly helped. Bitching the entire time helped. This Saturday Edge had a new sullen assistant.

Really, he could barely contain his joy.

Red was in Underswap, possibly watching a movie with Blue, more likely sleeping while Blue watched a movie. Basking in his winnings.

Stretch had no one but himself to blame. He should really know better than to bet with Red on anything that included food or eating. And Edge was going to have a chat with Red about his gambling because it seemed like lately whenever Red won a bet, Edge lost it, even though he wasn't the one betting. 

Case in point--

Stretch slouched in front of him, hands in his pockets and looking more as though he were heading for a firing squad than a day of home improvement.

Edge sighed and reminded himself that he did care about this lazy idiot. Best to start easy. He held out a clean cloth and a spray bottle. "You'll be dusting," he instructed, "All the shelves and tables. All the picture frames. All the—"

"i get it, if it's not carpeted, dust it," Stretch grumbled. He took the cloth as if expect teeth to lash out from it at any moment.

"Do it right the first time or you'll do it until it is right," Edge warned. He fully expected there to be a second, possibly a third, and depending on how deep his sulk was, a fourth. Red's record was currently sitting at nine.

He did take some pity on the other and turned on the television, choosing a music station and ignoring Stretch’s incredulous expression at his choice.

"seriously? how can you look like mötley crüe and act like barry manilow."

"Clean," Edge said gruffly. "This house won’t dust itself." 

Edge left him to it and went to brave Red's room. Normally, he let it be; the rest of the house was kept clean to his standard, he could allow Red his aesthetic in his own room. Whatever that aesthetic was. He suspected trash heap was the closest comparison.

That being true, he did go in once a week to weed out dirty dishes. Clothes he only bothered with when the reek was starting to seep out from beneath the door but dirty dishes were intolerable. On this occasion, he only found one mustard-streaked glass shoved behind the mattress. Edge was almost proud; perhaps his brother was learning.

He took a quick look around the rest of the room and shuddered. No. Definitely not.

Glass in hand, Edge abandoned Red's room to the semi-intelligent colonies that were surely moldering in his piles of socks. He closed the door and turned around, glancing downstairs at his captive maid and--

Stretch was dancing.

Not all out, not waltzing through the living room. Only a gentle shifting on his feet, hips swaying to the beat as Stretch ran the damp cloth over a side table. Distantly, Edge noted that he was being meticulous, invested in only doing this once as he worked the cloth into the scrollwork of the wood.

He had rhythm, Edge had to admit. And some skill, pausing to roll his arms through some move that Edge couldn't name. If he actually put some effort into it, he was probably talented and…

Stretch was standing completely still, looking up at Edge. Caught staring, Edge only looked back.

Defensively, Stretch wrapped his arms around himself. “what?”

Definitely off-guard, No joke or sarcasm at the ready. When Edge didn't answer him, Stretch gave him a last glare and stalked over to the walls. He wiped down the shelves stiffly, cheekbones hinting orange. Embarrassed.

Unacceptable.

Walking downstairs, Edge set the dirty glass on the end table that Stretch had just cleaned. Stretch gave him a baffled look when he took the cloth and spray bottle away from him and did the same.

Before Stretch could spit out the 'what the fuck are you doing' that Edge could see brewing in his eye lights, Edge draped his arms around him, “Don’t stop.”

“oh, come on,” Stretch muttered. He shuffled his feet, in discomfort, not dance.

The song changed, softer and slower, and Edge swayed, pulling Stretch along with him, pushing aside his own embarrassment and humming off-key.

Stretch sighed and pulled him into a real embrace, hands resting lightly at the small of his spine. Less a dance and more simply swaying in place like a prom in those ridiculous human high school movies Blue adored. He was tall enough that he could rest his skull on Edge's shoulder; Edge leaned his own skull against his, let Stretch's humming overshadow his own. At least Stretch could sing.

“this house won’t dust itself,” Stretch muttered, mimicking Edge earlier.

“It’s not going anywhere, either," Edge said softly and didn't let him go.

-fin

[artistic-writer]

The Paradox of Light :: CS AU :: Rated E

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer  for @hollyethecurious 

[ AO3 ]

Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface.  They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms?  What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control?  What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down?  How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light?

Rating: E

Word Count: 37.5k

Trigger warnings: Angst, alcoholism, sex addiction, Killian!whump, Emma!Whump, mild erotic asphyxiation, referenced minor character death, choking, fighting, graphic violence, domestic violence, self defense, borderline non-con sexual situation, depression, PTSD, panic attacks, 37k one shot

A/N:  To be safe, I have rated this fic the highest I possibly can.  It contains a considerably emotional trigger warning list and contains some very strong subject matter.  Please do not read it if anything on the list is unsettling to you.  I am always available to answer any questions people may have before they settle in to read this, but I will in no way be offended if you feel like you need to skip it.  It is something I felt I had to write for myself, for the lovely @hollyethecurious and to get out all of my pent up sadness over the death of my grandfather (something I am still struggling with, but thanks to friends, it gets better every day.)

Thank you so much to my lovely betas @resident-of-storybrooke and @kmomof4 !  You ladies are all kinds of awesome.  Tori, thank you for keeping me on the right side of a line that I feared I would cross.  It means so much to me that you could help me with this and I hope there is no lasting damage to your emotional state.  Krystal, what can I say other than you are a wonderful person, who sacrificed her own feels for this fic, in the name of a friendship that is so precious to me, I am crying right now.  You know why else <3 <3 ‘ A man of too many friends comes to ruin, But there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.’ [Proverbs 18:24]  And @hollyethecurious I hope you enjoy this, and your cameo ;)

Fuck it, i’m tagging everyone i’ve spoke to about this Taglist: @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @courtorderedcake @sherlockianwhovian @wellhellotragic @the-corsair-and-her-quill @teamhook @totheendoftheworldortime @distant-rose @branlovesouat @snidgetsafan @kymbersmith-90 @bleebug @yayimallamaagain @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @rouhn @wingedlioness @eala-captian  @onceuponaprincessworld  @forestiyari

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At first they had hated each other, with Emma setting her sights on the older Jones brother. Killian was nothing more to her than a thorn in her side. Cocky, arrogant and with a boyish smile that she wished she could slap right off his face, he was not for her. No, Emma Swan wanted Liam Jones, the stronger, more level headed of the two, but with a decade between them, by the time Emma had worked up the courage to tell him how she felt, Liam was announcing his marriage.

When Liam moved from their sleepy little hometown, leaving Emma’s teenage heart in pieces and Killian to continue his roguish antics unchecked, was when Emma began to notice him. He had a certain appeal. He had a car, would take her anywhere at the drop of a hat and puberty had been kind to him, with unblemished skin and a dashingly handsome growth that sprouted from his chin. The more Emma looked at him the more she felt that the bravado and confidence he exuded was more for just show. In private, when it was just the two of them, Killian was different.

One day in high school, they had decided to skip their respective classes and hang out at the edge of the school field. Killian was kind, less presumptuous and respectful when it was just the two of them and Emma liked it. He gave her his jacket when she was cold and his smell made her feel safe, like she was home, which considering she was adopted, was huge. Even the Nolans, her adoptive family, couldn’t completely fill the hole in her heart left by being abandoned, but somehow Killian could.

Killian’s senior prom was the turning point for her. He was a few years older than Emma and had promised to take her to both his and hers. He insisted because if nothing else, attending his with her would be a dry run for her own. Killian taught her to dance that night, holding her close, splayed hand pressed delicately to her lower back, the tips of his pointed ears turning red when Emma had pressed her body further into his, her early teenage yearning for Liam Jones long since gone.

“There’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what he is doing.”

Emma had often thought about his words, long after her prom and into her college years, but whilst she had attended a local one, Killian had followed in his brother's footsteps and joined the Army. They never lost touch, sending letters to each other that mentioned everything and anything they could talk about. It was no substitution for the lilt of his accented voice, or the smile on his face that never failed to pick up her mood, but it was all she could get between his visits home.

When he was on leave, the first place he always went was her house. It was familiar to have him near her again, laughing and joking as they did silly things like play cards and swim in the lake. Emma knew he never wanted to talk about what he did in the line of duty, she could only imagine, so she never pressed him and knew that if he ever wanted to, he would tell her. Instead they spent their time poking fun at each other, acting more like a couple than most couples they knew, but with an annoyingly platonic and chaste intimacy that left Emma pining each time he deployed and left her with a seared cheek from his kiss.

But he was a gentleman, and she expected nothing less from him.

Five years went by between Killian joining the military and the day he came home. He was a ranger, the most elite sniper in his class, able to hit a target from over two thousand yards away, but his career had ended when he had been injured in the line of duty and subsequently medically discharged. Shrapnel now littered his torso, had embedded itself in his shoulder joint and had ripped through the muscles of his left upper arm like it was paper. A sniper with the inability to fire a weapon was useless, and rather than push paper for the rest of his life, Killian had come home carrying more than just physical scars and it was the wake up call Emma needed.

She had been beside herself to learn of his injuries. Her heart had skipped a beat in her chest and her blood had run cold through her entire body when she had been informed by Liam via an early morning phone call.

“He’s okay, he just wanted you to know that.”

That was the exact moment Emma Swan vowed to share her feelings that she had kept locked behind closed doors for so long. She loved him and needed to tell him lest she risk losing him with him never knowing how she felt.

The day he arrived home, waiting for him on the military airstrip in her senior prom dress was Emma, hair blowing in the warm breeze that whipped across the tarmac. There was a brief silence between them and people stared at her attire, but Emma did not care. She had finally realised what she had been fighting for so many years. Killian Jones, her best friend and confidant, was the man she loved and wanted to spend the rest of her life with. So she had told him.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“In your prom dress?”

“Shut up and listen.”

“Okay, love.”

“I love you, Killian. I’ve loved you since I was sixteen and you held me at your prom. ‘Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing’ you told me…”

“Aye, Swan, I did…”

“Then I hope to God you know what you are doing because I am petrified.”

“I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Eight years later and they shared everything. The transition back into civilian life had been hard on Killian, but Emma was always there for him. She watched him cry, watched him scream and watched him fight with the demons inside of his head on a daily basis. It never went away, but it got easier, and on more than one occasion Killian had told Emma that she was his saviour. Only she knew how to help him, calm the beast and soothe his soul, but Killian’s descent into darkness had only just begun.

The day Killian’s phone rang and a police officer informed him of his brother’s demise was the day that would haunt Emma forever. Liam had been killed in a car accident on his way to visit them, the car having rolled along the highway so many times they had struggled to free his body. Emma would never forget the blood curdling sound Killian made as he screamed Liam’s name, collapsed to the floor and curled into the childlike ball of sobs. She let him cry, she let him shout and she let him smash every door in the house in his rage, and then after everything, she let him drink.

Killian Jones had lost count of the bottles he had seen the bottom of since the death of his brother. Each rum laden glass cask gradually weighed less as it emptied but the sorrow that felt like it was crushing him only got heavier. Liam had died quickly, in a car accident with no clear person to blame, and it had changed Killian forever. Whatever demons he carried from active service were amplified, the voices in his head taunting and eating away at his resolve.

There were no answers to his pleas to God at the bottom of the bottles, and even worse, there was no absolution.

Six months ago

It had been only a short time since Liam’s death, but Killian had spent every second he wasn’t at work at the local bar. He always shot Emma a text letting her know where he was for which she was thankful. His drinking was starting to spiral and it had become pretty apparent that he was drinking more and more to try and quell the voices in his brain. It was wrong, Emma knew that, but it calmed him and helped him sleep, and despite her brain telling her it was wrong to enable him, her heart ached each time he sobbed himself into a slumber, so she let him drink to forget.

Or at least she thought she was. There had been a shift in his behaviour recently and whilst Emma figured he was starting to sober up, clear the niggles in his brain and finally begin to accept his loss, Killian was in fact becoming a functioning alcoholic. His breath reeked of booze each time he returned home, sometimes with bloody knuckles and sometimes with a glassy stare, but each time he was the same. Drunk, and the more he needed to drink to forget, the more frustrated he was becoming with being without his brother.

That night he came home, stumbling through the door and groggily mumbling to himself as he toed off his shoes at the door, Emma simply greeted him as usual without judgement. She was hurting as well. Liam had been her friend too, but as much as she was hurting, she could never compare to how hard Killian had fallen into the darkness of sorrow.

“How was work?” Emma asked, the question becoming somewhat of a code between them. It was something she had devised in order to gauge his level of inebriation and also work out how bad his mentality had been compromised during the day. She shifted her weight, resting a hand to the kitchen island as she watching him struggle with the zip of his jacket.

“It was unusually dull,” Killian slurred sarcastically, his balance suddenly compromised as he tried to pull his arms free from the confines of his sleeves. He stepped sideways, foot landing heavily on the hardwood floor with a thud as he tried to keep himself upright. Finally freeing his arms he staggered backwards into the lounge and sank down onto the arm of the couch with a sigh when the back of his thighs hit the solid mass.

“And your colleagues?” Emma prodded, moving to stand before him. The voices in his head were something he dealt with every day, sometimes successfully blocking them out, but it seemed the demon of drink always gave them free reign to torment him before he had consumed enough to silence them.

Killian screwed up his features, the rosy tint in his cheeks from too much rum hidden under a swipe of his hands as he covered his face with a wavering nod. “Chatty,” he whispered into his palms, inhaling deeply and letting his body hunch over as tears sprang from his eyelids.

“Hey,” Emma soothed, stepping between his parted thighs and pulling his hands from his face. His face was warm beneath her hands as she cupped his head, tilting his head back so he was looking up at her. “I’m here,” she told him softly, searching the clouded grey hues of his eyes with her own. “I’m here.”

Killian couldn’t stop the sound he made escaping his throat as he cried, the wail cutting straight through Emma’s chest and splitting her heart in two. He buried his face in the softness of her sweater, muffling his cries against her body and wrapping his arms around her, desperate to hold onto anything. “Don’t go,” he sobbed. “I need you.”

“I’m here,” Emma repeated, her voice watery from the lump that had begun to sting the back of her throat. “I need you too,” she whimpered, pinching her eyes closed just enough to let a single tear roll from her eyelid and scorch a line down her face. It fell from her chin and down the back of Killian’s shirt, his cries subsiding as he pulled his head back to look up at her.

It had taken weeks for her own grief to manifest enough that she had cried for her friend. Emma wasn’t sure where rock bottom actually was, but she was pretty sure they were both there at this exact moment in time, the silence between them echoing with the words neither of them needed to say. Killian had cried a literal river for his brother, but this had been the first time Emma had shed a single tear, and it had somehow ignited the need within both of them to feel again.

“Emma…” He gulped after her name, his voice raspy and gritty, the emotion in his words all he needed to tell her exactly what he needed as he rested his hands to her hips and gently pushed himself to his feet.

“Killian…” Emma sighed his name, looking up at him through her eyelashes with a prickle of heat that surged over the skin of her neck and through her entire body.

“I want…” he began nervously, unable to stop the way his gaze lingered over her body and his hands toyed with the hem of her sweater. His fingertips barely brushed the surface of her exposed skin but Emma gasped audibly, her eyes fluttering closed and her hand grasping the fabric of his shirt between shaking fingers.

“I know,” Emma said softly, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as she watched her hand against his chest, the quickening heartbeat beneath her fingertips matching the pounding in her ears. Emma lifted her gaze, blinking away more tears. “I want to feel too.”

The first thing they both felt again was softness of lips slightly salty from tears, mouths sliding against each other haphazardly and clothes being discarded with abandon. There were no words, only the soft pants and heavy breathing that accompanied their ascent to the bedroom, a trail of clothes in their wake. It was like a bright light in both of their lives, neither having made love since Liam’s death, and they savoured every second.

Even drunk, Killian knew every inch of her body, every curve, dip and patch of silky skin committed to his memory. And he knew exactly how to make Emma feel, how to excite every cell in her body the way she needed in that exact moment. Killian never stopped touching her, taking his time to make sure that every hair on Emma’s body was standing to attention for him before he dipped his head between her thighs and finally gave her what she needed.

Emma’s cries were like music to his ears and Killian lapped at her essence like he was hearing her moans for the first time. They urged him on, his own need growing hard between his legs with every gasp she emitted from her slightly parted lips. He didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t need to, because the sounds Emma made as she writhed beneath his assault told him everything he needed to know.

The first time she came, her body stiffening as he relentlessly flicked his tongue over her clit, Killian felt something other than his own arousal surge through him. It was like a drug, a calm washing over his woes and guiding him from the depths of pain. He needed more and when Emma’s cries subsided he surged upwards and impaled her in a single thrust of his hips, watching the way her features twisted in pleasure and loving the feeling of being whole.

“I love you,” he whispered, stilling inside of her and stroking the side of her flushed face with his fingertips.

Emma could barely focus, her eyelids rolling open and fresh tears stinging her eyes once more. She blinked them away and Killian wiped them from existence with a gentle swipe of his thumb over her cheek. “I love you,” he repeated, holding her gaze as he angled his hips a little and sank into her further. Emma’s back arched off of the bed, her body yearning to feel more of the light that only Killian could shine on her.

“Oh God, I love you so much,” she gasped huskily, finally releasing the breath she had been holding and almost losing herself once more with the barest of movements. When Killian began to move and her walls fluttered around him, Emma groaned, more symphonic tones that made him want even more than before.

Killian’s hand found hers, their fingers lacing together and their palms pressing together so firmly that Emma almost couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore. He lifted their joined digits above Emma’s head, increasing his pace as he pressed the back of her hand into the bed, his grip like a vice, tethering him to her and both of them to reality.

Killian’s other hand found Emma’s hip and his fingernails dug into her skin, a sensation she didn’t find unpleasant because like the burning between her thighs and the increasing pressure in her stomach, it made her feel, and that was all she wanted. She wanted the light once more, to bathe in its glow as she lost herself and fell from grace at the hand of the man she loved, the swivel of his hips and the drag of his length along her inner walls delicious and torture at the same time.

Emma was so close it was almost painful, the room filled with the stench of sex and alcohol fading away as the pin pricks of white began to flicker behind her eyelids. She felt Killian’s forehead rest against hers and the warmth of his rum laced breath invade her nostrils as his own body shuddered, his knuckles turned white with his grip and he whimpered her name like a prayer.

“I’m here,” Emma panted hoarsely, her hand finding the side of his face and her lips ghosting over his.

It was enough to send them both into oblivion, their bodies basking in the rays of euphoria and numbing the sting of pain they both felt in the very depths of their hearts. They were lost in each other, swaying in an ocean of pleasure that they would quite happily have drowned in should the waves become tumultuous, but they didn’t, instead gently lapping at the edge of their subconscious, chasing away the agony.

For now.

Five months ago

“Hi, Emma, it’s Will.”

“Is he…?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so, lass.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t let him leave.”

Like so many phone calls before, Emma knew exactly what it meant when Will called her. He was a good friend of theirs, a military buddy of Killian’s and the manager of the local bar that just happened to be where Killian went night after night to poison himself into a stupor. Will could not turn him away whilst sober, despite knowing exactly what he was trying to achieve by drinking more than his weight in spirits, but even Will had a limit to how far he would go to help his friend.

And by Will’s tone, Emma knew Killian had reached his brand new threshold. Steadily he had become immune to the effects of prolonging drinking, becoming even more depressed as he had remained sober for longer, and to make matters even worse, Emma had let him. She felt awful, watching the man that she loved crumble each and every night he returned home in a mess of bitter tasting kisses and sloppy groping.

But she had made a choice, as selfish as it seemed, to ignore the rancid taste on Killian’s tongue night after night in favour of her own high that lie on the other side of her orgasm. They had fallen into a routine of him drinking himself stupid, his emotions getting the better of him when it was never enough, and then the both of them falling into bed and into each other to numb what they were feeling. It was wrong, and it was selfish, but Emma never wanted it to end.

What lay just beyond their grief was their hope, a guiding beacon of deliverance, and the only thing in their way was the pleasure of getting there, each losing themselves in the other and falling asleep in each other's arms. It had been enough and they had managed to function, neither saying a word of what they required because the other always knew. Except now they had become addicted to each other, with no sense of moderation, and that was why Emma found herself driving out to Will’s bar at midnight to retrieve her next fix.

Killian always drank in the same booth because that corner of the bar was dimly lit and he could hide his tears after each glass. When Emma approached it didn’t escape her notice that the table was full of empty tumblers, none with a single drop of alcohol left in the bottom, and that there were more than usual covering the wooden surface. He was slumped back in the soft, dark green leather seat, his chin on his chest and his fingers wrapped around what she assumed was his last drink, even though the glass looked as dry as a bone.

“Will cut me off,” he grumbled against his chest, not looking up to meet her gaze. Emma sighed pitifully.

“Come on, Killian, let’s get you home,” she coaxed gently as she moved some of the glasses away from the edge of the table. If he stumbled she didn’t need him breaking a glass or worse.

“I’m not…” he began, quickly blowing out his cheeks and swallowing the rise of burning bile that had crept up his throat.

“I think you’re done drinking,” Emma offered. She stepped forward and ran her hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look at her, a genuine smile that she had not seen for months plastered across his face, but as quickly as it appeared, it faded and Killian wrenched his head away from her touch.

“I’m not done drinking,” he spat, unable to stop himself when he fell sideways and out of the booth. Killian barely stopped his face colliding with the floor and quickly pushed himself to his knees. “That...That bastard said I’ve had enough!” He waved an accusing finger towards the bar, his eyes squinting at Will who simply watched with a solemn expression.

Emma gave Will a quick apologetic smile before turning back to Killian and crouching down beside him. “I think you’ve had enough,” Emma said seriously, her jaw clenching and her arms straining as she hooked her arm into his elbow and yanked Killian to his feet.

Killian shook his head from side to side, sucking on his bottom lip and closing his eyes just long enough to stop the world spinning. “I know I’ve got room for more,” he laughed maniacally, falling against Emma who struggled to hold him aloft by herself. Luckily, Will had seen the display, on more than one occasion, and was on hand to help instantly.

“Yeah? And why is that, mate?” Will lifted Killian’s arm and ducked under it, holding him with Emma who mirrored his actions on the opposite side. They shuffled towards the back door, that exit closest to Emma’s car, Killian still giggling like he had just outsmarted his biggest nemesis. They stopped briefly when Killian plastered his hand to the side of Will’s head, turning his face to his as his eyes peeled open and he looked him dead in the eye.

“Because I can still feel,” Killian said softly, his voice wavering on the last word. Will paused, the bleakness behind Killian’s eyes something he had never noticed before now. They were dull, the spark of blue he once saw from both Jones brothers now gone, replaced with a blackness that had turned them grey. Killian’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump of tears down his throat and his lips twitched into a weak smile as he patted Will’s cheek and pressed his forehead against his. “It still hurts.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Will almost whispered, grabbing the back of Killian’s head and holding him steady. “I wish I could take it away, you know that.”

“You can,” Killian whimpered. “Just one more…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupted gently and Killian looked away from his friend and back to the woman he loved with a slight sway. Will caught him and stopped him from falling backwards. “Let’s just go home.”

Her words were code, Emma knew it and Killian knew it too. Home wasn’t where they lived, parked their cars at night and watched their television. No, home was more than that. It was the place of peace they found inside of each other, the place they went to when they needed each other the most because the guilt of living was too much to bear. And above all else, home was where they could forget about the world and where the weight of misery was lifted from their shoulders.

They barely spoke on the way home, the cold night air whistling through Killian’s tousled hair as he rested his head against the doorframe, the window of the truck rolled all the way down. He sang to himself, songs from his tours of duty, songs that reminded him of his brother’s both familial and adoptive. The words were gut wrenching and Emma had no idea he even knew he was saying them aloud, but she simply drove and listened, the now familiar lump once again forming in her throat as he sobbed through each verse beside her.

“Emma?” Killian coughed her name roughly, a burn tearing through his lungs that was most likely from the cold and the alcohol. He had found the couch, his body too intoxicated to find its way to anywhere else in the house and he had collapsed back into the softness of the cushions as if they had beckoned him.

“Right here,” Emma murmured softly, tossing her car keys onto the kitchen island and moving into the lounge. “Here, drink this,” Emma commanded gently, lifting Killian’s hand and guiding it to the tall glass of water in her hand. He fumbled, barely gripping the slippery glass, so she helped him lift it to his lips and he sipped the ice cold liquid with disgust.

“Water?” Killian grimaced, turning his face away from it like a child. “Where is the rum?”

“No more rum,” Emma chastised, placing the glass on the table in front of them and settling beside him on the couch. She laid her hand down over his knee, feeling how cold he was through the fabric of his jeans.

“It’s not enough,” Killian scoffed, his words quickly turning into a sorrowful sob as they left his mouth. Emma knew what he meant and gave his knee a squeeze. The alcohol was not enough to take away the pain anymore and Emma wished she could ease his burden and carry some of his despair.

“Killian, I…” she began gently.

“You love me, right?” he blurted suddenly. Emma frowned a little as she took in his expression. It was soft, desperate and child like and his lip quivered. Killian’s cheeks flushed red and the tears in his eyes came back, the redness around his eyes reappearing as she saw the fresh wave that threatened to fall.

“Of course,” Emma slid closer to him and flattened her palm to his cheek. Killian leaned into her touch and held her hand to his face as he inhaled her scent. “I will always love you.”

“I want…” he stuttered, searching her eyes for a sign that she could understand what he wanted without him having to force the rest of the words from his mouth. Killian pulled Emma’s hand a little until she had no choice but to move with her arm and so she did, straddling his lap as he had intended.

“I know,” Emma whispered, leaning her forehead against his and cupping his face in her hands. Killian’s scruff tickled her palms but she ignored it as his tears soaked her fingers. “I want it too,” she gulped hard, her fingers sliding up and down the sides of his face, threading through his sideburns and tracing the outline of his elfen ears.

With a hefty sigh of relief, Killian’s dam broke and his audible cry of anguish rumbled from deep in his chest. “I know we shouldn’t,” he sobbed, his breath hitching in his throat and his hands finding the hem of Emma’s sweater. “But I just want to…”

“Feel free?” Emma sighed softly. Killian nodded against her and Emma pulled her face from his and moved off of his lap. He was hit with the very real panic of never letting the stabbing sensation in his chest be replaced with anything else until Emma grabbed the back of her sweater and pulled it over her head. She tossed it aside, made short work of her jeans and bra and left him stunned to silence when she stood before him as gloriously naked as the day she was born.

She was an angel, of that he was sure. She was a celestial being sent to guide him through the path of shadows and light his way to freedom. Only, Killian knew as much as Emma did, that if that was true, she was about to become one of the fallen, an angel tempted by the sins of man and never to be redeemed.

“Me too,” Emma rasped, sitting astride his lap once more and frantically tugging at the belt of his jeans. Helpless to aid her because of the heaviness of his limbs, Killian simply watched her nimble fingers work on the button of his jeans, tugging the sides apart and sending a shock wave of arousal coursing right through him.

This time was about her need, Killian knew that. She was quick, barely allowing herself to become aroused before sinking down onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn he knew she would undoubtedly feel from his girth. And there was a hurriedness in her actions, a hunter like instinct to find her own quarry that scared him a little until she found a rhythm that made her shudder and leaned forward to taste his lips.

“Make me come, Killian,” Emma gasped between bounces, planting her lips against his only long enough to feel them on her skin and not taste the sourness of rum on his breath. “Take me there.”

Killian wrapped his arms around her naked form, planting his hands firmly against her back until he felt the bumps of her spine beneath the tips of his fingers. Emma’s soft, downy body hair sprang to attention and she arched her back willingly when Killian curved her body away from his and loomed forward to capture a nipple between his lips. They were dry and cracked against her skin but Emma didn’t mind the texture. It was like a trigger, her external pain amplifying her internal struggle for release that only Killian could give her.

Nails clawed over her skin and teeth bit down on the peaks of her breasts and Emma screamed out, her orgasm ripping through her body like an exorcism, leaving its mark in the form of weak shudders and soft whimpers as the demon of desolation left her body once more. Killian followed shortly afterwards, his hips jutting into her throbbing core only a few more times before he found his own salvation and went deaf from it, the beacon of light shining through him once more.

There was a moment after they had both peaked that they felt free. They were free from pain, free to let hands roam over gentle curves and through messed up side parted hair, but it never lasted. They both knew they would wake up the next day, the high of their bliss having subsided and the demons of despair making their inevitable return, but for now all they had was this moment, and in this moment, they were alive.

Four months ago

Emma knew this day would come. Killian had left for work as normal, kissing her goodbye and acting as normal as any other person in the world. His breath was fresh and minty, a tiny remnant of toothpaste caught in the corner of his mouth that Emma had wiped away with a wet thumb pad. And there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, one that Emma had not seen for months, a smile of genuine glee on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as he let the door close behind him and waved goodbye.

It wasn’t long after home time, when she had received no messages like she usually did, that panic set in and Emma realised that what Killian had been experiencing in the morning was simply mania. Depression was an evil thing, worming itself into the lives of unsuspecting people, creeping up on them without remorse. Every once in a while, there would be a peak of happiness that professionals would call mania, the manic side of being so low that you can’t physically take it anymore.

Killian had always texted Emma to tell her he was at Will’s bar, but not tonight, and after Will had texted her to say he had confiscated Killian’s keys, she had resigned herself to the fact that he was probably not coming home for the first time since Liam had died. She felt empty and was unable to drink the cinnamon topped hot chocolate she had prepared shortly before bed, simply leaving the milky drink to go cold and lumps of melted cream to float around the surface.

Emma knew she hadn’t been asleep long when she heard the rattle of keys struggling to find the lock on the front door. There was barely even the disorientation of sleep clouding her mind or the fuzz of sleep covering the inside of her mouth before she heard the cursing coming from the kitchen and the breaking of ceramic against the floor. The cold chocolate had met its demise against the slate tiles and Killian hadn’t even lowered his voice as he swore about the mess.

“Swan!” He called out groggily, his voice booming through the silent house. A light chuckle followed his shout but Emma did not move, her limbs heavy and her mind exhausted from her worry that had now been abated. She knew he would find his way to bed, he always had before, but the tingle in her joints and the increase of her heart beat told her that her body was not as annoyed as she should be.

The bedroom door opened with a thud as it hit the wall behind, the indent from the doorknob leaving a mark in the plaster of ever increasing depth. It was fruitless trying to cover it up now because if it wasn’t one addiction making the door fly open in a sloppy maneuver, it was the desperation of the other sending the cold, round handle into the wall night after night as they tore each other’s clothes off seeking their high.

“Swan?” Killian whispered all too loudly as he stumbled over his boots midway through kicking them off. “Are you awake?” He made it to the edge of the bed, falling forward and only just stopping himself with two flat palms to the mattress.

“I am now,” Emma lied, rolling over to face him. He was merry, not doubt about it, his rosy cheeks and red tipped ears telling her exactly his poison of choice. Rum always made him blush in random places.

“I tried to be quiet,” Killian slurred, swaying side to side as he lifted his knee onto the bed in an ungainly manner. He lost his balance instantly and slammed his foot back to the floor before he toppled over. “Did you make the bed higher?” He mumbled, inspecting the edge of the mattress with a frown.

“No, Killian,” Emma sighed, sitting up and flicking her hair behind her shoulders. She never went to bed with her hair tied up anymore, not since meeting Killian, but it had been months since he had absently run his fingers through it in his sleep and inhaled the soft vanilla scent from her shampoo.

“I like your hair,” Killian grinned at her, eyelids heavy and a boyish smirk plastered across his face. Emma rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head a little. “It’s so…” He paused, trying to find the words, poking his tongue out and sucking behind his teeth until he made a squeaking noise. “...yellow.”

“Yellow?” Emma asked incredulously.

“Aye, like the bug,” Killian smiled at her and it was real, a soft curve of his lips that were slightly parted and told her that he was happy, if only for this moment. He attempted to mount the bed once again, this time victoriously, and shuffled onto his side once he had taken a good two minutes to free his arms from the confines of his leather jacket. He tossed it across the room with little effort and when he ran his hand through his hair, Emma noticed the dried blood adorning his knuckles in the light of the moon.

“You’ve cut your hand,” She said quickly, pulling his hand closer so she could inspect it. The skin on his knuckles had burst open leaving a jagged edged wound in its wake, the fresh, bright red blood still trying to escape through the dried, dark brown crust. Emma leaned over and pulled the toggle switch on one of their bedside lamps, the room erupting in a dim orange glow as soon as the clicking sound filled their ears.

“I’m fine,” Killian shrugged dismissively.

Emma looked up from his hand to meet his gaze and her eyes went wide, the light flooding into her pupils and making her eyes sting. “Killian! You’re hurt!” She shrieked, moving closer, the feather duvet ruffling around her as she did, her eyes roaming over his face. He was beat, there were no bones about that, a purple swell under his right eye keeping his eyelids together and a dried line of blood that had trickled down the side of his face.

“You should see the other guy,” Killian said joyously, giving her a wink. Emma tutted, mostly at herself because as her hand hovered over a freshly reopened wound on his right cheek, she felt a surge of want that scared her. She was fascinated by the patterns of splattered blood on his shirt collar, turning the blue material into a dark maroon colour under ear spot, and she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck.

“Killian, I’m serious,” Emma chastised, enjoying the weight of his hand in hers, even if she shouldn’t under the circumstances. Her mind wandered briefly when he turned their hands over, brushing his thumb over the backside of her knuckles in a move so gentle her heart skipped in her chest and she had to swallow hard.

“So am I,” he said softly, his good eye fluttering closed when Emma’s featherlight fingertips brushed over the split skin next to his hairline.

“Is this all your blood?” Emma asked nervously as her eyes flickered over his face more urgently. Her gaze roamed lower and took in his shirt, top buttons tore off most likely from an opponent who had grabbed at the material. He had some dark red fingerprint type smudges across his neck, half shaped moon bruises there from fingernails and his chest hair glistened with a wet look.

“I’m sure it is not all mine,” Killian announced proudly. “I gave as good as I got, love, trust me.”

Emma flattened her hands out over his shirt, dread setting into her heart when she felt the warm, wet sensation under her fingers and realised that the wet look to his chest hair was in fact blood, his blood, from a wound that had been newly inflicted or was struggling to stem itself under the friction of his shirt. Emma tore at the remainder of his buttons, ripping the edges of his shirt apart in haste.

“Oh my god,” She exclaimed breathlessly, her face turning alabaster and heat prickling her skin when she saw the damage. “Fuck, Killian, you’ve been stabbed!”

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, craning his neck to look down at where Emma was looking. Sure enough, even through blurred vision, Killian could see the irregular circular shape punched into his pec, the flaps of skin around the edges the faintest shade of white under the layer of caked on blood. He lifted his head again, the colour draining from his face in shock. “Well, bugger.”

The hospital was more than understanding and why wouldn’t they believe the word of the local sheriff when she told them her boyfriend was accidentally injured in a bar fight? It probably wasn’t a million miles from the truth, but Killian could not remember how it had happened. A quick call to Will confirmed that there had been an altercation in the bar that, but nothing more than a few pickled slurs and insults that had fizzled out towards closing time. It seemed whoever Killian had ticked off had followed him out back because Will had found a broken bottle by the dumpster, the bottom shattered, bloody fingerprints around the neck and the sharp, pointed edges covered in dried blood.

“You are lucky,” Emma snapped, tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m alright, love,” Killian said with a wince as he shrugged out of his blood stained jacket whilst being mindful of his injury.

“That’s not the point,” Emma bit out, unable to look in his direction. “Not only did you not come home when Will’s closed, but when you did finally fall through the door you were stabbed, Killian! Stabbed!”

“I’m sorry, Swan,” Killian gulped, the last few hours having sobered him up enough that he could see the pain in her posture and the hurt in her voice as it switched between anger and fear. He moved towards her, his bootless feet falling silent on the tile, sidestepping the congealed chocolate he had spilled a few hours ago.

Emma leaned forward, trembling hands clinging to the edge of the marble as the emotion of the whole evening hit her like a freight train. Killian’s hands were on her as soon as the flood gates opened, drawing slow circles over the curve of her shoulder joints with his thumbs as she cried. Emma shook, her whole body wracked with sobs she had been holding in since the moment she discovered the gaping hole in his chest.

“Damn it, Killian!” She cried, slamming a flat palm into the cold, stone surface in front of her.

“I know,” he soothed sympathetically.

“They said you were lucky!” She screeched, turning to face him. He didn’t step back and ignored the pain that shot through his wound with the twist of his arm.

“I know…,” he agreed.

“Half an inch to the right and that bottle would have pierced your heart!” Emma bellowed, her eyes falling to where the dried blood had turned his shirt a dark shade of brown. The hospital had cleaned away most of the blood that had stuck to his chest hair and he had left his shirt open on the way home, so Emma reached out and pressed her fingers against the steady beat of his heart, the skin warm and supple under her touch. She raked her nails over the patch of hair above his heart, millimeters from the tape of the bandage covering the hole in his pec and couldn’t stop the quiver in her lip as the tears tumbled from her eyes. “I could have lost you,” she whimpered, lifting her head to finally face him, the expression of a broken man staring back at her. “I can’t lose you.”

Killian fought the ache in his chest and lifted his arms, pulling her into his embrace, the bandage on his chest quickly soaked by Emma’s tears. “I know,” he sighed sadly, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

There were no words that he could say that would make her feel better. Emma had been stronger than he could have ever been but finally her integrity had shattered into a thousand pieces, all of which he held in his hands, a charge he neither felt qualified or strong enough to uphold. Emma’s fingers clutched at the edges of his shirt as she cried, holding him to her with distress in her wails that he would never forget.

She lifted her head and real fear flashed through her eyes, turning the honey hues into a murky hazel. Killian met her gaze, the silence between them saying everything that they needed to. He recognised the look in her eyes, he had seen it before when Liam had died and she had thought she would lose him to the sharp edge of a razor blade or in a bottle of prescription painkillers. It was primal, urgent and miserable want of the highest degree.

And he felt it too.

“What are we doing to each other?” Killian rasped, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes flickered between hers and her lips.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma commanded on a heaving breath, her fingers curling around the crusty edges of his shirt.

“Emma, I…” Killian began, his sobriety giving him a moment of clarity in this toxic part of their relationship he hadn’t experienced until now. Emma’s hands were on the back of his neck before any more words could escape his mouth, his body ignoring his brain’s objections as soon as their lips met. The kiss was feverish, burning them up from the inside out and making them gasp for oxygen between tastes of tongues, clashes of teeth and the biting of lips.

They had sex differently now. It wasn’t making love so much as fucking, diving into each other until they were drowning in the sounds of pleasure and the smell of their sweat sheened skin invaded their senses. It was hurried, like a race into wretchedness with no winner, a sprint for the finish line that left them elated but never sated.

Killian wanted her, and Emma wanted him. That was all they knew.

When Emma tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling in frustration, Killian growled and it set a switch off inside of Emma. Gone were her tears, gone was her worry that she might never have him again, instead the vacancy in her core replaced with desire, deep and sultry that had her tugging again at the dark locks and biting his bottom lip a little harder than he was used to. He cried out again and tore his lips from hers, dabbing his stinging bottom lip with a fingertip and inspecting it for blood. Killian looked up at her again, confused and aroused, Emma was looking up at him through her eyelashes, her body arching into his and her teeth troubling her bottom lip salaciously. He grinned, the intense throb in his jeans hurting that little bit more than before.

“There’s my pirate,” Emma cooed his nickname, wrapping her fingers around the chain that Killian wore around his neck. He never took it off because it held one of his most prized possessions, Liam’s ring, and she slid her hand down the cool metal links until she had it in her palm.

Killian surged forward, ignoring the sting of pain as he hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel his length through his jeans pressing into the thin material of the pajamas she had neglected to change out of in her panic to get him to the hospital before and it made her groan, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling his already open mouth to hers.

Their kisses were messy, wet and rushed, tongues diving deeper than they ever had before. Emma noticed the distinctly faded taste of a different brand of rum on Killian’s tongue and wondered if he had drunk through Will’s supply already that week, but it was short lived when Killian swiped an extended arm over the kitchen table, ridding it of a few magazines and candles, and them slammed her down on the hard, wooden surface with a grunt. He stood back, a dark hollowness to his stare as he grabbed the waistband of her pants and underwear at the same time and pulled them off in one motion.

“Hurry,” Emma begged wantonly, writhing on the table and watching his hands fumble with the button of his jeans. “I need you,” She purred as she traced circles over her clit, slicking her nectar from her fluttering core and using it as lubrication over the pulsating bundle of nerves. Killian was free in no time, roughly grabbing Emma’s knees as he stepped up to the edge of the table and pulling her to him, his tip stretching her entrance in just the most torturous way.

“I need you too,” Killian said firmly, his entire body shaking from holding himself back. Emma hooked her legs around his back, digging her heels into his spine and pulled him closer, impaling herself with a raging satisfaction.

“So, take me,” She challenged and it was all Killian needed to begin a rhythm with his hips that left her inner walls screaming for more and her body boneless.

He was relentless, gasping for breath and holding her to him as he thrust into her, barely leaving the comfort of her fiery centre for fear he might never find his way back. Emma yelped when he pulled her a little too harshly, hooking his hands behind her knees, his fingernails digging into her flesh so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next day. They would be a reminder, proof of their devotion and a visual description of the actions of their addiction to each other, hidden from friends but they would know they were there.

They would always know they were there.

As with any dependency, their trysts had become stale and they needed more each time in order to find the shining light within each other and feel the relief of a climax as it washed over them. Killian stopped his pounding thrusts when Emma screamed his name in such a way that meant she was close, cruelty he knew, but he wasn’t done with taking her to heaven just yet. Emma whined with a frown, but it was short lived because ignoring the searing pain from the stitches pulling against his freshly torn skin on his chest, Killian pulled her up off the table and into his arms, spinning them and stumbled into the side of the refrigerator.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, clutching the sides of his face and clawing at his cheeks. “More,” she panted, biting his chin and stiffening as he rolled his hips in that perfect way again and again.

“You’ll never lose me,” Killian panted between thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of her naked ass as he leaned his entire weight against the buzzing appliance to hold Emma up. “Never,” he affirmed with a deep, core clenching plunge into her that made Emma bury her face in his neck and squeal with her impending orgasm.

“I’m there,” Emma sighed and she felt Killian grab the top of the refrigerator, pulling himself into her even harder to prolong her pleasure. “Come with me,” she begged, her voice almost as if she was crying, ready to explode on the inside, the approaching light inside of her numbing her senses and taking away her breath as well as her pain. Killian crowed, his legs buckling and giving out from underneath him, the pair of them tumbling to the floor and rolling into the remnants of the hot chocolate long forgotten.

Their bliss wouldn’t last, they both knew that, for tomorrow they would wake up still broken and damaged.

Three months ago

“Hi, Emma. It’s…”

“I’m on my way, Will.”

The phone calls had become more frequent. Killian barely made his own way home anymore and Emma had forgot what it was like to walk or drive during the daylight. In a way she was thankful for Will because she knew he would never call the police if Killian got too much. They had served together, both seen and experienced the same awful things whilst deployed, but somehow Will had the strength inside of him to resist the voice inside of his head. Or maybe he was a ticking time bomb too, just waiting for the day when he would be detonated the way Killian had the day he heard of Liam’s demise.

Everybody had their demons, but it was only those who had been strong for too long that felt the strain.

When Emma had arrived, Killian wasn’t sitting in his usual booth, head hung low in a drunken haze and surrounded by empty glasses. Instead he was pacing the bar area, begging Will for more of the rum to burn away the pain he felt inside, unsatisfied with the glass of water he was waving around as he slurred his distaste towards his friend.

“Hey! Watch it!” A gruff voice boomed above Killian’s banter as the ice cold water spilled from the glass in his hand and instantly soaked into the shirt of the man next to him.

“Yeah? Or what?” Killian growled, slamming the half empty glass onto the highly polished bar.

The man got to his feet immediately, fuelled with rage and reeking of stale ale, and stepped into Killian’s space. Their foreheads were almost touching and in the time it took Emma to move from the entrance, fists were flying between the two men.

Killian took a clenched fist to the face, stumbling backwards only briefly before surging forward once more and grabbing the wet edges of the man’s shirt, pulling him towards him and lunging forward at the same time until he heard the crack of bone on bone and felt the man’s nose give way under his forehead. The man cried out, blood pouring from his nose like a crimson river and Killian took advantage of his dazed state to land another punch to the man’s gut.

“Guys!” Will screamed, hopping over the bar. “Not inside!” He screeched, grabbing Killian’s arm and pulling him backwards. Two other patrons joined his efforts, shoulder barging Killian’s drunken opponent and holding him back.

Killian shook Will off quickly and stumbled on heavy feet back towards the man who was snorting like a bull, droplets of blood on the floor between them and staining the front of his shirt.

“Come on, Jones!” The man encouraged with a blood stained smirk and wriggled free from the grasp of his captors. He grabbed his barstool, lifting the wooden item effortlessly and swinging it at Killian who had no time to move before it collided with his shoulder and he let out an anguished cry, pushing away the remnant of the broken wood and ignoring the sound of Will’s protests as it hit the floor.

“Hey! Hey!” Emma screamed as she stepped between the two men, her face contorting with pain as the man pushed her hard into Killian. It was sudden and Emma saw the flicker of adrenaline fuelled anger flash in Killian’s eyes as he caught her, his hollow stare something she was seeing for the very first time. He had blood smeared across his chin that darkened his stubble and a large splinter of wood had lodged itself in the skin of his cheek, but he was not there. Behind the darkness, he was someone else.

Something else.

Killian pushed Emma aside and she fell into Will’s embrace who had anticipated the outcome of her intervention. The bar erupted with patrons cheering and clapping, the scuffled on stools across the dusty wooden floor echoing in the background as every man leapt to his feet and punched the air when Killian dived for the man once more.

“Jones has to have his girlfriend fight his battles for him!” The man sneered, wiping the back of his hand under his nose and flicking the excess blood from his fingers.

“Say that again!” Killian warned, grabbing the man’s shirt once more just as a few burly men joined Will’s efforts to keep the two men apart.

“Enough!” Will roared as he squeezed between them. He almost got crushed between the bouncers as the two men desperately tried to claw at each other but managed to spin around long enough to give a nod of his head towards the door. “Get out of my bar!” He growled at the man, pushing him towards the exit and making his point with an extended finger. “Get out now!”

“She must be something really special,” he laughed, spitting a mouthful of dark brown blood to the bar floor. “Maybe she is there for the whole unit.” The man looked over Will’s shoulder to Killian who was fuming, the muscles on his jaw twitching and his fists clenched so tightly at his side that his knuckles were white. “She only fuck you military guys, or can any of us have a ride?”

The whole bar fell silent and Killian took advantage of it, slipping from the grasp of the huge balding man whose fingertips had been digging into his chest, rushing towards the foul mouthed man once more and slamming into him so hard that they both tumbled to the floor. No one had time to react and Emma watched as if in slow motion as the two men collided with the dirty floor, Killian straddling the much larger man and pummeling his face with a closed fist.

“Killian! No!” Emma cried, fighting back to tears that stung at her eyelids as she ran towards them. “He’s not worth it!” She pulled at Killian’s shoulders, fingers grabbing at tensed biceps and hanging from his arm as she desperately tried to slow down his assault. After what felt like an eternity the two men were pulled apart and Killian’s tormentor was ejected from the bar covered in his own blood and bruises appearing along the ridges of his face.

All eyes fell on Killian and Emma, both still surging with the rush of what had just happened, so Will ushered them towards the back door quickly. It only opened from the inside and lead to a secluded alleyway out back, the only entrance and exit to which was through the nearby parking lot which is where Will knew Emma would have parked her car.

“Get him home,” Will told her softly, his voice low as he tried to hide the anger in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Emma told him sheepishly, looking over her shoulder at Killian who had decided to expend some more of his energy kicking a rolling trash can. Will didn’t answer her and Emma completely understood why. How could he? He was put in the middle of his friend, who he owed a great debt from service, and jeopardizing his livelihood.

“Get him help,” Will said sadly, disappearing back into the bar and letting the door close behind him with a creak.

Killian was mumbling to himself when Emma approached him, her arms crossed over her chest as the chill of the night began to creep in through the thin material of her sweater. He could barely stay upright, shuffling backward and forward as he tried to pick a fight with the dumpster. Emma’s temper flared and she reached out and spun him to face her, the motion sending him into a spin and his focus drifting off to one side.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Emma pushed Killian back, flat palms hitting his chest over and over until his back made contact with the dark green dumpster.

“I had it under control!” Killian swatted her hands away and dismissed her concern with a sneer.

“Under control?” Emma laughed at him, planting her hands on her hips.

“Aye,” Killian argued cockily.

“Killian, you have just smashed a man’s face into a blood mess!” Emma screeched, pointing to the door behind them.

“In your defense!” Killian looked at her with a frown, clearly confused in his drunken state as to why she hadn’t found his actions heroic.

“Killian…” Emma began with a sigh, a trembling hand running over her brow as she looked to her feet.

“Oh, here we go,” Killian spat, stumbling sideways and steadying himself against the cold metal bin. “Here comes the great Emma Swan lecture!”

Emma’s head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at him angrily. The blood on his face had been mostly wiped away in the fight, a few specks still littering the tips of his ears and the cut on his cheek from the first blow had dried and messily sealed itself closed. They had begun to repeat this dance more often nowadays and it was starting to make Emma feel empty. They would insult each other, throw words neither of them really meant back and forth, fuelled by her tenacity and his alcoholism until they both regretted it or needed something else.

And it was always something else. Something else that Emma was fighting her own battles to avoid.

“What’s wrong, Swan, lost for words?” He grumbled at her spitefully.

“I’m not going to fight with you, Killian,” Emma said calmly, stepping away from him.

“Oh come now, love,” he chuckled darkly, holding out his hand in invitation. “You know how this ends. We might as well skip to the big finale.” He stepped forward, cupping his blood encrusted hand around Emma’s elbow.

“You are an addict,” Emma said softly, watching the scuffed toe of her boot kick at her reflection in the puddle before her. She didn’t even recognise the person staring back at her anymore.

“So are you,” Killian looked down at his own reflection joining hers in the murky water. “We are just addicted to different things.”

“Are we, though?” Emma lifted her head up to look at him. There was nothing behind his expression, his eyes void of any sign of the man that Emma had met. She knew he was in there, somewhere, but he couldn’t fight his way to the surface when it was easier to shrink away from the light. It was easier for both of them.

“I can’t quit you,” Emma said, her vice quaking. “And you know it.”

“Is that so wrong?” Killian tugged her elbow gently, pulling her towards him.

“It’s not right,” Emma moved back again but he stopped her, the grip on her elbow tightening.

“Let’s go back there,” Killian cooed, ignoring Emma’s resistance and closing the gap between them. He dipped his head a little and felt Emma’s body relax into his when he skimmed his lips over the shell of her ear. “We don’t have to feel this way. We can fix it,” he whispered into her ear, carding his fingers through the softness of her hair and cradling her head in his hand.

Emma’s eyes fluttered closed and as soon as he pressed his lips to the pulse in her neck she was halfway to being lost. Her mind screamed no but her body was ignoring the protest, something she knew Killian recognised when she felt him smirk against the quickening rush of blood and her breath escaped her mouth on a betraying sigh.

“Let me take you there, Emma,” Killian rasped, his arms circling around her body and holding her to him, his mouth planting hot, wet kisses up the front of her throat when her head tilted back involuntarily and a soft whine escaped her throat.

“N...No…” Emma choked out, stiffening her arms and pushing against Killian’s chest.

“Yes,” Killian nuzzled against her face, their noses pressed side by side, his breath laden with the stench of too much booze.

“We shouldn’t…” Emma sighed breathlessly when Killian nibbled her lower lip. Her hands smoothed up his shirt, fingers curling around the disheveled material of his collar, still askew from the tussle in the bar. Her skin itched for his touch, her judgement clouded by the sweep of his strong hands over the curve of her behind.

“So, make me stop,” Killian challenged weakly when he felt Emma’s grip on his shirt relax a little and her body arch into his. He flattened his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer once more, pressing an open mouth kiss to the underside of her jaw.

“Stop,” Emma gasped, swallowing hard and feeling the prickle of his stubble against the bob in her throat. “Killian, stop.” Emma pushed once more against his chest, harder than before and Killian let his hands slip from her body as he took a few disorientated steps backwards.

“Don’t you want this?” He squeaked, his body raging with arousal and his emotions edging on the verge of anger once more. He frowned at her standing before him, staring down into the gentle ripple of the water filled pothole between them. When she didn’t respond, and the pounding of blood in his ears became too much, Killian snapped. “I want this! It’s all I have left.”

“Killian, we can’t…”

“Can’t what, Emma?” He raised his voice, her name on his lips changed from seconds ago when he was muttering it against her skin with passion. Now it was filled with a desperation that she recognised completely because she felt it too. “I want you, Emma. You can make me forget, if only for a few hours. Why won’t you do that for me?”

“Don’t,” Emma warned, the tears welling up in her eyes and burning until she blinked them away. “Don’t make this about you and what you need.”

“Why not?” Killian seethed. “I’m an addict, right? Are we not the most selfish people?”

“It’s not that,” Emma whispered, wiping away her tears with the heel of her palm.

“Then what, Emma?” Killian yelled, staggering sideways and stumbling backwards until his shoulders bumped into the cold brickwork on the opposite building. “Tell me,” he begged, his tone softening when he saw her tears spill over her cheeks.

“It’s what I want!” Emma screamed, her resolve breaking into a million tiny shards that mirrored the state of her heart. Killian was silent, his sudden intake of breath the only sound between them. “I want to get lost in you, Killian. I want to fuck you until I fall, and it scares me.”

“Why does it scare you?” He asked softly.

“Because you are already lost,” Emma sniveled. “You fell a long time ago and I am all that is tethering you to reality right now. I see it, Killian, but you don’t. And I am not sure how many more times we can chase away the darkness inside of us before I can’t get back.”

“And that scares you most?” Killian said sadly, slumping against the brickwork even harder and hanging his head limply.

“It doesn’t scare you?” Emma cried with a watery voice, small and meek from her tears.

“Of course it does,” Killian scoffed with a slight sway. He pushed himself from the wall, his head spinning a little as he struggled to stay upright. “I cannot fathom that you would think so little of me that you would believe I would chase the high of an orgasm without a single thought of what it was doing to you each time!”

Emma sniffed, pulling the material of her sweater down over her hand and swiping the rough material under her eyes and her nose. “Do you?”

“How can you ask me that? Of course I do,” Killian soothed her worries instantly without a second of hesitation. “It’s all I think about. In that moment, when the light floods in and I am at peace, I wonder if you have made it too, if you feel it too, if we are both together in the one place that finally makes us feel whole.”

“You do?” Emma said weakly. She needed to hear it again.

“I do!” Killian shouted exasperated. “Emma, I might be a drunk but I am not an utter bastard. I know you are hurting too, and you need to get there as much as I do. Why are you fighting it?”

“I’m scared,” Emma whimpered so softly Killian struggled to hear her child like voice over the roar of a car passing by the blocked off exit to the alley way. Killian looked at her, really stared into her eyes and when he offered her a feeble sideways smile she saw a glimpse of the man she had fallen in love with before he had been changed forever. She trusted that man, trusted that he would never hurt her and would make sure she was always safe. That was the Killian she wanted.

“I will bring you back,” Killian nodded slowly and took a tentative step towards her once more. “I promise, you will not get lost.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Emma’s lips were on his. She didn’t care that he was a slowly sobering drunk because in that second and with those words, he was her Killian again. And she knew, with the clashing of teeth and the surge of heat over her entire body, that he was right and he would keep his word.

“It’s bad form to lie to a lady,” Emma reminded him as she flattened her hands to his chest and pushed him hard, his feet struggling to stop his weight falling against the wall behind him with a grunt.

“I would never,” Killian shook his head and reached for her hands, holding them against his chest and pulling her with him as he fell backward. In a split second Emma’s hands were on the buckle of his belt, wrenching the leather through the metal fastening harshly as Killian dropped his sleepy gaze between them to watch her deft fingers at work on the button and fly of his jeans.

“Say it again,” Emma commanded, reaching into his boxers and gripping the hardness that had sprung to life there. Killian took a second to swallow, her actions and alcohol stealing his thought process before he finally snaked his hands between them and tugged at the fastening of her jeans.

“I promise,” he rasped, pushing the stiff material down her legs awkwardly and helping her free one leg by stepping on the material at her feet. Emma cupped his face in her hands, licking her lips and crushing them to his with a feverish intensity that had been building inside of her since she witnessed him strike another human being. It wasn’t supposed to be arousing, but damn if it hadn’t sparked a flame inside of her that had been snuffed out long ago.

Emma clawed at the back of his head, fingernails scratching through the soft hair that was standing to attention there, holding his face to hers as she kissed him eagerly. Killian parted his lips, a groan escaping from his throat, and Emma’s tongue immediately found his, brushing over the muscle and finding the ridges of his teeth with each swipe. Killian tasted so familiar in his drunken state that for a nanosecond Emma worried she might never remember what he tasted like sober ever again.

She yelped, her skin becoming tight over her bones and the pooling heat between her legs contrasting the chill of the foggy night. It was damp, the low cloud in the air surrounding them without warning, making it harder to breathe between kisses and the clashing of teeth. Charged with an urgency that made his cock twitch, Killian spun them around and back Emma towards the wall, hands roaming to the swell of her behind and lifting her into his arms before her back had even hit the bricks.

Emma’s legs wrapped around his waist, her jeans getting tangled up around her other ankle and almost tying her legs together at the base of his spine. Killian reached between them, sliding a finger through the liquid warmth that had become exposed by her opening of her legs and relished in the strangled gasp that came from deep within her when he found her clit.

“There’s my girl,” Killian rasped against her face, a playful smirk spreading across his features. Emma barely heard him, the ringing in her ears deafening as she felt his fingers toying with her nerve bundle, slicking over her juices and teasing her entrance with the tip of his solidness. He had let her slide down the rough wall, mindful not to hurt her, and slipped in just the tip of his throbbing erection.

“Don’t tease me,” Emma whimpered, clutching his shoulders and pulling him closer.

“Where is the fun in giving you what you seek immediately?” Killian teased, rocking his hips forward until he was half buried inside of her. Emma’s back arched from the wall and she ground her teeth, jaw clenching and eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

“Just fuck me, Killian,” she begged, eyes opening to meet his darkened stare. Tiny beads of sweat had formed along his brow line, even in the cold night air, and Emma licked her lips salaciously. “I know you want this as much as I do.”

“You feel amazing,” Killian breathed, rolling his forehead against hers, skin sticking to skin and the gentle throb of Emma’s muscles pulling at him, begging him to go deeper, explore the depth of her with his hardness.

A door nearby opened, yellow light spilling out into the alley way and they froze, so close and yet so far from becoming one in the shadows. Emma slipped a little, impaling herself accidentally and clenched around him involuntarily when the sadistic burn of the sudden stretch made her call out his name. Killian clamped his hand over her mouth, shushing her quiet as the tips of his ears pinked and his legs shook from the sudden sensation around his erection. After what felt like an eternity the door closed again, the light disappearing and shrouding them in darkness once more. What breath they had been holding in was expelled and Killian released his grip, sliding his fingers down the chords of Emma’s neck and enjoying the feel of her quickened pulse pounding against his fingertips.

“What?” Emma purred softly when she noticed he was staring directly at his own hand loosely gripping her throat.

“I know how to make you feel better than you ever have,” Killian growled darkly. His grip tightened around her neck and Emma suppressed a squeak when he pulled himself out of her and then thrust his hips forcefully. He did it again, and again, the rhythm of his hips matching the thumping of Emma’s life force under the clutches of his fingers as he pressed harder against her neck, closing off her windpipe and ignoring the way her voice sounded so different as she begged for more.

Unable to see properly, Emma reached out to grab whatever she could find. A handful of hair, the shape of his ear, the collar of his shirt, anything. Blurring vision was nothing new to her as her pleasure peaked, but what was new was how with the deprivation of oxygen, Emma’s brain had somehow transported her into her euphoria much earlier than before.

“Don’t stop,” she squeaked, fisting a clump of Killian’s hair between her fingers and pulling his face to hers. Killian’s lips on her were like fire, branding her subconscious with the feel of bliss only he could provide. Her body went limp, pounded against the sharp edged bricks behind her by Killian’s relentless thrusts. There was no sound when she came, only the burn of his lips on hers as he kissed her slightly open mouth and the sting of his fingernails as they dug into the delicate skin of her neck.

Her rapture was there and it lasted longer than she had ever experienced before, the blinding white light she only ever saw a flash of taking over her entire being and transporting her to another place. She was deaf and she was blind but she was warm in this place, and she felt loved. In that moment she was free once more but dependant on the journey that got her there.

Emma knew in that moment that it would be much harder to get clean.

Two months ago

There were certain times when Killian never went out to drink and those were the happier times, when Emma felt like they might be like they once were. His beloved soccer team’s semi-final match against their biggest rival was one of those times, however, he was never far from the bitterness of an alcoholic beverage. The game hadn’t even reached half time yet and he had already plowed his way through a six pack, the bottles still wet on the outside from the condensation that had not had time to evaporate.

It was a rare occurrence for both of them to be home at the same time. Killian often worked late, heading straight to Will’s bar, and if he was home early, Emma nearly always had a late shift at the precinct that meant they would not cross paths again until the next day. Knowing he would be home because of the game meant Emma could arrange this evening, spend some time together, just the two of them, and hopefully begin to mend the pieces of their relationship.

It wasn’t exactly that their relationship was completely broken, but neither could deny that it was cracking and coming apart because of their ignorance to their own destruction. But tonight, Emma had a plan, to secure the edges of their love before it split and frayed beyond salvation.

And it began with interrupting the half time interlude dressed in only lingerie.

“Oh, Killian…” Emma sang, walking down the stairs as silently as her bare feet would allow on the wooden steps.

“Hmm?” He grunted, gulping another mouthful of beer from a new bottle and frowned at some slow motion replay on the screen with a disgruntled noise.

“Are you busy?” Emma cooed sweetly, padding across the floor and letting her fingers trail along the back of the couch where he was sitting. She stepped sideways, her freshly shaved legs smooth as they rubbed against each other. It wasn’t the only thing that Emma had rid of all hair and her lips quirked up at the corners at the thought of Killian seeing her.

“No, It’s half time,” He mumbled against the cold, glass lip of the bottle in his hand. He was slouched back into the cushions, his shirt having been discarded in excitement over a goal, and his lounge pants slung low on his hips. Hair covered his entire torso, the droplets of water from the outside of his beer sitting in tiny bubbles on the thatch that poked out of his waistband, and as she walked past Emma couldn’t help but rake her nails over his shoulders.

“Oh good,” she purred, reaching the end of the couch and stepping into his peripheral . She knew he could see her. His stomach caved in from his intake of air and he almost choked on the swig of beer in his mouth, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and turning to look at her with a slack jawed expression.

“Fuck me, Swan,” he stammered, fingers gripping the bottle in his hand so tightly his fingernail beds turned pink under the hard surface.

“That’s the plan.” Emma sauntered around the couch until she was standing before him. He licked his lips and ran his tongue over the edge of his teeth, eyes roaming over her dressed in a brand new piece of lingerie he had never seen before. It was stunning, a blood red corset made of bone and lace that left nothing to the imagination, hidden underneath a sheer black long sleeve gown, but it’s most defining feature was a black lace halter neck choker that made Killian grin salaciously.

“Nice outfit,” he smirked, bouncing the balls of his feet on the carpet in front of him, fidgeting as blood rushed to his groin.

“Oh, this old thing?” Emma rolled her eyes, flicking her loosely curled hair over the back of her shoulder.

“That is not old,” Killian bit his bottom lip, his eyebrow bobbing up his forehead. He motioned towards her with the beer bottle, extending his arm.

“How can you be so sure?” Emma took a step forward, shrugging her shoulders and letting the gown silently flutter to the ground behind her.

Killian took another swig of his beer, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Emma the whole time. “I would have noticed,” he said smugly.

Emma tilted her head to her chin, looking down her torso, barely able to see her feet over the balconette bustier that so comfortably housed her ample breasts. “You like it?” She blinked, opening her eyes to meet his once more without lifting her head. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, turning the plump skin white as she bit down, and she swivelled her hips sideways.

Killian’s gaze drifted to the profile of her ass, the skin bare and the string of her thong disappearing between her cheeks. It took everything he had to keep his hand on the bottle and not reach for her curves, his fingers itching with the memory of how she felt under his touch. He flexed his fingers, rubbing his hand along his thigh and hating the way the cotton of his pants felt nothing like her skin. With one last chug of his beer the bottle was empty, and he swallowed hard, a tiny droplet escaping his lips and rolling down the lengthening hair of his beard. All he could do was exhale, hard and forced, his chest heaving in another breath.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Emma smirked, giving him a wink and slipping out of his view towards the stairs. He sat still, composing himself she was sure, until she heard the thud of the empty bottle against the coffee table and then silence as he switched the game off. Emma lifted her leg onto the first step, turning back to offer him a coy smile. “Are you just going to sit there all night?” She teased as she ascended the stairs.

For a man who was already half cut, Killian moved like a rocket, springing to his feet and bolting across the space between them in less than three strides. Emma squeaked, feet pounding the stairs as she ran, pulling herself on the handrail to increase her speed. When Killian stumbled she giggled and took advantage of the distance she manage to put between them, flying through their bedroom door and turning to face him just as she reached their bed. Killian made it to the door and leaned on the frame, muscles bulging at his biceps and breathing heavily, his hair flopped over his forehead, the grin he had been wearing now replaced with a feral, cat like stare.

He was stalking her like prey and Emma had never felt so exhilarated.

“You are a siren,” he said accusingly, reaching up to scratch at his almost full length beard. It sported a few grey hairs, streaks of white mixed in with his usual gingery hues that accented the silver that had formed over his pointed ears.

“And you are too slow,” Emma rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, hands on her hips. “Must be the grey,” she winked.

Killian took a step into the room, straightening up and reaching for the door. He wrapped his fingers around the hard, wooden panel and slammed it closed behind him, smirking when Emma jumped a little with anticipation. “Silver fox, right?” He whispered darkly as he approached.

Emma nodded, letting her eyes roam over his naked torso once more. Her skin hummed as he approached and a soft whimper fell from her mouth as she noticed his arousal tenting his pants. He stopped inches from her and his manly scent invaded every one of her senses immediately, making the blood pound in her ears and her core ache.

“Don’t they mate for life?” Killian purred, his breath hot on her face. He pushed his hands into the side of his loungewear, pushing the material down over his thighs and letting them pool at his feet. She swallowed hard, not caring that her plan had been turned around on her, and rubbed her thighs together to alleviate the tension between her legs.

Completely naked, Killian was exposed. It had been so long since they had played this sort of game, made love, seen each other naked even, and her eyes flitted over his scars. They were everywhere, littering his body and a constant reminder of what had happened to him overseas, and Emma had forgotten how many he actually had. She didn’t care, he was exactly how she wanted him, each divot, rippled and raised bit of flesh a trophy of how hard he had fought to get back to her.

Emma lifted her gaze, fixing her stare into the oceanic depths of Killian’s eyes. “Forever,” she whispered.

He paused, his heart stopping for a second as he comprehended her words. He looked away sheepishly and gulped. “After everything?”

“Killian, please, don’t,” Emma said softly, closing the gap between them and pressing herself against the firmness of his chest. Her fingers tangled themselves in his beard, curling into the wiry hair and gently tugging his face up to look at her once more. “Don’t. Not tonight. Let’s just…”

“I know,” He said with a weak smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re right,” Emma laughed, pushing herself from his body and watching his expression change instantly. It became more playful, his eyebrow jumping up on his face and his cock twitched back to life. “I should just…” She turned from him, still feeling his eyes burning into her back. She reached at her side and pulled down the zip of the corset agonizingly slowly, the clicking sound almost lost over Killian’s groan of frustration. “...take this off,” Emma dropped the barely there lace corset to the floor and peeked over her shoulder.

“Bloody Hell,” Killian ground out through a clenched jaw.

“And maybe this?” Emma hooked her thumbs into the waistband strap of her thong, teasing the material down over the curve of her ass and watching Killian’s resolve slowly disappear. He was so worked up she could practically see his heart thundering in his chest, vibrating his chest hair and making his skin come to life.

“Maybe I could help?” Killian growled, his feet planted to the floor, his whole body paralyzed when Emma bent over as she pushed the material to her knees, letting it go and fall the rest of the way unaided. She stretched forward over the bed and a moan tumbled from her lips when her nipples brushed the comforter and sent them into rock hard peaks. Emma slithered across the top of the sheets, careful to keep her legs closed, and gave him another sultry look over her shoulder.

“I can think of a much better way you can help me,” Emma purred, rolling over onto her back and palming her breasts. “Do you want to know how?” She cooed, beckoning him with a finger.

Killian just growled again, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he crawled up onto the bed and over her naked form. Emma sucked in a breath, carding her fingers into his beard again and leveling his gaze with hers. He hovered above her, his body not touching hers but both of them could feel the electricity radiating from their skin, shocking the others to attention. “I know exactly how,” he said teasing her bottom lip with his, offering her the softness of his lips only to tear it away at the last second.

Emma grinned, clawing the sides of his face and arching her back off of the bed, desperate to feel his thatched chest tickling her sensitive nipples. Killian moved back, denying her pleasure with a sly smirk. “Roll over,” he rasped, finally pressing his lips to hers, quickly giving her a taunting kiss that he knew would leave her wanting more. She chased his lips when he pulled away, pouting her bottom lip out with a sulk.

“You’re a bad boy,” Emma chuckled playfully as she turned, resting her body on its side. Killian moved into the space behind her, his erection rubbing the crease of her ass and his lips finding the skin of her shoulder, sucking the flesh into a purple bruise almost immediately.

“You have no idea,” Killian whispered, his nose nuzzled into the space behind her ear and making the hairs there stand to attention with his words. They were enough to send her body into a shiver that was only eased by the huge arms wrapped around her and his hands trailing down the curve of her breasts and over the jut of her hips. Resting completely in his embrace, head on his bicep and with no space between them, Emma felt more loved than she had in a long time.

“What are you going to do to me?” Emma begged, feigning innocence. She knew exactly what he was going to do, she had known from the second he pressed his body to hers and had ghosted his hand over her stomach, moving lower but never touching where she wanted him to the most. Killian inserted his hand between her clenched thighs and lifted her leg back and over his hip, the half excited half impeded moan that left Emma’s mouth instantly surging to his groin.

“I’m going to…” he began darkly against the side of her face, his breath almost louder than his words. Killian slid his fingers down her inner thigh, so close to her exposed bundle of nerves that Emma tried to clamp her thighs around his hand but Killian stopped her by pulling her leg back onto his hip.

“Killian, please,” Emma whined, moving his arm she was laying on so that he was cradling one of her breasts in his hand.

“I can smell you,” he said gruffly, kneading the flesh in his palm. “You are so wet I can practically taste you, Swan.”

“Please…” Emma writhed again, the tightness between her open thighs a cruel torture that only Killian could devise. He angled his hips and his length smoothed over her entrance, poking at her clit before he withdrew and the sensation disappeared. Emma gasped and Killian held her tighter, repeating his thrust but never entering her. The angle was perfect, the ultra responsive nerve endings just inside of her exposed to his assault every time he rolled his hips.

“What do you want, Emma?” He panted into her ear, his voice like fire, licking at her need and burning away her insides.

“You,” she almost cried, the feel on his length sliding over her entrance becoming too much too quickly. She was so close and he hadn’t even entered her yet. “I want you.”

Killian reached between her legs, enjoying the gasp from her lips as he purposely brushed the heel of his palm over her clit and helped himself in. Her warmth sucked him in, tight and slick, and it finally felt like they were on their way home. Only, as soon as he began to move, the darkness inside of Emma reared its head and her body cried out for more of the self deprecating behaviour she craved.

“Choke me,” she whimpered between his thrusts, turning her head to catch his eye. Killian slowed him movements, sweat beading his forehead under the flop of his fringe as he fought to compose himself. Even her slightest movements were sending him towards the brightness of climax and he was a little confused by her words, his brow knitting together and he shook.

“Are you sure?” He gasped, his balls tightening at the mere mention of her words.

“Do it,” Emma moved his arm from her bosom until his hand was on her throat, the relief washing over her instantly. She felt like she could finally let go, let herself bathe in the brilliance only he could bring her, and when his grip tightened, her eyes rolled back in her head and she felt her entire body go limp in his grasp. “Don’t stop until I’m there,” she told him firmly as he began to move once more.

“I won’t,” Killian promised through a grunt, hips pistoning into her. The hand around her neck grew tighter, fingertips creating a line of inevitable bruises, the pain receptors under each sparking to life. Emma’s mouth fell open even wider as she gasped, her lungs burning with every breath, the lack of oxygen sending her into a panic that translated into pleasure everywhere else in her body.

Killian doubled his efforts, muscles bulging around her shoulders as he pulled her head to his chest, eager to give her the enlightenment she desired. Emma felt faint, the edges of her vision blurring and the heaviness in her limbs disappearing. Her lips tingled and the feeling in her legs disappeared, travelling up her body until with a frown she could feel nothing else and was shrouded in black.

There was no light where she was.

No warmth or comfort, just bleakness and the cold.

The deafening sound of silence, the empty expanse of her mind engulfing her completely.

“Emma!” She heard Killian shout but his voice was distant and muffled like he was underwater. She was floating, specks of light pricking behind her eyes each time she heard her name. “Emma! Baby, wake up!” Killian’s voice grew louder and she felt herself get pulled into a different position, a huge flat palm gently tapping the side of her cheek. “Come on, Emma, come back to me.”

She gasped, like she had erupted from the surface of a lake where she was surely drowning, inhaling hard and coughing as her eyes flew open and she clawed out at nothing. She felt flesh and hair, her hand colliding with what she assumed was Killian’s face as she blinked her vision into clarity.

“Emma!” Killian screamed, his voice full of relief. He bundled her spluttering figure, somewhat tinier than before, into his arms, holding her across his lap and rocking her back and forth like he was soothing a child. “Oh my God,” he whispered, lips pressed to her hairline, the words muffled against her skin.

“What...what happened?” Emma rasped, her voice physically changed and deeper. She was confused and her head pounded with a migraine like nothing she had ever felt before. She winced, closing her eyes to block out the glow of the bedroom lamp overhead.

“I am so sorry,” Killian whimpered, almost crying.

“Killian…” Emma choked out again, ignoring the scratch in her throat as she swallowed awkwardly. “What happened?” She repeated, stilling his rocking motion when she tried to sit up out of his embrace.

“I...you…” Killian stammered, his breath hitching between words. “I…” he tried again, his face screwing up as his emotion got too much for him and his tears spilled out of his eyelids. He buried his face in his hands, the sounds he made similar to when he had found out Liam was dead, like an animal caught in a trap in the most excruciating pain.

“Hey, hey,” Emma grabbed his hands instantly, pulling them from his face and cradling his head in her hands. “It’s okay,” she said softly, her own voice catching in her throat.

Killian launched himself into her arms, pulling her to him tightly as best he could in their sitting position on the bed, and Emma felt the tension leave him on a breath. “I didn’t mean to…” he sobbed into her shoulder, licking the tears from his lips quickly and holding the back of her head like it was a precious stone. “You passed out, Emma,” he pulled back from her and wiped away his tears with the knuckle of his thumb, pushing the skin of his cheek across his face until it was dry. “What if you…What if I had...” He paused, pinching his eyes closed and chasing away the thought of losing her at his own hand. “We went too far.”

Emma sat in silence, looking at the panicked look of his confession, the searing pain of his still visible handprint branding her neck. He was right, they had taken things too far this time. They had been dancing at the edge of darkness unaffected for too long, their reward worth much more than the risks, only now they had fallen into the depths and there was no beacon to guide them home.

“I’m okay,” Emma assured him again but she knew it was a lie. Things had changed between them and she knew that they had to change.

One month ago

For the last four weeks, there had been a tension between them. Emma knew it was her fault to a degree. She had pushed Killian too far, helped him cross a line he had promised he never would, all because she selfishly wanted her escapism in the form of her high. She craved it, still, but had forced herself to quit cold turkey from that day, the thick, purple hand mark around her throat a constant reminder of why. Killian had felt the most guilt, ramping up his drinking habits almost immediately, his rage increasing overnight with his feelings of inadequacy.

Emma had gone from seducing him to turning away, shying from his affections because she was petrified of needing more. She didn’t understand her addiction and couldn’t fathom how or when she had become so dependant on the release Killian could give her. All she knew was that it was something they needed to fix together but Emma was struggling to reach Killian and make him see that they needed help. Like any dependant, he thought he could fix things himself and they did not need the intervention of an outside party.

If Emma had only known how the rest of the day was going to pan out.

That morning they had talked a little about dinner and Emma had agreed to cook some sort of slow cooked casserole as it was one of Killian's favourites. A good, hearty, warming meal was just what they needed as the bitterness in the air had begun to creep in earlier in the evenings, Killian’s late night bar antics leaving him vulnerable to the cold. Alcohol had a way of tricking the brain into thinking the body was warm, so when he promised he would make a start on their fix by arriving home before dinner, Emma threw herself into prep.

When she heard the key turn in the door before nine that night, she smiled to herself, a real joy washing over her as she idly chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Maybe they could be saved after all.

“Swan?” Killian called, like so many other nights her had returned home. It was like he needed to hear her voice, make sure he had made it home and she was still there.

“In the kitchen,” Emma called back, fixing her gaze on the vegetable she was chopping, careful not to slip and cut herself. She heard him stumble in the foyer, grumbling to himself when he struggled to toe off his boots, and she lost her smile immediately. “How was work?” She called softly.

“Same old, same old,” Killian grunted, leaning against the dining table after he had appeared in the kitchen. His shirt was dishevelled yet again, his hair and beard unruly and as he shrugged off his jacket, Emma saw the pink tinge to his knuckles.

“How are your colleagues?” Emma prompted, averting her eyes back to her chopping.

“Chatty,” Killian bit out, evidently angry about something. It took everything Emma had not to turn around and comfort him the way she had been, the way they had been comforting each other, and as if reading her mind, Killian scoffed, a sound of disgust leaving the back of his throat in a guttural tone. “You want to make them stop?”

Emma stopped her chopping, resting the knife on the countertop and turning to face him, her arms folded over her chest and her feet crossed at the ankles. She was wearing just a pair of leggings, warm but practical with a pair of thick, slipper style socks and a small plain tee. She sighed a little, looking down at her wiggling toes. “You know I can’t do that.”

“That’s right,” Killian sneered. “You got better.”

“I didn’t get better,” Emma snapped, tightening her arms across her chest defensively. “I got wise.”

“Wise?” Killian laughed maniacally. “To me?”

“To us,” Emma said firmly, staring him down.

“Oh, I see,” Killian raised his voice, stepping towards her and wobbling a little on unsteady feet. “You don’t need your fix anymore so you don’t need me anymore,” he spat, jabbing an accusing finger at her.

“That’s not it,” Emma said calmly.

“Isn’t it?” Killian arched his neck, looking down at her suspiciously. “We don’t have sex anymore,” she shrugged, waving his hands around as if an audience was listening to him. “You haven’t kissed me in days, Emma. Fuck, we don’t even talk anymore!”

“We talk,” Emma nodded but he cut her off with another disapproving scoffing noise.

“Barely!” He squeaked, his volume rising a bit more.

“Look, it’s not my fault you are drunk all of the time! How am I supposed to talk to you, Killian? Tell me that. How am I supposed to talk to you when you are so full of rum you reek of the stuff!” It was Emma’s turn to shout now, her anger rising like bile in her throat.

“Oh, right, but it was okay for you to take what you wanted, huh?” Killian took a last step in her direction, his breath sour and bitter against her face as he shouted. “You didn’t seem to mind what I smelled like as long as you got what you needed!”

Emma barely lifted her head, looking at him with just the movement of her eyes. “Don’t,” she warned him, her voice low and her jaw clenched.

“Don’t what, Emma?” Killian boomed. “Don’t tell you the truth?” He laughed, shaking his head and little. “You get angry at me because you know I am right, and you can’t get angry at yourself. You are a fucking hypocrite, and you know it.”

“So what if I am?” Emma screamed at him, her cheeks flushing with prickles of red and her ear tips burning. He was standing so close to her she could practically feel him on her skin. “At least I realised it was wrong.”

Killian laughed, throwing his head back and planting his hands on his hips. It was a fake laughter, forced and evil, and it made Emma feel so small the sting of tears pricked at her eyelids. “Emma, you were willing to almost die to get your high. Don’t lecture me about what is wrong.”

“Drinking is not the same as sex,” Killian huffed. “You used me for your own emotional gain, and for what? Did it fix any of your damn problems, huh? Did it bring Liam back? No. We are still fucked up.”

A silence fell between them, the sound of their rapid heartbeats pounding in their ears on each breath. Emma stared at her feet, gripping the counter behind her for some sort of stability, Killian’s words cutting into her deeper than he probably realised. Killian moved first, stepping to the side with a disgusted shake of his head, and pulled open the cabinet behind her.

“What are you doing?” Emma snapped spitefully.

“Getting a drink,” Killian’s hand reappeared with a half consumed bottle of dark rum clutched tightly in his fingers. He slammed the door and Emma jumped, her eyes pinching closed and a feeling of dread seeping into her chest. She swallowed hard, watching the man she no longer recognised pull the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spit it across the room. He tossed his head back as he drank hungrily, finishing the rest of the bottle before he even needed to breathe.

“Is that necessary?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him.

“With all this judgement?” Killian quipped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Absolutely!” He sang, slamming the empty bottle on the counter.

“You’re a bastard,” Emma snivelled, the lump in her throat making her voice squeak and her lip tremble.

“Finally!” He roared, again addressing his invisible audience. “I was wondering how long it would take you to cry!”

“Fuck you, Killian!” Emma shouted at him, leaning forward and smacking him hard in the chest. She knew the wounds from the bar fight were healed in the upper layers but they had taken longer in the sub layers of his skin and they were sore. He winced, rolling his shoulder backwards to absorb some of the blow, but giving her a cock sure grin that sent her into a further rage.

“You don’t like to hear the truth, do you Swan?” He jabbed. “You know I am right and it tears you up that a fucking drunk can see what you can’t!”

“You don’t know shit about the truth!” Emma screeched, fists balled at her sides.

“I know you hurt, we both did, and I know that the only way you could make it disappear was to fuck. How many times did we fuck for that reason, Emma? How many times did you use me?” Killian stepped back into her space again, eyes roaming over her tight fitting clothes that accented all of the curves of her body. He reached out his hand and let his fingers rest on her hip but Emma stepped back.

“Get off of me,” she sobbed, her voice low and full of rage, her back hitting the counter as she pulled away.

“Come on,” Killian jeered, trapping her against the counter with the weight of his body. “Don’t fight me, Swan. I know you are hurting now,” he said sickly sweet, his eyes watching his hand as he ran his knuckles down the curve of her cheek to wipe away her tears. Emma turned her face away, her nose turning up when the smell of stale smoke and ales filled her nostrils. “I can make it go away.”

“Killian, no,” Emma said firmly, planting her hands on his chest but unable to move him backward.

“Just think about how it will feel,” Killian purred against the side of her face, fingers gripping her lower jaw and turning her face back to his. The fear in her eyes set him alight and Emma felt him harden in his jeans, his erection pressing into her groin and evident through her leggings. “I know you want to feel.”

“No,” Emma said again, her resolve firm. “Not like this.”

“This is exactly how you made me feel,” Killian growled, releasing her jaw and reaching between them to fumble with the button of his jeans. Emma’s breath hitched in her throat, heat and sweat tingling at the base of her spine with panic. He grabbed her hand and shoved it into his boxers, closing her fingers around his length and giving himself a few strokes, his blunt fingers digging into her wrist so hard she cried in pain as she tried to pull away. “Used. Worthless. Like nothing,” Killian grunted, stroking himself harder with Emma’s hand.

“You are worthless!” Emma shouted at him and he paused his movements, mouth agape and glassy eyes darkened with fury. She pulled her hand free and pushed against his chest again, his body giving a little under her assault which made him take a shaky step back. “You are nothing!” Emma spat.

“You ungrateful cunt!” Killian seethed, surging forward and grabbing her by the throat with both hands. Emma screamed in fear, cowering away from his touch and raising her arms to defend herself. “I gave you everything and you won’t even give me this one little thing!” He sneered, sliding his hands to her shoulders and spinning her away from him.

“Help!” Emma called out, her cries falling on deaf ears. It was Friday night and their neighbours would be out for dinner or some other such activity. They were alone. She was alone.

Killian leaned his entire weight onto her back, pressing his elbow into the space between her shoulder blades until Emma had no choice but to lay face down on the cold countertop. Her tears pooled under her cheek, Killian’s hand holding the back of her head so tightly and making sure she was trapped. “If you won't give it to me,” he slurred darkly, grabbing the back of Emma’s leggings and pulling them and her panties down over her behind in one rough action that made her flush hot with horror. “I’ll take it!”

Emma was dreaming. She had to be. There was no way that the man she loved and had loved for over half her life would do this to her. There was no way that Killian Jones would let himself be so blinded by resentment, be so livid, that he would take it out on the woman he loved. Emma was terrified, the events unfolding in slow motion and the sounds of his hateful rant overwhelmed by the buzz in her ears.

That was when she saw her reflection, looking back at her, eyes puffy and red, from the polished steel blade of the knife. She didn’t recognise the person she had become, a meek, mousy thing without the strength to find her own light, but she would be damned if she didn’t have the strength left in her to determine her own destiny.

Emma kicked out, taking advantage of a split second in time when Killian swayed backward again, his inebriation on her side. Her foot connected with something hard and she felt him let her go as he stumbled back, doubled over in pain. She bolted upright, tears blinding her wide eyes and hands shaking as she grabbed the knife from beside the pile of freshly chopped vegetables and held it out in front of her.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” She wailed in a quivering voice, her hair messed up and only still half in a ponytail. She was trembling from head to toe, her adrenaline off the charts and she struggled to find the breath she needed to say anything else.

Killian sank to his knees with his hands covering his partly exposed member that had began to shrink back into its flaccid state. He let out a groan, eyes tightly closed and chords of his neck straining to fight away the pain that had invaded his groin area. There was sweat across his brow and his face had paled. He opened his eyes, the clear blue back once more that made Emma’s heart swell with solace, and then promptly fell forward onto his hands and threw up a foamy, dark brown liquid concoction of rum and bile.

Killian coughed, the sound hacking in the back of his throat each time he alternated between clutching his stomach and his manhood, the dull aching sensation jumping from one to the other. He finally stopped retching and sat back up on his heels, exhausted and drained, arms hanging loosely at his sides and face wet from tears. Emma tightened her grip on the knife, fingers constantly repositioning themselves over the handle to get a firmer hold, but when Killian looked up at her with nothing but remorse in his eyes, she relaxed a little and let out a tense breath she had been holding.

He was pathetic, physically drained, a mere shell of the man he portrayed to the world. Killian was broken, a million pieces of who he used to be scattered all over the world. Some he had lost abroad, flashes of horrific memories imprinted on the back of his eyelids from service and an inner voice that never let him sleep. Some he had lost more recently, buried with his brother, never to return, just like the man he had called his hero. He blinked away his tears, his heart falling to his stomach when he realised he had finally hit the bottom of the bottle, the end of the road, and was at the lowest he could ever get in his miserable life.

There would be no coming back from this, the whites of Emma’s knuckles and the whites of her eyes evidence of her distress. How could he have let the demons win? How could he have been so weak? He had broken his promise, to Liam and more importantly Emma, and he in no way deserved mercy. He was now a slave to Emma’s retribution, the glint of the knife in her hand as she towered over him all he could focus on. He would willingly accept any punishment she saw fit if it meant she would spare him the ache in his heart he knew was coming.

“Emma, I…” he whispered through his tears.

“Get out,” Emma said darkly, tossing the knife back onto the countertop and reaching for her leggings, pulling them back up her shaking legs to try and regain some sense of dignity.

Killian’s chest heaved with another sob, his emotions on full display. “But I have nowhere to go,” he pleaded weakly, his beard dripping with foamy spittle and mucus dripping from his nostrils. He had nowhere, no one but her to run to, but he had crossed a line that not even she thought they could come back from. Emma looked at him and at what he had become. What she had let him become.

“This is so hard,” Emma snivelled, wiping her nose with her forearm. She knew what she had to do, even if it meant a sacrifice neither of them would have ever made before.

“Emma, no,” Killian implored, shuffling on his knees through the patch of cold, putrid sick between them but not even caring. “It doesn’t have to be,” he panicked, reaching out for her.

“Killian…” Emma sobbed, looking away.

“Emma, please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me,” Killian cried, his words catching in his throat, watery and muffled from his sorrow. He clutched at her legs and through the fabric of her leggings he felt Emma turn rigid under his touch.

“Killian, please, this is already hard enough,” Emma pushed against his shoulders weakly, her hands moving of their own accord to lace her fingers through his ruffled hair and pull his face against the warmth of her body. She felt him sigh, his cries filling the room, the cries of a man she didn’t even recognise anymore.

“Emma…” He began but she cut him off quickly.

“Look at you,” Emma cried. “This isn’t you. I can’t watch you destroy yourself anymore,” Emma sniffed, pulling his face from her sweater and tilting his head so he was looking up at her with wide, watery, childlike eyes.

“I’ll get help. I promise, I’ll get help,” Killian nodded in desperation.

“I don’t want to give up on you…” Emma told him softly.

“So don’t,” Killian interrupted her eagerly, his chest shuddering with another rack of sobs.

“You scare me,” she cried, the honesty in her voice shocking even her. Killian looked up at her and he was small, innocent and as much a victim of his own actions as she was, but he would never change if she didn’t find the strength. “I have to go, Killian,” Emma smiled weakly down at him, her tears falling down her cheeks. This time she did not stop them, letting the salt filled droplets fall from her chin. She brushed her thumb over the apple of his cheek and wiped at the tears that had burn lines into his scruffy, unkempt stubble littered face. “You can’t mend with me here. I can’t help you anymore.”

That night Emma walked out of their home, away from the blackness in her heart and the turmoil that had torn them apart for the last seven months. She didn’t look back, taking just a few personal items and the clothes on her back. She didn’t kiss him goodbye and he didn’t try to kiss her, because they both knew that if they had the faintest of contact it would set the fires burning within them once again and they would be back where they began, scrambling for the surface under a sea of sorrow.

This wasn’t her home anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time. Now New York was calling her name, a city full of lights where she could get lost and bathe in the eternal brightness of being nobody forever.

Five Years Later

Killian hated the meetings. He hated the way other people hated themselves because it felt like it belittled the way he despised himself. There were no words that he could ever have used to describe how rotten he felt, right down to the core, disgusted with his actions. He carried his shame around with him daily but he didn’t mind, because the sobriety chip he always kept in his pocket was far more important to him. It kept him grounded, reminded him of what he had lost but also somehow gained. There had only ever been one other thing as important in his life, but she had seen him for what he truly was and had left.

It was his turning point, the fork in the road, and luckily he had made the right decision and got clean. It would have been so much easier to have fallen back into a bottle, swam around in the bitterness of alcohol but he would have eventually drowned. So he went to the meetings, he told his story and the room of other addicts applauded him each and every time, and he couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t going through it alone. He wished Emma was there with him, to see how far he had come, but the guilt he carried for how he had treated her never let up and whilst he knew she was living in New York, thanks to Will, he was too contrite to find her.

Emma was adamant that he get help and despite her leaving him to do it alone, he figured it was the last thing he could have done for her to prove to her he wasn’t anything like the monster he had become.

“You come here often?” a voice said from beside him, making him jump a little. The hot coffee he was stirring with a tiny wooden stick sloshed out of the styrofoam cup and over his hand making him almost drop the cup in his haste to shake off the boiling liquid.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” The woman said hurriedly, grabbing a handful of the provided napkins and dabbing his hand without invitation. “Are you okay?”

Killian took the napkins from her and rubbed at his hand, the skin red and sore almost instantly. He stared at the mark, an oddly shaped blemish that resembled a hook, and frowned. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he said with a weak smile. “Hollye, right?” He offered her his hand after wiping the coffee from it down the leg of his jeans.

“Yeah,” she smiled back with a ruby tint to her cheeks. “Killian, right?” She pretended she didn’t know, letting her hand linger in his a little longer than intended.

“I am, thank you” he nodded, slipping his fingers from hers and returning to his half spilled coffee. “I’m not very good at making these, but would you like a coffee?”

“Please,” she smiled again, leaning on the table and cocking her head to one side. She was dressed to impress it seemed, her very low cut top exposing more than enough cleavage to make any man blush or salivate like one of Pavlov’s dogs. She glanced behind her to make sure the other attendees were helping to clear the chairs before sucking in a breath. “I’m sorry. I know we are not supposed to form relationships outside of these things…”

“Relationships?” Killian visibly winced at her words, squinting an eye closed as he offered her the coffee cup. It was only half full lest they experience any more accidents, with a little wooden stirring stick poking out of the plastic sip lid. She took the coffee, clutching it with both hands and looked down at the wispy steam escaping from the lid clearly embarrassed. “Look, I’m sure you are a very nice lass,” he offered her quickly, dipping his head to catch her gaze and giving her a smile. “I’m just not…”

“Oh, of course,” Hollye shrugged, straightening herself up and pulling at her top, trying to cover up a little.

“I mean you no offense,” Killian said softly.

“She must be a very lucky woman,” Hollye said with a forced smile, trying not to sound too jealous over a woman she didn’t even know existed.

Killian laughed, the sarcastic chortle making him shake his head. “It was I who was the lucky one,” he said sadly. He shifted his weight, looking down at his own coffee which he swore bore Emma’s resemblance in the honey coloured crema.

“Was?” Hollye prodded with a frown. “I’ve heard your story. Was that her?”

Killian nodded. “Aye,” he blushed with a sigh. He had lost count of the times he had relived what had happened that night, in his nightmares and in the meetings. Each time things got easier to talk about, but it still shocked him to the core when a new member would gasp at his revelation, unable to hold their judgement.

“You still love her, don’t you?” Hollye smiled knowingly. Killian looked up and met her gaze, the upturned corners of her lips reminding him a little of the way Emma used to smile.

“I do,” he said without hesitation. “I always will.”

“Have you asked for forgiveness?” Hollye’s words hung on Killian’s mind. One of the first stages of recovery from any addiction was asking for forgiveness from the ones you had wronged. They didn’t have to absolve you, that was their choice, but there would be no progression in your recovery if you didn’t ask. Hollye took in Killian’s million mile stare. “I think you should.”

“It’s not exactly as easy as that,” Killian looked down again, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a sip of the foul tasting bitterness the meeting organisers tried to pass for coffee. “I’ve only seen her twice since she left.”

“And what did she say?” Hollye prompted with a sip of her own cup, the sour liquid burning her tongue.

“Why am I even telling you this?” Killian chuckled, suddenly embarrassed. “We don't even know each other’s surnames.”

“And yet, you know how I walked the streets giving out hand jobs for a twenty and I know how you nearly raped your girlfriend because you were drangry,” she said with a ‘so there’ look.

“Drangry?” Killian cringed as he said the word. It sounded wrong in his mouth, clearly not recognised by any officiating language body. Hollye had seemingly made it up on the stop.

“Drunk angry. So drunk you are angry about everything. Drangry,” she clarified like it was obvious and took another sip of the coffee. “So tell me, what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Killian looked away sheepishly, the prick of red covering the tips of her ears. “I said I’ve only seen her twice, as in seen her. From afar.”

“Oh, you mean like a stalker,” Hollye teased and his head snapped up to give her a confused look. “Was you hiding in the shadows? Maybe nearby whilst she visited the grave of a loved one?” Hollye laughed but Killian did not join her, because by some miserable coincidence, she was right.

The first time he had seen Emma, he had thought he was imagining things. It was a year after she had left and when he had visited Liam’s grave on his birthday, there were fresh yellow flowers laid over the ground in front of the headstone with a small note that read, ‘See you tomorrow’ on it. The groundskeeper had described Emma exactly how he had remembered her and when he had returned the next day, skulking in the shadow of a nearby tree, she had appeared like a daydream come to life.

The next year he expected her return and sure enough, right on time on what would have been Liam’s birthday, she appeared again with a bunch of yellow flowers and sat at the grave for hours. She talked about a man named Graham, about how he made her happy and even though he wasn’t exactly the person she imagined spending the rest of her life with, she thought Liam would approve of him. That was the last time Killian saw her and he told himself that he was still new to the recovery process and he should stay away, all the while seething with jealousy and hatred for a man he had never met who had given her happiness when all he could have given her was more pain.

“Oh Lord, you did, didn’t you?” Hollye giggled, half scandalized by his silent admission. “You stalked her over the grave of a loved one!”

“My loved one,” Killian huffed. “My brother.”

“Oh,” Hollye lost her smile, her joviality fading immediately. She had been listening to Killian’s story for long enough to know that losing his brother was the start of his decline. “I’m sorry.”

Killian gave her a quick sideways smile. “You didn’t know,” he said quietly. “No harm done.”

“Isn’t it your brother’s birthday next month?” Hollye nudged his hand with hers, bringing him back to reality. She lifted her cup to her mouth, closing her lips over the warmed styrofoam and blowing gently over the surface of the coffee. It rippled and bobbed against the side of the cup, threatening to splash her face. When Killian gave her a strange look she just shrugged. “Do you even listen to anyone else’s story at these things, or do I have to do all the hard work for both of us?”

“I listen,” Killian pouted.

“Then you will also know it is Liam’s birthday next month,” Hollye emphasized his brother’s name and Killian staved off tears at the upcoming event. It was hard, it always had been, but even more so since he had been sober. There was temptation everywhere he looked, obvious and subliminal, but what really gave him the most turmoil was fighting the urge to see Emma again. In a way it was a welcome distraction, only it was becoming more and more difficult knowing she was in the same town at the same time every year and he hadn’t seen her for three.

“You should ask for forgiveness,” Hollye repeated, interrupting his thoughts.

“You’re a good person, Hollye,” Killian smiled, offering her his hand. She took it, shaking their joined hands up and down between them with a smirk.

“I’ve been called worse,” she winked.

One month later

Emma came home every year for exactly two reasons.

Her adoptive parents still lived in the town so she used the time to visit them, making sure that they were doing well and managing in their increasingly elderly state. They were older when they adopted her, having already had children of their own, but never being the sort of people to turn away a stray. Emma’s adoptive brother David tried to find the time to meet her at home, but he was busy and often it was just her. Not that the Nolans minded, because Emma was happy and that was all they had ever wanted her to be.

Secondly, Emma had never found peace at the passing of her friend, Liam Jones. He was taken from her life too soon, cruelly, and she had struggled with his loss for many years. When she had moved away she couldn’t shake the niggling feeling deep within her that meant she missed him terribly. New York felt like half a world away so to relieve the build up of anxiety, each year she would return home and visit his grave.

She tended the site, weeding and making sure that it was kept spic and span. Liam was a military man and so would never have wanted anything so messy representing the man he once was. Emma bought him flowers, always the same sunshine yellow Chrysanthemums because Liam always used to say that they reminded him of her. They were a happy flower, despite their association with mourning, and Emma always smiled when she saw them.

So far, each visit had gone without a hiccup. Until today.

When she approached Liam’s grave, there was already a huge bunch of bright, yellow chrysanthemums piled on top of the freshly weeded patch of grass in front of his headstone. The flowers were fresh, each petal tightly fixed in place, the crimped edges of each to tight to blow in the slight breeze. Emma frowned and looked around, but the graveyard was deserted, no other visitors catching her eye. She looked back to the flowers and noticed a card. Her brow knitted together in a quizzical expression as she knelt down and plucked it from the still tied bunch.

“Granny’s. 7pm.”

Emma’s breath left her and the hair on the back of her neck prickled to life, straining against her skin. It had been five years without a single word, but she would never forget the slightly italic, old world handwriting of Killian Jones.

In the time it had taken her to regain her composure she had returned back to the Nolans humble home and was greeted at the door by the enthusiastic Will. Will was almost five years old, not planned but not loved any less, and ran at her with an excited squeal as he called her name. His hair flopped over his eyes as her ran, feet pounding the hardwood floor of the hallway and almost jumped into her arms as she crouched to greet him.

“Mommy!” Will sang, leaping before he even reached her with utter faith that she would catch him.

“Hey lightning bug,” Emma chimed, setting him on her hip and brushing the lightly curled hair from his face. When she did, the blue of his eyes shone through his smile, his cheeks flushed and his words catching on his breath as he tried to tell her all about his day.

“We were playing pirates!” Will said, wide eyed and excited. “I was the Captain! And we walked the plank! And there were sharks if we fell into the lava!” He squeaked rapidly, his tiny lungs filling up between each sentence.

“Lava?” Emma quirked her brow, looked at him and trying to hide her smile. He nodded, a big grin on his face.

“But I didn’t fall in, did I?” Will almost arched his entire body towards the man approaching them, leaning out of Emma’s embrace with outstretched arms and a cocky grin on his face.

Graham was tall, broad and had the most amazing demeanor Emma had even known. She smiled as he walked towards them in jeans and a causal tee, his hair the same floppy brown style as Will’s and a warming smile that made her feel at ease. They even shared little habits. Will’s face when he was in trouble mirrored Graham’s when he was in her bad books and they both pulled the same face when they tried to bend the truth.

“No you did not, Captain,” Graham shook his head, saluting and going along with the boy’s story. “There was that time you pushed me in though,” he grunted, pulling Will into his arms.

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” Will gasped, giggling when Graham jabbed his fingers into his sides and wiggled them, instantly causing Will to almost bend in half and wriggle in his arms.

“So you had fun without me?” Emma asked softly, her heart swelling with joy as her son hit the ground running, calling out for Papa Nolan as he tore off along the hallway and ignored her question. Emma watched him go, only looked back to Graham as he rounded the corner and bounded out of sight, the Nolans cat fleeing under a nearby armchair just like she always had when they visited.

“Not intentionally,” Graham beamed, touching her elbow as he leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, his hand slipping down her forearm and gripping her fingers. “How was it?” He knew that she visited Liam every year and that she always had to do it alone. He just wished sometimes that she would let him in as much as the dead man.

Emma shrugged, her smile fading with the reminder. “The same. I talked, he listened,” she said sadly.

“Did you tell him everything?” Graham asked her, his features suddenly flashing with a sense of nervousness, his voice lowering slightly as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “About us?”

Emma looked up at him and slipped her hand from his. “I did,” she said solemnly and Graham offered her a weak twitch of a smile. “It won’t be long,” she promised him, flattening her hand to his cheek and rubbing her thumb over his skin there. “I promise.”

“I don’t like lying,” Graham whispered, leaning closer to her. “The Nolans are good people. I feel like a fraud.”

“You are not,” Emma told him firmly. “I am the one lying to myself, and you, and I promised, the day I found out I was pregnant, that I would never be that person again.” Despite his best efforts, Graham would never be the man Emma yearned for him to be and whilst she never regretted a single moment with him, and loved each and every memory they had made together as a family, she had vowed to never settle for enough.

She and Graham had spoken at great length about their imploding relationship and they had decided to part on good terms, share custody of Will and work at being the best parent figures they could be. They would always be there for him, in any capacity, but they also had another hurdle to leap. The Nolans. Emma’s adoptive parents loved Graham like a son and after so long they had almost adopted him as their own, so they both knew that telling them would crush them completely. They had agreed to both come home, visit family of all kinds and then tell everyone later on.

“It’s still hard, you know?” Graham told her in a hushed voice. “Pretending,” he clarified.

“I know,” she said apologetically. “But Will doesn’t know yet, and I haven’t told my parents,” Emma sighed. “I can almost hear Mamma Nolan’s voice now. “What did you do? He was a good man!” She imitated her adoptive mother’s voice so closely that Graham laughed as she rolled her eyes.

“I am a good man,” he grinned boyishly.

“Yes you are,” Emma told him firmly just like she had done a thousand times before. “It’s just…”

“I know,” Graham told her softly. “I understand, I really do. I’m just going to really miss Will, you know?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Emma smiled reassuringly. “I would never keep him from you, you know that.”

“Thank you,” Graham just about had time to say out loud before said child came running through the house again, Papa Nolan in tow, a feather sticking from his silvery hair and a little plastic archery set in his hands dwarfed by his size.

“Indians!” Will yelled, a high pitched scream following as he tore past them and out the back door into the yard.

“Okay,” Emma laughed, watching her adoptive father sneak past them emitting his own high pitched noise and patting his palm over an open mouth. “You boys have fun!” Emma called after them.

“Are you going somewhere?” Graham frowned at her words and fiddled nervously with the belt loop of his jeans. Emma blushed a little, looking down at her feet before diving her hand into her pocket and pulling out the card. She looked at it one more time before handing it to Graham.

“This was on Liam’s grave,” she said gently. “For me.”

“Is this from him?” Graham said with a little too much resentment, the tone in his voice one he couldn’t hide. Emma had never lied to him about her past, any part of it, and she knew that one day this moment would come. They had both expected it a lot sooner. “Are you going?”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma reassured him quickly, taking the card from his hand before he set it on fire with his angry stare. She took his hand in hers and when he looked up at her she gave him a small smile. “It will be okay. He just wants to talk.”

Graham blinked at her with a twisted smirk. “How do you know that?”

“I know him,” Emma nodded firmly. “Tell Will I have gone to see Belle, okay?” She smiled quickly, checking her watch and realising that if she didn’t leave now she would be late for her impromptu meeting. When she looked back up, Graham’s face was etched with agony. “Words are all he has left. I have to go and talk to him.”

“Be careful,” Graham warned but his worries were extinguished when Emma cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I worry.”

“Don’t.” Emma reached for the door behind her and pulled it open, mindful to be gone before Will came back through from the yard. “I’ll call Will at eight to say goodnight.”

When she reached Granny’s Diner, the hub of their hometown, far earlier than the card had invited her to meet, Killian was sitting in their usual little booth already. He was sitting browsing the menu, a fruitless task seeing as they had spent most of their teens memorizing the items word for word, but it seemed he welcomed the distraction. His leg bounced up and down under the table and he wiped at his brow, checking his watch every few seconds just in case it had decided to run slow.

He looked good from what Emma could see from the doorway, having snuck in behind another patron to avoid the ringing bell alerting him to her early presence. She felt like a stalker, watching him from the shadows of a doorside booth, staring at the back of his head as she worked up the courage to approach. He had cut his hair and shaved, leaving his trademark length of stubble that was a little more silver than she remembered now he was approaching his forties. The hair on his sideburns was more white than black now and a sparse peppering of black littering his hairline.

Emma wasn’t going to lie, he was hot. He had put on a little weight, his cheeks filled out when she saw his profile turn to check the clock above Granny’s bar area. Maybe it was the parent in her that found his new look so appealing, the classic dad style of his casual black sweater tight over his muscles making her swoon a little, or maybe it was just seeing him after five years telling her what she had always known.

Killian Jones was, and always would be, the man that made her tingle, set her skin ablaze with passion and she missed him like the deserts miss the rain. It was wrong, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop loving him, even after everything that had happened. After everything that was said, he still knew her better than she knew herself, and was the only man who could ever show her the light.

“Are you going to stare into the back of my head all night, Swan?” he called out to her over the almost deserted diner as he kept his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him. He smirked to himself when he heard her get up and make her way to him, the hot chocolate in front of him topped with cream and cinnamon. Emma slid into the booth opposite him, a fixed stare on her face as he slid the mug towards her.

Emma looked down at the beverage and reached for it instinctively. “How did you…”

“You were always early,” he interrupted her with a smirk. “I assume you still like hot chocolate with cinnamon on top?” He arched an eyebrow at her, his boyish smile sending a shiver straight to her gut.

“You look good,” Emma mentioned nonchalantly and took a sip of her cocoa, licking her lips and wiping the smudge of cream from her nose.

“So do you,” Killian smiled, ignoring the fact she had dodged his question. Maybe she didn’t want to make small talk and that was fine with him, because he just needed to hear her voice to know that she was okay, and when her cheeks flushed with pink at his words, he knew she was.

“How was work?” Emma watched him over the rim of her mug, the slightly cooled liquid level reduced enough from her sipping to be able to see him over the cream now. It was a loaded question and she knew it.

Killian took a sharp breath, not expecting her to dive straight in with the hard questions, but he gave her a genuine smile that finally felt natural. He lifted his hand and lightly scratched the skin behind his ear, a habit he had always had. “Work was good. Has been for about three years now,” he said softly, his fingers picking at the dog eared menu in front of him.

“And your colleagues?” Emma pushed, setting the mug back down in front of her. Maybe it was cruel to ask him such a question before other pleasantries but she needed to know that she hadn’t sacrificed her happiness for nothing.

Killian simply smiled and it was serene. “Gone,” he told her proudly. Killian had managed to get help and medication to quell the voices in his head and therapy had helped him understand how to deal with how he was feeling. The more he understood about why he had been on such a self destructive path, the less they said to him and the more they faded away into the background. “I’ve been off my meds for six months now. Certified as normal as can be.”

Emma coughed at a sip of her drink, almost spitting it back into the cup. “I bet you still stir your tea clockwise though,” she teased, her lips finally spreading into the kind of coy smirk he had missed so much.

“I do,” Killian blushed, his British accent somehow as prevalent as ever in those two words. His family has migrated for work, but both him and Liam has never lost the accent of their mother tongue. It had always fascinated Emma to no end how certain things that he had done whilst they were together were so quintessentially British, but above all else, the insistence that tea be stirred clockwise had sealed the notion that he was certifiably insane firmly in her mind forever.

“So normal,” she mocked once more like they had never been apart. A silence fell between them, the clinking of mugs from the washing up area not even enough of a distraction. Killian twisted his lips into a sideways pout and fiddled with the menu some more, crossing and uncrossing his legs under the table, mindful not to bump Emma’s knees. Emma looked around, taking in the decor of the diner that hadn’t changed in at least twenty years.

“Liam loved yellow chrysanths, you know,” Killian said suddenly, breaking the silence with a common ground. “He always said they reminded him of you.”

“The flowers?” Emma frowned at another of his Britishisms.

Killian chuckled lightly. “Yeah, the flowers,” he blushed.

“I bring them every year,” Emma told him, tilting her cup and noticing the mixture of melted cream and cinnamon powder lurking in the bottom. “But you know that.” She looked right at him, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug idly as she stared into the hue of his eyes. She had missed it, the darker circle around the blue that shone like the brightest sapphire when he was happy and was as dark as the depths of the ocean when he was aroused. He didn’t look away, holding her gaze unashamedly.

“I missed you the first year you came and the groundskeeper described someone who can have only been you, so the year after I came back.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Emma pried softly, prompting him to continue.

“I couldn’t,” Killian admitted shyly. “I was still such a mess, I just hid in the shadows after…” he paused, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“After?” Emma cocked her head to the side.

Killian let out a breath with exasperation. “Graham,” he said with a spiteful tone and Emma looked away. “I heard you talking about Graham and how happy you were and I was nowhere near mended. I couldn’t talk to you. I would have just made you regret coming back, and I would never do that to you. Liam meant as much to you as he did to me so I couldn't give you a reason to stop coming to visit him.”

“I would never…” Emma began but Killian interrupted her with a little more force than he intended.

“I would have probably said something I would have regretted, and it would have been selfish of me to put that sort of pressure on you,” he gulped, swallowing the distaste of compunction down his throat. “Again.”

“Oh, Killian,” Emma said softly, reaching across the table between them and clutching his hand in hers. He stilled at her touch, something he had missed like oxygen once it had been denied him for so long, and stared at their hands. His heart took off in his chest, banging against the curve of his ribcage and made the base of his spine tingle with delight. Emma offered him a comforting smile but he quickly tore his hand from hers.

Killian froze, palms flattened to the table in front of him as images of him assaulting Emma flickered behind his eyes. He pinched his eyes closed, his breathing becoming shallow, and tiny beads of sweat oozing from his brow. It was a panic attack, plain and simple, and he had encountered enough to know that it would pass, but he couldn’t help his bodies reaction to Emma’s touch. He felt like he didn’t deserve her compassion, in any form, and the tiniest touch had sent his body into an episode.

“Killian?” Emma asked mildly, confused by his sudden reaction. She had encountered her own fair share of attacks to know what he was going through and immediately moved around to sit at his side, shielding him from view of the other diner goers and laying her hand over his. “Killian, come back to me,” she whispered, her body pressed against his and her mouth so close to his ear that her voice was all he could hear. “Shhh, breathe.”

Her voice was faint but Killian heard her as clear as day through the fog in his mind. He felt the warmth of her hands on his, the softness of her lips against his ear and her breath on his neck, and a relief washed over him immediately, his lungs filling with cool air as he deepened his breathing the way his therapist had instructed. When he was finally able to move, Killian clutched her fingers, lacing them with his as he resumed his steadying breaths. Emma rubbed her thumb over his, watching the profile of his face as his brow relaxed and he peeled his eyes open once more.

“I’m sorry,” Killian whimpered, his body relaxing back in the seat.

“Don’t apologize,” Emma said firmly. “You are still clearly working through some things.”

“Just one,” Killian laughed nervously, the adrenaline from his attack making him shake a little. He turned to her and swallowed hard, looking down at the rip in the green leather between them. “Would you…” he began, fidgeting.

“Go on,” Emma nudged him with her elbow and he looked up at her shyly.

“Part of the...process...is asking for forgiveness,” he began, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “And I know I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a single thing, not after what I did to you…”

“Killian,” Emma stopped him, grabbing his forearm and flattening her palm to his cheek. He gasped at her touch again but this time he felt a warming calm flood over his entire body, the anxiety chased away by a new kind of light that he had never seen or felt before. It was heavenly.

“Hmm?” he grunted sheepishly.

“I forgive you,” Emma smiled warmly. Her thumb brushed the apple of his cheek and his lips twitched, mirroring her smile back. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she repeated, sliding her hand behind his head and pulling his head towards her until their foreheads touched. It was as intimate as they had ever been, honest and raw and Killian’s hand flew up to cup her cheek in his hand. He felt Emma relax, his anticipation of her fleeing long gone.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and his eyes fluttered closed. “Thank you,” he whispered and he meant it with all his heart.

One Month Later

Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed to this. Maybe there was some divinity to the whole process, but it wasn’t just Killian who had been addicted, and when he had asked her if she wanted to go to a meeting with him, she had said yes. Graham had returned to New York, leaving Emma and Will another month at the Nolans, but tomorrow they were flying home and the thought of not being able to say goodbye because Killian had gone to a meeting was selfish. So Emma had agreed to go with him when he had suggested it, both of them knowing it was going to be some of the last moments they would spend together for a while.

The room was just like her own meetings, a church hall rented out to the organisers for a small donation that probably wouldn’t go very far. It wasn’t a sit in a circle type meeting because everyone in this one was a veteran addict, mostly around the same age who had all fallen into some sort of crisis. For some it was drugs, for most it was alcohol and as they skimmed over their introductions, Emma felt like she might have been the only person there addicted to sex.

As she had explained a thousand times before in her story that it wasn’t about the act itself. It was always about finding the numbness of climax, the light beyond the shadows, where she had felt safe and free. But as everyone in front of her nodded in agreement with her statements like a faithful congregation, she couldn’t help but feel Killian’s eyes transfixed onto her and burning into her flesh. Meetings were a place of brutal honesty and she never divulged his name, but that didn’t stop the tuts and head shakes of disgust.

If only they knew the villain of her story was sitting within their flock, a wolf amongst lambs. Emma wondered how they would have reacted to realise that their judgement was actually hypocrisy, and the very same repugnant responses to Killian’s story were about her and how she had dragged him into the light with her. She was happy now, and Killian’s smile told her he was too. But then Emma mentioned she had a son, the new light in her life, a welcomed addiction that she never wanted to quit, and the whole room smiled with her.

Except for Killian. His face paled and he shifted in his seat, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed almost audible. As she caught his eye, the anguish plastered across his face at the new knowledge that Graham had given her yet another thing he never could, she knew she had given him hope and then snatched it away again, but there were no secrets at these things. And it was something that she couldn’t hide anymore.

“A son?” Killian said from behind her as she wrinkled her nose at the pitiful array of donuts on offer. The coffee was bad enough, but why they insisted on plain, unsugared rings of dough was beyond her.

“Are we all addicted to sugar too?” She scoffed, poking one of the offending treats and avoiding his question entirely.

“We can’t have nice things,” Killian laughed, wrapping his fingers around the coffee cup in his hands.

“Clearly,” Emma frowned, selecting the biggest donut from the half empty box. It was cold, heavy and when she bit into it, there was no familiar crunch of sugar on her teeth or dusting on her lips, but she licked at them anyway.

“How is it?” Killian teased, sipping his coffee and trying to hide his smirk.

“You know it's disgusting,” Emma said quietly and grabbing a napkin to spit the almost undercooked dough into. It was bland, tasted like flour and water on her tongue and she had to get rid of it immediately, wiping the napkin down her tongue, balling it up in another and tossing it into the provided trash can next to the table.

“Try the coffee,” Killian suggested with a restrained chuckle. “It’s...just as bad,” he sighed.

“Thanks,” Emma retorted sarcastically.

“So, a son? Why didn’t you tell me?” Killian asked softly, his words genuinely intrigued and not laced with the anger Emma had expected. She finally looked up at him and he smiled back at her, head tilted to the side and an expectant look in his eyes.

“I didn’t know how to?” Emma asked, questioning her own words.

“I mean, I have no right to expect anything from you,” Killian clarified quickly when he sensed he had made her a little uneasy. “Least of all to wait for me.”

“You wanted me to wait for you?” Emma asked gently.

“Selfishly, yes, at first,” Killian revealed with a nod. “But then I realised that you were right. I needed to mend, we both did, and our grief for Liam was something we had to do alone.”

“Becoming a mother changed me overnight,” Emma said with a happy grin. “He’s amazing and I followed the path laid out in front of me because of him.”

Killian shifted his weight, inhaling hard and peering down into his half filled coffee cup. “Do you think…” Killian paused, eyebrows knitting together on his face. “...In another life, you would have waited?” He asked awkwardly.

Emma paused, her cheeks prickling with the heat of a blush.

“Never mind,” Killian shook his head, dismissing his words. “It’s selfish of me to ask that.”

“In another life,” Emma said firmly, sucking in a shaking breath. She reached between them, brushing her fingers over his, the most intimate they could be in a public meeting that discouraged relationships between attendees. Killian watched her fingers with a stilled breath, his entire body buzzing, his skin tightening over his bones and his mouth going dry. “Maybe in this one.”

Killian’s head snapped up to meet her gaze, the tears behind his eyes threatening to soothe the sting along his eyelids. His eyes searched hers, flickering over the leafy green hues that were accented by the crinkles in her skin at their corners from her soft smile. He didn’t know what to say, struck silent with her admission that could mean any one of a thousand things. The one he hoped for lingered on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask her for another chance, but the sobriety chip in his pocket burned into his skin through the cotton and told him he didn’t deserve her.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Emma asked gently, rousing him from his thoughts. “I know a place that serves real donuts,” she joked, shooting one last disgusted look at the flimsy white box beside her. “And coffee,” she said quickly. “Real coffee,” she hummed, almost able to taste the smoothness of citrus notes on her tongue.

Killian grinned at her, a boyish, wide open mouthed grin that was accompanied with a sound from his throat like laughter. “Alright,” he agreed, tossing his coffee into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

The roadside diner was just outside of town, away from the familiar prying eyes they never could seem to escape by coming home. It was nice to see everyone, but sometimes they were just too invested in other people’s lives and Emma had discovered this diner as a means of escape. It was close enough that if she got called back for Will she was near but far enough out that she felt separated from the constant questions and stares. And they served donuts to die for.

It was like any other diner, like they were all set out in a generic way that made Emma think they were all owned by a single person. The countertop was black marble and even so late in the day it consistently clinked with the contact of plate after plate as orders flooded out of the kitchen. The floor was a green tile, speckled with white and with an orange pattern in the center that resembled a color blindness test card, and was polished so much Emma could see her reflection. The walls were the same shade of green and the leatherette sofas in the booths and on the bar stools matched the orange tone of the floor pattern, two huge ceiling fans whirling around above the walkway to keep the place cooled.

Spotlights lit the bar area, a constant drip of coffee from the machine next to the cash register cathartic to watch. Emma had spent many hours on one of these stools, timing the drips of coffee in her mind and awaiting a refill from the server as she contemplated her life. Graham had come into her life in a moment of great need, but he had been different from Killian, and she had warmed up to him as a friend before anything else. She tested him, made sure that she was what he wanted, and gave him the chance to escape on more than one occasion, but he had stayed, resolute and steadfast when she had tried to push him away.

“Just go. I can’t give you what you want.”

“I just want you. All of you.”

“How am I ever going to be enough? You know what I am about, what I have been through. How can you expect to love me when I can’t love you back?”

“I’ll take my chances.”

In a way, Emma regretted letting him stay. She had been nothing but honest, telling him that he was never going to be the man that she loved, and for that she was sorry. She didn’t regret their relationship, because it was built on a mutual respect, and he did love her, but it wasn’t fair that she let him carry the weight of their relationship alone. It had taken him nearly five years of never hearing her say ‘I love you’ before Graham had finally snapped, deciding that she was right and he couldn’t pretend anymore.

They hadn’t fought, not in front of Will anyway, and were separating on good terms. They had agreed that he would go home to New York ahead of her and Will, packing up his stuff and moving out of their house and their lives. They would explain things to Will another time, but they both had faith that he would be okay with it as much as they were, and they would both still love him just the same. Now that Graham was officially moved out, Emma felt like she could breathe again, a strange sensation that she hadn’t felt since leaving Killian, but one that she had missed every single day.

They sat down to order, sitting opposite each other in one of the way back booths so they could talk a bit more privately. Killian looked around the diner as they sat, taking in the photographs of local heroes and aged newspaper clippings that were framed on every available wall surface. Clearly the place saw a lot of celebrities and the owner seemed to be a little bit of a cinephile, old movie posters and signed memorabilia scattered all around the place.

“You come here a lot?” Killian asked Emma as a waitress took their order of two coffees.

“Sometimes I come here to think,” Emma shrugged, arching her back into the leather bench and letting out a groan.

It hadn’t escaped Killian’s notice that the waiting staff knew her by name and they knew how she took her coffee too. “Sometimes?” He quipped, arching his eyebrow at her.

“Okay, so I think a lot,” Emma grinned, glaring at him playfully.

“About Graham?” Killian prompted selfishly. He hated the man, his name on his tongue like a poison in his mouth, but he respected that Emma was satisfied.

“Sometimes,” she whispered noncommittally.

“Does he make you happy?” Kilian couldn't stop the words as they fell from his lips, screwing his face up and expecting an earful of abuse for his cheek. Emma looked up at him aghast and he quickly shook off the feeling of dread he had because he had to know. “It’s all I have ever wanted for you, Swan.”

“He did,” Emma stared into his eyes, readying herself for her confession. “We are seperated.” Killian frowned, confusion etched across his face. He knew she had come to their hometown with Graham, but it did explain how she had managed to get away to meet with him so often in the last eight weeks. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m sorry,” he lied.

“Liar,” Emma smirked. “It’s okay, really. You know you have to be happy to move on, and I was for a time. Now I am not. It’s really that simple.” Emma shrugged a sigh and brushed a stray hair from her face, letting the rest tumble over her shoulders. She had decided to wear her hair down for the meeting, maybe subconsciously because she knew Killian had always liked it that way, which was confirmed when his eye flickered to watch her hand toy with the golden tresses.

“As long as you are okay,” he smiled warmly. “So why New York?” Killian asked her, changing the subject to something he had always wondered. New York wasn’t a million miles away, so he knew she wasn’t running away from anything, and it always left the door open for him to visit, something he had resisted for so long.

“Who said I lived in New York?” Emma narrowed her gaze at him, wondering if she had inadvertently mentioned something in the meeting. She didn’t remember telling him, or even letting it slip over Liam’s grave, but then she was hit with a realisation that made her sigh and Killian laugh.

“Will,” she said with a groan.

“Will fucking Scarlett,” Killian said with a nod. “Can’t keep his mouth shut that lad. Never could,” he laughed.

“And what were you doing in Will’s bar, huh?” Emma accused, thanking the small, blonde haired waitress who had poured their coffees.

“Drinking water,” Killian told her with a knowing look. “Which is boring, by the way.”

Emma giggled, reaching for her mug. The coffee was boiling hot, the ceramic burning her fingers as she pulled it towards her without a visible wince of pain. “But I bet your breath smells fresher,” she mocked.

“Indeed,” Killian blushed a little, lifting his coffee to his lips.

“New York was just somewhere I could be nobody for a while,” Emma admitted. “I needed to heal as much as you but I suppose, if I am being honest with myself, I didn’t want to move too far away. I couldn’t...” She looked down into her lap. Honesty was the best policy, or so they said. “I needed to still be close to you.”

She looked up at her admission and Killian felt the pang of guilt in his heart. “Because of...you know?” He asked gently, not wanting to mention her dependency too much. It was good to talk about things, they had both learned that the hard way, but old wounds didn’t need to be reopened unnecessarily. Emma was an addict too, and he was her drug of choice. She nodded sadly. “And now?” He pushed, watching her shift in the seat.

“Now I just…” Emma lost her words, sitting forward in the booth and pushing her arms across the table until their fingers were almost touching. She could swear there were sparks between them when Killian didn’t move away but instead mirrored her movements and sat forward in his own seat, the leather groaning under his weight.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” Killian finished for her, reading her mind and almost whispering the words. He pushed his coffee mug aside with the back of his hand and reached for hers, sliding it out of their way. He bunched her hands up in his, lifting them to his lips and planting a soft kiss to the back of her knuckles, letting his lips linger as he inhaled her scent.

“I shouldn’t,” Emma told herself out loud but her words didn’t match her actions when she kept her hands exactly where they were, savouring the feel of his mouth of her skin after so long. She felt a tickle in her stomach, the dropping sensation followed by a welcome feeling of delight that was so familiar and yet different. It wasn’t like before, when they were both slaves to each other’s mercy.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Killian began, but as he tried to pull his hands away, Emma stopped him, fingernails digging into his flesh that made him stare in her direction dumbfounded. Her face had changed, softness appearing around her eyes as the barriers she was holding up melted away and there was something else behind her eyes that he had never seen before. It was understanding and unselfishness and before he had time to ask her what it meant, Emma was pushing herself to her feet, grabbing his soft, woolen sweater and pulling him to her across the wooden surface of the table.

Her lips crashed into his and Killian’s mind exploded, eyebrows jumping up his face with surprise and his entire body paralyzed to respond. She paused, her lips on his, waiting for him to react, the grip loosening on the material of his sweater when she thought he wouldn’t, but when she heard the soft moan come from way down deep in his chest, she smirked coyly against his mouth and slid her tongue over his lips as they parted.

“Come to New York,” she whispered, their noses pressed side by side, her hand jumping to trace the silver of his sideburn with a single finger. Her eyes fluttered open and met his, the longing reflected in both of their stares.

There was nothing Killian could do but nod, a steady bob of his head that earned him another chaste kiss. Emma knew it wouldn’t be easy, they would have to contend with a long distance thing for a while, but she had faith they could make it work. There was just one more tiny detail she had to iron out, but that would have to wait until she was home.

One Month Later

“Where are you going?” Will asked in a sing song voice, his legs bumping the edge of Emma’s bed as he swung them against the divan base. He fiddled with one of his cars on his lap, his focus on the wheels and how fast they could spin rather than the frantic way his mother was trying to desperately pick an outfit.

“I told you, baby, Mommy has a date,” Emma said nervously. She hadn’t said the words out loud yet, especially not to her son, and as she pulled hanger after hanger from her wardrobe, she felt a little bit hopeless.

“What are you doing?” Will asked innocently, switching his position and rolling the car along the edge of the duvet.

“Trying to pick an outfit,” Emma frowned to herself, discarding yet another on of her dresses aside. She didn’t want to wear anything that would give off the wrong sort of information. She and Killian had met up twice since she had come home four weeks ago, him travelling to New York both times, but they had only been to dinner and a movie, holding hands and agreeing to take it slow. They wanted to start fresh, as odd as it seemed, because they both felt like brand new people with a new outlook on life that they both respected about each other.

“Why?” Will sang, extending the syllable out with a cheeky grin. Emma turned and looked at him, the small child hiding his cherub like smile behind a clenched fist. She pointed an accusing finger his way and narrowed her eyes.

“So I can look good for my date, lightning bug,” she approached him and held out two of the dresses in her hands, laying them over the front of her body one after the other. “Which one looks good? This one? Or this one?” Emma flicked the dresses one after the other, pulling a funny face and twisting her body dramatically until Will was in fits of infectious giggles.

“I don’t know!” He laughed, falling back on the bed and then wiggling upright almost instantly.

“Well, you have to help me pick! How will I know I look pretty if my favourite guy can’t help me decide?” Emma teased playfully.

“You always look pretty,” Will beamed, his rosy cheeks squishing up his eyes as he grinned at her. Emma softened and hugged the dresses to her body, an audible squeak escaping her mouth as she made a cooing noise. She closed the distance between them and sat beside him on the bed, ruffling his hair and brushing his wayward curls from in front of his eyes.

Those eyes. They were the bluest eyes Emma had ever seen with a sea green tint when the light hit them from any angle. They were not like hers, or like his father’s, but instead a whole new shade of azure that she could get lost in for hours, full of kindness and love that she knew would never leave him. He tilted his head back and let her fiddle with his hair, the car on his lap clutched in his hands as he gave her a angelic smile. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“Yeah, lightning bug,” Emma nodded sweetly, wrapping her arm around his skinny frame and pulling him to her. “I’m perfect.”

“Mommy?” Will asked her, his voice muffled and a little strangled from how hard she was hugging him.

“Yes, baby?” Emma let him right himself, tugging his shirt back into place for him.

“What’s a date?” Will frowned.

“Oh, well…” Emma began but the sound of the doorbell made them both look towards the doorway at the shrill sound echoing through the house.

“I’ll get it!” Will screeched, hopping from the bed and pounding his rubber soled shoes on the hardwood floors as he made his way to the top of the stairs.

“Be careful!” Emma warned him, racing after him and making sure he was grabbing the spindles of the staircase banister with every step. She knew who it was at the door, so she wasn’t worried about Will answering it. She knew he would stop if she had told him to, but she also knew he would be so excited to see who was on the other side she let him go.

“Hey, buddy!” Graham fell into a crouch, arms wide open at the doorway ready to receive a hug.

“Grah-Grah!” Will screamed, the old mispronunciation still sticking with them both and a kind of in joke that only they understood. Will had never called him dad, daddy or dadda, but through listening to his mom he had managed to form the sound of a ‘G’ and, ever the genius, put his own juvenile twist on it. The kid was smart, and sometimes it was scary.

Will threw himself into Graham’s arms and he picked him up with a growl, rubbing the stubble of his beard into the soft skin of Will’s neck and making him laugh. Will stiffened in his arms, struggling to escape as Graham tickled at his side at the same time, the boy finally turning floppy and dangling upside down.

“What are you doing upside down?” Emma teased him, turning her head half sideways to ask the question when she had finally caught up with them at the bottom of the staircase. Will just laughed, clutching Graham’s hands, his face turning bright red. “Thank you for doing this,” Emma told Graham sincerely, straightening herself back up and pushing her hair from her face.

Graham let Will slip from his grasp and watched him run off, his little legs stumbling over his feet more than once as he giggled and dove onto the couch. “No problem,” Graham smiled at her, pulling his shirt back into position and sucking in a breath. “We are going to have fun,” he announced a little louder so that Will peeked at him over the back of an overly large cushion.

“Really,” Emma reiterated. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just promise me you won’t bring anyone back here,” Graham said quickly, his voice a little darker. He looked away from Will for a second to meet her gaze and sighed. “I don’t want random men around Will.”

Emma stepped back from him and swallowed hard. “What business is that of yours?” She snipped, folding her arms over her chest and straightening her back until she seemed taller.

“Do I know him?” Graham prodded, ignoring her question.

“Again, what business is that of yours,” Emma repeated with a sarcastic tone, her eyes flitting to the twitch of the muscle in his jaw.

“It’s Killian, isn’t it?” Graham sighed, looking down at his feet and planting his hands on his hips. “You wouldn’t be this defensive over anyone else.”

Graham was right and Emma hated that he knew her better than she gave him credit for. Emma looked over her shoulder to make sure Will was not listening but when she was intent he was otherwise occupied with something on the television, she whipped her head back to Graham with a rage she hadn’t known she was holding in.

“How dare you,” she barked, her voice so low only they could hear it.

“So it is him,” Graham smirked triumphantly. “I knew it.”

“What gives you the right to tell me who I can go on a date with, huh?” Emma poked him hard in the chest until he looked back up to meet her eyes. “We are not together anymore, Graham, you know that. Will knows that. I thought we were past this.”

At the mere mention of Will’s name, Graham ground his teeth and held back the words he really wanted to say. He leaned forward and extended an arm towards the lounge, pointing at the small boy sitting on the couch, eyes transfixed on the TV in front of him. “That boy in there gives me the right, Emma. I’ve been there for him, for you, and I’m sorry that was never enough for you but I love Will and he deserves to know...”

“He knows,” Emma spat, interrupting him and making Graham move back in surprise. She knew exactly what Graham thought he could use as some sort of leverage, but it wasn’t going to work. The second she had found out she was pregnant Emma had vowed to never lie to the life growing inside of her about anything and he might be young, but Will was smart. He understood more than Graham gave him credit for.

“Forget it,” Graham shook his head and held up his hand dismissively. “I tried to be understanding about this. I tried to be the bigger man, for Will, but there has always been this disconnect between us, Emma. I will never understand why, after everything he did to you, you love him so much.”

“No, you won’t,” Emma said stiffly, her entire body rigid with determination. “Now go. If you can’t handle this, then walk away,” Emma told him calmly. She reached behind him and yanked the door open, the wooden door jumping free from the frame with a squeak she had never fixed.

“Fine,” Graham growled. “I hope you enjoy your life, Emma. I won’t be around to pick up the pieces this time.”

When he slipped out of the door, Emma knew it was for the final time. She had expected too much of him for too long, and just like any normal human being, Graham had not been able to handle the friendship that followed a failed relationship. They thought they could be friends, for Will, but it seemed Graham was of the jealous ilk and would never change, only hold a grudge. That wasn’t the sort of person Emma needed in her life, and it was not the sort of role model Will needed.

“Mommy? Where did Grah-Grah go?” Will looked confused, his tiny frame standing in the doorway of the lounge with sadness plastered on his face. Emma pushed the door closed and sighed, turning to face him with a forced smile.

“Grah-Grah had to go,” Emma told him softly, moving to scoop him up in her arms. She held him tightly, kissing his temple and inhaling the scent of his children’s body wash that made him smell like candy.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Will pouted sadly. Emma hugged him tighter shaking her head with a sigh.

“It’s just me and you now, lightning bug. Me and you.”

Without a sitter, Emma was stuck. Graham was her last chance to actually go on a date tonight, and since he had decided he couldn’t handle seeing her with another man, she had no choice but to call Killian and cancel. Unfortunately for her, Killian had taken an earlier flight to New York and was already in town, so instead they had decided to spend the evening in and order a pizza.

He had arrived earlier than expected and she was just putting Will to bed. After agreeing to give her a few minutes, Killian had perused the lounge, taking in the decor and looking at the photos that Emma had adorning the mantlepiece. Most were of Will, a small wisp of a boy with barely any body fat who had a brown surfer style hairdo that sat in a heap of curls on his head. His eyes were almost emerald blue in colour, darker than Emma’s but not quite as green as hers and Killian figured he must have inherited them from his father.

As he moved along the photos, there were a few of a trio that caught his attentions. Emma was cuddling Will on her lap as a toddler, his hair much blonder back then, and a tall, handsome man had his arm around the two of them. He had a short, cropped hairstyle but his mousy brown locks were unmistakably curly and his eyes a deep blue. Killian felt a pang of jealousy invade his heart, the happy family photograph something he had always dreamed he would have with Emma.

“That’s Will,” Emma said from behind him and Killian jumped a little, mouth open like he was about to say something. “And Graham,” she said a little more darkly.

“I was just looking,” Killian defended his snooping immediately, the warmth of a blush creeping up the skin of his neck.

“I should take them down,” Emma said idly, moving through to the kitchen and pulling a drawer open to fish out a few takeaway menus.

“Did you get Will to bed okay?” Killian offered a change in subject and moved to the couch. He heard Emma clattering around in the fridge, jars and bottles clinking together in the door as she pushed the door close with a click. He heard the twist of a bottle and as she appeared with two beer bottles in her hand, he stared at her in shock.

“Don’t worry,” Emma assured him with a grin. “They are alcohol-free.”

Killian grinned at her, taking the bottle, the outside wet in his palm. He scooted sideways on the couch and Emma dropped into the space beside him with one leg tucked under herself. “And Will went off without a hitch, thanks for asking.”

Killian took a swig of the non-alcoholic beer and savoured the taste on his tongue, the familiar bitterness of hops and bubbles coating his mouth and offering him instant refreshment. He hadn’t had a drink since Emma had left, alcoholic or not, but he had learnt that it was never the taste he had been addicted to in the first place but the freedom to get lost in the effects of being drunk. He didn’t ask why Emma had non-alcoholic beers in her fridge but he figured it was just to avoid the constant reminder of their past from her life.

“We can go out another time,” Killian suggested softly, turning his body sideways so he was facing her. His elbow dug into the back cushions of the couch and he rested his hand to her hand, smiling at her sweetly. “This is nice actually,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Just the two of us.”

“You forget the little person upstairs,” Emma rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and pointed to the floor above them, earning her a chuckle from Killian who couldn’t stop his hand tangling in her hair. Their little touches had become more frequent and left her with a greater yearning each time that grew stronger and stronger each time he was in town. Emma nuzzled her face into his hand and turned her face until she kissed his palm.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked her gently.

“Just tired,” Emma assured him. “It’s been a long week.” Killian arched his eyebrows at her in agreement, holding out his bottle until she bumped hers against it. They both took a sip of the ice cold beer and smacked their lips together afterwards.

“It’s over now,” Killian told her in case she had missed the start of the weekend. “And I’m here now, so you know, it’s a million times better.” He grinned boyishly and gave her a wink, earning him a pathetic slap to the chest.

“My hero,” Emma mocked, instinctively leaning into him like old times. He felt softer than she remembered, his chest aged and changed with a weight gain that she didn’t find unattractive at all, and she moved her hand until it was resting against the edge of his open collar. She spied his chest hair jutting out from his shirt and couldn’t stop a giggle as it tumbled from her lips.

“What’s so funny?” Killian wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him and letting his thumb stroke the side of her arm. It was nice to hold her again, her skin so familiar under his touch and yet so different, changed by years of hardship and courage. He tried to look down at what she was seeing, but he couldn’t look past the jut of his chin.

“You’ve gone grey,” Emma teased, plucking at the white hairs erupting from his shirt.

“Not only there,” Killian laughed. “Things are a bit snowy down south too.”

“Oh my god,” Emma cackled, burying her face in his shirt to hide her amusement. Killian laughed with her, unashamed by his admission because it put a smile on her face which was what he pretty much lived for nowadays.

The last three months had been a lot of long distance texting and phone calls late at night, a lot of flirting and even more innuendo that when they were together got pushed aside for a more subtle and intimate time together. They held hands and they snuggled, enjoying the warmth and security of each other’s embrace, something they had never had before. They had agreed to take things slow, much to Emma’s aggravation, but she respected his reasoning and reluctance to make love to her again so quickly.

However, she felt like she was drowning on dry land and if the rains didn’t come soon, she would most certainly would do something drastic.

“I’m scared I am going to end up looking like a polar bear,” Killian said, his thumb poking into the top of his beer bottle.

“Want me to do a quick recon of the situation?” Emma cooed sweetly, lifting herself out of his embrace and taking stock of his almost school boy look of panic. “Purely professionally,” Emma shrugged with a wink.

“But you are the sheriff,” Killian narrowed his eyes at her and tried to force himself not to smirk too excitedly.

“I’ve had special training,” Emma purred, pushing herself up onto her knees and moving to straddle his lap. Killian reached beside them and set his beer bottle on the table beside the couch before planting his cool hands onto her hips and holding her in place across his lap. They had already got to this stage last time, stopping themselves from going all the way like some horny teenagers abstaining from each other, but this time she was ready.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked her softly, resting his head back on the back of the couch.

“I’m ready,” Emma whispered against his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her hands and smirking against his parted lips. They were so close, breathing the same air and she felt the heat on the tips of his elfen ears under her fingertips.

“You are?” Killian gulped, his cheeks turning crimson and his hands increasing their grip on her hips as his eyes flitted between hers and her mouth. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and he sucked in a breath when he felt Emma grind down onto his lap.

“I am,” Emma nodded, rolling her forehead against his. Her voice was deep and scratchy like she had been shouting all day, and she let her hands slip from his face and began to unbutton her blouse.

Killian shivered, his stare glued to her hands as they nimbly worked the buttons through their holes. His heart took off in his chest, racing to keep the blood flowing to his extremities. He flexed his fingers against her hips, thumbs rubbing over the jut of the bone and felt himself get hard as he watched Emma undress. She was going so slowly that Killian had to shift his weight to relieve some pressure in his pants, her weight rubbing the solid length of him through his jeans and making him groan low in his throat.

Emma kissed his mouth, lips sliding sideways across his face and over the apple of his cheek. Killian’s head lolled backwards, his eyes fluttering closed as Emma’s kisses were seared into his flesh, the skin under her lips igniting with every touch. She kissed his ear, nuzzling the skin behind it with her nose and then trailed her tongue down his neck, kissing back over the same area to wipe away the wetness she had left. Emma sat back a little, tugging her arms out of her blouse and Killian gasped, sucking in a quick breath that made Emma stop suddenly and pull back.

“Are you okay?” Emma asked him gently, her finger hooking under his chin and lifting his eyes to hers once she had discarded her blouse. Killian was almost despondent at losing the sight of her ample cleavage, but he did not resist her, nodding with a warm smile.

“Aye,” he croaked.

“We can stop at any time,” Emma told him, her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. She pulled and twisted the buttons through the holes until she was at the bottom, pulling the edges apart and gasping at the sight she had missed so much. He was just as hairy as she recalled, scattered white hairs intermingling with the black just like on his head, and she felt her core clench at the sight. Killian sat forward and helped pull his arms free from his sleeves, both of them settling back into their original position sans their shirts and hands brushing against bare skin that had been calling out for the other for years.

“I just want us to be happy,” Killian whispered against her lips, their faces almost touching once more.

“I’m happy,” Emma smirked flirtatiously, arching her back so that her breasts were cradled at his eye level once more, the flesh heaving in her bra with each ragged breath she took.

Killian shot a glance down between them to where his jeans were painfully tighter and he chuckled shyly. “So am I,” he growled.

Emma surged forward, grabbing his face and pulling his lips to hers. The kiss was slower than before, soft lips and languid tongues massaging each other as they groaned into each others mouth and hands roamed over every patch of exposed skin they could find. Killian pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, the vibrations from her groan sending a shiver down his spine and causing his stomach to fall away from him.

“Bedroom,” Emma mumbled and looped her arms around Killian’s neck as he grabbed her ass and lifted her up into his arms as he stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her body into his, the planes of his chest and the tickle of his chest hair just as delectable as Emma remembered.

“Which way?” Killian stumbled towards the stairs, almost falling over when he tripped on some discarded toys at the the side of the couch. Emma laughed in his arms, shaking her loosely curled golden locks over her shoulder and sucking on her bottom lip. Killian looked at her, flushed and wanton and knew he needed to hurry before he came from her sultry teasing alone. “Which way, Swan?” He demanded with more haste, his fingers snapping her bra open and pulling the material down her shoulders.

“End of the hall,” Emma panted, holding on to him for dear life as he ascended the staircase, cursing under his breath when he stood on a squeaky floorboard and Emma hushed him midway along the landing. “Careful!” she giggled, burying her face in his neck to try and stifle her laugh.

“Shhh!” Killian paused outside of her bedroom door, slamming her into the wall with a force that made her squeak in pleasure. He dipped his head, kissing the underside of her jaw and leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake as he travelled lower, tongue darting out to taste the swell of her breasts.

“Mommy?” Will called out groggily from his room and they froze. Killian had managed to shake his jeans half way down his thighs and his erection was poking Emma in the inner thigh, the adrenaline rushing through both of them with the fear that Will’s bedroom door was about to open. Emma grabbed Killian’s shoulders and made him stop moving, pressing her finger to his lips as he gave her a wide eyed stare.

“It’s okay, L-Bug,” Emma called out in a soft whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

They paused, waiting for the sound of a small child walking across the bedroom but no sounds came from Will’s room. Killian’s arm muscles burned with the burden of holding Emma aloft, but he couldn’t help himself and pulled one of her nipples into his mouth. The nub pebbled instantly against his tongue like it had never been anywhere else, the taste of Emma’s skin making Killian growl.

“God, Killian…” Emma whimpered, eyes fluttering closed.

“I think he’s asleep,” Killian whispered into the valley of her bosom, sliding his tongue over the plump mounds as he moved for the other nipple. Emma pushed her back off the wall and encouraged him to suck harder, fingers carding in his hair and gently tugging on the soft, dark mass between her fingers.

“One more second,” Emma pleaded, her body betraying her words.

“I don’t think I have a second,” Killian laughed, his voice hoarse and his legs shaking from staving off his release. “I need you. Now,” he grunted into her ear, rolling his hips against hers and pinning her to the wall.

Emma knew as soon as they crossed into her bedroom things would change. They were no strangers to each other’s bodies, knowing each other more intimately and emotionally than anyone could ever have known. They had been through so much, shown each other the worst that they could be and driven each other into the lowest depth of despair, but that would never happen again.

Killian was falling in love with her all over again. The way that she moaned under his kisses, the shiver in her muscles and the breathless way she called his name like only he could make her. They fell into each other, hardness and softness combining in the sweetest ecstasy, their bodies pressed together so closely that Killian wasn’t sure where he ended and Emma began. He would never forget the sounds she made as she came, her fingers clutching the comforter above her head and the gentle waves of contracting muscles rippling up and down his length sending him into the light directly after her.

They were giving each other a second chance to right their wrongs, starting with tonight.

Killian stayed the night, which was odd, waking up with Emma asleep across his arm again. At first he thought he was dreaming and last night hadn’t happened, but then she stirred and raked her fingernails down the expanse of his chest hair, her toes curling over the shape of his calf, and he smirked to himself. There had been no frenzy to the way they made love, each savouring the other like a fine wine or a culinary delicacy that they would only experience once, and with a content sigh, he knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

“What time is it?” Emma mumbled against his chest, her eyes rolling around behind her eyelids.

Killian smiled at her groggy state, craning his neck to press his lips to her hairline. “It’s just after six,” Killian said, whispering because of the early morning. Emma’s eyes flew open in a panic and she scrambled to the edge of the bed, leaning over the edge with a grunt and grabbing his shirt. She pulled herself back onto the bed and tossed the material at him, brushing the hair from her eyes with a heaving breath.

“Get dressed!” Emma screeched in a hushed tone, clutching the comforter to her chest and covering herself up. “Quick!” She urged him with wide eyes, waving a hand towards the en suite.

Killian frowned at her and his hand jumped to the patch of skin behind his ear. He was blushing and he couldn’t hide that it was because she was naked, even more glorious in the rising light of day than he had remembered. “Why? What’s wrong?” He fretted, pulling his shirt on hurriedly and searching the floor for his boxers. They had been discarded in a hurry last night and he wasn’t exactly sure where they had ended up.

“Will!” Emma said quickly, locating his boxers and tossing them across the bed towards him.

“Will?” Killian caught his underwear and hopped from one foot to the other as he put them on. “What does your son…” Killian began but just as he had managed to pull on his boxers, the door flew open and a rather sleepy child barrelled into the room. He was dishevelled from sleep, one of his pant legs caught up around his knee, and he was missing one of his socks. He rubbed his eye with one hand and dragged his bear with the other seeming to ignore Killian altogether as he clambered onto the bed.

“Hey, L-Bug,” Emma chimed nervously, pulling on an old t-shirt she had found in one of her drawers. Killian looked at it hard, recognising it as one of his old college tees that he had lost a long time ago but Emma brushed off his puzzled expression with a nudge of her head towards the door. “Did you sleep well, sweetie?”

The only sound Will made was a grumble, the sleep unsuccessfully rubbed from his eyes as he crawled into Emma’s bed and snuggled down into the duvet. He nodded into her pillow, clutching it in his tiny fingers as he sighed. Killian padded barefoot from the room, mouthing the word ‘coffee’ to her with a smirk. Emma nodded thankfully and perched on the edge of the bed, stroking Will’s hair as he snoozed.

“So, Will sleepwalks?” Killian smirked, fully dressed now and pouring the steaming hot coffees into two mugs he had found in one of Emma’s cupboards. “Right into your bedroom.” Emma let out a breath, settling at the dining table and hanging her head in her hands with a giggle. She was still wearing his college shirt, her pajamas pants hanging low on her hips and exposing a tiny bit of the flesh of her stomach. Her body had changed with pregnancy, her hips a little fuller and her skin a little loser, but Killian found it endearing, like he was getting to know a whole new Emma.

“Every day at six,” Emma nodded once in agreement. “Every day since he was three.”

Killian made a sound in his throat and handed her her coffee, cream and two sugars, just the way she liked it. He stood beside her and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing the curve of the bone through the tee. “I thought I’d lost this,” he said idly, plucking at the grey fabric.

Emma turned and smiled at him sweetly, her eyes still heavy from their lack of sleep and her hair a mess. She looks beautiful, even more than before they broke up, her cheeks still the same rosy softness and her lips still the same, perfectly curved and kissable. Killian matched her smile, his lips turning up on one side before he bent over and gave her a sideways kiss. It was soft and gentle and so slow that Emma couldn’t ignore the ache low in her stomach and the hum of content on his lips.

“What are you doing to me?” She sighed happily, wrapping her hand around his arm and tracing the outline of his bicep with her fingers. Killian simply quirked a brow, a modest smirk on his face. “I mean it, Jones. I’m so confused right now.”

Killian grabbed the chair beside him and slid it across the tiled floor until he could sit closer to her, his coffee sitting next to hers on top of the wooden surface between them. “What do you mean?” He asked her with a frown. “Do you regret last night?”

“God, no!” Emma said with a smirk, recalling the way she had felt with his head between her legs. Killian caught her reminiscing and poked his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip agonizingly slowly, the taste of her still lingering on his lips, his eyebrow jumping up on his face once more. “No,” Emma said firmly when she caught him watching her. “It’s just…”

“Talk to me,” Killian pleaded gently, leaning forward and pulling her hands into his. “We can’t do this again if we are not honest with each other.” His fingers were hot on hers and her palms a little sweaty from clutching the steaming hot coffee mug for so long. His fingers danced up and down her forearms, his touch almost soothing her and chasing away her worries. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can…”

“Mommy?” Will’s voice interrupted them and Killian jumped back, sitting back up in his chair and clearing his throat.

“Hey, baby,” Emma cooed, twisting her frame in her seat and reaching with open arms for her son.

“What are you guys doing?” Will looked between them, eyeing Killian suspiciously. He had only met him briefly before now and Emma wasn’t completely enthused by the idea of him knowing too much at the moment.

“Well,” Emma started, looking to Killian and extending the syllable to give her a little more time to come up with an answer.

“We were talking about breakfast,” Killian offered casually, giving Will a small smile. “What does a growing lad like yourself eat for breakfast?” Killian took a sip of his coffee and awaited Will’s reply.

“Pop tarts!” Will declared with a squeak.

“You do not,” Emma declared, aghast. Will looked at her and hunched his shoulders, hiding his face in his hands as he giggled nervously. Emma jabbed her fingers into his side and he wiggled on her lap as she tickled him. “Nice try though.”

“Oh, you are a scoundrel,” Killian noted, pointing a finger at Will who just gave him a grin. Killian winked at her knowingly. “How about pancakes?” He offered and Emma looked at him surprised.

“Can we have bananas on top?” Will asked excitedly. “And chocolate sauce?” His voice jumped and he almost fell from Emma’s grip when he shuffled to the edge of her knees in his eagerness. Killian looked at Emma who nodded at him, but when he looked back to Will he gave a look of feigned disgust.

“If you must,” he sighed with a dramatic eye roll. “You ever made pancakes before?” Killian asked him and Will shook his head shyly. “Well, in that case, how about I show you?”

“Can he, Mom? Can he show me?” Will screeched excitedly, bouncing up and down in her arms.

“Okay, okay,” Emma conceded and Will shouted gleefully, slapping his hands on the tabletop. Killian leaned forward on his elbow and held out his hand, his palm flat and open. Will grinned cheekily and slapped Killian’s hand with his own followed by a bout of his infectious laughing.

In the time it had taken Killian to rise, Will was at the other side of the kitchen and dragging his stepping stool towards the counter so he could be the right height. Killian gathered the ingredients, some he had discovered earlier whilst looking for the coffee mugs, and some with Emma’s help. Will awkwardly pulled up his sleeves and bobbed up and down on the stool. “Yay!” He sang like he had never been so happy.

“You don’t have to do this,” Emma told Killian on a whisper, snaking her hand around his waist and pressing her body into his side.

“I want to,” Killian beamed at her, cracking an egg into a plastic bowl. No sooner had the yolk settled in the curve of the bowl, Emma’s phone rang and she sighed with a groan. It was her work phone, likely something important even if it was the weekend, so she had no choice but to answer it.

“Do you mind?” Emma asked sorrowfully, nudging her head towards Will. The youngster was watching Killian with a fascinated stare, tilting his head like a puppy at the way the eggs sat side by side in the bowl but did not mix.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Killian nodded reassuringly and Emma gave him a little wink.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised, walking backwards from the kitchen and turning at the last second to answer her call. Killian turned back to Will, handing him a sieve. Will took it, twisting it in his hands and inspecting it with a frown.

“What’s this?” Will asked innocently.

“That’s a sieve,” Killian said with a smile.

“What’s it for?” Will looked up to Killian hopefully, genuinely intrigued.

“Ah, well,” Killian began, moving the bowl of eggs in front of Will and helping him to rest the sieve across the top of the bowl. He reached for the bag of flour and shook some of the fine, white dust into the curved sifter, watching intently until he was sure he had emptied enough flour into it. Killian and Liam always made pancakes and he rarely needed scales to make sure his amounts were spot on, instead using his eye and a confidence in cooking he had learned from his brother. Once satisfied with the amount, Killian rolled the top of the bag down and set it aside, giving Will a wooden spoon and pointing to the bowl. “Tap the side of the bowl,” Killian instructed with an encouraging smile.

Will look confused for a second but when he hit the spoon on the side of the plastic and a layer of flour drifted through the sieve onto the eggs below, he shrieked in delight. He tapped again, and again, until the entire amount of flour had fallen through, looking up at Killian with a proud boyish grin. “I did it!” He declared, clutching the spoon in his hands tightly.

“Good lad,” Killian nodded, giving Will a thumbs up.

“What next?” Will asked excitedly, peering into the bowl.

Killian added a pinch of salt, a glug of milk and then he began whisking the mixture, making sure to beat the lumps out with the most effort. Half way he stopped and offered the bowl over to Will, helping him grip the whisk properly and showing him how to hit the side of the bowl repetitively to create a light, fluffy mixture. Will’s tongue poked out as he worked, his little arm tiring quickly and his whole body sagging with effort.

“Come on,” Killian encouraged with a laugh. “I thought you were strong?”

“I am!” Will laughed back, his shoulders sagging as he gave Killian a pleading glance and pushed the bowl towards him. “But you are stronger,” he noted. “You should do the most work.”

Killian couldn’t help but laugh again, the feeling of genuine innocence at Will’s words doing something inside of his heart that he had never felt before. There was a short pause with him just looking at the boy and seeing Emma’s cherub cheeks and her wonderful smile duplicated on the face of her son, the gleeful glint in his eyes the same one his mother had when she was a teenager. “You are a clever lad,” Killian told Will softly, resuming his whisking, checking the batter for lumps periodically.

Will leaned forward on the counter, head propped up on his elbow as he watched the bubbles in the batter pop. “Are you my new daddy?” He asked sweetly, not looking up as he did.

Killian’s face paled instantly and he swallowed a hard lump down his throat. It must have been hard on the boy to see Emma and Graham separate. He remembered how confusing it was for him when his parents decided to divorce, and how he had his older brother to see him through, guide him into adulthood without his father figure. Will didn’t have that, being an only child, and Killian stopped his whisking to turn and face him.

“I’m afraid not,” he told him sadly. “Do you miss your daddy?” Killian asked him softly, dipping his head to catch his eye.

Will nodded without taking his hand away from his face. “Mommy said he had to go away.”

Killian’s heart decided in that moment to split in two, the sadness laced in Will’s tiny voice, not yet old enough to realise how much of an effect what he was saying could have on anyone. “We can be friends, if you’d like?” Killian offered, letting the whisk roll against the side of the bowl and extending his hand out to Will. “I’m Killian,” he smiled with a nod.

“That’s a funny name!” Will chortled, covering his mouth with chubby fingers.

“Well, what’s your name?” Killian looked at Will with narrowed eyes.

“I’m Will,” the boy chirped, taking Killian’s hand and giving it an exaggerated shake. “Nice to meet you!” His antics made Killian chuckle inside and he suppressed a giggle.

“That’s a great name,” Killian told him. “I have a friend called Will. Good people are called Will.” Killian let his mind wander to the number of times Will Scarlett had been there for him. If it wasn’t for Scarlett and his friendship, Killian may never have come home from service, and he would certainly have drunk himself to death by now.

“Thanks,” Will sang, poking at the whisk like he wasn’t supposed to touch it. “It’s short for William, but Mommy never calls me that.” Will picked up the whisk again, poking it through the thickening batter. “I was named after my uncle. Mommy says he was a good person too, like my daddy, but Daddy is away right now because he was sad about Uncle Liam going to live with the angels.”

There were no words to describe the feeling of when the world falls out from under you and envelopes you at the same time, but Killian was pretty sure he had just felt it.

He felt the blood drain from his face, a slight dizziness washing over him as he felt his heart rate pick up in his chest. His breathing became laboured, his armpits turning suddenly hot and damp and every hair on his body standing on end at the same time.

Will was oblivious to how his words had struck him, the finality of what his brother’s death really meant to him hitting home once and for all, and the boy continued to prod the batter in the bowl. Killian frowned at the boy, watching the profile of his face, flashes of Graham from the photographs playing over in his mind. Graham had a round face whilst Will’s was much thinner, and his nose was different, curved rather than pointed. His lips were Emma’s and his cheeks were hers too, but his eyes were a sea green that he knew ran in his lineage. Killian reached out and brushed his hand through Will’s hair, parting the curly brown locks and revealing the soft point of an elven ear, the boy unaware to what he was searching for.

“Uncle Liam?” Killian croaked, his voice breaking a little, his fingers lingering over the back of the boys head tenderly.

“Yep,” Will said with a nod, standing up and turning to rest his behind against the counter. He fidgeted his feet, bumping them together. “William is like Liam, but not the Irish version.”

“How old are you, Will?” Killian asked, forcing a smile. “Do you know?”

Will gave him a wide, toothy grin and nodded confidently. “I am four and a half years old,” he declared happily, holding up four fingers and pinning half of his pinky finger back down. “That’s this many!”

“Okay, boys, I’m done,” Emma called out as she walked back into the kitchen, head down and fingers tapping at the screen of her phone as she set it back to the menu screen. She looked up, Will giving her his best boyish smile that reminded her so much of someone else she knew, but the contrast in his rosy cheeks to the panic and paleness in Killian’s made her freeze. She didn’t have to ask, she knew.

He knew.

“Will, honey, why don’t you go and play with your dinosaurs?” Emma encouraged him, not taking her eyes from Killian’s who was staring at her scandalized. He tore his gaze away the second Will jumped from the stool obediently and ran to his mother, hugging her legs and looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Can I help Killian flip the pancakes later?” He pouted, looking back at the man behind him who had turned his back on them both and was hunched over the bowl of batter once more.

“Sure, L-Bug,” Emma ruffled his hair, watching the ripple of muscles in Killian’s back flex each time he clenched his fists and then stretched out his fingers on the countertop. Will ran off, thanking Killian for teaching him how to make pancakes as he thundered up the stairs one step at a time, all the while singing to himself about his dinosaurs.

“Killian,” Emma said softly, his name on her lips full of silent apologies.

“It’s okay,” Killian turned to look at her, his mind reeling. “I mean, I think it’s okay,” he shrugged, moving to sit at the table once more and burying his face in his hands.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Emma joined him, grabbing his hand as she sat down beside him. He was in shock, she knew that, staring blankly at nowhere and the muscles of his face twitching with thought. “I wasn’t sure how you would react, if you would even want a baby,” Emma said, the back of her throat swelling a little with emotion. He didn’t answer her, mouth agape and eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

“Did you know?” Killian said, his voice breaking a little as his own tears threatened to put a crack in his voice. “When you left, did you know?”

Emma looked down at her lap and sighed. “I was eight weeks pregnant that night,” Emma swallowed hard, her voice echoing with the hurt she felt that night. Killian pinched his eyes closed, a tear finally rolling from his eyelids. He was ashamed beyond comprehension. Not only had he attempted to take Emma’s dignity by force, but he was absolutely sure that back then, the life growing inside of her would not have stopped him even if she had said.

“You did the right thing,” he gulped, finally turning his head to look at her with a nod.

“I wasn’t going to raise a child in that toxic, destructive environment,” Emma justified with a squeeze of his hand. “I wanted to change, being pregnant made me see that, but I wasn’t convinced that you could put a child above everything else.” Her voice broke, the tears finally spilling from her eyelids and the tingle in her nose starting as her sinuses become inflamed.

“I wouldn’t have,” Killian agreed. “I was selfish and despicable,” Killian spat, his words so full of venom for his former self that he could hardly believe how far he had come. “I didn’t even recognise that thing I was, Emma. I don’t hate you for leaving, and I don’t hate you for not telling me about Will. You did what was right by our son, and that is all that matters.”

Emma sucked in a breath, her lips quivering. “Our son?” She beamed at him with watery eyes, her fingers gripping his harder.

“I wasn’t ready to be a father,” Killian shook his head, reaching out to cup her face in his hand, his thumb tracing over the curve of her chin and wiping away her tears.

“How about now?” Emma asked hopefully.

Killian’s breath hitched with a nervous laugh before he moved forward to kiss her, lips shaking against each other, their faces so close that their tears mingled together against their skin. Emma shuffled forward on her chair, her knees bumping his and Killian tangled his hands through her hair, the softness caressing his fingertips and making him feel warm once more.

“Pick a partner who knows what she is doing,” Killian whispered against her lips as he broke the kiss and nudged her nose with his.

“What?” Emma chuckled, stroking the side of his face tenderly, still in a little daze from his kiss.

“Parenting,” Killian clarified, sitting back in his seat. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“I’d like to think so,” Emma smiled sweetly.

“Then I choose you. I pick you. And if we falter, I’m sure we can work it out.” Killian gave her a happy grin, winking when she playfully tapped his hand with hers. They were the same words he had used when she told him she loved him over a decade ago, but now they were very different people and so much had happened between them. And they had a son, who needed them both to be the best people they could be and make sure he did not stray from the path, like they had.

Emma’s lips twitched into a small smile, the image of Killian in his prom tuxedo still fresh in her mind. He was just as handsome, if not more now, with a silvery edge to all his body hair that she absolutely loved. “Together?” She teased, echoing her teenage words.

“Together,” Killian nodded, squeezing her hand in his. It was the second time he would make the promise, but it would be the last time. Nothing could tear him away from his family now that he knew he had one, and as if on cue, the sound of Will’s footsteps hammering down the wooden staircase roused them both from their loving stares.

“Mommy!” Will called out as he ran into the kitchen. He was waving a piece of paper that depicted some figures drawn in front of a house, one with yellow hair and green eyes, one with black hair and blue eyes and between them a shorter figure who had brown hair and darker blue eyes. “Look!” Will chimed, slapping the paper to the table between them.

“Oh, you drew a picture,” Killian observed with a tilt of his head and a squint. “Of…” He began, struggling to see what he was actually looking at.

Will looked up at him with a frown. “It’s us!”

“Of course it is!” Killian declared, just as jovially and Emma smirked at him over Will’s head.

“That’s Mommy,” Will continued on, pointing to the yellow haired figure who was wearing blue pants and a red sweater or jacket of some kind.

“So pretty,” Killian whispered, keeping Emma’s gaze.

“And this is me.” Will didn’t even stop between breaths, or notice Killian’s attention had changed from his drawing to his mother.

“I thought you were taller,” Killian teased, tearing his eyes from Emma long enough to cock his head to one side and make Will laugh hysterically. “And who is this handsome fellow?” Killian tapped a finger to the tallest figure with blue eyes, black hair and what looked to be cocktail sticks shooting out of the bottom of his oval shaped face.

“That’s you!” Will told him proudly and before Killian had time to question his appearance, Will clarified his thought. “With your spiky beard!”

Emma couldn’t hold her laughter anymore and when Killian screwed up his face, clearly uneducated in the ways of children and how they had no filter, the sound sprang from her mouth making them all jump.

“You did a great job, L-Bug,” Emma said politely, covering her mouth as more giggles threatened to escape.

Killian smoothed his hand over the drawing, the crayon waxy under his touch, until he reached the bottom corner where there was a name. His brow knitted together. It looked familiar, an initial and a surname that made Killian’s lips spread into another smile and his heart swell with pride. “W Jones,” he breathed, not even realising his words were out loud.

“Yup!” Will shifted closer and his tiny body pressed into Killian’s knee, his warmth like a calm that Killian had never felt before. “William Jones,” he smiled up at Killian, both of them looking almost identical with their wide, boyish grins and slightly rosy cheeks. “I can’t write William yet though, so I just draw a ‘W’.”

“L-Bug, do you remember when I told you your daddy went away for a while?” Emma leaned forward, grabbing Will’s shoulders and pulling him into her embrace, hunching over and resting her chin over his shoulder. Will nodded, staring at Killian. “And do you remember how mommy told you that your surname was Jones, just like your daddy’s?”

Will nodded. “That’s why yours is different,” he said confidently.

“That’s right,” Emma said proudly. She kissed the side of his cheek, much to his disgust and then pointed over at Killian who was fidgeting nervously. “Why don’t you ask Killian what his last name is?”

Will paused, looking over the man in front of him. His fingers twisted together, not through nerves, because he was the most confident child Emma had ever met, but because he wasn’t sure how to say what she was sure he had already worked out. “Is your last name Jones too?” He asked softly, hand reaching up to scratch the patch of skin behind his ear.

“Aye,” Killian nodded.

“That means yes,” Emma whispered in Will’s ear. “Killian is your daddy,” she told him softly, the redness around Killian’s eyes unmistakable when Will’s face erupted in the largest of smiles.

“Daddy!” Will screamed, pulling free of Emma’s embrace and rushing forward. Killian was ready, arms open in a second and he pulled the boy into his embrace, holding on like he would never let go. Emma had never lied to Will about his father, skipping over details that a child didn’t need to know, but she had always encouraged him to love his father and if she was completely honest, she had hoped this day would come. “You came home!” Will cried into Killian’s sweater, his voice breaking as his emotions overtook him.

“I’m home,” Killian sobbed, his breath hitching a little as he held his son, tiny arms grabbing onto the material of his sweater and holding on for dear life. “I promise I am not going anywhere ever again.”

There was nothing else left to say that hadn’t already been said. There were no more tears left to cry after that day, only bridges to build and hearts to mend in the only way having a child could. Killian doted on Will and made sure that he felt loved more than anything in the world, giving him everything he could possibly afford and then some. Will returned the favour ten-fold, even if he had no idea how simply being himself had such an effect on his father.

Their journey had been long and the road laid out in front of them had no clear end, but two years later when Killian cradled their newborn son in his arms, he had a different story to tell when he attended each meeting, and he would make sure this one had a happy ending.

[scarecrowandmrking]

The Falling (Mark Pellegrino story)

 My sister was always the pretty one. The girl who tried out for and got on the cheerleading squad. The one voted prom queen. The one who went to New York and became a successful designer with the wonderful life and fancy apartment. So I wasn’t at all surprised when I got the invitation to the wedding that would mark yet another achievement in the wonderful life that was my sister’s. Meanwhile I had never left the town of Surry, Wisconsin. No social life. Never even been laid much, just a mostly sexless relationship and a couple one night stands.

 The only lucky break I ever got in life was that on the day of the wedding there came a hellacious storm none of the meteorologists seem to see coming. My sister, decked out in her gazillion dollar wedding gown and accompanied by her model good looks husband, had had to stop taking their adorable photos to flee back into the dry confines of the church.  We were all pretty wet and miserable by then. Well, except for me that is. Wet. But decidedly not miserable.

 There came a loud knocking at the church door. The sound, hesitant at first but growing in its persistence, wasn’t heard by the rest of the crowd, so wrapped up in their empty bellies and the rather enviable chore of trying to control my sobbing sister. I found myself wandering forward as if in some sort of dream, not fully aware of what i was doing until I was standing in front of it with my hand hovering over the door knob.

 “What are you waiting for?”

 I turned to find my sister hovering behind me. Her mascara was smeared and the ornate vail she had been wearing was long since abandoned, revealing a rat’s nest beneath. I had never seen her look so normal before. And my heart secretly sang at the sight of it.

 A second later and the door was open, revealing the form of a hunch backed older woman wearing what appeared to be several layers of rags.  She was clutching a cane in her hand, her head bowed against the torrents of rain pelting her fragile form. My sister gave a kind of disgusted snort, causing the woman to look up at us. Her face was a mask of wrinkles and dirt that seemed to be so stubborn that not even the downpour could scrub it off.

 “What do you want,” my sister asked in a none too welcoming tone.

 “Shelter,” the old woman told us. “There is no place around here for miles. I wish to come in.”

My sister had a look on here face as if the old woman had asked to try on her wedding gown. “Nope,” she said after a moment. “We’re all filled up here.”

 She made to slam the door in the older woman’s face but I stopped her, grabbing her by the arm. “Hey, have a little compassion. It’s bad out there. And we have plenty of room.”

 My sister rolled her eyes and turned to make her way back to her adoring fan club in the center of the church. “Whatever,” she hollered over her shoulder.

 I turned back to the door to find the old woman had been replaced by the form of a beautiful woman dressed all in white. She had a faint glow about her like what I imagined an angel would have. Her hair was long and white, her face so stunning it made my sister look like a gremlin by comparison. My mouth hung open in shock and admiration. I felt as if reality had faded away and I was now in some kind of waking dream.

 “You have taken kindness on a stranger. A rare gift these days,” the angelic woman told me. She placed in my hands a red rose. I glanced down at it, feeling a strange sort of heat radiating off of it and seeming to sink into my flesh. “ And I am giving you one in return. This is a rose of giving. Whatever you wish shall be yours. But be careful, when the last petal falls the wishing shall be over. And nothing can be undone.”

 When I looked up to ask the strange woman a question I discovered that she was long gone.

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

 I placed the rose on my nightstand and went back to watching my nightly binge of Netflix while I thought back on the events of the day. My sister had seemed to be in a much better mood as she and her hubby had headed off to the airport on their way to the Bahamas.  On the flight back to my little nothing town in the middle of nowhere, I had held the rose in my hands and thought about all the things I would change in my life if I could. But all of it really came down to only a few real things I wanted to change in my life. Always the same things. In exactly the same order.

 The first thing I always did when I got into bed every night was take out my laptop and peruse my social media pages, all devoted to my some would say unhealthy unrequited love affair with the actor Mark Pellegrino. I had first seen the tall, blond haired sexy creature as the all powerful being Jacob on Lost. Then I had moved on to watching him on Dexter, The Tomorrow People, Castle, Supernatural and a host of other Tv shows and movies. I had even spoken to him a few times on Twitter and had met him for a photo op at a con once, all of which only heightened my infatuation for the man. Though there were times to be sure when I felt a tad bit embarrassed of myself that my sister was dating and getting married and no doubt headed to motherville  when my entire life was devoted to an actor who more than likely didn’t know I existed.

 “I wish he knew I existed,” I told the rose from its place next to my bed. Looking at it, I could tell it had not fared well on the trip here.  Already it looked to be wilting and missing some of its once pristine petals. “I want him to love me, too. I want what my sister has. I want someone to choose me for once. Not some other girl. Me.”

 I fell asleep wondering what that would be like. To have a man lay down and hold me like they did in the romance novels I read. Was Mark a lay down and hug you sort? And I laid there and thought back to all the pictures and gifs and blogs I had of him, trying to imagine the man behind all of that. Not the celebrity, but the actual man. The flesh and blood human being that cried when he was hurt or raged when he was angry. And I wondered where he was and what he was doing at this very moment. And if there was any place in his imaginings for someone like me…..

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

 The first thing I became aware of when I opened my eyes was that I was no longer in my own bed anymore. And that’s a pretty frightening sensation to wake up, let me tell you.  I stared about the strange bedroom for a moment before reaching over to turn on what I’d hoped would be a light. And when it came on I found myself gazing around a spacious room much more expensive looking than anything my bookstore employee ass could ever afford. We weren’t talking Wal Mart decor here.

 “It’s late. Turn off the light,” a deep voice grumbled from behind me. A chill went down my spine. I would know that voice from anywhere. I turned, and sure enough the man I had been lusting after for years now was laying next to me under the covers, looking quite sexy while sporting a rather epic case of bed head.

 “Uh.....” I wish I had said something for more sexy in that moment, but apparently when you fall asleep and wake up in someone else's bed for no apparent reason, it kind of robs you of any semblance of elegance.

 “Are you feeling ok, love?” Mark pulled himself up to a sitting position. I tried not to look at his naked chest and the nipples I had always wanted to feel beneath my tongue, but failed. “Still upset about the wedding?”

 “The...wedding.” My mouth was saying things but my mind just refused to go along with things. I had never been in bed with a man before. And certainly not THIS man. Fuck, he was sexy as hell. Like a damn majestic lion or something….

 To my surprise, Mark pulled me into his arms, pressing my breasts against his warm skin. I let out a sound halfway between and gasp and a moan, my pussy getting super wet and making some rather hard to ignore protests as the friction built where my thighs rubbed together. Hesitantly, because I really didn’t know what I was doing, I kissed him on his collar bone and rubbed along his side. His only response was to reach up and pat me gently on the head, much the same way you might comfort a small child, leading me to believe I had either done things wrong or maybe that even naked men in my bed might still have other places they had rather be.

 “You don’t know what’s going on in your sister’s life so there’s no point in comparing your life to hers,” Mark says, putting an arm around my shoulder. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, not even a sexual thing, but more like two life long friends discussing the various ups and downs of life. “You’ll only make yourself miserable. Not her.”

 “You just don’t know what it’s like to be the third wheel. Or not even in the picture at all. Like you don’t exist. Like nothing you do matters. Not to anybody. Like, why even bother?”

 Mark gazed up at the ceiling for a minute, collecting his thoughts.  I could tell that he and I had had this conversation many times before, and what he was about to tell me he had told on more than one occasion. But he was going to tell it again. As many times as it took to get through to me.

 “That’s just self defeating talk. You talk yourself into failure. Why not talk yourself into success instead? You think we would have any of the advances we do today, the electricity, the medicine, the technology if nobody believed they had anything to offer the world?”

 I sat for a while thinking about that. Mark had swayed me on a lot of things online in his debates. He had a way of opening my eyes to things, not just because he was usually right about things, but because he was kind about things. He approached people the way one would approach a spooked horse, with calmness and with an apple in hand as a reward for a job well done. I found myself sinking into him, partly aroused beyond what I could stand without trying to blatantly hump the man and also feeling like I just wanted to sleep curled up safe next to him.

 Horny won out. I nuzzled Mark on the neck before planting several kisses on his skin. I made sure my breasts rubbed his arms, rewarded when a sigh left his lips and his arms went around me, pulling me in closer.

 “Was I that convincing,” he asks, a wide smile on his face. His blue eyes twinkled in the light cast by the bedside lamp.

 “You could convince me of anything,” I tell him, letting my hands roam over his body. I wanted to touch all of him. Taste and feel and explore him as I had done so many times in my imagination, hands moving underneath my bed covers back at home. He was so much bigger than me, and I found myself comparing the size of his large hands to mine, the way his skin felt versus mine. I had never been able to explore another person this way, though I didn’t feel brave enough to go beneath the covers. I didn’t have the self confidence or the experience to just grab for what I wanted. Not yet, anyway.

 “Careful, you don’t know what I might ask you to do next,” he teased, pulling me in to kiss me lightly, almost chastly on the lips. It was the kind of kiss a couple does when they’ve known one another for a long time. When every kiss given was not the tongue and passion fueled affair of newbie daters. But at this very moment that was exactly what I wanted. This whole thing was new to me, after all.

 I took Mark’s hand and placed it between my legs, letting his fingers feel what I was having a hard time expressing in words. His facial expression changed in an instant, the smile and joking nature quickly replaced with something a lot more feral and hungry. A thrill went through me, part pure sexual enjoyment and part fear since this was was such an unknown.

 He grabbed my by the chin with both hands and pulled my face close for a hungry open mouthed kiss. I didn’t know what I was suppose to do with either my mouth or my hands so I just let him take the lead, thrilling at the feel of his hands roaming over my body. It was so much more than I had imagined it would be and for the briefest of moments I felt saddened by having missed out on it for so long. But the feeling was quickly replaced by the growing heat between my legs as he pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me.

 “What do you want me to do,” he asked me. “Tell me.”

 I found myself stroking his face,  wanting to remember every inch of it. Nothing good had ever come into my life and stayed. And I wanted to do all the things I had ever imagined doing with him on all those nights laying alone, hands moving beneath the covers.. Wanted to feel his lips and tongue between working their magic on my hot, wet slit.  But what I wanted at that moment most of all was to be one with him. Only him. So I parted my legs and grabbed his cock in my hands, rather clumsily trying to pull him down to my pussy.

 “I don’t want to hurt you,” Mark tells me, placing his forehead against mine. He’s breathing hard over me, his entire body coiled tight as a bow with need.

“Please,” I beg him. “Now.”

 He kisses me softly on the lips as his cock brushes against my slit, his head rubbing my clit and making me moan against him. He toyed with me for a few thrusts, wetting himself in my folds before trying to push inside of me. It wasn’t easy, the pain of being penetrated after so long made me wince and he stopped, soothing me and stroking my face as the discomfort slowly subsided. Then he was moving inside of me and everything else faded away except the growing waves of pleasure inside of me. I screamed his name and clawed into his shoulders, begging him over and over again for something I didn’t quite understand. It was so much more than just to be brought to an orgasm. I wanted a release from everything I had been running from up to this point. All the disappointments that had come and gone. The years spent alone and looking out a window onto a world of couples and lovers and white picket fences. I wanted it to be washed away once and for all. By him. By Us.

  When I couldn’t hold back any longer from that moment I had been aching so long for, I arched my back and closed my eyes, feeling Mark go over that cliff with me.The feeling of his warm come filling me up taking me to new heights of pleasure, It was not just a moment filled with screams of passion and nails clawing skin, but an acknowledgement of two beings connecting and worshiping each other on a level that didn’t require all the bells and whistles. It was a simplicity I found so deep and beautiful.  And one I never wanted to end.

 “Thank you,” I told him as we lay together afterward, my head laid against his chest. I wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to say to him. I got the feeling that, though I didn’t know how this had happened or even why, that he had somehow allowed it to happen. That this was not the work of some evil magic that had drawn him in like an insect to a web. And the thought gave me an inkling of relief.

 “I don’t feel sorry for you,” he tells me. I know I should be upset by this in some way, but I felt too removed my usual self, the girl who cared too much, who cried into her pillow at night because nobody wanted her. That girl did not exist here.  “But I do feel for you. I know why you are the way that you are. But you could change it if you wanted to.”

 “How?”

 He took my hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “When you finally realize you aren’t in this alone.”

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

 I thought about the dream I had had of Mark Pellegrino as I waited in line with everyone else to get a photo op with the Supernatural actor. Things had been going rather well for me after the wedding. My sister had caught her husband butt naked on the living room couch with someone or other and she had lost her job after losing a major client and was now crashing at our parent’s house. And as for me I had finally gotten up the courage to send in some of my manuscripts to some publishing houses and in the next couple of months two of my books would be hitting the shelves. I had bought a new car and had upgraded from an apartment to a little house on the outskirts of town. I didn’t feel like an ugly, rejected failure anymore, not because I was loved by a man, nothing had changed since my wonderful dream about Mark, but because I had gone out and done something to make my life better.  

 But something odd happened when it was my turn to get my picture taken with Mark. He was standing there in his dark pea coat, tall and regal and every bit as beautiful in person as he was on TV, but when he turned to me his eyebrows rose slightly and it was obvious he remembered me. I ran up to him, wrapping my arms around him as tightly as I could.  He pressed his cheek against mine and for a moment I felt like I was back upon the bed, our bodies wrapped around each other and fueled by both love and need.

 I wasn’t aware of the picture being taken but I somehow sensed it had been and parted from our embrace to let the next person in line through. “How’s your sister?”

 I stopped in my tracks and turned. Mark had stopped taking pictures for a second, his eyes staring intently into mine. There was something about it that reminded me of the dream, the feeling that reality had been encroached upon by something that was other. Some might even call it magic.

 “She’s miserable. But I’m a published author now,” I told him.

 He smiled at me. A genuine, real smile that made me light up inside. Then the moment was over and he went back to taking pictures with fans. I wasn't aware of it then, but many miles away in the home I had just purchased there was hidden inside a moving box a long forgotten rose with only a few petals left upon its tiny stem. And at that very moment, the petals fell away into  the bottom of the box. I would find this out a few weeks later when I discovered the remains of the rose the stranger at my sister’s wedding had given me. And I would shake my head and laugh. But, deep down, I knew.

[66whitedressesforgirls]

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